by Izzy Bayliss
“I’m afraid not. I’m sorry.”
I felt totally deflated. I knew I could try calling him on his mobile, but I wanted to surprise him in person. I would just have to try his apartment and hope he would be there.
I descended back down in the elevator and exited onto the busy sidewalk. I took out the map I had grabbed in the airport and studied it for a moment. The grid system meant I was able to locate the street where Sam’s apartment was easily enough. I counted that it was only six blocks away.
“Hey, lady, move outta the way!” a man said angrily. I looked up and saw people glare at me as they walked around where I was standing smack bang in the middle of one the world’s busiest sidewalks.
“Oh, I’m sorry . . .” I said, quickly stepping out of their way before standing in somebody else’s path. “Sorry –” I said again. They rolled their eyes at me as I stepped aside. I quickly folded my map back up again and continued to walk down the sidewalk. The streets were swarming with people chatting on their phones, holding coffee to go in their hands. Even though it was still daytime, I couldn’t believe how much the streets were shaded from sunlight by the gigantic tower blocks. I had always heard that New York was a loud, brash city but the sheer noise of the traffic, horns, and people was almost overwhelming.
I eventually reached Sam’s building. I stepped into the carrara marble clad foyer where a concierge stood behind a desk.
“I’m looking for Sam Waters,” I said.
“Let me see if he’s in, just one moment please.”
I waited as he called up to Sam’s apartment and I knew when nobody answered that Sam wasn’t at home.
“He’s not in, is he?” I groaned.
The man shook his apologetically. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to leave a message for when he returns?”
“It’s okay, thanks.” I really didn’t want to ruin the surprise. I decided I would give him two hours, and if he didn’t return by then, I would call him. I hated wasting precious time that could be spent with him, but I had waited this long, a few more hours wouldn’t kill me.
I left my case in the luggage store and decided to head to Frankie’s shoot to kill some time. It was taking place in an old Chelsea loft. I couldn’t believe how easy it was to find my way around the city. I had only been there for a few hours and already I had mastered the grid system. On autopilot I walked downtown passing block after block, stopping at the intersections until the white man flashed that it was safe to cross. White steam clouds rushed up from the manholes just like I had seen in the movies.
I eventually found the building and climbed six flights of stairs until I came to the loft where the shoot was taking place. Frankie had told me that it used to be a clothing factory back in the sixties but had long since been vacant. The original red-bricked walls were left exposed and the wide-plank hardwood floors were stripped bare. Red steel columns broke up the vast space, and pipes and iron beams ran along the ceiling.
“Well?” Frankie asked, hurrying over to me as soon as I came through the door. “How did it go? Where’s Sam?”
“He wasn’t there, he’s on a vacation day,” I sighed.
“Oh, Lily, you must be so disappointed. Come here,” she said, slinging her arm around me. “Why don’t you call him?”
“I really want to see his reaction face-to-face. I’m going to see if he comes back to his place in a few hours, but if he’s not back by then, I’ll call him.”
“Frankie, where are those Alaïa sandals?” a New York accent demanded.
“Sorry, coming now!” she sang.
“Look, I have to get back to work.”
I sat down on an old cast-iron radiator and thought about Sam. My biggest worry was that he had left Manhattan for the weekend. Then the whole trip was a massive waste of time. He hadn’t mentioned anything about going away anywhere but supposing it had been a spur of the moment thing? What if a few of them had decided to head away at the last minute?
Frankie knocked me out of my thoughts by handing me a steamer.
“You can make yourself useful while you’re here. Would you mind steaming these clothes for me – you’d be doing me a huge favour?”
“Sure,” I said. “I might as well earn my keep.” Once she had shown me what to do, I set to work taking the creases out of the clothes while she chatted with the creative director.
When I was finished with the clothes, I watched as Frankie fitted them on the models. They were beautiful creatures, long and lean with endless limbs. They were all angles; hip bones, jawbones, and collarbones jutted out. I felt like a little round dumpling beside them. Even though the clothes were in the smallest sizes possible, they were still too big for their slender bodies, so I watched as Frankie had to pin them in to fit. They all wore carefully applied make-up, some had theatrical eyeliner or others had heavy-coloured lips.
After a while the creative director signalled a break and lavish amounts of food were brought in to the room. I nearly wet myself when I saw the boxes had the logo of the Ansel Bakery, New York’s most famous bakery. People queued from the early hours of the morning just to try out their cronuts and now, tray upon tray of heavenly goodies was being laid out and it was all for free! It was all displayed on a table running the length of the room but after the delivery guy had left, nobody moved to get any. I waited for a few more minutes to be polite. I didn’t want to look like a pig, but after ten minutes, it became clear that nobody was going to eat anything, so I went over to the table and picked up a cronut. I had been dying to try one ever since I had first heard about them; half-doughnut, half-croissant, they were the latest craze in the baking world. I thought I had died and gone to heaven as I bit into the sweet coconut-flavoured cream, which was sandwiched between the layers of thin pastry. It had the airiness of a croissant but with the doughy sweetness of a doughnut as the flakes melted in my mouth. It was one of the nicest things I had ever eaten.
