by Ali McNamara
‘And a computer is supposed to be exciting?’ I reply, sounding horribly ungrateful. This discussion is rapidly descending into nothing more than childish bickering. ‘Do you know what?’ I say, parading back and forth across the soft carpet of the bedroom a few times. ‘If you are daft enough to listen to Maddie, and then stupid enough to decide that I’m presenting symptoms of some disease that’s only going to be cured by a holiday abroad, then really I’d be stupid to argue with you, Dr Sean, wouldn’t I?’
‘Scarlett,’ Sean says, trying to approach me again, ‘please don’t be like this.’
‘I’m not being like anything. If this is what you think is best then who am I to stand in the way of your genius idea?’ I hold out my arms in dramatic Hollywood fashion with a fake smile plastered across my lips. ‘Start spreading the news, Sean, because guess what? Scarlett is about to hit New York City!’
Seven
As the plane gathers speed along the tarmac I sit and stare out of the tiny window next to me, wondering what kind of miracle takes place to allow this great weighty object to claw its way off the ground and soar high into the air like a grand bird of prey, carrying its cargo up into the clouds and on to another world.
I’m finally on my way to New York City.
After Sean had suggested the trip, it hadn’t taken me long to book it at all. What had taken time was organising everything else. Making sure that Tammy and Leon were actually capable of looking after the business while I was away for a whole week had been my biggest worry, but Sean had said he would pop in and check on them from time to time. I doubted how often this would actually occur, knowing Sean’s hectic work schedule. But what could I do? It was either that or not go at all, and now I’d decided I wanted to visit New York – boy, was I looking forward to it!
In the few weeks that had passed since booking the flights, I’d bought new clothes suitable for a week’s sightseeing, read as many guidebooks as I could and even re-watched as many of my favourite New York-based movies as I’d had time to, to get me in the mood for the trip. I’d even broken one of my rules of never watching a Christmas movie before December so I could sit through films like Elf, Home Alone 2 and Serendipity, and now I couldn’t wait to set foot in the Big Apple.
The passenger in the seat next to me wriggles for about the tenth time that minute and in frustration I turn towards him.
‘Are you going to be like this for the next seven hours?’ I ask an agitated-looking Oscar, who’s leaning around the side of his seat peering down the aisle of the plane.
‘If we have that hot air steward looking after us for the whole flight I might become more than a little agitated, darling. Did you see him when he leaned across asking us to fasten our seat belts earlier? OMG! He’s to die for.’
‘I wondered why you were pretending to have a problem with yours. He’s OK, I guess, but I’d rather not die on this flight, thanks; I do actually want to see New York.’
Yes: my travelling companion today, and for the next week, is Oscar, who, when he’d found out that I was going to New York, had thrown his arms in the air with such vigour, and spun around on the floor with such finesse, that he could have been auditioning for a Broadway show.
‘You’re going to New York!’ he’d exclaimed. ‘On your own? How can that be?’
When I’d explained about Sean and his work, and that I was really going to visit Dad, his eyes had lit up. ‘Let’s go together, darling! And I can visit Jen while I’m there!’
As fast as Oscar’s arms had raised, my heart had sunk. Jen was not only Oscar’s sister, but Sean’s ex-girlfriend. We hadn’t ever really met properly, but I’d heard her in action in a hotel room in Paris – very long story! – and she was not the sort of person I wanted to spend any time with at all.
‘Yes, why not?’ I’d said brightly through gritted teeth. ‘It would be fantastic for you to see her again.’
And that’s how it had started.
So before I knew it I had a companion who was travelling with just as much, if not more, luggage than me. (He certainly had a bigger case of toiletries.) And as I set out on my big adventure across the Atlantic, I was very glad to have him right there beside me.
Our flight is smooth and goes past in a flash, thanks to almost a hundred movies to choose from on the in-flight entertainment system. You can start them when you want, then stop, pause and even rewind. I’m in heaven. I don’t even get a chance to listen to the playlist I’ve made on my iPod of New York-themed songs; although to be fair, I have been playing it quite a lot before leaving home. I’d been driving Sean mad with songs like Frank Sinatra’s ‘New York, New York’; Alicia Keys and Jay-Z’s ‘Empire State of Mind’ and my favourite ‘Arthur’s Theme’ from the Dudley Moore movie of the same name. It’s such a romantic tune: ‘If you get caught between the moon and New York City … the best that you can do is fall in love’.
