Manhattan Dreaming, page 9
‘Don’t be sorry – just give me one minute.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said to the man and woman next to me. I was embarrassed and didn’t want any more attention drawn to me.
The flight attendant was back within minutes.
‘I’m going to move you to an exit row. There’s more space, and a spare seat between you and the other passenger.’ She grabbed my laptop and my carry-on case from the overhead locker, and I crawled out of my seat mumbling an apology.
‘This happens a lot, Miss Lucas. Don’t be embarrassed. Next time when you check in be sure and tell them that you’re an anxious flyer, then we can look after you properly, okay?’
In my new seat I breathed deeply and closed my eyes. I had a million things going through my mind. I still felt sniffly from all the crying I’d done at the airport and my heart was breaking at leaving Adam behind. I hadn’t even had time to call or send a text before I left. It didn’t feel right, I didn’t feel right.
The captain’s voice came back over the loudspeaker. ‘While we are refuelling please do NOT have your seatbelts fastened. I repeat, do not have your seatbelts fastened while we are refuelling the plane.’ I looked around me to see if anyone else was confused by this announcement. What did refuelling the plane have to do with not having seatbelts on? I convinced myself it was because if there was an emergency with the refuelling we would have to escape quickly and seatbelts would just slow everyone down. What other reason could there be? I wanted to ask someone to tell me why, because I felt more and more nervous, but no one else seemed worried so I just let it go and shut my eyes. I felt a hot tear streak down my left cheek and I didn’t even bother to wipe it away. Tears were the best water for your face, my mum used to tell me when I cried.
It seemed like forever before we took off and I was silently praying that there were no holes in the plane and that we got safely to Los Angeles. I started to think about Adam, trying to focus on pleasant memories, and I started to calm down. I soon dozed off, waking as the meals were being served, and I was starving. I never liked airline food, and having such a sweet tooth and eating the best pastries in Canberra, airline desserts could never measure up for me. For the first time ever, I had a little bottle of wine with my dinner, and toasted myself for being brave enough to go to New York.
When all the post-dinner queues for the bathrooms were gone I finally stood up and stretched. I was concerned about DVT, and hadn’t really done enough of the seated exercises. I wanted to do a lap of the plane and was glad the hotel I was staying in had a gym so I could get on a treadmill as soon as possible after I arrived.
The smell of the airline toilet nearly made me sick, the disinfectant was so strong. I hated public toilets at the best of times, but on a plane with no ventilation it was a nightmare, and I cursed the grubby man before me who’d left the seat up. I got the desperate urge to wash my hands and I pushed the soap dispenser so hard it came right off its wall hinges and fell straight into the garbage unit below.
As I rummaged in the bin, fishing for the soap dispenser, I was glad Libby wasn’t with me. I knew she’d be thinking I was a country bumpkin who couldn’t even survive a 747 bathroom. There was a knock on the door, ‘Everything okay in there?’ It was the flight attendant. I washed and dried my hands and walked out. ‘All okay, thank you.’
For a while I sat and tried to watch a movie. I was so tired from all the lead-up to the trip that I really had to sleep, but there was a baby that just wouldn’t stop crying. Libby used to freak out when we flew if a baby was crying. ‘If I wanted to listen to a screaming baby I would have one myself!’ she would say, loud enough to embarrass the parents and me at the same time. ‘Babies cry,’ I would tell her. Libby reckoned she was going to write to Richard Branson and ask him to start up a ‘no-children’ airline.
I tried to read the in-flight magazine, but I was too antsy to sit still and concentrate, so I pulled out my iPod and listened to all the new music Max had uploaded onto it. The sounds of Blackfellas singing about culture, land, history, relationships, politics and the future soothed me. The songs carried me to my dreaming tracks back home, and I knew they would carry me safely to America, just like Libby had said.
I was relieved to finally arrive in New York. It was good to have my feet on the ground after spending too many hours in the sky. As I walked out of the customs area at JFK I struggled with my trolley, which was piled high with two big red suitcases, my red wheel-aboard, my laptop and my handbag. It was so much easier back in Sydney with extra hands.
I was weary from the flight, and anxious at the same time about being alone. I was on the verge of tears again but sighed with relief when I saw a black-suited man holding a sign with my name on it. Emma had organised a car to meet me. I didn’t feel like a VIIP but more like a rock star as the black town car pulled out of Terminal 7 and drove to my hotel. I liked sitting in the back of the huge car with its tinted windows and air-conditioning that blocked out the stifling summer day.
‘Are you in the movies, ma’am?’ the driver asked me as he peered in his rear-view mirror.
I laughed. ‘Oh no, far from it.’
‘You look like a movie star.’
I was wearing black pants and a sleeveless black top with big black-framed sunglasses Libby had made me buy. I felt like a big blow-fly.
‘I think it’s just the big glasses, they kind of make anyone look that way. I’m just a girl from the country really.’
‘Are you from South Africa?’
‘No, Australia.’
‘Oh, you’re an Ossie. I’ve seen Crocodile Dundee.’
