Meet Me In Manhattan

by Claudia Carroll

  This is it, then, this is my one and only chance. So I follow him all the way to the lift and collar him.

  He hears me out, nods along a bit, then asks if I’m really sure I want to do this.

  ‘Never been more certain of anything,’ I tell him firmly, looking him straight in the eye. ‘Please trust me on this, Noel, I really think we could be onto a winner here.’

  An overlong pause where all I can hear is the sound of the blood whooshing through my temples.

  ‘Alright then,’ he eventually says, looking me up and down just as the lift door glides open. ‘In that case, why don’t you call Tony out at Channel Six and let’s see what we can set up.’

  ‘Yes, I will!’ I tell him breathlessly. ‘And thank you, you won’t regret it!’

  ‘I sincerely hope I won’t,’ is his parting shot.

  Barely even giving myself time to think and before anyone can talk me out of it, I scoot back to my desk and quickly hit the ground running.

  First I call Tony, exec producer on Tonight With … who, like all producers, answers the phone with a curt, don’t-whatever-you-do-waste-my-time ‘Yeah?’

  I pitch my idea to him and, to my astonishment, he hears me out. In full. Then after an excruciatingly long pause, he says, ‘Mmm. OK then. Suppose this could be something useful to fill that dead week in between Christmas and New Year.’

  ‘Yes!’ I tell him enthusiastically. ‘That’s exactly what I was thinking too.’

  ‘Get your notes and a rough outline to me ASAP and we’ll see what we can pencil in.’

  ‘Of course … I’m already on it …’

  ‘And Molly?’

  ‘Ehh … it’s Holly actually …’

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t think of letting me down.’

  No pressure then.

  Half an hour later, with shaking hands, particularly when I think of the credit card bill that’s about to come my way in January, it’s a done deed.

  It’s sleeting heavily on the way home, traffic has virtually come to a standstill in the city centre, so I decide, feck it, I’ll just walk home instead. Barely six in the evening and it’s already pitch-dark as I slip and slide my way down the quays. Then I remember I’ve to nip into Marks & Spencer’s because it’s my turn to do dinner tonight.

  By the time I eventually do batter my way through the crowds and finally make it to the Jervis Street Shopping Centre, the place is so packed you’d swear there was a sign in the window saying, ‘For one day only … we are giving stuff away for FREE!’ – a sight that normally turns my stomach. Because every year when the annual C-word shopping frenzy kicks in, I find myself getting disproportionately annoyed when I see hordes of people buying tat they can’t afford for people they barely like in the first place, who’ll probably end up recycling most of it anyway.

  Right now though, it’s almost like I’m having an out-of-body experience. Just the sight of mince pies ‘on special offer!’ in M&S, not to mention overpriced box sets of port and cheese, is normally enough to send me over the edge, but again … nothing. (And just as an aside, who apart from Winston Churchill actually eats port and cheese anyway?) I’m astonishing myself by actually feeling quite … calm about C-Day looming. Something I never thought I’d have said just a few short hours ago.

  Three quarters of an hour later, soaked right through and freezing cold, I finally make it home. Joy, thank God, is already here ahead of me, standing up on a chair, decorating the top of a Christmas tree, with the place looking all cosy and gorgeous. And normally the very sight of our Christmas tree is enough to send me over the edge, but not right now when I’m this distracted.

  ‘Hi!’ I beam at her, bursting into the living room and dumping the shopping down on the sofa. ‘So ask me if I’ve got any news. Go on, just ask!’

  ‘Ehh … OK,’ she says, slowly stepping down from the chair and looking at me like I’m only a few bulbs short of a Christmas tree myself. ‘Good evening, Holly. My, you’re looking remarkably chipper tonight. Anything you’d care to tell me?’

  ‘Just as well you’re sitting down, hon,’ I giggle back at her, and I swear to God, it’s the first time I’ve smiled properly in what seems like days. ‘Because you’ll never guess where I’m headed.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  It’s 23rd December. We’ve just passed the shortest day of the year and it certainly feels like it to me. I’ve got ready for this trip in such a mad, frenetic whirl of panicked energy that I could barely even tell you what I managed to fling into a suitcase. Temperatures will be sub-zero where I’m headed, and for all I know, I could have packed T-shirts, shorts and bleeding flip-flops.

