Manhattan Dreaming (12 page)

My day three list included the Metropolitan Museum of Art, otherwise known as the Met. The place was so huge I kept getting lost and winding up back where I started. It didn't seem to matter which way I looked at the floor map, I never really knew where I was, and so I just walked around aimlessly.

There were a lot of marble statues and busts and torsos – Roman and Greek – which made me think of Adam and his rippling six-pack. I started to feel sad, and then angry with myself for wasting my time on a man who hadn't contacted me since I left his house weeks ago in the middle of the night.

I headed towards the Oceanic art section, but was sidetracked by an exhibition titled ‘Art and Love in Renaissance Italy'. As soon as I read the sign at the exhibit entrance – ‘
Amore vole fe
/ Love needs faith' – I just knew that it was a sign meant for me, to give me faith in the notion of love – real love, ideal love, romantic love. The love I had not had with Adam but that I still wanted. I was in New York to work but perhaps my time here would renew my belief in relationships. ‘Love needs faith' would be my motto from now on.

The exhibit included lavish gifts like rings, vases and bowls, given as part of courtship, and I wondered when both those traditions had stopped – courting and the associated gift giving. I didn't know anyone back home who had been courted. Most of the younger girls at work told stories about how everyone just went out these days and hooked up in bars and pubs. Adam never courted me, and rarely gave me gifts other than cakes – though I guess that was better than nothing.

Near the end of the exhibit I couldn't help but laugh out loud at ‘
Te do la mone / Dame lae fede
', translated on the wall as: ‘I give you my hand / Give me the ring'. That summed it up for so many women, and I wondered if Adam thought I was the same. Surely he knew it wasn't about the ring or material things. I really wanted his heart and that didn't cost anything but trust and time.

There was a huge gift store at the Met and smaller gift outlets on each floor. Libby and I had a tradition where we would buy something at every gallery we visited – whether we were there for work or pleasure. We knew that if artists had licensed their works to be turned into gift cards and the like, then it was another way to support them. It was generally a gift for ourselves, but Libby had stipulated on my list for today that I should get her something too. ‘Don't forget a gift for me!' she'd written.

I found a heart-shaped pendant with the phrase ‘
Amore vole fe
/ Love needs faith' on it. I put it on immediately and wore it as my love talisman from then on. It took me only minutes to find the perfect gift for Libby – a Greek palmette velvet scarf that she would look deadly in back in frosty Canberra. I could just hear her explaining to admirers that the palmette was one of the most frequently used motifs in classical art in every medium and in all periods. I was looking forward to giving it to her at Christmas time.

Next I took in the Oceanic exhibit. Just like the Roman and Greek areas, I thought the Aboriginal collection was a very male space, with a boomerang, spear thrower and shields, all related to men's roles, and artwork by Pintupi artist Long Jack Phillipus Tjakamarra. I started to think about how our material culture is often considered artefact rather than art and displayed in museums rather than art galleries. The Met did well to showcase both.

The local First Nations display included clothes and bags made by the Plains people, and some ‘Eskimo' dolls and ceremonial instruments like Haida rattles used by spiritual leaders from the peoples of the west coast of British Columbia in Canada to harness spirits. I wondered what my new colleagues at the NMAI thought about this collection. I didn't know enough about North American art to have an informed opinion. And how many people who visited the Met were then inspired to head down to Bowling Green to the other great institution that would soon become my working home.

‘Hi, Tony,' I said, pleased to see another Blackfella and even just another Australian.

‘Hi, yes, sorry, I didn't see you coming – I'm so tired,' he said as he stood up and towered over me at six foot three. With a huge smile and warm hazel eyes, Tony looked like a gentle giant as he shook the creases out of his unironed check shirt and black pants. He seemed relaxed and casual, and not like some of the eccentric visual artists I'd met in Sydney and Melbourne. I could picture him at his work bench in Kununurra doing his lino-cuts.

‘We don't have to go out if you want to stay in. We can get food in the hotel.' I pointed to the hotel restaurant to the right of us.

‘Nah, sis, it's the big city. I haven't got long here, got to go straight back home for another showing. Let's go see the Big Apple, eh?'

We went to a lively and loud Mexican restaurant, walking distance from the hotel. There were lots of funky places and restaurants with good vibes nearby. It would have been difficult to decide, if it was just me, but Tony said it was hard to eat Mexican in Kununurra, so the choice was easy.

It was noisy and the crowd was young and groovy. The restaurant was dimly lit with tea light candles on mosaic-tiled tables set close together. There was music in the background and every bar stool was taken. I couldn't think of any place back in Canberra with the same energy. I'd never had a mojito before but it was on my list so I ordered one as soon as we were seated. Tony ordered one too. I sat on the bench and faced the restaurant proper, and Tony only had me to look at and the mirror behind to see the reflection of other patrons.

The drinks arrived almost immediately and the conversation flowed easily.

‘Who's your mob?' he asked me.

‘I'm a Lucas from Goulburn, but my mob is all around the area. Most of us have migrated to Canberra for work – and the braver ones have moved to Sydney and Melbourne.'

‘How long are you here for?'

‘I've only been here for three days, but I'm staying a year.'

