Manhattan Dreaming (11 page)

In a hurry to unpack, I put my passport and jewellery in the safe, showered and put on a blue flowery summer dress. Back home I'd call it a frock but Libs would always correct me. I grabbed my Lonely Planet guide and my map, and the lists Libby and Denise had drawn up for me. I put the ‘Lauren's Everyday Reminder List' in my purse so I would always have it with me. It read:

And then I looked at my ‘Lauren's New York To Do List – Day 1':

I went down around 1 pm to the lobby and must've looked confused, as the concierge came out from behind his high counter and directly towards me.

‘Are you okay, ma'am?' It felt weird being called ‘ma'am'. I looked at his name badge.

‘Hi Bob, I'm Lauren,' I extended my hand. ‘I want to go for a walk, here's my list.' And I showed him the page.

‘Grand Central Station, bagel with cream cheese, AT&T phone and Duane Reade or a Rite Aid. That is all do-able and in walking distance from here.'

‘Cool – can you point me in the right direction, please? I have no idea where I am right now, and should probably be in bed, but –'

‘But it's New York, Lauren, you can't sleep here.'

‘I'm sure of that.' I laughed. My insomnia guaranteed I'd be right at home in the city that never sleeps.

‘Okay, Lauren.' Bob grabbed a map from his counter and drew on it. ‘This is where we are. Go out the doors and make a right. Walk two blocks and turn left. Duane Reade will be on your left two blocks down and Grand Central on your right. You can get a bagel there and probably a phone too – there's stores surrounding the station and inside.'

‘Um,' I hesitated, ‘is it completely safe to walk around here? By myself, that is?'

‘Yes, very safe this time of day. Well, as safe as any city this size can be, but don't be walking too far of a night alone. Any time you need a cab we'll get one for you.'

‘Right, well, I should be fine then. I'm just a country girl so this is a big thing for me, coming to New York.'

‘Country girl from … let me guess … Australia?'

‘Hey, you're the first one to get it right.'

‘This is the UN Plaza, we have people from Australia stay often – I've always wanted to go there, but it's so far away.'

‘It's just a plane ride. You lose a day going there and you gain it coming back, so you don't really lose at all. You'd like it. Come visit.' I smiled as I walked through the revolving doors out onto 44th Street.

I took Bob's directions towards Grand Central. I couldn't help but smile feeling the sun again. The Canberra winter had been so brutal; it was the one thing I wouldn't miss. I caught a glimpse of myself in a shop window and my big round glasses
did
make me look like a movie star and I liked it. I'd never noticed it before back home.

I tried to keep pace with the fast walkers in the street but I couldn't and I wanted to absorb every minute anyway, to consider the different types of people passing me by – all their sizes, shapes and colours. I wondered where they were all going and what they were doing in New York. I passed little cafes and restaurants, hairdressing salons and banks. Along the way I could smell garbage, and sometimes urine and then hot donuts. This was the smell of the Big Apple. I'd have to get used to it.

I turned left onto Lexington Ave and could see the entrance to the station across the road. I was excited. I walked up to 42nd and was taken aback to see police lining the entire entrance to the station like a guard of honour. I wondered if it was since 9/11 or because someone important – that is, a real VIP – was staying in the Hyatt Hotel there. I walked through the upper concourse looking like a tourist. For at least a week during the NAIDOC celebrations, that's what I was. I didn't want to take my camera out but I had to. It was beautiful. I took photos of the ornate ceilings, the huge clock, the arrivals and departure boards and the crowds.

Grand Central Terminal sounded rather grand and it looked even grander. It was nothing like Kingston Station back in Canberra and it was far bigger and more glamorous than Central in Sydney.

I looked at my watch, realising I still hadn't turned it back fourteen hours. I counted backwards and realised it was 2 pm. I hadn't eaten for eight hours.

I found a take-away place that had bagels and then struggled with what version to try – blueberry, poppy seed, wholemeal and so on.

‘Blueberry, please,' I said before the guy could go on listing the choices. I'd never had a blueberry bagel, even though they probably had them in Manuka. I felt authentic having my first ever at Grand Central Terminal, New York.