  And now it’s six in the morning and suddenly I’m standing in our tiny hallway with the door open, suitcase plonked at my feet, hugging Joy goodbye for all I’m worth.

  ‘You’re really sure you don’t think I’m a complete and utter nutjob for doing this?’ I ask her in a small voice one last time, even though it’s a bit late to back out of it now. Ticket’s bought, hotel is booked and this lady’s not for turning. Whatever the outcome.

  ‘Not in the least,’ Joy yawns, shivering in her PJs with a fleece thrown around her shoulders, having hauled herself out of bed especially to come and say goodbye. ‘In fact, half of me almost wishes I could go with you, just to see that lying bastard’s face when he realizes he’s been well and truly outed.’

  Suddenly my mobile pings through with a text message.

  ‘That’s the taxi, hon,’ I tell her, grabbing my bag and doing a final check for tickets, passport, money. ‘Gotta go. This is really it.’

  ‘Now you stay good and safe,’ Joy cautions, as we give each other another tight bear hug. ‘Just remember, we have absolutely no idea who you’re dealing with here. He could turn out be a lunatic or a weirdo or an out and out psycho. I’m only ever a phone call away, so think of me like your wing woman, albeit from a distance. You’re to call me the minute you land and at regular intervals after that again, or else you know me, I’ll worry myself two stone lighter.’

  ‘You and Krzysztof just drive safely down to Limerick today,’ I grin back at her, ‘give your gorgeous family all my love and have a magical Christmas, the whole lot of you. I’ll be back before you barely even know I’ve gone and, if nothing else, I’ll certainly have a decent story to tell!’

  And so about an hour later, I’m at Dublin Airport’s terminal 2, finally having slowly inched my way to the top of the never-ending queue for check-in.

  ‘Where are you flying to this morning?’ asks the ground hostess flatly, looking red-eyed and half asleep, like she’s been on duty since 5 a.m.

  ‘New York,’ I tell her out loud and proud. Truth be told, scarcely able to believe it myself.

  Three hours later, I’ve cleared immigration and customs and am safely strapped into my seat, as a few last-minute passengers struggling with kids and buggies scramble into the seats beside me. The safety announcement is just coming on and I take one last look out the window down onto the scene below, heart hammering off my ribcage like something out of a cartoon, as the enormity of what I’m about to do really hits home.

  It’s a grey, cold, drizzly, miserable morning; your regular mid-December weather, and I’m just thanking my lucky stars to be getting out of the country in time for C-Day when, next thing, I hear a familiar ping sounding on my phone. Cursing myself for not switching the shagging thing off sooner, I unearth it from the bottom of the bag at my feet and am just about to put it on airplane mode, when suddenly a message catches my eye.

  An email, from guess who.

  From: Guy_in_the_Sky

  Well good morning to you, Holly,

  I was just a little concerned as you haven’t been in touch for a day or two now and that’s just not like you. Did you get all my emails and phone messages? Am I forgiven for letting you down so catastrophically the other evening? And the most burning question I got for you of all … will you ever agree to meet with me again?

  Thin
g is, you see, I’m scheduled to fly to Shannon this weekend, and it’s only a two hour drive from there to Dublin, so I figured if I hired a car, then I could be with you.…

  And on and on he goes with all of the usual blather and excuses and made-up plans and shite-talking. Meanwhile I just calmly sit back, feel the aircraft begin to thunder its way down the runway and smile quietly to myself.

  So you’re the one who wanted to see me, are you? Well in that case, have you got one helluva Christmas surprise headed your way.

  Absolutely everything is worked out, right down to the tiniest little detail. Thanks to Aggie at News FM, I’ve got full permission to cover this story, then report back on it as soon as Afternoon Delight goes on the airwaves right after Christmas.

