Manhattan Dreaming (22 page)

Come November, with the presidential election upon us, Obamarama was in overdrive in Manhattan and the city was going crazy with Obama paraphernalia everywhere: T-shirts, mugs, wall clocks, greeting cards, journals, fridge magnets, stickers and badges. I bought Obama aprons for the Aunties, teddy bears for the young cousins, and a calendar for Nick in jail so he could count his days down with some sense of inspiration and hope for a better world when he was released. I sent Dad an Obama key ring and sticker for his truck, and for Libby and Denise I bought Obama condoms, stealing a couple of them for myself in case I needed them in the future.

The weekend before the election Wyatt was out of town visiting family, and Kirsten was showing a friend of her brother's around the city with a hectic schedule of galleries that I'd already done, so I opted out of the invitation to join them. But I jumped at the chance to join Vikki on a location scout downtown. I'd never done a ‘scout' before and I finally got an understanding of how important and interesting her job was.

‘We're shooting a drama about money, revenge, infidelity and murder.'

‘Sounds familiar,' I laughed. ‘Who's in it?'

‘Denzel Washington, Will Smith and Keanu Reeves.'

‘Oh my god! Your job is a perve fest.'

‘Yes, I guess it is,' Vikki said seriously, and then smiled.

‘Can you ask for autographs?'

‘No, that would be uncool, like taking photos. I've only done it a couple of times, like for Kirsten's birthday.'

‘So, what exactly do you do? I really have no idea – I just go to the movies once they're made.'

‘Come along today and you'll see,' she said.

We went to a number of restaurants downtown looking for the perfect setting for the exchange of cash and drugs. Vikki knew the managers at some venues and was introducing herself for the first time at others. At the final venue in Little Italy, Vikki stopped the minute we walked in and declared, ‘This is it. The size, the shape of the room, the decor. It's perfect for what we need.'

We both stood and looked around the recently renovated space. There were high tables with stools along one wall and above them were colourful wall-lights in different shades of reds and pinks. Along another wall there were black and white portraits of people in various poses: on a step, riding a bus, waving from a ship. The other walls were lined shoulder-height and upwards with wine. There were chandelier-like pendant lights hanging through the space, except above the bar, which was long and white and had one long light above it with what looked like hundreds of light globes. There was a line of funky high-backed white leather stools along the bar. Tables were set for the evening with wine goblets and white linen tablecloths. I loved the place immediately because it was so groovy.

Just as I turned around from the bar I saw what I assumed was the manager emerge from a door at the back of the restaurant. He was more than six foot tall – American men were all so tall – wearing a white shirt and a pair of low-waisted, straight-leg Armani jeans. He looked cool, and sexy. His smile took my breath away.

‘Hello there, Ms V. Long time no see.'

‘Cash Brannigan! I wasn't sure if you were still here. I spoke to Allen – he just said drop in.'

‘I'm still here. I'll die downtown. It's my home.' He kissed Vikki on both cheeks and turned to me. ‘Hello, I'm Cash Brannigan.' He shook my hand and I felt a rush of electricity.

‘Hi, I'm Lauren Lucas,' I said.

Cash smiled. ‘Lauren Lucas, from Australia.'

‘Yes. How did you know that?'

‘I recognise that accent. And you're a Blackfellow, aren't you?'

‘How did you know
that
?

‘I've been down under, spent some time in Darwin and Perth. I could just tell. Where's your mob from?'

Vikki was walking around the venue looking at the ceiling and the fittings, taking photos from every angle, and gauging, I thought, the size of the space. She was on the phone at the same time.

‘I'm a Lucas, Wiradjuri, born in Goulburn, but we're all over central New South Wales. I live in Canberra now, it's just down the road from Goulburn.'

‘Goalbawne,' Cash said, like Americans said Melbawne. I liked it. I liked listening to him talk. I didn't care what he said.

‘Where are you from? I know you said you'll die here, but where were you born?'

‘I was born here too, at St Barnabas Hospital in the Bronx, to be exact. I've travelled a lot, but I always come back here to New York. It's where I feel most at home. D'ya know what I mean?'

‘I understand completely. I love New York, but I miss my country and my mob too much to move anywhere forever, either.'

Just then Vikki walked back to us, notepad in hand.

‘This is perfect. I'll email over the dates, contracts, insurance information and so on and we'll sort it out asap if we can,' she said, all business-like.

Cash started writing something on a yellow notepad.

‘I'm having an election party at my place on Tuesday, you girls should drop by. We can watch it on the big screen and I'll put on some food and drinks. We're going to win.'

‘We certainly are,' Vikki said. ‘We'll be there.'

‘Here's the address, on Broadway in Tribeca.' He handed me the piece of paper with the address and his number.

‘Thanks,' I said shyly, suddenly unnerved by this handsome, confident black man who lived on Broadway in Tribeca, an up-market and glamorous part of town, or so I had read in one of my numerous travel guides.

‘See you both then.' He kissed Vikki on the cheek and then me.

As we walked out of the bar at dusk I heard the sound of sirens and watched one, two, three, then six fire trucks pull up at a high-rise building with smoke billowing out of what I guessed was maybe the fifteenth floor. Libby had asked me to get a photo of some firemen and to date I hadn't managed it, so I didn't want to miss the opportunity.

‘Would it be really bad to ask one of the firemen for a photo?' I said softly to Vikki. It was a ridiculous question, considering they were busy putting a fire out.

‘Just walk past them slowly, then turn around and I'll click. I see fans do it with movie stars all the time.'

‘It's not for me, it's for Libby.'

‘Sure it is! I really don't care, they're cute anyway. Go.'

