In a New York Minute

by Claudia Carroll

  ‘I’m the doorman here,’ he went onto explain with a little smile, ‘and it’s very nice to meet you properly, Amy, fresh-off-a-plane-from-Ireland.’

  Of course, I thought, as the penny eventually dropped; this was the famous Charlie that Rachel was forever waxing lyrical about. Her lifesaver, she called him. In fact from the way she described him, Charlie was like some class of a one-man concierge/handyman/cab-getting guardian angel. Apparently – and according to received wisdom – he’d only been working at the building for about a year while he put himself through night school, but already he was a firm favourite with all of Rachel’s neighbours. Sorry – neighbors.

  ‘So you’re gonna be staying with us for a while, right?’ Charlie asked and I nodded back.

  ‘It’s a stunning building,’ I said for the want of something better to come out with, while my eyes darted about frantically for a cab with its light on. ‘I absolutely love living here!’

  ‘But right now, let me take a wild guess, you’re in a crazy rush and you need a cab?’

  ‘You read my mind,’ I smiled gratefully.

  ‘Coming right up,’ he said, stepping out from under the canopy, giving a wolf-whistle that I’d swear they could have heard in Brooklyn. A few cabs splashed passed us all completely full, but a moment later an empty one obediently pulled up on the kerb alongside me and, like the perfect gentleman, Charlie stepped out to hold the door open for me.

  ‘Where to, Amy?’ he asked as I clambered inside, trying not to let my hair get too saturated. Trust me, you don’t want to know what my hair is like when it gets too saturated.

  ‘To … the boathouse at Central Park,’ I told him.

  ‘Hey, I like it! You doing all the touristy hotspots today?’

  ‘Only the ones that have featured in the movies,’ I laughed back, delighted to be warm and dry inside a cab and even more critically that I’d actually get to meet my date on time.

  ‘Have fun, Amy!’ he called after me and, just as quickly again he was gone again.

  Which brings me neatly to Greg, my lunch date. Now, I arrived ahead of him and was quickly shown to a gorgeous table with a view right over the lake. Course, with the rain splashing down, the windows had all but steamed up with the moisture and the romantic stroll around the lake’s perimeter which I’d had in my mind’s eye was out of the question now. Unless Greg turned up in a scuba suit.

  Then I waited. And waited. Eventually, almost a full half hour late, a guy came in who looked vaguely like the profile picture Greg had sent me and my heart almost leapt a bit in my rib-cage, cartoon-style. He was saturated to the skin and made a beeline for me, peeling off layers of fleeces and a scarf as he grabbed the chair opposite me.

  ‘So I guess you must be Amy?’ he asked and I nodded and shook hands, suddenly nervous. Because up close Greg really was attractive, well dressed too, in a cashmere sweater that seemed to have ‘Bought at Bergdoff’s!’ written all over it.

  ‘Good to meet you,’ he said, instantly picking up the menu. ‘Listen, can we order straight away? I’m kind of under time pressure here,’ he added, focusing entirely on the day’s specials and barely even looking at me at all.

  ‘Emm...sure OK,’ I said, ‘but I’m sorry you’ve got to rush off. So when do you need to leave?’

  ‘In exactly thirty minutes.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, sounding a little disappointed. ‘Is that maybe because you work today? It’s just, I thought seeing as how it’s Saturday...’

  ‘No, I’m real sorry about this, but we had a last-minute schedule change at home and the upshot is now I gotta pick up my kids from crèche.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, thinking, this was news to me. Kids? He never mentioned this online. Nor in any of the countless phone calls we’d had all week. Not once.

  ‘So you’re a dad then,’ I said, not that he was even making eye contact with me. He was still way too absorbed in the menu. ‘Do you have boys? Girls?’

  ‘One of each,’ he said distractedly, clicking his fingers over at the waitress to call her over straight away.

  ‘So I’m guessing you’re separated? Or maybe divorced?’ I asked him hopefully.

  But now for the first time since Greg arrived, I’d actually caught his attention.

  ‘Neither,’ he shrugged. ‘I’m still married.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Well, you knew that.’

  ‘No, I most definitely didn’t.’

  ‘Well, you got some kind of problem with it?’

  I looked across the table at him, utterly dumbfounded.

  ‘Greg, of course I have a problem with it! You were on a dating site, you’ve been calling and messaging me all week and now you sit here telling me that you’re married?’

  ‘Doesn’t mean I can’t have a little extra-curricular fun though, does it?’ he shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Oh and just so you know, if you want this to go further then weekdays are the only time that work for me. Gotta be home for my wife and kids in the evenings, you know how it is.’

  ‘You have got to be kidding me!’ I half spluttered. ‘And just out of curiosity, where does your poor wife figure in all this?’

  ‘Hey, you’re the first lady I met on that site that’s had an issue with this. You’d be amazed at how many there are out there who don’t.’

  *

  This time, it took me an hour to walk all the way home from Central Park, with not a free cab in sight and no savior Charlie to magic one up beside me. With freezing, squelching feet and clutching a battered umbrella, I eventually got back to our midtown building on Madison and East 45th and, speak of the devil, there was Charlie himself, already holding the door open for me, like he’d seen me coming.