‘Yes, it was big here, I’ve heard.’
‘You’ve got a lot of luggage, like a movie star.’
‘I’m going to be here for a while, so I brought as much as I could carry.’
‘So, your husband is here?’
I felt sad at that question. ‘No, I don’t have a husband.’
‘Don’t men marry beautiful women in your country?’
‘Apparently not.’ I liked the cheeky driver.
‘Surely every Ossie man can’t be that intimidated by a beautiful woman.’
‘Apparently so.’ I was getting embarrassed by the compliments, but assumed it was standard repartee between drivers and female passengers. After all, Libby had told me that everyone in the US is sugary sweet because they’re working for tips.
‘Actually, I’m going to work at the National Museum of the American Indian.’
‘Yeah, there used to be Indians here, but they’re all gone now.’
‘Really? There’s plenty on staff at the Smithsonian.’
The conversation seemed to die down at that point and I took the opportunity to finally turn my BlackBerry on to see if there were any text messages.
The first was from Libby, saying:
Hope u arrived safely. Miss u already, cya soon. Have fun! Dont txt back, 2 exy, Skype wen ur settld. Xx Libs
There was a message from Emma, too:
Car will be at airport. Email me when you’ve settled. I’ll call you next week. Have fun. Emma
And one from Max:
Mum said 2 call reverse charges when u arrive. Dad said it’s OKAY!! Burnouts are fun! Luv ya M
There was nothing from Adam even though I’d emailed him my itinerary before I left. Maybe he hadn’t got my email. I looked at my phone and contemplated logging on to the web while we drove, but having run up a massive phone bill back home, I knew it would be financial suicide to do the same in America. I’d already checked that the hotel had wireless so I could log in as soon as I got to my room, and resend the message from there.
I peered out the window and looked in awe at the size of the city, the amount of traffic and all the yellow taxis. The yellow cabs alone gave New York more colour than anything ever could in Canberra, except maybe Floriade in Spring. I could feel the adrenalin rush begin. It finally hit me: I was in New York New York.
As I got out of the car at the United Nations Millennium Plaza Hotel, the sun hit my face. It was like a heat wave compared to the frosty Canberra weather I’d just left behind. I felt colour come back into my cheeks almost immediately.
‘Hello, how are you?’ The valet greeted me as though we were old friends.
‘I’m good, thank you, how are you?’ I thought perhaps that’s how they greeted all their guests.
‘I’m wonderful, thank you. It’s good to see you again, welcome back.’
‘Oh, you must have me confused with someone else. This is my first time here.’
‘Really? You look just like a woman who comes here often from England.’
‘Sorry, but it’s not me.’
‘Don’t be sorry, she’s beautiful too. It’s a compliment that you look like her.’
‘Well, thank you for the compliment then.’ I giggled like a young girl. A movie star from England, that’s who I looked like. I was already having fun.
As I stood in the lobby waiting to check in I was conscious of the energy in the air. I saw people from around the globe in sarongs and saris, burkas and business suits and speaking dozens of different languages. They were in huddles plotting their day, greeting each other, saying goodbyes. Some carried laptops, others folders and clip-boards, one had a guide-dog, and quite a few had cameras. For work or pleasure, everyone in New York was like a tourist on holidays.
Libby said I should’ve stayed Downtown or near Central Park or somewhere more touristy, but Emma wanted me in the same hotel as the artist showing at the UN, just in case he needed something, and so we could talk about a potential exhibition at the NAG in 2011. Tony Anum was from Kununurra and doing lino-cut designs that were already gaining popularity on the international scene. Logistically it was easier to have me travel to New York earlier than try to get me up to the Kimberley for a meeting before I left. We’d spoken briefly before leaving Australia but we’d never met.
I looked at the growing number of people entering the hotel and wondered what everyone else was doing there. Were they diplomats or consular guests or UN members? I felt like I was among some very important people, some real VIPs.
The longer I stood in reception and saw the smorgasbord of cultures represented, the more I got excited about meeting new people in New York. Canberra seemed like an entire planet away, not just half a world.
My junior suite on the twenty-eighth floor was furnished with sleek modern pieces in a light-coloured wood. There was a small round glass-top coffee table and bright scatter cushions that would look perfect in our flat back in Manuka. I walked straight to the full-length windows and gasped at the spectacular views of the East River. I couldn’t wait for it to get dark so I could see all the lights of the city, and I knew I would never shut the curtains.
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:
Get photo of firemen for Libby whenever / wherever possible.
Email updates of dating opportunities regularly to Denise.
Seek out perfume / make-up bargains.
Look for potential art projects / partnerships.
Stay away from footballers of any description.
And then I looked at my ‘Lauren’s New York To Do List – Day 1’:
Go to Grand Central Station and get a MetroCard.
Have a bagel with cream cheese – this is VERY New York.
Go to Duane Reade or Rite Aid for ‘Tylenol PM’ to help you sleep.
Get an AT&T phone – email Libby, Emma, Denise and your family new phone details.
Don’t talk to strangers unless they are firemen.
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.