“Why is nobody eating this?” I asked Frankie, completely baffled.
She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s the same on every shoot I do. Nobody dares to eat anything. It’s like a game of competitive non-eating. You get used to it.”
“I can’t believe none of you –” I swallowed a mouthful, “are going to eat these?” I looked around at all the models in the room in disbelief.
Nobody would make eye contact with me.
“But they’re from the Ansel Bakery! People queue from four a.m. in the morning to try them!” I said in dismay.
I noticed Frankie using her fingers to draw a pretend zip across her lips telling me to shut up.
I was definitely going to try my own version in Baked with Love when I went back home. Even though I had only been gone for a few hours, I found I missed my bakery. I made me realized just how much I loved working there. I loved that people enjoyed my food; from the moment they tasted it, I could see the expression of pure delight on their faces as they bit into my vanilla cream croissants and a little surprise bit of the custard squeezed out from inside or how an almondy bakewell slice could set a bad day to rights. Or how the tiniest sprinkle of salt perfectly balanced a sweet caramel. I loved being able to give people that experience. Food was one of life’s simplest pleasures. Life could be hard and there were enough rough days that we all deserved to indulge in the little treats wherever we could get them. It saddened me that the people here wouldn’t allow themselves to do that. I know I had spent so many years dieting in a quest to be skinnier, to look angular like the women here now in front of me, but Baked with Love had allowed me to make peace with my body. Food was all about enjoyment. What was better than the bittersweet taste of lemon curd layered thick on buttery shortcrust pastry? The taste lingering in your mouth long after the final bite.
“I can’t stay here, it’s a complete head-melt,” I said to Frankie after a few minutes. I was beginning to feel like a specimen in the zoo as the models watched me open-mouthed when I had eaten yet another cronut.
“But where are you going
to go?”
“I’ll try Sam’s place again, hopefully he might be back now.”
“Okay, well, I’ll call you the second we wrap up here, okay?”
I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. I risked a last look around the loft where a model was now being pinned into the shimmering dress that I had just steamed. I made my way down the six flights of stairs until I finally came outside onto the pavement.
I headed back uptown towards Sam’s building again. As soon as I entered the foyer the concierge shook his head sadly at me.
“I’m afraid he hasn’t returned yet,” he said before I had a chance to speak. Defeated, I walked back outside onto the sidewalk. I couldn’t believe that I was in this city where Sam was too, one of the most romantic cities in the world, and yet we weren’t together.
I stood on the pavement and looked up at the sky. “Mam, if you’re listening up there, now would be a good time to start cutting me a little bit of slack if you wouldn’t mind!”
I noticed passersby looking strangely at me, but I didn’t care. I would never see any of them again.
A pigeon flew over my head and I felt something warm and runny fall on my hair. I put my hand up to feel what it was and realised it had come from the pigeon.
“Really, Mam? You are literally shitting on me?” I shouted up to the sky again.
In a temper, I started to walk down the sidewalk and instantly felt myself collide with a hard chest.
“Ouch!” I said rubbing my head. I raised my head and could not believe it when I looked up and saw it was Sam.
CHAPTER 17
“Lily?” he said, pulling back from me.
“That hurt,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “I think I might have concussion.”
“Oh my God, are you okay? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Surprise!” I said, smiling weakly.
“But what are you doing in New York?”
“Looking for you. Frankie has a shoot here all weekend, so she managed to swing it to bring me along as her assistant.”
“I love Frankie!” he said, grabbing me into a hug. “When did you get here? I can’t believe it’s you!”
“Just after lunch. I called into your office but they told me you had a day off, so then I tried your apartment and you weren’t home.”
“I’m sorry but why didn’t you call me?”
“I wanted to surprise you face-to-face.”
“Well, you’ve certainly done that!” he said, grinning before wrapping his arms around me again. “I can’t believe you’re standing here. God, I’ve missed you.” He squeezed me against his chest and it felt as though I was in my rightful place. We kissed deeply and passionately as if we were the only ones in the world and not standing on the sidewalk in one of the world’s busiest cities.
“Come on,” said Sam. “Let’s go upstairs.”
We re-entered the marble-clad foyer.
“Reunited at last,” the concierge said, smiling at the two of us. We grinned back at him.
We took a lift up to the fourteenth floor. Sam put his key in the door and we went inside. Colourful rugs were scattered across honey-coloured herringbone floors. The high ceilings gave the place a light, airy feel. Full-length floor to ceiling windows looked down over the streets below.
“This place is amazing,” I said, walking over to look out through them. Sam’s apartment was a prime piece of real estate; I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was costing the company. He put his arms around me from behind and began kissing delicately along the nape of my neck. I turned around to face him, our kisses growing more urgent with every passing second. We moved down onto the sofa, and soon he was undressing me. He pulled my top up over my head and then moved to unbuttoning my jeans.
I wriggled out of them as he fumbled with my bra clasp.
“I’ll do it,” I said, taking over and quickly taking it off.
“Sorry, I’m out of practice,” he said breathlessly.
I pulled off his T-shirt next, exposing his broad dark chest. Then I moved down and pulled off his jeans.
