The morning had been gray, dreary and humid, a good excuse to wear your galoshes and polka dot raincoat. You hoped that Peter would find it charming like you did, at least it was practical if anything. Planning your outfit based on what you hoped a guy would like was not really in your character. You realized you didn’t know a whole lot about him other than his occupation and that he was tall and cute, so how could you even know what he liked?  Today would be a good day to find out more. Besides, you told yourself, you were basing it more on the weather, not the guy.

The hours at the library ticked by. There were more kids all over the library today being disruptive due to the weather, mud and water being tracked through, homeless people looking for a place to keep dry. It would be hard to make an excuse for a long lunch but you’d told Teresa you would bring her back some pie if your lunch ran over, so she agreed to your terms. 

Peter had requested an early lunch because, working for the Parks Department, his shift started early in the morning. You were fine with that for him, even though it would mean that your afternoon would drag on. 

Finally it was time to meet him in the park. You’d forgotten your umbrella but stole one out of the lost and found at the library before you left. The rain created a gentle patter through the leaves but it evaporated in the heat before it had a chance to really hit the asphalt, casting a gray fog everywhere you looked and making visibility pretty minimal. 

You headed toward the playground behind the library where you’d agreed to meet and saw a tall figure in a green rain coat zipped and the hood up. He was leaning up against the wide old trunk of a lush green tree. It was hard to say whether it was him until he saw you and waved. You hustled over to join him under the tree.

“Fine weather we’re having, huh?” He asked, his Brooklyn accent dripping with sarcasm like the rain through the leaves. 

“Yeah, if you’re an amphibian,” you said. He smiled. 

“Hey, let me take that from you.” Peter said, taking the umbrella from your hand and holding it high enough for the both of you. He held his arm out for you and you took it. “I like your spots.”

“Thanks,” you said smiling, glad your blush was hidden under your hood. “How far is this place?” 

“Not far, I’ll get you out of the rain soon.”

“At least it makes for a good story.” 

“That’s for sure,” he agreed.

You’d try to start some small talk but it was hard to hear over the rain and the traffic, so you walked most of the way in silence. You hoped it wasn’t awkward for him too. 

Luckily, he wasn’t lying about it being nearby. The longest part was waiting for the walk signal to flash across the parkway. He maneuvered you around the side streets like a pro and led you to what appeared to be an old diner. It was like out of a movie, the colored lights and flashing sign, although it was hard to see inside as the windows were fogged up from the rain. He led you up the steps into the windowed vestibule as he struggled to get the umbrella closed and followed you in.

“CLOSED FOR REPAIRS - SORRY” a sign said scrawled in thick sharpie and taped hastily to the inside of the glass door.

“Shit” Peter said under his breath, running a hand over his face. 

The small foyer of the diner you were enclosed in was tight and humid and fogging up further from the heat of your bodies and breath. Despite that, you still managed to shiver at his nearness when he looked down at you with his emerald eyes. It was as if he was taller and broader than the foggy space the two of you were enclosed in. The vastness of him took up most of the space in your brain as well.

Peter caught his breath, then,“How do you like pizza?” He asked with what could have sounded like a small note of desperation in his voice.

“The only thing better than apple pie is pizza pie,” you said. He chuckled, but you couldn’t believe he was sincere. 

“Happy to hear that. Well, I think we passed at least three joints on the way here.” He said, leaning past near you to open the door back to the rainy sidewalk. 

The oppressive humid air nearly choked you as you walked back out and headed down the street once more. The water rushed down the gutter in the opposite direction, leaves and debris flowing haphazardly with it. Lo and behold, on the corner of the same block was a small foggy pizza shop with the “OPEN” sign blinking like a beacon.

The two of you hustled across the street to get out of the rain and finally get some lunch. 

The pizza parlour had a couple of big greasy guys behind the counter slinging slices to hungry customers in line. The smell was nearly overwhelming after working up an appetite, leaps and bounds better than your usual sad sandwich. From the kitchen you heard “Dancing in the Street” by Martha and the Vandellas accompanied by static playing from a small tinny radio.

You each got a couple of slices and Cokes, unsurprisingly, Peter insists on paying and you let him moreso because you're broke than because you’re the kind of girl to let guys think they can just pay for you to get you to like them… But it doesn’t hurt.  You are greeted in the bathroom mirror by your smeared, leaking eye liner and hair sticking to your forehead. Great. You do your best to zhuzh it into something semi-presentable but give up before it gets worse. 

Peter is sitting with his back to you as you walk back from the restroom. His hair frizzed over his bandana and  his coveralls tied around his waist again, this time with a metal band shirt on.

The table is wobbly and he keeps leaning over to try and identify the short leg, while wobbling it more. You take a minute to watch him, shaking the table, leaning over to look at the legs and shaking it again. He has to lean pretty far over because the red plaid table cloth spills well over the edge. You imagine his brow creased and eyes narrowed in concentration and can’t help but giggle at his fixation.

You walk closer as he folds up one of those shitty cardboard coasters to jam under the displeasing leg and finally catch his attention. Or rather, your legs do: you hope he is less dissatisfied by them than the ones holding up the table. It was harder for him to get a look at you, you surmise, with your rain slick on, but now that it's off, your narrow skirt and striped tights are revealed, accentuating your legs and hips and waist. 