  ‘It has all the makings of a fantastic feature, Holly,’ she said to me when I spoke to her about it the other day, ‘and I really think it’ll wow listeners. To catch a catfish. I love it! It’s the kind of thing women fantasize about doing and here you are, actually making it happen. My only concern is, are you really sure you want to completely sacrifice all of your holiday time to work? When will you get some time out for you? It is Christmas, after all.’

  All the more reason, I thought to myself, for me to be off this land mass and well and truly absorbed in chasing a story elsewhere. Best thing all round, believe me.

  Joy and Krzysztof have more than played their part in this too. Thanks to the pair of them and their tireless detective work in chasing up Krzysztof’s contacts, I’m fully prepped and armed with every single scrap of detailed information that I need to see my plan through.

  Game on.

  We touch down in JFK airport just after 1.30 p.m. local time and three quarters of an hour later, luggage safely collected, I’m stepping outside terminal 5 into the crisp, icy-cold air, instantly snapping me out of my jet lag and jolting me wide awake.

  Is this really happening? Am I really here?

  Thing is, you see, I’ve never been to New York before. I’ve been to Florida with my mother when I was a little girl of about ten, which is one of the most treasured memories I have. We went to Disneyland, as it happened, and to this day all I have to do is just see the famous Disney logo with a fairyland castle in the background for my heart to constrict and my eyes to instantly start welling.

  Most magical holiday I’ve ever had, without question. Looking back now, I often marvel at Mum even being able to afford a once-in-a-lifetime trip like that in the first place. After all, she was a single parent working as a chemo nurse, money must have been tight as tuppence for her and yet to Florida we went.

  But then that was her all over. Whenever she decided to do a thing, she just went for it. She was terrified of heights, too, yet even got on the roller coaster with me, the pair of us screeching our lungs out during the ride, then collapsing into helpless fits of hysterical giggles afterwards.

  ‘We did it, Holly! I don’t know how we did it, but we did!’

  ‘Mum, you were amazing! You’re like the bravest Mummy in the whole wide world!’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you, sweetheart, but I think we’ve each earned a whopper of an ice cream for ourselves after that, don’t you?’

  But after … well, after what happened, I figured I’d never even think about heading back to the States again. How could I? So instead, my summer holidays or any little weekend girlie breaks with Joy and maybe Dermot from work all tend to be short haul Ryanair hops to Italy, France or Spain. Basically wherever is hot, sunny and, more importantly, cheap.

  I grab an iconic yellow cab, give the address of my hotel and then almost gasp with astonishment as we zoom out of Queens and head over the Queensboro Bridge for Manhattan. I swear I’m like an overexcited puppy, with my head wedged in between the driver and passenger seats, just drinking in the spectacular view of the whole Manhattan skyline. I’ve seen it so many times in so many movies and TV shows that it almost looks familiar to me by now; breathtaking and beautiful and scarily impressive all at once.

  ‘I’m gonna go right out on a limb here,’ says the driver in an accent that even sounds like something straight out of a Scorsese movie, ‘and guess this is your first visit to New York, huh?’

  ‘How did you know?’ I laugh back at him.

  ‘Hey, welcome to the city!’ he smiles back at me through the rear-view mirror. ‘So let me be your personal tour guide here. OK, so to your right, you can just about make out the tip of the Empire State Building … still impresses to this day, don’t it?’

  I can’t answer him though, I’m too busy oohing and ahhing and whipping out my phone to take a quick snap of it, much to his amusement. Then, from my coat pocket, I produce a guidebook which I grabbed at a bookshop in Dublin Airport and start reading out loud from it.

  ‘Work began on construction of the Empire State in 1930 and it was officially opened by President Hoover one year later. It’s appeared in many well-known movies such as Spiderman, Sleepless in Seattle, An Affair to Remember and, most famously of all, King Kong.’

  ‘You absolutely gotta do the Empire State, honey,’ the driver tells me. ‘Everyone’s gotta have their very own New York moment up there. Take a tip from me though: go up at night, when the whole city is spread out like a carpet one hundred floors below you. It’s very special, trust me.’

  ‘That’s a definite!’ I tell him, ‘I wouldn’t miss out on that for the world.’ Though considering the mission I’m here on, I’m guessing a ‘New York moment’ for me at the top of it might probably be a tad optimistic.