Although Sean did raise a questioning eyebrow at me when I was singing along a bit too enthusiastically to that one …
Our parting this morning had been quite strange. It was the first time since getting together that we were going to be away from each other for so long. Sean was always the one on business trips, but only for a few days at a time, so it seemed odd for me to be the one leaving today. When I was about to climb into the taxi to head off to the airport, I was pretty sure Sean was regretting ever suggesting the idea in the first place.
‘I’ll miss you,’ he’d said, gazing down at me, gently stroking a stray piece of hair away from my eyes.
‘I’ll miss you too,’ I’d said, looking up at him. ‘It’s not too late to change your mind, you know. You could pack and catch a flight out tomorrow.’
But Sean had shaken his head. ‘No, you go. You’ll have a fine time with Oscar, and you know it.’
‘I’ll say hi to Jen for you if I see her,’ I’d said half jokingly.
‘Don’t bother,’ Sean had screwed up his nose. ‘I don’t wish to be remembered to her.’
Then Oscar had called out of the taxi window that we’d miss our flight if we didn’t hurry up, so Sean and I had kissed goodbye quickly and then we were off. The last I saw of him was as I waved out of the back of the taxi window to his disappearing figure.
Oscar spends most of the flight trying to catch the eye of the good-looking air steward, but after getting nowhere he finally gives up and falls asleep under the pages of Heat magazine, while I watch my movies in between thinking about New York and Sean. When we finally arrive at JFK Airport (even saying that is exciting), we slowly trudge along the long, winding lines with the other hundreds of travellers trying to enter the country via the immigration desks. After we’ve had our faces scanned and our fingerprints taken, it’s with relief that our passports are finally stamped and we’re allowed through to go and collect our suitcases from the baggage carousel. Where again there’s more relief when we find them safely riding round and round like weary children on a never-ending merry-go-round. We spy Oscar’s cases quickly; we can’t exactly miss their bright pink leopard print. But luckily my slightly less bold pale blue ones arrive shortly afterwards, and we’re on our way.
The heat hits me the moment I step outside the airport into the late-afternoon air. Whoa, it wasn’t like this when we’d left London, a bit damp and miserable and about fifteen degrees – here, it must be well into the high twenties.
We find the taxi rank, join the queue and shuffle forward slowly as we wait to be ushered by an attendant into one of the ever-constant stream of bright yellow taxis arriving at the airport. When it’s our turn, the taxi driver enquires as to our destination, then hoists our bags effortlessly into the boot of his cab while we load ourselves inside.
‘First time in New York?’ he asks as we set off on our journey.
‘Yes, it is, for me,’ I reply as I turn my head back around from where it’s been craning out of the window to take in every new sight and sound of the city we’ve just landed in.
‘Well the forecas
t for Memorial Day weekend is fantastic, sunny in the high eighties. What more could you want?’
Oscar and I smile at each other across the back of the cab.
‘What’s Memorial Day weekend?’ I ask. ‘Is it one of your public holidays?’
‘Yep. Boy, have you hit New York City at a great time.’ He surveys me in his rear-view mirror. ‘Single, are you?’
‘I have a boyfriend, but I’m not married. Why?’
‘Because, honey, it’s Fleet Week right now.’
Oscar and I exchange blank looks.
‘Fleet Week is held every year in the city,’ our tour-guide taxi driver continues, speaking to me. ‘It’s a tribute to our good seafaring guys and gals. Huge warships sail into the harbour, and more importantly for you,’ he pauses for a quick inspection of Oscar in his rear-view mirror, ‘and I’m guessing by the look of it, you as well, fella, you’ll be appreciating this – thousand of sailors and marines come ashore for the week, too.’
‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ Oscar squeals into my ear. ‘It’s like that episode of Sex and the City!’