His sparkling eyes meet yours and you smile. “Aint to Proud to Beg” by the Temptations croons through the static. He stands up and pulls your chair out for you. A surprising amount of chivalry for the 90s you note.

He folds his first slice and takes a big mouthful. 

“So, tell me about yourself. Where are you from?” he asks, chewing, wiping some sauce from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Well, I’m from Vermont. Actually my town is pretty small and pretty rural, under 3,000 people. So New York has been a big change for me… But I’ve loved it.” You can’t help but beam a little at the end. You really have loved it. 

“Jesus, I think I had at least 3,000 people at my family reunion last year.” He says, moving through his next slice while you’re still on your first. “I’m glad you’re liking it though. How’d you end up here?”

“Well, my cousin, Otto, had moved out here a couple years ago after he graduated college but I went on to grad school for my masters. So he kind of made a weird little community of artists out here and when he needed a roommate and I needed a change of scenery, he convinced me to move out.” Peter raised an eyebrow at you and quietly applauded when you brought up your masters.

“A woman with a higher education. Impressive.” He said.

“It’s not the 50’s. Lots of women have their masters.” You said, trying and failing to keep the annoyance out of your voice.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that I, uh, happen to find a woman with an education attractive.” He said, wiping his mouth on his crumpled paper napkin and dropping it onto his empty paper plate after finishing his fourth slice. “I couldn’t even get through a semester of junior college, so to me, a masters is very impressive. But what do I know? I'm just the garbage man.” 

“I mean, college is certainly not for everyone. And someone has to pick up the trash: that’s more important than putting books on shelves, honestly. Plus, you probably don’t have loans, which already makes you smarter than anyone with a masters.” You countered.

“True.” He sipped his Coke. “Downtown” by Petula Clark was playing from the kitchen.

“Sorry if you get asked this a lot, but what is the worst thing you have found as a garbage man?” 

“The worst thing? Oof probably dead animals. I have like 75 cats so I hate to find anything domesticated in the parks. Second to that would be finding dead human bodies, but I tend to prefer animals to humans, so that’s why they’re second.”

“God, you’ve found human bodies? Multiple?” You were disturbed, and maybe regretting your question.

“No, I’m just fucking with you!” He laughed as your distressed grimace spread into a smile. “Hey, do you want another slice? I think I’m going to need one more.” 

“No, I think I’m fine,” you mumbled, pulling from your Coke can as he rose from his chair.

Returning to you, he placed his pizza on the table and fished something out of his pocket. A little black book with a bic pen. 

“What’s your last name?” he asked.

“Chaplin” You said.

He sits down and starts to thumb through the book, licking his thumb to flip to whichever page he wanted,presumably C, finding it and then holding the book out to you. 

“Here, put your number in here.” He teased, “That way it won’t get lost and I’ll get to call you up and chat and ask you out again.” 

You tried to hide your blush accepting both items and ducking your head to add your number to his black book. The book itself was falling apart and taped back together. Your name came after Ciopola, Tricia and Constantino, Annette and some others that were scribbled out or numbers changed. Ignoring those, you penned in your information and handed it back to him.

“Chaplin, a lot easier to remember than Ratajczyk.” He mused.

“And a lot easier to spell.” you add.

“You ready to head out of here? I figure Teresa is probably tapping her toe and looking at her watch by now.” He smirked.

“Oh shit.” You groaned.

“What?” 

“I promised her some pie.” 

“Well I guess this just means you'll have to join me for pie another day.” 

Teardrops of a Clown by Smokey Robinson played you out.

__

The rain had let up a little since your first walk out and was mostly a soft patter on the asphalt, and then the trees as you walked through the park, nearer to the playground you’d met up at.

“Hey, I don’t know if this is the kind of thing you’re into, but uh, I’m in a band.” He says, somewhat bashfully for the first time.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” You say gesturing to the earring and the hair and the shirt. He chuckled.

“Yeah, well,” He tapped his fingers a little anxiously, “It’s probably not the sort of thing you’d be into, but, we’re playing a show in a couple weeks and it would be nice to look out in the crowd and see your towhead sticking out in it.”

“Oh really?” you giggled. “Is it some kind of metal band?”

“Yeah, not your thing right?”

“It’s not not my thing. I’ve never been to a metal show, so I guess I would have to find out.” you smirked this time.

He told you the information and let you know he’d get you and some plus ones on the guest list so  you wouldn’t have to pay the cover, as long as they weren’t your boyfriend. Before he handed you back your umbrella, he pulled you in for a solid lingering embrace that made you wish for more. 

You dreaded the rest of the dreary afternoon ahead of you in the library and even more now that you didn’t have a slice of pie for Teresa. However, in the short walk back to the entrance, the sun peaked out from behind the clouds and some of the braver birds began to chirp, coming out from cover of the rain. Fat droplets spattered sporadically against your hood as the rain slowed with the shy appearance of the bright peaking sun. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst, afterall. Besides, you had much more fodder for day dreaming now.