‘A year!' Tony was shocked. ‘Wow, that's a long time to be away from country, and your mob.'

‘I know, don't get me started or I won't last a week. It was really hard for me to leave, but I'm here now, so –'

‘You're single, then. I mean if you're here for a year, no brother would've been that stupid to let you come here all alone for that long, eh?'

‘Oh, some fellas are stupider than you imagine sometimes.' I could feel the mojito kick in. I sucked hard on the straw until there was only ice and a mint leaf left, making a loud slurping noise.

‘Sounds like you need another one.'

‘I don't usually drink – one is probably more than enough.'

‘Don't be silly, we're in New York.' And he threw his arms up in the air as if to say ‘look around'.

‘We are too.' I beckoned the waiter over and ordered two more cocktails.

By the end of the evening we'd discussed every visual artist we knew, the latest Telstra National Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Art Award winner, Tony's speech for his opening the next night, and the dreadfully long flight from Australia to New York. I was tired and my cheeks were flushed. I was more than tipsy. This was not exactly professional, as I was essentially on duty.

‘Let's party, sis, c'mon.'

‘Honestly, Tony, I need to lie down, I think I'm drunk.'

‘Nah, sis, c'monnnnn – I've only got a few nights here. We can tear this town right up, eh?'

‘I think I need to tear back to the hotel, but I promise I'll go out with you tomorrow night, okay, to celebrate the opening.'

‘You make a man weak, sis, but okay.'

‘Here's my mobile number – call me if you need anything.'

Tony put me in a cab back to the UN Plaza and I left him to explore the city on his own.

As soon as I got in my room I tugged my clothes off and logged on to my computer. I stared at the screen through blurry eyes and squinted as I tried to focus on Adam's page. He had changed his song again to ‘Simply Irresistible' and it made me cry. I went to my own page and changed my song to ‘Let's Talk About Sex' and then sent him a text message:

I woke in the morning with the worst hangover I'd ever had. Three mojitos and two pinot noirs were five drinks too many. I didn't even want to imagine how Tony felt – I just hoped he'd be right for the exhibition opening. My pounding head reminded me why I usually chose cakes over cocktails. I might put on a few kilos eating cakes but I could still function.

I picked up my phone and there were three text messages, all from Adam:

The first one read:

The second one read:

The third one read:

I was annoyed with myself, and ashamed for initiating what was essentially a long-distance, logistically impossible and meaningless sms booty call.

I had fallen asleep in the middle of text-sex. Adam's last message had come in at 4 am so I'd only had a couple of hours' sleep, which wasn't usually a problem – except that this time I was hung-over. I dragged myself out of bed and forced myself to the hotel gym to work off the heavy Mexican food and sweat out the alcohol. Without Libby's ‘To Do' list I would have just crawled back into bed. Luckily she had given me a relatively easy day, going to the Guggenheim and then to the designer department store, Century 21, to buy something to wear to the exhibition that night.

I'd Googled the Guggenheim before leaving Canberra, and I was excited about checking it out. It also gave me a chance to stroll along 5th Avenue and glance into Central Park, which I was dying to walk through and suss out the jogging paths. I stopped and took a photo for a couple who were trying to photograph themselves and the building behind them. They returned the favour for me, and I realised that it wasn't that difficult to travel alone. I'd never done it before, but here I was in New York City, visiting world-acclaimed galleries and meeting other tourists and having my photo taken. It wasn't that hard at all, even for a country bumpkin. I'd still rather have been there with Adam, but I knew he'd only want to be checking out the sporting venues anyway.

After all the hype from Emma and Libby about the Guggenheim I was looking forward to going through the space. I was so pleased to be up close to artworks by such geniuses as Gauguin, Van Gogh and Picasso.

More interesting than the works themselves, though, were the visitors viewing them. The gallery was brimming with studious-looking characters with French, Italian and German accents wafting through the space. Everyone was young and good-looking, and someone smelled so delicious that without even noticing I found myself following him from painting to painting just to breathe in his scent. He was wearing Beckham Signature, just like Adam wore, and I allowed myself to drift mentally back to the last time we made love.

‘Bill, Bill, come and look at this one.' My daydream was shattered by a loud woman pointing to a work by Cézanne. It was the only American accent I'd heard in the exhibition space until then, challenging the almost sacred atmosphere. It was as if they didn't realise the value of the artwork came from viewing it and not screeching about it across the room.

I kept moving but still had my mind on Adam, and what it would have been like to have him with me. I knew he would've made some crass comment if he'd seen the brass sculpture by Edgar Degas titled
Seated Woman Wiping Her Left Side
. Perhaps it was better he wasn't there with me.

I looked at my watch and realised that according to Libby's schedule it was probably time for me to make tracks downtown to Century 21. I took the train and followed the signs to Ground Zero, knowing the discount designer department store was across the road. I tried to see into the site, but it was surrounded by construction fencing and cranes. It was hard not to stop and think about that moment in time when the planes hit the World Trade Center and the world changed forever. I thought about the innocent people who died and the families left behind, and I began to tear up. I also remembered marching for peace in Canberra when the US and Australia declared war on Iraq. I took a deep breath, sighed and turned to cross the road, wanting to focus on more positive things, like the opening of NAIDOC Week at the UN.