Manhattan Dreaming, page 8
‘I bet they don’t have rock salt squid like this, though, and pass me that san dong chicken, please.’
‘Drink up.’ Denise refilled our wineglasses.
‘Yes, drink up,’ I said, holding my glass up to say cheers.
We spent the next hour eating and chatting until the serving dishes were all empty.
‘I’m so full,’ I said, pushing my bowl as far away from me as possible.
‘Now, we drink cocktails.’ Libby could eat and drink like no-one else I knew.
‘No, I can’t. I’m going to be sick as it is. Really, I have to finish packing tomorrow.’
‘Packing schmacking, we’re having cocktails – we’re not going to see you for a year. Come.’ Denise dragged me across Northbourne Avenue to the Kremlin bar, where we were greeted by doorman in uniforms that made them look like firemen.
‘I’m on fire,’ Libby said sleazily as we entered the dark space.
‘Scrubba dub dub, three firemen in a tub,’ Denise added.
‘Oh, you girls really are on fire, aren’t you? I’m glad I’m going to New York, you’re both bad news, really.’
Several drinks later I was so tired I could’ve made my bed on the couch there and then.
‘Who can manage to drink one more Soprano?’ Libby asked.
‘I CANNOT drink another cocktail. Actually, I can’t drink anything at all. Please, I want to lie down.’
‘You drink or we go to Mooseheads.’ Denise was surprisingly chipper and I wondered if we were all drinking the same amount.
‘No-one’s going to Mooseheads. It’s dodgy and full of bogans,’ Libby said sternly.
‘You’re a boganist,’ Denise told her.
‘Yes, I am. Let’s just go back to Manuka, have a cocktail at Caph’s.’
Back at Caph’s, Denise and Libby ordered strawgasms and I had a peppermint tea. Depression was setting in. I wouldn’t be saying goodbye to Adam properly before I left. I could feel tears well and took my glasses off and rubbed my eyes as if I were just tired. I didn’t really want to leave the country having not made peace, but I had no choice.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Libby slurred. ‘You need a strawgasm, let me buy you a strawgasm, please.’
‘No, I can’t, really.’
‘It’s a going-away present. Waiter, I need a moregasm strawgasm please, for my sad, bad, mad friend here. She’s going to New York New York and leaving me alone here on this barstool.’ The waiter looked at me and I shook my head and mouthed the words: ‘No more drinks for her.’ He smiled and winked back.
‘Why don’t I bring you a special drink on the house, with more straw than gasm.’
‘Good-oh.’
The waiter walked off and Libby’s eyes followed him.
‘I’m scared, Libs.’
‘Why, tidda? What you scared for?’
‘It’s New York City, there’s like fifty million people there.’
‘There’s just over eight million,’ Denise corrected me.
‘Well that’s sixteen times more than Canberra and hell knows how many more than Goulburn.’
‘Ah, but it’s a bigger place, so more room for all those Yankee Doodle Dandies.’
‘It’s just I’ve got five days before I move into the apartment after I arrive, and I don’t want to bother Kirsten before then either. She seems like she’s got heaps on her plate as it is.’
‘I’m sure Kirsten will be thrilled to have another Blackfella in the city with her. How lonely do you reckon she’s been the last couple of years? I reckon you should call her as soon as you arrive. Maybe send her an email in the next few days and line something up.’
Libby was practical, even when she’d had too many drinks.
‘And,’ she said, rummaging through her huge tote, ‘I’m going to help you work out a schedule of things to do until you start work, so you can get a feel for the city and the subway.’
‘What? Not now, it’s two in the morning. Let’s do it tomorrow.’ I was ready to leave.
‘You’re right, too late for scheduling meetings. Waiter!’ Libby clicked her fingers and the waiter came over. ‘I need a multiple strawgasm, please, with extra strawberries and double gasms, pretty please.’ The waiter looked at me for approval. I nodded and mouthed, ‘Half everything.’
‘Are you flirting with that waiter? If I didn’t know better I’d say you fancy him,’ Denise said to Libby.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m on a man-fast, forever!’
‘Me too then!’ I said.
‘Me three!’ Denise raised her glass.
