Page 15 of Shared By My Neighbors
“No, it’s not your fault,” I say in a gentle tone. “I never thought to do that either, and besides, the trees aren’t even big. It’s surprising that a bird would make a home in one of them, much less a hawk.”
After all, James shared the email he got with us, with every intention of confronting Henry alone. But Chris, Carl and I insisted on coming along. We’re all parties to this fiasco, and so reluctantly, James agreed to our presence. Still, my men are brimming with possession and fury because we know that it’s very likely that someone’s been watching our steamy sessions, and has gotten an eyeful of my luscious curves in the process.
My heart drops at that thought because the spy is clearly a disgusting voyeur. He’s probably sixty years old with a bald, shiny pate, and rotting teeth. I can see it now: a middle-aged pervert with the build of a scrawny teenage boy, and the manners of a child. My mood deflates when I think about the upcoming confrontation. It’s not going to be fun, that’s for sure.
But at that moment, a handsome man enters the café, looking around like he’s searching for someone. He sees us sitting at a table and lifts one hand in greeting.
Immediately, my heart begins to hammer.Thisis the neighborhood pervert? The man looks like Henry Cavill from Superman, and not the spindly, putrid freak that I was envisioning in my mind. He has the same dark hair and penetrating blue eyes, as well as the physique of a Marvel superhero. His broad shoulders fill out a blue button down, and the stranger has to be at least six three or six four with his long legs clad in dark denim. Wow, I had no idea that birders looked like this.
The man strides over to us and nods.
“I’m Henry,” he introduces himself in a deep voice. “You’re the folks from the building, I presume?” Weird! His name is actually Henry, like the actor?
“You presume correctly,” James says in a frigid voice while standing. I shoot him a warning look and smile at Henry.
“Hi, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Tanya, and this is James, Chris and Carl. We’re the residents of the bird building, I guess is what we could call it.”
“Henry Cutler,” the man replies, shaking our hands in turn. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Would you like a coffee?” I ask.
He shakes his head, sitting down with a smile.
“No. I know it’s rude but the café’s busy, so I don’t think they’ll notice if I buy nothing. If theydonotice, I’ll grab a croissant later. But yeah, thanks for meeting me. As I wrote in the email, you have a red-tail hawk nesting in one of the trees on your roof. Which means that he or she has a partner, and soon, you’ll have baby hawks too.”
“Wow,” I murmur. “Just wow.”
“Our trees are small,” Chris growls. “Why would the hawks pick our building? Isn’t Central Park a better location? With prey, and greenery, and all?”
“Maybe,” Henry says, shrugging his broad shoulders. “But sometimes hawks find a site that they like and decide to try it out. Besides, you guys are close enough to Central Park that they can still hunt squirrels and other small prey there. Your trees aren’t that tiny either. What are they? Scotch pines?”
“Yeah,” Carl says grudgingly. “As our resident gardener-in-charge, I know they were purchased about twenty years before I moved in. We had an old owner who nurtured the trees to the size they are now. It takes a lot of work because they’re obviously in containers and need to be watered constantly. We have professional gardeners coming in once a month, but I like to keep an eye on things myself.”
“Of course,” Henry says agreeably. “Scotch pines are a lot of work but a lot of buildings in NYC use them as rooftop greenery actually.”
“Oh, do they also have families of red-tailed hawks nesting in their trees?” I ask with enthusiasm.
Henry chuckles.
“No, only you guys have them, so you’re lucky that way. But you know that Pale Male in Central Park is a red-tailed hawk, right? He’s one of the first hawks to raise chicks in an urban environment.”
I start.
“Pale Male? Really?”
Henry nods.
“Yeah, the famous one, although Pale Male died recently. He lived to his thirties though, which is a long time for any animal in the wild. Not only that, but his nest wasn’t exactlyinCentral Park. It was at one of those big, fancy co-ops on Fifth Avenue.”
“Holy shit,” Carl whistles. “The co-op didn’t run him out?”
“They did,” Henry replies in a wry voice. “But there was international outcry, and so the co-op decided to let the birds stay. Pale Male raised a lot of chicks too. He was a patriarch of sorts, with a number of different female partners, but they’re gone now with his death. In the meantime, I could show you the birds nesting on your rooftop if you like. I brought my binoculars, although you won’t need them since the trees on your property aren’t that huge.”
I start.
“You want to see the hawks now?”
Henry shrugs and grins, his expression humorous.