The Wild Woman's Guide to Traveling the World Read online

  For the most part, I tried not to focus on my regrets. Obsessing over the past would get me nowhere in the present. These days, I was all about living in the moment. Every day was a new adventure, a new discovery. Even though I’d seen the same New York City landmarks dozens, if not hundreds, of times before, the job never grew tedious. There was something invigorating about watching someone else witness the overwhelming majesty of the Empire State Building for the very first time or noticing how their eyes lit up when you told them they were standing on the exact subway grate that caused Marilyn Monroe’s white dress to flutter above her thighs in The Seven Year Itch. After this, there was no way I could ever go back to the corporate world.

  Not that I necessarily needed to. Once I started reaching—and sometimes exceeding—my quotas, I was no longer operating under a financial deficit. I’d probably still have to find a more affordable place to live, but for now, I was financially stable. Then again, I also knew circumstances could change on a dime. My rent could go up; my sales could drop off. So I allowed myself to remain open to possibility. Anything could happen. I had to be able to roll with the punches. To rewrite my task list, again and again.

  Tonight, though, I was reveling in the joy of it all, because business was starting to boom. The last tour of the day boasted my biggest turnout yet, and at the end of a two-hour stroll around Midtown, I marched into Zum Bauer with seven happy, hungry clients trailing behind me. When I approached the host stand, Wolf muttered something indiscernible under his breath.

  “I hope you’re not cursing me out in German,” I said.

  “Not at all,” he replied with a smile. “You’ve got a big party. Business is picking up for you?”

  I nodded. “Looks that way. For now at least. Do you have any tables for seven?”

  He surveyed the dining floor. “I think I can push a few tables together in the back. Let me see. Will you be joining them?”

  “No. I’m actually meeting someone else here tonight.”

  A slender hand came to rest on my shoulder, and I turned to see Elena’s big green eyes shining down on me. With my busy schedule, I hadn’t seen her since that morning at my grandmother’s house almost three weeks ago. After texting her my new number, we’d played phone tag for days until we were able to nail down an actual conversation, and when I told her about my abrupt career change, she insisted we meet for a drink.

  “Hey,” she said. “That color looks fab on you.”

  “Thanks.” I smoothed the front of my lemon-yellow polo shirt. Since I couldn’t wear the same sundress day in and day out, I decided to invest some of my earnings in appropriately colored work attire. After combing the sales racks at Century 21, I’d managed to fill all those empty hangers in my closet with yellow shirts, skirts, pants, and dresses. Now customers were able to spot me from a block away.

  “Is this the other member of your party?” Wolf asked, making moony eyes at Elena.

  “Yes. Wolf, this is my best friend, Elena. We go way back. Elena, this is Wolf.”

  He extended his hand for her to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” Elena returned his dreamy gaze. As he turned and led my tour group toward their table, her eyes stayed glued to his back. One by one, I waved good-bye to all my smiling customers and pocketed tips from a few generous ones who’d had a particularly good experience. After they were gone, I looked to Elena, who still appeared spellbound from her encounter with Wolf.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she said, dazed.

  “Let’s sit down.” I pointed to the picnic table next to the front windows. “How about there?”

  As soon as I slid onto the bench and lifted my swollen feet off the floor, I breathed a sigh of relief. “It feels so good to take a load off.”

  “You do a lot of walking in your new job, huh?”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Well, I saw all your Yelp reviews, and you’ve got a lot of satisfied customers. Are you enjoying yourself?”

  A smile burst across my face. “Absolutely.”

  Elena smiled back. “That’s so great, Soph. I don’t think I’ve seen you looking this happy since…Well, it’s been a really long time.”

  “I think it’s because I’m finally feeling good about what I’m doing with my life. I’ve always wanted to work in the travel industry. I was just too afraid to pursue it.”

  “I remember when we were in high school, you used to keep those journals of your weekend trips into the city. And that big stack of guidebooks you had for countries all over the world. You had all those dream vacations planned out. Remember?”

  “Of course. Traveling has always been my thing,” I said. “I still plan out dream vacations. I’ve actually started posting them on my blog, just for fun.”

  “Aren’t you going to miss it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I know you hated your job and everything, but you used to talk about how much you loved that McKinley flew you all over the world. You said it was the best part of working there. Now you’re just kinda…stuck here in New York.”

  I tapped my fingers on the scuffed wooden tabletop. “Sure. I’ll miss jetting around the world. But the thing is, now that I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to do, I love my life in New York so much more than I did before. All of a sudden, I’m not feeling this need to pick up and run away. Not right now anyway. I’m sure the restlessness will come back eventually. When it does…” I shrugged. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

  Elena raised her eyebrows. “Wow. You’re a whole new Sophie.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m just finally letting myself be who I always was deep down.”

  Wolf approached the table. “I’ve got everyone situated along the back wall. They’ve already ordered four pitchers. You must’ve given them a good tour; they’re all in party mode.” He looked from me to Elena. “What can I get you ladies to drink? First round’s on me.”

  Elena giggled and touched a fingertip to her lower lip. “What kind of white wines do you have?”