‘You girls are mental. It’s seven-thirty, why aren’t you in bed? And why am I the only one who ever has a hangover?’
‘Sit, drink mocha, listen,’ Denise ordered.
The kitchen table was covered with maps of New York City and tour books and butchers paper covered with what looked like lists being created.
‘I’m working out which touristy sites are where, so we can narrow down sections of the city you can do a day at a time.’ Denise put a mug in front of me.
‘And I’m working out the main sites you have to see before you start work, and what you have to leave until I arrive,’ Libby said.
‘Okay, where are you up to then?’ I was intrigued.
‘I’ll be there in winter, so we’ll skate in Central Park. I want to go to Ellis Island and of course the Statue of Liberty. We need to do Macy’s and Century 21 and 5th Avenue, naturally –’
‘Naturally,’ Denise and I echoed.
‘We can walk from Bergdorf Goodman to Tiffany’s, Brooks Brothers, Givenchy, Cartier and then do Saks.’ Libby was so excited anyone would have thought she was moving to New York.
‘Have you been given a massive pay rise that I don’t know about, Libs? Because there’s no way we’re ever going to be able to afford to shop in those places.’
‘I know that, but what a novelty, two Kooris strolling from Central Park along 5th Avenue. It will just be fun. It’s free to dream.’
‘Thank god for that, because otherwise we’d be running up some serious dream debt here.’
Libby was treating the exercise like work, flicking through a travel guide and making notes at the same time. Without looking up she said, ‘I’ll get online soon and look at what’s showing on Broadway, because let’s face it, the Canberra Theatre is never going to do Phantom of the Opera like Broadway will.’
‘I am sooooo jealous, you guys. A teacher’s wage will never get me to New York, not in this lifetime.’
‘Sorry, love, but as I was saying,’ Libby laughed, ‘I want to do the horse and carriage ride through Central Park. But if you want to it with some gorgeous Yankee before I get there, that’s cool, you can do it again with me.’
‘I’ll be back before I have time to do all that.’
‘Oh, I forgot!’ Libby nearly jumped out of her seat.
‘What?’ Denise and I echoed again.
‘We HAVE to do the Empire State Building. I’ll be looking for the ghosts of Cary Grant and Tom Hanks for sure.’
‘Oh, it could be a bit crowded with all those ghosts, don’t you reckon?’ I tried to make light of it but I couldn’t tell Libby that she wasn’t part of my plan for the Empire State Building. I sat back and watched the girls comparing lists and maps and started to feel sad again.
‘Brooklyn she should probably do with a local. We should just focus on Manhattan at this stage, okay?’ Libby was advising Denise and I was just an observer.
‘I need to go finish packing.’ I walked out of the kitchen and left the girls to it. In my room I had a pile of clothes for St Vinnie’s, a bag of clothes for my cousin Terri, half-a-dozen odd socks, and old magazines and other recyclables in a box ready for the bin. My room was a mess. I opened another drawer and found three cards from Adam: one for my birthday, one for Christmas and one postcard from when he went to Hawaii for a holiday. I sat on my bed and felt a hot rush of disappointment and emotion. I couldn’t bring myself to put them in the recycle box and slipped them inside the book beside my bed.
Denise suggested I sublet my room for twelve months so all I had to clear out were my clothes and knick-knacks. On the day I left I was emotional about leaving my beautiful Manuka home and my mate behind. But Denise was so full of excitement for me it was impossible to be sad. She helped put almost everything in my little Charade, and what didn’t fit we piled into Libby’s car. ‘Don’t be a stranger around here, Libs.’ Denise hugged Libby.
‘Are you kidding? Now miss goody-two-shoes is going, we can get into some serious partying.’ Libby smiled and winked at Denise so that I could see.
‘All right, it’s not like I expected you to stop hanging out because I wasn’t here, but can you at least pretend you’re going to miss me? Please!’ I tried hard not to cry as Denise hugged me. Libby revved her car loudly.
‘I better go. I’ll text you as soon as I land.’ Libby followed me back to Goulburn and stayed at Mum and Dad’s overnight, coming to the airport to say goodbye the next day.
