Connections Read Online Free Page B

care one way or the other because of his job’s flexible hours and said it was more important for Jason to live and work on the same side of town when he had to worry about staying open late and working on Saturdays.
    Jason knew he was going to live there as soon as the super unlocked the door. The ceilings were almost twelve feet high, some had beams. Intricate moldings on the walls; long, unnecessary hallways; thick doors with transoms; a square eat-in kitchen (a true luxury in Manhattan); an almost six-foot-long, high-rimmed tub—it all sent shivers of elation through him. It was only a one-bedroom, but as he quickly redecorated the rooms while the super tapped his foot, he knew it wouldn’t matter. It was twice the size of the apartment they were in now, and the dining alcove between the kitchen and living room, well-defined by beams, could be closed off to make a study for Chris.
    The building was not just a reminder of an elegant past but had adapted nicely to current housing needs and the requirements of the new middle class. The block itself was being transformed as little by little, the old multiple-dwelling brownstones were bought by individuals and renovated to their former grandeur as one-family houses. The larger buildings were being spruced up, their lobbies refurbished, doormen reinstated. There were scaffolds all over, promising pointing of bricks, new windows.
    Chris had also fallen in love with it on sight, so they wasted no time bribing the agent with three thousand dollars, the super with one thousand, and signing a two-year lease. Jason was buoyed by his flair for decorating and by Chris’s admiration of his creativity.
    Even Sabrina had adjusted well to the move. He thought that at seven, she would be nervous and jumpy in new surroundings, especially since everybody kept insisting that Yorkies were high-strung. But she must have felt their pleasure, their comfort in being there, because she immediately seemed at peace and at home. After sniffing along all the baseboards and woodwork like a vacuum, she found a place behind the French doors in the living room where the sun spotlighted a patch of the hardwood floor for most of the morning. She claimed it as hers, so Chris put her pillow there. They were both sure that’s where she stayed all the time they were out. While they were home, she followed either one or the other around, always staying a little closer to Jason. Nothing made her happier than when they were home together, sitting on the couch or lying in bed, where she could snuggle between them.
    When Jason only worked on the West Side and left at the end of the day, he felt like a stranger, a visitor. But now, he belonged. In fact, everything seemed to be perfect for Jason Ruderman—his business, his home, his dog. Except for one thing. From the minute they moved in, his relationship with Chris started to fall apart.

Chapter 11
    Kid-Beauty-Damn Mutt was lying at the trunk of a tree in the Botanical Gardens near a seldom-used path. A woman who walked very slowly, leaning on a stick, sat on a bench in front of her. She felt safe because this woman had sat there many days, knowing she was behind her. Sometimes she talked to her, her voice tiny and small but soothing. She always carried a small plastic bag inside her pocketbook. She would open it, smooth out a napkin or square of paper towel next to her, unwrap a sandwich, and eat her lunch. The dog’s nose twitched, her mouth salivated, yet her basic fear of bondage kept her back. One day, the old lady finished eating and gently slipped the remains through the large slat in the back of the bench. Kid-Beauty-Damn Mutt crawled in the grass, grabbed the baloney and the bread and then darted back to the tree, keeping her eyes on the woman, who pretended not to notice.
    After that, the leftovers got bigger, and the woman would divide her sandwich, leaving half of it on the bench. The dog stopped running, walked right up and ate, sitting in front of