  “Our Riesling’s on happy hour special right now.”

  “I’ll take that,” she said.

  Their gazes lingered on each other for a moment before he turned to me and asked, “The usual for you?”

  I nodded and he walked toward the bar. Elena watched him leave, studying his easy swagger and the way his muscular shoulder blades pressed against the thin fabric of his T-shirt. Her tongue was practically hanging on the floor.

  “Wild guess,” I said, “but do you have the hots for Wolf?”

  Her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink and her lips curled into a devious smile. “Maybe a little. What’s his deal? Do you know? Is he single?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t know much about him. But here’s a question: Are you single?”

  “Yes, of course! Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Well, when last we spoke, you and Roddy were still on a break. So, if history is any indicator, that means the two of you will be getting back together sometime around next Wednesday.”

  She set her jaw and shook her head. “Not this time. I mean it. I’m done.”

  “Really?” I’d heard Elena say she was through with Roddy countless times before. But I’d never seen such resolve in her eyes. Maybe this time she actually meant it.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said when we were in Hong Kong. About how our relationship was dysfunctional.”

  “Oh, Elena, I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t my place to pass judgment on your relationship. I only said that because I was hurt and lashing out and—”

  “But you were right,” she said. “We were dysfunctional. What healthy couple breaks up and gets back together four times? Then decides to move in together right away? It doesn’t make any sense. I mean, I couldn’t even be apart from him for a week. How pathetic is that?”

  “It’s okay to miss someone. Especially someone you love.” I unders
tood that now. How it could feel like a part of you was on the other end of the earth.

  “I didn’t just miss him,” she said. “I was obsessed. To an unhealthy degree. Now I’ve realized that I’m too young to settle down.”

  Those were quite possibly the last words I’d expected to come out of Elena’s mouth. Ever since eighth grade, she’d been jumping from relationship to relationship, never spending more than a couple of weeks without being attached at the hip to some boyfriend. I assumed she’d been itching to walk down the aisle sooner rather than later.

  “What sparked this epiphany?” I asked.

  “Honestly? That whole conversation with your grandmother. My career is basically nonexistent. Yeah, I have a job, but it doesn’t mean anything to me. I don’t want to be a receptionist forever, you know? I’ve spent my whole postcollege life chasing around after Roddy. It’s time for me to figure myself out. Find out what I’m passionate about. So I’m gonna put my love life on the back burner while I concentrate on me. In the meantime, I can date around casually and play the field. Just like you.”

  Just like me. While Elena had been busy tying herself down all those years, I’d been out bedhopping, loudly swearing I’d never allow myself to fall victim to the burdensome trap of love. Yet here I sat, in this dimly lit pub, secretly pining away for a man. The complete opposite of Elena’s newfound swinging singlehood.

  Right on cue, Wolf appeared with our drinks. Elena glanced up at him under her long lashes and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Thanks.”

  He placed the Bitburger down in front of me but didn’t peel his eyes off of her. “Let me know if I can get you anything else,” he said before retreating to the host stand.

  “I see you’ve already honed in on your first potential target,” I said.

  “Possibly.” She wrapped her pale hand around the stem of her wineglass and raised it to me in a toast. “To self-discovery.”

  We clinked cups and I took a sip of my new signature drink, the only beer I’d tasted since I’d returned from my trip to Hong Kong. Each time I caught sight of the sweating pint glass, full of golden lager, emblazoned with a Bitburger logo, it never failed to transport me back to Lan Kwai Fong. To the first time I ever saw Carson’s face. His thick head of sandy hair. The dimple in his stubbled cheek. Features that would be etched into my memory for eternity.

  “So,” Elena said, “I was hoping you’d decide to offer up the information without me having to ask, but it seems like you’re not going to talk about it unless I drag it out of you.”

  “What information?”

  “That long stupid story? About an artist? You never elaborated.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh?” She threw up her hands. “That’s it?”

  I shifted in my seat. It’s not like I was purposely trying to hide the truth from her. I just didn’t think I was mentally prepared to recount the tale and relive the whole heart-rending experience all over again.

  “Who is he?” she demanded.

  I couldn’t keep it from her forever. Deep breaths. You can do this. I brought my beer to my lips with a shaky hand. After a long swig and a loud swallow, I said, “His name is Carson.”

  For the next ten minutes, I confessed everything that had happened over the past few weeks. How we met in Hong Kong and spent the whole week together. How he asked me to stay with him and how I said no. How he showed up on my doorstep in New York, out of the clear blue sky. How we’d made love all night and into the morning and talked about our plans to be together. And how it all fell apart at the end.

  When I told her he punched Seth in the face, she said it was romantic.

  “What are you talking about?” I said. “He could’ve gotten me fired.”

  “But you quit that day anyway.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Look, Sophie, men have very animalistic instincts,” she said. “He was merely defending your honor, in the only way he knew how: blunt force trauma to the face.”

  I peered down into my half-empty mug. Light glinted off the glass like sparkling blue eyes.

  “Where is he now?” she asked.