‘Why would you even bother coming all the way to Sydney to see me off? It’s really not necessary.’
‘To make sure you get on the bloody plane, that’s why.’
Dad took us all to the Paragon for dinner; it was where we always went on special occasions – birthdays, anniversaries, new jobs, leaving jobs, family reunions – but mostly I went there on Sunday afternoon for cake and coffee. It was our traditional place, just like it was for most Goulburnians.
Libby and Max had a great time talking about me going away.
‘Yeah, I get to do burnouts in the little blue Charade for the next twelve months. The fellas in the footy club will probably flog me for driving such a woosy car, though.’
I interrupted. ‘You have a problem with the Charade, do you? And what are you driving right now, oh brother of mine.’
Dad laughed a big belly laugh trying to get the words out. ‘He’s driving your Mum’s Fiesta when she’s not using it.’ And then he got serious. ‘Or I have to drive him everywhere.’
‘I rest my case.’ I was glad that Dad was holding his tongue about me going away. I knew he still felt the same, but Mum must’ve warned him.
We filled up on huge meals, which included the chips that came with almost every dish on the menu. I would miss the Paragon: Dad with his standard mixed-grill, Mum with her after-dinner Jamaican coffee, me and my Mars Bar cheesecake. The pendant lighting, brown vinyl chairs and laminated tables weren’t fancy but they were part of my family history, my life in Goulburn, just as much as Rambo was.
Max left the table without excusing himself and walked out of the restaurant, but before I had a chance to say anything, locals were coming up to us and saying hello, wishing me well – they’d read something in the Goulburn Post about my fellowship to the US. Dad seemed suddenly proud of his daughter heading off to the Big Apple he once loathed.
Max came back into the restaurant with a huge box. Inside were a whole lot of gifts Mum had picked up at the Big Merino: Billie Goat Soap, ugh boots, a chocolate brown merino mink hat with matching gloves, and a gorgeous pashmina.
‘I love the pashmina, Mum – it’s really stylish and good quality,’
‘And it’s fire resistant,’ Max said. ‘I read about it at the shop.’
‘Good, don’t want to catch on fire,’ I said, smiling at Libby, knowing she’d be thinking of firemen immediately.
‘And it’s natural, biodegradable and sustainable, just like you, my sista.’ Max was a kind brother when he wasn’t being a joker.
‘Ahuh! You are going to miss me.’
‘What else is in the box, Mum?’ Max tried to change the subject.
I pulled out a stuffed toy Merino sheep that baaaa-ed when pushed in the stomach.
‘That’s from Nick,’ Mum said. ‘He wanted to give you something fun as a reminder of home and of him.’
I swallowed a lump of regret that I wouldn’t be seeing him for a year.
‘And this one is from me.’ There was no box, or wrapping, just a paper bag that Max handed me to open.
‘This is MY iPod! Where did you get it, and why are you giving it back to me?’ Everyone started to laugh.
‘Seriously, sis, you really needed to update your tunes, so I put on some of the latest deadly Blackfella music so you won’t get too homesick, eh?’
‘I think that will make me even more homesick.’
‘See, men just can’t win,’ Dad said to Max.
‘Yeah, not even brothers!’
I stuck the ear piece in and scrolled through the albums he had saved: Sharnee Fenwick, The Last Kinection, Charlie Trindall, Street Warriors, Munkimuk, Radical Son, Emma Donovan, Shauntaii, Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu and Jessica Mauboy.
‘This is too deadly, dear brother, but you know with the hip hop music thing, I could never get into that crimping move.’
‘Sis, it’s called crumping. And you wonder why we don’t hang out together.’
‘Come here.’ I grabbed him and gave him a huge hug but he resisted as best he could. He was his father’s son.
We all got up early in the morning to head to Sydney. Dad was standing at the kitchen sink drinking a cup of coffee and I went and hugged him. He gave me an envelope and said, ‘Mum said to buy yourself something from Marcie’s.’ I knew he meant Macy’s.
‘You don’t have to do this, Dad.’ I got teary.
‘C’mon now, you can’t be crying today, your mum won’t cope.’ We both knew it was him who wouldn’t cope.
