He allows Justin to use the courtesy phone in the lobby, next to a mauve couch and a table with a vase of fake flowers. The manager and I stand at the corner of the desk, watching him. Dial, wait, hang up, dial. Justin’s dad denies the first three calls but accepts on the fourth. Justin wipes tears from his cheeks as he talks, cupping the phone to his mouth for privacy.

The manager shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His name is Brian. It says so on his name tag. He sighs. I smile at him, cool as a cucumber, and settle into the silence. I’m okay with quiet, but chances are he’s not, so again, I have the advantage.

I study his face and make up his life. He was probably kind of cute in high school, when girls could still dream about him being something more. Button nose, brown eyes, reddish-brown hair that’s starting to grey at the temples. Freckles. His chin will disappear soon. Divorced, definitely. Long enough that the pale band on his empty ring finger has tanned up again. Ex-wife is pretty in an Ivory soap and water kind of way. Two kids, who would rather not go to his sad apartment on weekends. He’d rather not have them there and wonders what kind of person that makes him. That’s why he drinks. Late at night, after he gets home from work, microwaves a Salisbury steak, when the talk shows turn into reruns, he snorts a line or two off the glass coffee table he rents from one of those lease-to-own furniture places. He will never own that coffee table.

He blushes in my gaze. His hand goes to his cheek. Self-conscious about his freckles. That’s why I stare at them. I guessed right.

“So where are you from?” he asks after several minutes watching Justin whisper arguments into the phone.

“Western New York,” I say brightly, as if I’m thrilled to chat with him. This is not a problem. If I act like it’s not a problem, it won’t be.

“Staten Island?”

“Outside Buffalo.”

He nods. Everyone seems to forget New York is more than a city, that there’s a world beyond the boroughs and the people who live there are real. But I don’t want to sound snotty and I’m worried maybe I did. I’m about to say more, and then Justin hangs up the phone and waves me over. I smile at Brian. “ ’Scuse me for a sec.”

Justin tries to whisper in my ear when I sit next to him. “No,” I say quietly. “Smile. Talk softly, but smile.”

“My dad’s pissed that I didn’t come home for my internship interviews and he’s not going to pay for my dalliance.” He uses finger quotes. “But he won’t press charges.”