I watched the server lump a chunk of cream cheese on it – one centimetre, two centimetres, three centimetres – but before I had time to say anything it was wrapped and I was paying for it. My coffee was handed over in a cup the size of a small bucket. I walked through some arches and found somewhere to sit, trying delicately to scrape most of the cream cheese off without looking wasteful.

‘You need to ask for a schmear of cream cheese if you don't want that much,' a hot guy in jeans and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt said from the table next to me. I was taken aback, but Denise had told me that New Yorkers were known for being friendly. Besides, I was lonely, so I was thankful for the conversation.

‘Thanks. This is enough for about four bagels. It would give anyone a heart attack, wouldn't you think?'

He smiled. ‘Yes, and people wonder why there's so many fat Americans. Everything is upsized, all you can eat for $1, and a year's worth of cream cheese spread on one bagel.'

I couldn't help but laugh, showing him my humungous coffee. ‘And your small coffees are the size of our large ones. We'd call this a bucket back in Australia. No chance of any sleep with this much caffeine.'

‘That's the plan – this is the city that never sleeps, didn't ya know?'

‘So I've heard.'

‘Are you here on holidays?'

‘I'm here working for a while.'

‘That's cool,' he said, suddenly looking at his watch. ‘Oh, my train's leaving soon – gotta go, but it was nice to talk to you.' He got up and wiped his table over with a serviette. ‘Welcome to New York.' He smiled as he walked off.

I couldn't believe how friendly people were. I didn't know what Dad was worried about really. I already felt comfortable.

I crossed the road from the station and went into Duane Reade; it was a pharmacy the size of a small department store. I strolled aisle after aisle, upstairs and downstairs, and was fascinated by the range of hair products for African-American women. There was a whole section of ‘relaxers' and straighteners. I'd never seen anything like it back home. Like the over-abundance of cream cheese on my bagel, everything in Duane Reade was also en masse; there were so many varieties of Tylenol it took me almost ten minutes to find the one I was looking for.

On the way back to the hotel I found a phone store and secured a cheap plan that would allow me to call the girls and family often and not break the bank. I was getting myself organised for life in New York.

I was hallucinating by the time I got back to the hotel. I finally understood what jet lag meant. I made it to my room just in time to get out of my clothes and collapse on the bed. When I woke up it was night, and the lights of the city were beaming into my room. I stood at the full-length window in awe of the colours. I could see the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building – the whole scene was beautiful.

I turned on the telly and switched from station to station, amazed at the number of channels and shows. I stopped on
The Daily Show
; I liked the look of the host, handsome in a comic way, and funny too. I ordered room service – a green salad and piece of New York Cheesecake.

I watched TV with my laptop resting on the bed and finally logged on to Adam's MySpace to catch up on his movements. He had some new action shots on there from his most recent game. They'd lost 24–12 to the Parramatta Pythons. I knew Adam would be furious about that and decided to send an email of support. It was something I could do once a week, just to keep reminding him of how I was always there for him, and so he could remember what he was missing. As soon as I sent the email, though, including my details in New York, I knew I'd emailed myself into my own pathetic corner – the one where I'd wait for him to respond.

And so I did, for three hours. I checked and rechecked but no messages from Adam at all. I received emails from the girls:

From Libby:

From Denise:

From Max:

A couple of local artists who knew I was coming to New York had dropped me a welcoming line as well. Following Libby's suggestion I changed my profile song and so I had Frank Sinatra belting out the tune as I read comments on my page. I started doing high kicks around my hotel room and then wondered if anyone could see me from across the city. A naked Koori girl ‘spreading the news' that she had landed in the city that never sleeps would have been an interesting sight for any voyeur. I finally logged off at midnight, annoyed with myself. Expecting anything from Adam only led to disappointment, again.

I woke up groggy at about 10 am, disturbed by the sound of housekeeping knocking on the door. I opened it, sticking only my head around, as I was naked.

‘Sorry,' I said through half-closed eyes, ‘I'm a bit jet-lagged. Can you come back in about an hour?'

‘Of course,' the staffer said.

I quickly checked my emails but there was nothing from Adam. I checked my Australian
and
my American phones – also nothing. I needed to get energised so I went to the hotel gym and ran for thirty minutes. It was all I could manage, even though I was sure the cream cheese bagel and the New York cheesecake for dinner were already making a home for themselves on my thighs.