  ‘So how was the Central Park boathouse?’ he asked, quietly taking in the manky, saturated state of me.

  ‘Trust me, you don’t want to know.’

  *

  Date #3 sounded a helluv a lot more promising though. For starters, this guy was called Josh and – wait till you hear – he was a clarinetist in the same band that plays with Woody Allen – Woody Actual Allen – in the Café Carlyle every single Monday night! Well, I thought, utterly overjoyed when he told me, this is it; I’m killing two birds with one stone. I get to see an authentic NYC location where countless movies have been shot and, not only that, but I get to go on a date into the bargain … chi-ching, win win Amy!

  And Dave sounded so incredibly cool too. He’s studied at the world famous Julliard School here in the city and had worked freelance for years in various jazz clubs he told me about downtown, which all sounded so impossibly hip, I doubted they’d even allow someone like me across the threshold.

  ‘Hey! Where are you going tonight, all dressed up?’ smiled Charlie as I swished through reception of our building on my way to my Big Date. Dressed to kill this time, in a borrowed LBD courtesy of Rachel and a brand new pair of high heels that were killing me and I’d barely walked ten paces in them.

  ‘The Café Carlyle!’ I beamed at him proudly, doing a little twirl for him in a brand new swishy black coat I’d just bought. ‘You know, just like in the movie—’

  ‘Hannah and her Sisters,’ Charlie finished for me, his light blue eyes twinkling at me. ‘I love that movie, it’s almost a classic really, isn’t it?’

  ‘And I’m dead late though!’

  ‘Need a cab?’

  ‘You read my thoughts … yet again!’

  ‘Coming up, Amy. Have a great night and don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’

  The date itself? Well, the good news was that Dave turned out to be everything I’d imagined and more still. Handsome? Check. Witty? And some. The show itself – well, to be perfectly honest, it was a little beyond me, I’m afraid. Jazz is great and all very well I’m sure, but the thing is, I’m not really much of a jazz-head. So I did what any supportive date would do; clapped and cheered at the end and told Dave how wonderful he was afterwards. And I was thinking, of course, that we’d spend the rest of the eveni
ng together, sipping cocktails and chatting away like you would on the best date ever.

  ‘Great, great, thanks so much babes,’ he smiled confidently, before instantly flicking his attention over to a very tall and attractive blonde who was weaving her way through the crowd to our table, before plonking down and kissing Dave lightly.

  ‘Hey Samantha!’ he said, visibly brightening at the sight of her. He introduced us, but it became pretty evident that I was de trop, as the French say. So after about an hour of my nodding and occasionally saying, ‘Yeah! I’ve always thought that too …’ while both of them ignored me, I eventually called it a night.

  ‘So, is she a friend of yours?’ I asked Dave when Samantha slipped off to the loo just as I was gathering up my coat and scarf.

  ‘No,’ he said flippantly, not even having the good grace to look mortified at being found out. ‘We’re actually dating and she said she’d swing by at about midnight, so I thought I’d have time to see you beforehand, then see her later. But I can’t help it if she pitched up a little early, huh?’

  This time Charlie was still on duty when I got back to our building.

  ‘So how was your New York moment then?’ he asked cheerily as I inched my way past him in too-high heels that were starting to crucify me.

  My look back to him said it all.

  *

  And now it’s Valentine’s night. The most romantic night of the year and have I had as much as one single worthwhile date in all the time I’ve been here so far? No. I came here not just to work, but to search for the Manhattan I knew from the movies. I wanted Woody Allen’s New York, Wes Anderson’s and Nora Ephron’s. I wanted to feel like I was one of the Sex and the City gals, constantly fielding off guys from left, right and centre until the happy day that I eventually met The One. And all with zero per cent success.

  Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I don’t have an offer for Valentine’s night. Only snag is that it’s from Rachel and her boyfriend, who are having a romantic dinner a deux back at the apartment and who very kindly invited me to join them. But I politely declined being a gooseberry for the evening, pleading that I quite fancied doing a bit of sightseeing instead, and hoping that at least Rachel would end up having a romantic V-Day with someone special.

  So here I am on Valentine’s night. In Manhattan. And OK, so I may be all alone and dateless, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t visit the Empire State tonight, now does it? I’ve wanted to see it ever since I first got here and although I was saving it up to do with a date, here I am with nothing else to do for the evening … so why not? And while I’m up there, I decide to give myself a positive and forward-looking lecture about how I may not have found The One just yet, but after all, it’s nothing more than a numbers game and if I can only psyche myself up to getting back into the saddle again, then surely it’s just a matter of time before I eventually meet someone lovely. Just like Rachel did.

  So I jump into a cab outside our building and ask the driver for 5th and West 34th St. No Charlie on duty in the foyer downstairs tonight, which is a bit odd, I think. First time since I moved in that I haven’t seen his familiar tall, lean silhouette standing in the doorway, umbrella at the ready, just in case the need arises.