He took off my underwear and soon he was inside me. We moved together passionately making up for the time we had been apart.
Afterwards, we lay there exhausted in a tangled mess. My head rested in the crook of his arm as he stroked lazy circles across the skin of my back.
“So how long have I got you for?” Sam asked.
“I leave Sunday night.”
He pouted. “That’s less than forty-eight hours.”
“It’s the best I could do.” I sighed.
“Well, in that case, come on, we don’t have any time to waste.”
He moved down and started kissing my chest, moving slow and tender, and soon we were making love again.
CHAPTER 18
Sunlight crept around the corners of the blinds spreading across the floorboards up across the bed until it warmed our naked bodies. We took our time rousing ourselves. I was enjoying having Sam for two days, and I wanted to use every moment to feel him near me.
“I’m starving!” I said eventually when I could no longer ignore the pangs of hunger in my stomach.
“You must really have worked up an appetite,” Sam said, winking at me.
I blushed under his gaze.
“How about I show you a real New York breakfast? We should go to the Loeb Boathouse.”
“Where’s that?”
“Central Park – it’s beautiful.”
I pulled back the sheets and stretched. I climbed out of bed and walked over and slid my arms into Sam’s toweling robe. Then I went over to the window and peeped through the blinds at the views south and west across the New York skyline. I could see the Jersey Shore in the distance. Yellow cabs stood out from the grey on the street below. It really was the stuff of dreams. We showered together and then got dressed to go explore the city.
* * *
We strolled hand in hand through the winter sunshine, and as we reached the park, it was amazing how the city instantly quieted down just a few steps inside the blanket of the trees. Our breath fogged onto the air as we walked. Long-limbed joggers dressed in brightly coloured running gear overtook us, their feet crunching on the frost-tipped grass. A grey squirrel darted across the path. Carol singers sang under the arches, the music reverberating through the low tunnels. Sam led the way and soon the elegant pillars of the boathouse came into view.
I ate a plate of French toast with a decadent banana compote soaked in Grand Marnier while Sam chose the eggs benedict. It was divine. When we were finished, we grabbed hot chocolates to go and strolled around the lake where people were rowing lazily across the water.
We headed up towards Bow Bridge and posed for selfies with the city making the perfect backdrop against the bare trees of the park. We skated in the Wollman Rink, and I laughed as Sam confidently took to the ice only to lose his footing a few steps in and land upended on his bum.
When we were finished, Sam rubbed his hands together to warm himself up from the biting cold. My teeth were chattering; we got cold weather in Ireland, but it never was like this. This type of cold seemed to be carried along on the wind, it cut through to the bone. My feet felt like two blocks of ice inside my trainers. Sam slung his arm around my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go get you warmed up. I’ve a special surprise for you.”
We strolled back through Central Park hand in hand until we were standing in front of the steps of The Plaza Hotel.
“We’re not going where I think we’re going, are we?” I asked, jumping up and down excitedly clapping my hands together.
“Uh-huh. I couldn’t let you go home without experiencing afternoon tea at The Plaza.”
“But don’t you need to book it weeks in advance?”
“I pulled a few strings, don’t worry.” He placed his hand on the small of my back and led me up the plush, red-carpeted steps. The doorman tipped his hat to us and held the door while we went through into the ornate foyer. I winced at the tr
ainers that I was wearing. My jaw dropped as we stepped over to the mosaic-tiled floor. Light bounced around through the crystal chandelier, reflected off the large mirrors. Gold leaf cornicing ran around the perimeter of the ceiling. We stepped through the Romanesque arched doorway and were in the infamous atrium of the Palm Court. Marble pillars were crowned with a beautiful stained-glass dome. Large potted plants and ceiling-high palm trees gave the room an exotic intimacy. I had always dreamed about coming here. Just the name conjured up the glamour and extravagance of a bygone era. I imagined F. Scott Fitzgerald and Zelda sitting drinking in this very room. I could almost hear the echoes of the debauchery, the wild parties, the decadent displays of wealth rarely seen today. It was incredible to think of the history witnessed between these walls, and yet here I was standing there ready to make my own memories.
The waiter showed us to our table and everything about the setting exuded elegance. It was laid out with delicate china, heavy table linen, and weighty crystal glasses. When our tea stand arrived, my mouth started watering. There were miniature deviled egg sandwiches, prime rib sandwiches, lobster roll, and savouries with all kinds of detail on the bottom tier. There were scones served with lemon-flavoured cream and preserves in the middle, and the top tier was filled with the prettiest cakes I had ever seen. The crème de cassis cheesecake and the rose water macaron were a treat to the senses. It was definitely inspiration for Baked with Love.
“This has been the most perfect day,” I said to Sam as we linked arms and walked back through the foyer when we were finished.
“I’m just so glad to have you here,” he said, squeezing me against him.
Suddenly as we reached the door I noticed plump snowflakes falling gracefully outside. “Oh my God, it’s snowing!”
I was awestruck as I stood on the steps and surveyed how the snow had put a spell on the city. It had dampened down the noise and its usual frenetic pace suddenly seemed calmer. “Pinch me because this is the stuff of fairytales.”