Downstairs I said hello to Bob the concierge and showed him my ‘Lauren's New York To Do List – Day 2':

‘Okay, Lauren, take the 4, 5 or 6 train from Grand Central uptown to 103rd Street and then walk to 5th Avenue near the park and you're there.'

‘Thanks, mate,' I said.

‘No worries, mate.' And he gave me the thumbs up.

I said hello and goodbye to Barney the valet and Joe the doorman and strolled up the street feeling good about the warm weather. I ducked into the shop on the corner to grab a Red Bull, as it was too hot for coffee.

I already felt confident walking to Grand Central Terminal and couldn't believe I had been so nervous before leaving Canberra. Everything was a street or an avenue and they all ran in numerical order so it wasn't that hard to follow. Even for someone like me, the country bumpkin.

Not wanting to act over-confident I double-checked at the information booth for the line I needed to get to 5th Avenue and the museum. The information officer politely confirmed Bob's directions and handed me yet another map. I was becoming the ‘map lady'.

I headed to the platform, following the crowds and the signs, and was anxious as I took an escalator down. I breathed deeply and I didn't stand too close to the tracks, in fact a metre back from the painted yellow line. I started to feel claustrophobic being underground, and among so many people. How would we get out if there were an emergency? Like flying in the sky, it really wasn't normal to be travelling under the city. It was stifling hot, like there was no air. What if there was an accident or a terrorist attack? We'd all be stuck under the ground with no easy escape. I'd never even been in the Sydney Harbour tunnel or the M5 tunnel, even though the M5 tunnel knocks about twenty minutes off the Canberra to Sydney drive. Mum and Dad just laughed when I made them drive the long way up to the airport. ‘It's not normal to be driving under the sea or the earth,' I tried to tell them. And it was exactly what I was thinking as I boarded the train.

I sat nervously, unsure of train etiquette and concerned about getting off at the right stop. I tried not to look too much like a tourist and hid my many maps in my bag. I glanced around the train for anything or anyone that looked suspicious and laughed to myself, knowing Dad would have thought it was
all
suspicious. I read and re-read the ‘Emergency Evacuation Information' in the carriage. The sign was near a young man's head. I think he thought I was staring at him as he smiled big and gave a nod of acknowledgement.

But then I did stare – at a middle-aged woman who kept sniffing her hands and her fingers. She was strange. Actually, lots of people looked strange in New York, but I liked the strangeness. It made Canberra seem even blander by comparison. Everything about New York was antithetical to Canberra. People looked busy in New York. They moved faster down the street. They smiled more. They talked to strangers as friends, they talked to themselves. Men smiled at you in the street. If this happened back home it would be thought odd. If you were alone and mumbling and didn't have a bluetooth gadget attached to your ear, then you'd be crazy. Not in New York. People were just people.

The carriage wasn't full. There was no-one standing and there were free seats, but I still felt closed in. Sweat started forming on my upper lip and I was hot and wheezy. I almost lost my breath when I saw someone familiar-looking opposite me. He caught my eye and smiled. It was a smile I recognised. And a neck too. I couldn't help but stare at him.

We finally reached my stop and I got off the train, fought my way through the turnstiles and found myself up on the street again. I breathed in lungfuls of relief.

I walked three blocks to 5th Avenue and then up the stairs to the Museum of the City of New York. Libby and Denise thought it would be the best place to get some background about the city before I hit the galleries and other museums. I smiled as I was greeted by volunteers just inside the huge doors, and went to check out the Greening New York exhibit, which outlined the city's plan for making life in New York sustainable even if the population grew by a million more people by 2030. The exhibit went through a day in the life of a New Yorker, and the environmental impact each person in the city has. I was amazed to learn that one billion gallons of water were pumped throughout NYC's five boroughs every day. I hadn't even known what a borough was before then.

Moving to the next exhibit on the relationship between Paris and New York, I enjoyed the showcase on two international expositions – one in Paris in 1925 and one in New York in 1939/40 – and the evolution of the skyscraper. I had already been excited about going to the Rockefeller Center and ice-skating when winter came. I had seen some pictures on tour brochures at the hotel and in my Lonely Planet and it looked romantic lit up of a night. But I didn't know that the French also loved the building because it was designed by a confirmed Francophile, John D. Rockefeller Sr.