‘What are you talking about, Oscar?’ Oscar was a huge Sex and the City fan. He’d already got us signed up on some bus tour of the sights à la Carrie Bradshaw and the girls while we were here.
‘The episode where Carrie, Samantha and Charlotte go to the party with all the sailors, and then Carrie ends up outside with one, but turns him down and instead tells him how much she loves Manhattan.’
I shake my head. ‘Oscar, you know far too much about that show. No, I haven’t seen that episode, I must have missed it.’
Oscar flicks his head back in disgust and holds up a hand. ‘Scarlett, you disappoint me.’
‘I’m more of a movie buff, remember?’
‘Movie buff, eh? Then have you seen On the Town?’ the cab driver asks, glancing in his mirror at me again.
I stare blankly at him.
He tuts and rolls his eyes. ‘Gene Kelly, Frank Sinatra and some other guy – never remember his name – dancing their way across New York dressed as sailors? No? Perhaps this will help you remember, then.’ The cab driver clears his throat. ‘They sing this song as the opening number to the movie …’ and from the front of our yellow cab, flying across the Queensboro Bridge into Manhattan, our driver launches into the song. ‘New York, New York it’s a helluva town / The Bronx is up, but the Battery’s down / The people ride in a hole in the groun’ …’ while on the back seat Oscar and I try to stifle our giggles.
‘So, have you seen it?’ he asks enthusiastically when he’s finished serenading us. ‘It’s a classic.’
‘That scene does ring a bell now you mention it,’ I answer politely. ‘But I’m afraid I don’t think I’ve seen the whole movie.’
‘It’s a classic Hollywood musical,’ he huffs. ‘You really haven’t lived, doll. Forget all your state-of-the-art special effects and three-D nonsense. You need to watch some Bing, Frankie and Gene, them’s ya guys.’
After that, the cab driver decides that with our poor taste in cinema viewing we’re not worth bothering about and turns on the radio, delighting in some easy-listening show tunes for the rest of the journey to the hotel, while Oscar and I delight in trying to spot some famous New York landmarks as we get ever closer to the city centre.
Eventually we pull up outside a very nice-looking hotel, with large elegant blue canopies hanging over the windows and a uniformed doorman waiting by a revolving glass door to usher the guests in and out. He rushes over to open my cab door.
‘Thank you,’ I say shyly, as I climb out feeling like a celebrity. ‘That’s very kind.’
While Oscar pays the driver, the doorman proceeds to unload our bags from the boot of the cab and onto a trolley before pushing them up a slope into the hotel, while we follow gazing about us in awe at the foyer of the Park Avenue hotel we are staying in.
Inside, it’s very tastefully decorated in shades of purple and black, and the moment we step away from the heat of the pavement (no, make that sidewalk!) it’s a calm and relaxing haven to welcome the busy, fraught traveller. As we approach the reception desk, I’m aware the doorman is still hovering. I look at Oscar and incline my head back in his direction.
‘Darling, he wants tipping,’ Oscar whispers as the receptionist comes over and Oscar begins dealing with her in his best Notting Hill manner.
‘Ah, OK … erm.’ I delve into my bag and find some dollars. I don’t know how much you tip a doorman, and I hope this will be sufficient. ‘Thanks very much,’ I say, thrusting them into his hand.
The doorman glances quickly at the notes, his eyes open wide. ‘No problem, miss. You just let me know if there’s anything you need while you’re here. Anything at all …’
‘How much did you give him?’ Oscar asks as I join him at the desk. ‘He looked mighty happy.’
‘I don’t know, I just grabbed some notes from my purse.’
‘Scarlett,’ Oscar shakes his head. The receptionist has turned away for a moment to fetch our keys. ‘It’s supposed to be a dollar a bag!’
‘Oh, I think I only had tens and twenties.’
Oscar rolls his eyes. ‘This trip will cost you a fortune, darling, if you carry on like that. You’d better get used to tipping – everyone does it here. And get used to how much, as well!’