  So I get to the Empire State but the only slight snag is that it seems I’m not the only one here who had the idea of visiting here tonight of all nights. It’s almost like Couple Central here at the security line to the express elevators; in fact I think I’m the only singleton in sight. It’s nothing but wall-to-wall dates, as gorgeous caramel skinned girls with swishy hair and absolutely no wrinkles at all laughingly cling onto guys in heavy overcoats and Ivy League scarves, all lamely dangling single red roses behind them.

  It’s bloody mortifying in the lift to get to the Observation deck; I half-feel like they’re all eyeing each other up and silently semaphoring in couple code, there’s a single girl here. Look at her, so clearly Not One of Us. Who let her in?

  But when we get to the top floor, my spirits lift. Shag it anyway, I think, gulping in the panoramic view, skin chaffing against the ice-cold air as I stroll around the perimeter. Because the view is stunning, utterly breathtaking. There’s telescopes here and hopping up to have a look through one of them, I scan the horizon, taking in the full panorama right the way from the Catskills and up on over to the Hudson River.

  I have to capture this, I think, instinctively reaching into my coat pocket and fishing around for my mobile, sorry, cellphone, so that I can take a photo. But it’s not there. Which is odd. I never normally go anywhere without it. Panic slightly rising, I retrace my footsteps and realize that I stupidly must have left it on my bed back at the apartment before I rushed out the door earlier.

  And that’s when I see him. All six foot of him, striding confidentially towards me, smiling that gorgeous crinkly-eyed wide-open smile.

  Charlie.

  ‘Well, good evening to you,’ he grins, ‘fancy bumping into you here of all places. And tonight of all nights!’

  ‘Charlie!’ I smile back instinctively moving over towards him, ‘it’s so good to see a friendly face!’

  Then the thought strikes me.

  ‘Emm … are you here … on a date?’ Seeing as how everyone else here seems to be …

  ‘No,’ he says, ‘as a matter of fact, I came to give you this.’ And from out of the depths of his coat pocket he produces my phone.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ I laugh. ‘ Don’t tell me you came all this way just to return it to me? Surely that’s going above and beyond the call of duty?’

  ‘It’s my absolutely pleasure, Amy from Ireland. Tonight’s my night off anyway and I was just about to leave the building when Rachel called down to say you’d left your cellphone behind. I figured you were out somewhere having one of your New York City moments and sure enough, Rachel told me that I was certain to find you here.’

  I can’t speak for a minute, I’m too overwhelmed that he’d go to all that trouble and bother just for me.

  ‘Thank you,’ I eventually find words enough to say. ‘I was feeling a bit like Johnny no-mates up here all by myself on this night of all nights, and I just can’t believe you’re here.’

  ‘Not only that,’ he says, fumbling around in the breast pocket of his heavy overcoat. ‘But I brought you a little surprise that I just thought you might appreciate.’

  ‘You did …?’

  And a moment later, he’s whipped out not only two champagne flutes, but also two miniature bottles of champagne and is already unscrewing them.

  ‘I don’t believe this!’ I tell him, flabbergasted.

  ‘Hey, you’re a gal who likes her New York City moments,’ Charlie says, expertly pouring out one glass and handing it over to me. ‘So here you go, Amy from Ireland. Happy Valentine’s Day. And here’s to many more awesome NYC moments to come.’

  ‘I’ll certainly drink to that.’

  ‘And you know something else?’ he says, looking at me slightly hesitantly now.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Well, the night is young and it seems you’re a fellow movie buff, so I figured maybe later on we could head for Times Square and catch a movie there? If you’re up for it, that is …’

  I can’t answer him though. Instead, I just smile.

  ‘Charlie, I’d love nothing more,’ I eventually find words to say.

  And that’s it really. That’s how I hit on my perfect New York Moment.

  If you liked In A New York Minute, why not try…

  Meet Me in Manhatttan

  Everyone dates online these days. If fact, we all know someone who met the one on Tinder … or match.com … or MySingleFriend.

  But how do you know the person you’re falling in love with is who he says he is? And how far would you put your heart on the line to pursue your dream?

  Holly Johnson decides to fly to the other side of the world to be with the man she’d almost given up hope of meeting.

  But when she arrives i
n New York City she is going to get the shock of her life …

  Coming Soon.

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  About the Author

  Claudia Carroll is top ten bestselling author in the UK and a number one bestselling author in Ireland, selling over 670,000 copies of her paperbacks alone. She was born in Dublin where she still lives. Her 2013 novel ME AND YOU was shortlisted for the Bord Gais Popular Choice Irish Book Award.

  Also by the Author

  He Loves Me … He Loves Me Not

  The Last of the Great Romantics

  Remind Me Agan Why I Need A Man

  I Never Fancied Him Anyway

  Do You Want To Know A Secret?

  If This is Paradise, I Want My Money Back

  Personally, I Blame My Fairy Godmother

  Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?

  A Very Accidental Love Story

  Me and You

  Love Me or Leave Me

  About the Publisher

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