Manhattan Dreaming (10 page)

‘Stop crying, won't it ruin that stuff you put on your eyelashes, macasa?'

‘Mascara,' I laughed through my tears. ‘And no, it's waterproof.'

I hugged Mum and Dad again, at the same time. We all cried some more. I almost changed my mind with the sadness of it all. How would I cope?

‘I love you,' I sobbed, and as I wiped my face with my hands, Dad pulled a hanky from his pocket and handed it to me. How would I last in New York when I couldn't even find myself a tissue?

‘I better go,' I said, pulling away reluctantly. ‘I'll call you when I land.'

Mum, Dad and Libby stood there waving me off. As I walked through the glass doors into the customs area I was feeling sick but it was too late to turn around.

I had a thousand butterflies in my stomach as I boarded the Qantas plane. I'd never been overseas before, only Canberra to Sydney or Melbourne or Brisbane and the occasional remote community. They were mostly short flights, and I was nearly always with someone else – Libby or Emma or one of our artists – for gallery meetings. I'd never seen the inside of a 747 and wondered how something so big could stay for so long in the air.

I sat in row 56 between an elderly woman clutching her bible and a chubby man who smelt like cigarettes. Within minutes I could feel beads of sweat form on my brow and it was difficult to breathe properly. I felt closed in and agitated.

‘Are you okay, love?' the man next to me asked.

‘I can't breathe properly – I don't know what's wrong.' I started to pant.

‘I think you might be claustrophobic.' He pushed the flight attendant button and a woman with flame-red hair and a big smile arrived quickly.

‘Is everything all right?' She looked at the man and then at me.

‘She can't breathe properly. I think she might be a bit claustrophobic.'

‘I'm sorry, I've never flown a long distance before. I'm just a bit nervous.' I felt like I was going to throw up.

‘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:

There was a message from Emma, too:

And one from Max:

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.