‘But they're working.' I looked up at the smoke, then at the trucks and at the police cars that had arrived. I looked up at the smoke again. ‘I can't. This is stupid.' I just took a photo of them in action and hoped that would suffice until the next opportunity.

Election Day arrived and there was a buzz in the street. I was so excited I couldn't focus at work, thinking about how wonderful a Black president in the White House would be, and how the after-effects could trickle down to Australia. Surely one day we could have a Black prime minister, or even a Black president of the Republic of Australia. And perhaps the next US president could be Native American. Why not? My mind also kept wandering back to Cash, and how much I wanted to see him again. I'd developed a small crush from just one brief meeting and spent hours choosing the right dress to wear to his place – a cerise-coloured woollen dress to the knee, which looked great with black boots and coat.

Vikki and I arrived at his place in the evening and saw about thirty people glued to a massive screen, cheering as each state was called. The beer and wine flowed and there was a feeling of imminent victory in the air. Vikki and I sat on a comfy white leather lounge chatting and watching the broadcast. Cash was busy playing host, but he made a point of checking on me regularly, ensuring I was comfortable and telling me to make myself at home. When I went into the kitchen to pour Vikki and I another glass of wine he came up behind me and said, ‘It's great you could make it. I hope we can have some time later to talk about Australia some more.'

Unlike Julian, wanting to ‘talk about Canberra' as a code for a date, at least this time Cash and I were both on the same page. I didn't care if that ‘talk' was code for getting to know each other better – I really liked him. He was smart and hot and had class. I was quite happy to hang out in his stylish apartment. Everything was white and sleek, except for a couple of artworks on the wall and a sculpture in one corner. I heard him telling another guest the sculpture was by a Bolivian artist working in Brooklyn and was a marsupial based on the merging of a platypus and an echidna. He smiled at me when he said it, knowing the Australian connection. In the kitchen was a glass fridge that held the best wines, while the main fridge was full of food for entertaining as well as healthy living, with fruits and vegetables and every condiment imaginable. I looked at the fridge, then across the room to Cash, and I saw a worldly man with good taste and good health. He was a catch.

The room erupted as it became clear that Obama was the new leader of the free world. There were cheers, whistling and punches in the air. Tears flowed with happiness. But the room was desperately quiet as Obama delivered his victory speech – the silence only broken by my mobile beeping like crazy from people back home watching at about 4 pm Aussie time. I texted Adam because I was so crazed with happiness:

He texted back:

Adam wasn't even watching.

The room thinned out quickly as victory parties were being held across the city and all Cash's friends seemed to have exciting lives to go and live. Vikki disappeared too because she had an early shoot. She texted me from the cab:

I was high on the promise of what was possible now, with Obama the president of the free world, and me in Manhattan. I was nervous too, so I busied myself cleaning up the kitchen, stacking the dishwasher, putting empty bottles in one corner of the kitchen and placing cushions back on the lounge.

When I was the only guest left, Cash came in to the kitchen and fussed around the sink, pretending to clean what I had already cleaned. We relived the victory speech, the downfall and eventual disappearance of Sarah Palin from the political scene, and the huge burden now on Obama's shoulders. The air was electric with excitement and relief and sexual tension. I turned to rinse a dishcloth and Cash stood behind me, put his arms around my waist and kissed the back of my neck. I closed my eyes and moaned softly.

He whispered in my ear, ‘Victory.'

‘Victory,' I whispered back.

He turned me around gently and kissed my neck. I wanted Cash right then. It felt right, he felt right. His hands moved down my body and then pushed my dress over my head, revealing my black silk slip and bra.

‘I just want to please you,' he said, dropping to his knees. I wanted to say I wanted to please him too but the words wouldn't come out.

I was grateful I'd cleaned the long white kitchen bench as he lifted me onto it, quickly shoving a tea towel under my head. Victory sex was only going to be hot if we were both comfortable. He kissed my ankles slowly, teasingly, and I wriggled impatiently, wanting his mouth to work its way up my thighs at a much faster pace. It had been months since I had made love and I didn't mind if it was over quickly.

‘Cash,' I whispered, worried about safe sex. He knew what I was thinking and pulled out his own Obama condoms. ‘You read my mind,' I said.

Afterwards we lay on the heated kitchen tiles wrapped in tablecloths. I stared at the city lights coming through the window and I didn't feel guilty at all. I allowed myself to celebrate the most significant moment in modern history with someone who felt exactly the same as me. Someone who was worlds apart from Adam Fuller. I could feel myself letting go, finally.

‘We need to eat,' Cash said jumping up, wrapping a tablecloth around his waist and offering a hand to help me up.

I tried to be as ladylike as possible as I got up from the floor with little to cover me and unsure of what the next move would or should be. What happened in one-night stands? Adam always rolled over and started snoring after sex.

‘You don't want to sleep?' I asked.

‘It's only 10.30. How fast can you get dressed? I have the perfect place for food.'

Cash was on the phone immediately making a booking. ‘We'll be there in half an hour.'

‘Wow, this really is the city that never sleeps, isn't it?' I liked that Cash was capable of organising a table that late.

‘It's great for me, running the bar and still being able to have a social life separate to work. And the Spice Market is one of my favourite places, I know you'll love it.'

The fact Cash even wanted to go out impressed me. Adam only ever wanted to order Thai takeaway.

‘So where's the restaurant?' I asked, as we climbed into a taxi.

‘It's in the Meatpacking District,' Cash answered. ‘The whole district's open twenty-four hours and it covers twenty square blocks. Actually it goes nearly all the way to the Chelsea Markets.'