The receptionist hands us our keys and, deciding we can handle our bags ourselves, we make our way up to our rooms. There had been some debate before we left as to whether we should share a room, but Oscar said he was prone to snoring and didn’t want to keep me awake at night. I had a feeling it was more likely that Oscar didn’t want me cramping his style if he managed to score with a good-looking New Yorker, and now we knew about Fleet Week and all the sailors being in town I was doubly glad we weren’t sharing. I imagine I’d have been constantly fed dollars to ‘go to the cinema’, like an awkward younger brother or sister you wanted out of the way for a few hours.
My room, like the rest of the hotel, is beautifully decorated; burgundy is the main colour scheme, with hints of silver, black and grey. I’ve got a double bed, a huge wardrobe and chest of drawers to store the many clothes I’ve brought with me, plus an elegant dressing table-come-desk. There’s also a small high-backed armchair in the corner of the room with a tall lamp standing next to it, and a minibar. It’s much bigger than I’d expected it to be: I’d been led to believe from reviews I’d read on the internet that New York hotel rooms were quite tiny, but this isn’t at all, it’s very roomy indeed. Oscar and I really seem to have fallen on our feet with this hotel; it’s lovely.
I’ve just finished unpacking when there’s banging on my door. I take a quick look through the peephole and see Oscar outside, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other.
‘Ready yet, darling?’ he asks as I open the door.
‘Not quite, come in for a moment.’
I’m not surprised to find that Oscar has changed outfits as he bounds energetically into my room. He’s now wearing black designer jeans with zebra-print patch pockets and a white t-shirt with a black bolt of lightning emblazoned across the chest.
‘Hurry up, sweetie. We’re in New York now, we’ve just got time to go and explore this evening! What are you going to wear?’
‘Er …’ I glance down at the jeans and Gap t-shirt I’ve travelled from London in. I suppose I should change, really.
‘Let me look in your wardrobe.’ Oscar leaps over to my newly hung wardrobe. ‘These robes are simply to die for!’ he says, pulling out one of the leopard-print bathrobes that the hotel has supplied for us. ‘The ones in my room are zebra print!’
‘They’re OK, I suppose. Different to your usual white towelling numbers.’
‘Different is good, Scarlett. When are you going to start believing that? Why be the same as everyone else when you can be unique!’
‘Well, you certainly are!’
Oscar spins around on the carpet. ‘And proud of it. Now get in this wardrobe and find a uniq
ue first-night-in-NYC outfit to wear, girlfriend. We’re going Out On The Town. And I don’t mean like that lame movie the cab driver was singing us the score to!’
When I’ve changed into what I think is an appropriate outfit – black jeans, black boots and a cowl-neck River Island top – we set off into the evening.
The doorman smiles as he holds the door open for us to leave.
‘You’ve made a friend for life, there,’ Oscar winks as we set off into the street.
Oscar, who has visited New York before to see Jennifer, leads the way down Park Avenue.
‘Ooh, what’s that?’ I ask, looking up at a large ornate building which dominates the junction at the bottom of the road.
‘That’s Grand Central Station. If you think it’s grand on the outside, wait until you go inside. Train travel back in the UK will never be the same, darling, I promise you! But not now – I’ve got more important places to take you tonight.’
As we walk along 42nd Street – just the name alone sends a little thrill through me – with bright yellow taxis constantly swarming by us like noisy canaries flying low along the street, and an equally large number of people bustling past us on the sidewalk, the reality that I’m actually in New York suddenly hits me. In wonder, I tilt my face upwards, gazing at the soaring skyscrapers above my head that seem to stretch endlessly up into the now darkening night skies, and just as quickly snap it back down again when the rest of my body suddenly collides with something round and soft.
‘I’m so sorry, officer,’ I say as an NYC policeman retrieves his cap from the sidewalk and begins dusting it down. ‘I was just looking up at the buildings.’
‘Tourist?’ he enquires, eyeing me warily.
‘Yes, I just arrived this afternoon.’
‘Well, miss,’ he says, placing his hat back on top of his thinning brown hair. ‘Let me give you a little tip while you’re here. Keep your eyes in front of you, behind you and to the side. But definitely not up above you, because there’s a lot more to worry about down here on the streets than there is up in them there skies!’