  ‘You know something, lady?’ Chatty Driver yaks away. ‘People get so jaded in this town, it sure is refreshing to see your own city through someone else’s eyes. Hey, take a look to your left now, because we got a great view of the Chrysler Building just coming up.’

  Yet again, I can’t help gasping. The top of the Chrysler is made of brass and the bright wintry sun is reflecting off it, making it shine like a golden beacon. Just stunning.

  ‘So you here for the holidays?’ Chatty Driver asks.

  ‘Yup, that’s right.’

  ‘Got family here? Friends?’

  ‘No, neither I’m afraid.’

  ‘You mean you’re here all alone for Christmas?’ he says, turning to look right at me now.

  ‘Let’s just say,’ I smile back at him, trying my best to sound enigmatic, ‘that I’ve come here to surprise someone.’

  My hotel is a three-star, last-minute budget job, care of TripAdvisor. In fact, so cheap was the deal that I’m half expecting my lovely taxi driver to drop me off at a YWCA where I’m expected to share a room and a communal sink with five total strangers from the Ukraine for the next four days. So when we pull up outside the Roosevelt Hotel on swishy Madison Avenue, I can’t quite believe I’m actually in the right place.

  Because this hotel is nothing short of glorious. It’s a massive art-deco building dating all the way back to the Jazz Age, with a whole team of doormen in capes and peaked caps just waiting outside to take my pathetic one piece of luggage upstairs and constantly saying, ‘Welcome to the Roosevelt Hotel,’ over and over again.

  ‘You have a great trip, Irish lady!’ says the taxi driver as I over-tip him just for making me feel so welcome. I step inside the hotel and my jaw drops when I see the massive sweeping staircase just in front of me. Up I go to the foyer at the very top and there’s a crystal chandelier there that you could comfortably swing three grown men off, it’s that huge. To the left is a lobby bar, with a baby grand piano tinkling out ‘Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town’, a song that would normally make me want to impale myself on the top of the Empire State, but somehow, not right now. Not when I’m a woman on a mission.

  And then – ahhhh – there’s the hotel centrepiece: the Christmas tree; one so giant that it reaches all the way up to the highest point of this enormous ceiling and is exquisitely decorated in just one colour, a vivid scarlet red. For a split second, I find myself wishing I wasn’t alone here right now. I wish Joy or one
of the gang from work were with me, so we could ooh and ahh and enjoy everything together. Just so I could have someone to share all this with.

  Well, there’s always next time, I tell myself. Because something about this incredibly vigorous, vibrant city just tells me this won’t be my only visit. In fact, I don’t just know it, I feel it.

  Anyway, I check in and am allocated a lovely single room on the eighteenth floor, a wee bit on the small side, but then my trusty guidebook tells me space is the one thing that’s at a premium in this city, so all hotel rooms tend to be cramped. I unpack the few things I managed to fling into my suitcase before leaving home, then take a lightning-quick shower just to freshen up. That much done, I change into a warm, cream woolly jumper and jeans, making sure to wear my good black boots that give me that critical extra three inches of height, for confidence if nothing else. One lightning-quick layer of make-up and I’m ready to do what I came here to do.

  Almost.

  I’m just about to grab my coat and get going when my phone catches my eye, blinking at me innocuously from where I flung it on the bedside table.

  For a split second I waver, then feck it, the badness in me can’t resist. After all, I’ve come all this way, haven’t I? This git has strung me through the emotional wringer, so why can’t I just have a little bit of harmless fun here before the final scene plays out? I mean, it’s not as though I haven’t been led up the garden path here, so why not give him a taste of his own medicine while I’m at it?

  Exactly thirty seconds later, I’m at my phone, busily tapping away.

  Username: lady_reporter

  Hi Andy,

  Great to hear from you and, of course, I completely understand about what happened last weekend. I was so sorry to hear about Logan’s accident and can only hope that he’s recovering well and being spoilt rotten.

  Not forgetting of course that the chances of Logan even existing are slim to none.