  I shrugged, took another sip of beer.

  “Is he the one who drew those flyers?”

  “Yeah. Have you seen them around town?” My mood lifted instantly. Damn, those flyers are effective!

  “I have, and they’re really cute, Soph. He’s a good artist. I actually grabbed one as I was walking through Penn Station. I figured I’d bring it home to show my mom.”

  “That’s weird,” I said. “I didn’t put any flyers in Penn Station.”

  “No? There was a huge stack of them right under the Amtrak sign.”

  My heart began to thud against my ribs. “Are you sure they’re mine?”

  “No, it must be some other girl named Sophie who’s running a different spontaneous tour.” Elena rolled her eyes and unzipped her purse. “Let me see what I did with it.”

  As she rifled through her mess of a bag, I scratched my chin and tried to think of a reasonable explanation for a pile of my flyers materializing in the concourse of Penn Station. Perhaps an enthusiastic client wanted to spread the word about my tours? Or maybe Kat was making extra copies to advertise, since she was certainly benefiting from all the extra business I was bringing in.

  “Here it is.” Elena pulled a rumpled sheet of paper from her purse and smoothed it against the rough tabletop. When I saw what was spread out before me, my heart leapt up to my throat.

  It wasn’t my flyer.

  Oh, it was a flyer for my business, all right. It had the same phone number, the same schedule, the same “Sophie’s Spontaneous Tours” banner written across the top. And it was definitely my own face smiling back at me.

  But it was a completely different caricature from the one I’d been using. Instead of the Statue of Liberty hovering behind me, this time I was flanked by Broadway signs and neon lights. And instead of standing on top of a double-decker bus, I was strolling on the sidewalk, surrounded by tourists who were snapping photos and hanging on my every word. The drawing was every bit as eye-catching as the other one. It was just different. New.

  And I would know those pen strokes anywhere.

  Carson was still in town.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The new flyers were all over the city. Somehow I must’ve been blinded to them, but once I opened my eyes, I realized the posters I’d been seeing on the telephone poles weren’t the same ones I’d stapled up there two weeks ago. Of course they weren’t; in this town, I’d have been lucky if a flyer survived a single night tacked up in public. Clearly, Carson had been replenishing them for me. Not to mention, handing them out in other places I hadn’t even thought of, like Penn Station.

  So the whole next day, as I conducted my tours, I kept an eye out for them. Like magic, they appeared: taped in the window of the Port Authority, plastered to bus stop shelters and scaffolding. A million copies of my face adorning the streets, imploring its inhabitants to tour the city with me. What’s more, I discovered Carson had designed a whole array of new flyers, not just one. There were six in total—at least, six that I found. No wonder business was booming. It turned out I had a lot of help from an extensive ad campaign I wasn’t even paying for.

  If he was in town, and he knew where to find me, then why wasn’t he showing his face?

  It was a question I pondered all day, but only during my hour-long breaks between tours. Because while I was working, all that mattered was providing my clients with the best possible New York experience I could give them. I had to focus, stay in the moment. Shake thoughts of Carson off until later.

  Which, admittedly, was not such a hard thing to do, since I loved my job with a fiery passion. Particularly when I led my tour groups down the Great White Way, so named for the millions of lights shining on billboards and signs along Broadway. My favorite time to walk through the area was at dusk, when the marquees really started to shine. People gathered on the stree
ts clutching ticket stubs, their eyes wide with expectation as they filtered into theaters for evening performances. The energy was contagious.

  This evening, as I led the charge west on 44th Street, I stopped in front of Sardi’s, like I usually did, and gave my little speech about its history. When I got to the part about the celebrity caricatures adorning the walls, the members of my group had some questions.

  “Do you know anything about the artist who draws them?” asked a man in the front.

  “There have been a number of artists over the years,” I said. “But the very first one was a man named Alex Gard, who was compensated for his work in daily meals from the restaurant.”

  The man guffawed. “That guy sounds like a chump. I bet he could’ve made a pretty penny.”

  “Actually,” I said, “I like to think it was a testament to how much the artist loved his work. Money didn’t factor in. He did it for the simple joy of it.”

  A woman in the back raised her hand and shouted, “Is this what inspired your ad campaign?”

  “No. Those caricatures were drawn by…a friend of mine.”

  “Are you paying him in meals, too?” said the man.

  The crowd laughed, and I laughed along with them, but I had to clasp my hands behind my back to keep them from trembling. Deep breaths, Sophie. Stay focused.

  We continued down the street until the lights of Broadway were far behind us. Pedestrian traffic thinned out, and theatergoers were replaced with residents walking their dogs among ivy-covered brownstones and leafy oak trees. In the span of a block, the city had turned from cultural epicenter to cozy enclave. This was a side of New York the big red tour buses never adequately showed. A hush fell over the group, and we walked silently, taking in the surroundings. When we reached Tenth Avenue, we were thrust back into a noisy, bustling metropolis. Trucks rumbled down the asphalt, laughing couples spilled from the back doors of taxis, and our tour was coming to an end at Zum Bauer.