A guy in a black fitted tee and jeans walked passed me as I left the exhibit. From behind he was the image of Adam. The same height, the same thick brown hair, the same broad shoulders and grabbable arse in jeans. His biceps looked massive like Adam's did in a T-shirt as well. I followed him into a new exhibit – something about theatre in New York – without even thinking, just trying to see his face.

I stopped and glanced at him as we both paused to read about African–American theatre at the same time. He caught my eye and I swung immediately to the text, focusing hard on the words. It said that
A Trip to Coontown
, a show put on in 1898, was the first full-length musical written, performed and produced by African Americans – Bob Cole of Georgia and Billy Johnson.

‘Interesting, isn't it,' Black Tee guy said, with a huge white smile. I'd noticed many Americans had really good teeth and wondered if it was a symbol of the wealthy and healthy in society.

‘Yes, it reminds me of some Black theatre we have back home.'

‘Are you South African?'

‘No, Australian, Aboriginal Australian. We refer to ourselves as Black, with a capital B.'

‘Ah, the Aborigines. I've seen
Crocodile Dundee
. Can you tell time by the sun too?'

‘No, I rely on Dolce & Gabbana for the time.' And I held up my watch.

‘You're funny. That's sexy.'

I immediately felt uncomfortable.

‘Have you checked out the Ray Mortenson exhibition Broken Glass?' he asked me. ‘It's got photographs of the South Bronx.'

‘Thanks, I will.' I walked off, but I couldn't help looking behind me and found Black Tee was looking back at me too. I was distracted to the point of walking into a group of schoolkids and near knocked one over.

I was so worried about giving off the wrong impression that I didn't even know how to talk to straight men any more. I didn't flirt back in Canberra because I had always considered myself in a relationship with Adam, and most of the guys I worked with in the arts were gay, so there wasn't even any fun flirting at work. I just didn't know how to react to the rush of male attention that I'd already experienced on my second day in New York.

My feet were killing me by the time I left the museum, and jet lag had kicked in. I couldn't face the underground so I got in a cab; they were so much cheaper than back home. The driver didn't speak to me at all, but he talked the whole way back to the hotel, on his mobile. I watched the small television screen in the back of his seat, fascinated by the technology available in New York cabs.

Back at the hotel I logged in and checked Adam's page because I felt guilty about flirting with the Black Tee guy, but I needn't have. Adam had a whole new swag of busty women posting half-naked shots on his page. Why was I even worried about a few words with a stranger, when we were both fully clothed? Nothing had changed at Adam's end and I owed him nothing. I took a nap and woke up at 8 pm. Times Square was the next thing on my list, so I got dressed and went downstairs.

I introduced myself to another guy at the concierge desk.

‘It's safe to get the underground at this time, Lauren, and you can get it back too. People are riding them late into the night,' Raph said from behind the desk.

‘I'll see how I feel. I'm still a bit knocked around with the time difference, and boy, the heat is exhausting, isn't it.'

I felt flustered on the train but didn't have to go that far. I walked around Times Square and the lights were breathtaking. There were so many lights and billboards and neon signs: Planet Hollywood, Kodak, LG,
The Lion King
. I took my camera out and photographed all the signs and couldn't stop smiling, but it would have been so much better to have someone to share it with.

I was hungry and kept walking, trying to find the right place to stop. I had to have a slice of pizza as per Libby's list, but walking along 7th Avenue I was confused. Every cafe claimed to serve ‘the best coffee in NYC' and similarly, every pizza and bagel house sold ‘World Famous Pizza / Bagels'. I didn't know where to stop for my slice.

Finally I stopped at John's Pizzeria on 44th Street, which was in a deconsecrated church. They didn't serve pizza by the slice and I had to buy a whole one for myself, but I somehow managed to eat it, and wash it down with a beer. I made sure the beer was Bud Light, because it was low calorie.

Back at the hotel I emailed Libby and Denise to fill them in on the day's events and thank them for my lists.

Libby emailed back:

There was still no email from Adam.