‘And you might want to buy something from Marcie’s for your mum too, or else she’s gonna be on my back about going to New York, and there ain’t no way I’m flying to America. No way.’
‘I’ll get something from Marcie’s for Mum, no worries.’
I could’ve taken a domestic flight to Sydney and then boarded the international flight to New York, but I wanted to do the road trip with Mum and Dad, to see the countryside before I left. They were going to Aunty Sonia’s after they dropped me off and Libby was going to check out the latest exhibition at the Yiribana Gallery before they’d all drive back later that afternoon.
‘Kooris’ll drive three hours for a cuppa,’ Mum used to say.
As we drove slowly along Auburn Street, I took in my last view of the pergola in Belmore Park and saw a couple having their wedding photos done. I swung my head from one side of the car to the other looking at the shops and wondering what new businesses would pop up while I was away. I made Dad cruise past the Regional Art Gallery and I could feel homesickness already set in.
Inside the international terminal at Mascot Airport, Dad manoeuvred the trolley with my two big red cases, strategically piled on top of each other, while I carried my laptop and Libby took my wheel-aboard suitcase. The air buzzed with emotion as families, friends and colleagues prepared for pending departures and sad farewells. Dad was jittery, Mum was flapping about, running through a checklist of things I should have in my hand-luggage – clean underwear, toiletries and so on – and Libby had her arm linked in mine as we walked. We all stopped at the area leading into customs. It was time to say goodbye.
‘Now don’t be ringing us reverse charges all the time, okay?’ Dad joked.
‘Don’t listen to your father, call whenever you need to,’ Mum countered.
‘And don’t talk to strange men.’
‘Yes, Dad.’
‘In fact, don’t talk to anyone. And buy some of that mace stuff to spray in their faces, but don’t get any in your own.’
‘Yes, Dad.’
‘And don’t take a drink from a stranger. I’ve seen those shows – the men over there spike drinks and then take advantage of innocent girls.’
‘Mum, can you stop him, please?’
‘Gray, stop it. The girl’s in a state as it is.’
‘Tidda, you better go, you gotta get through customs.’
Thank god Libby was there being practical, else I’d never have left. I missed her already. I started to cry the minute she hugged me, then Mum hugged me next and by the time I got to Dad I was a blubbering mess. He couldn’t handle it.
‘Stop crying, won’t it ruin that stuff you put on your eyelashes, macasa?’
‘Mascara,’ I laughed through my tears. ‘And no, it’s waterproof.’
I hugged Mum and Dad again, at the same time. We all cried some more. I almost changed my mind with the sadness of it all. How would I cope?
‘I love you,’ I sobbed, and as I wiped my face with my hands, Dad pulled a hanky from his pocket and handed it to me. How would I last in New York when I couldn’t even find myself a tissue?
‘I better go,’ I said, pulling away reluctantly. ‘I’ll call you when I land.’
Mum, Dad and Libby stood there waving me off. As I walked through the glass doors into the customs area I was feeling sick but it was too late to turn around.
I had a thousand butterflies in my stomach as I boarded the Qantas plane. I’d never been overseas before, only Canberra to Sydney or Melbourne or Brisbane and the occasional remote community. They were mostly short flights, and I was nearly always with someone else – Libby or Emma or one of our artists – for gallery meetings. I’d never seen the inside of a 747 and wondered how something so big could stay for so long in the air.
I sat in row 56 between an elderly woman clutching her bible and a chubby man who smelt like cigarettes. Within minutes I could feel beads of sweat form on my brow and it was difficult to breathe properly. I felt closed in and agitated.
‘Are you okay, love?’ the man next to me asked.
‘I can’t breathe properly – I don’t know what’s wrong.’ I started to pant.
‘I think you might be claustrophobic.’ He pushed the flight attendant button and a woman with flame-red hair and a big smile arrived quickly.
‘Is everything all right?’ She looked at the man and then at me.
‘She can’t breathe properly. I think she might be a bit claustrophobic.’
‘I’m sorry, I’ve never flown a long distance before. I’m just a bit nervous.’ I felt like I was going to throw up.
