Manhattan Dreaming (23 page)

‘Is it all businesses or residential as well?' I'd never been to the Meatpacking District before.

‘It's both, and a very arty district with writers, designers, architects and luxury boutiques and great restaurants and bars. It's one of my favourite parts of the city,' Cash said, paying the driver.

We walked up the stairs into the restaurant and Cash sat me down at the bar. ‘Why don't you order a drink and I'll just let the hostess know we're here. We still may have a few minutes' wait.'

I ordered a Saigon Cosmo – vodka, plum sake and cranberry juice mixed together – and watched Cash speak to the hostesses at the door. I looked at the crowd of business people, couples, and two girls enjoying a drink at the bar. It was dimly lit and busy with chatter. It looked like people were waiting for tables but no-one seemed to worry because it was the place to be and the luscious smells of spices, chillies and curries wafted through the renovated warehouse space. I heard two business men with their ties off talking about the economy, how Obama had a massive job ahead of him.

The barman gave me my drink and I liked the service, friendly but not sugary sweet. Cash came over, pleased we would be seated shortly.

‘Apart from my own restaurant, this is the best service I've had in New York,' he told me.

‘Really?'

‘There-but-not-there-waiters, not in your face. And it's the perfect place to be on a cold night.' Cash put his arm around my waist and ordered himself a beer.

I was still glowing from making love, and every sense was peaking. I could even smell the wooden floors and beams, and the coldness of the copper lights.

‘You look beautiful, Lauren, and you look like you belong in Manhattan.'

‘Well, this certainly isn't Manuka or Goulburn.'

The hostess came and ushered us to our table. ‘Is there anything in particular that takes your fancy, Lauren?' Cash asked. ‘It all looks good to me. Can you order?'

Cash ordered us both kumquat mojitos and a twelve-course tasting menu and then started to dissect the election.

‘Will your friends be happy about Obama winning?' he asked.

‘Over the moon. My phone was going off all night! We're like the fifty-first state of the USA, so it mattered to most of us what happened with this election.'

‘I'm so disgusted at the level of amateurishness of the Republicans and their dirty campaign. Sarah Palin is –' Cash was looking for the right word, and I knew he didn't want to swear.

‘She is like our own Pauline Hanson – also a redneck – but at least Hanson doesn't wield a rifle!' It was good to know that Cash and I could talk politics, but he also gave me theatre reviews and football tips, and the snow forecast for the next twenty-four hours. As the first course arrived I believed I was on the best date of my life.

Three weeks later and I was officially ‘dating' Cash. Not the famous obligation-free New York-style dating, but proper dating. I went to his bar after work. Sometimes he cooked for me at his place, and sometimes he took me out. I started to see what I had been missing out on with Adam, how a relationship should work, unfold, develop.

I was making plans on the phone with Cash when I finally had a chance to tell Wyatt about him. We were friends and I was finally excited and wanted to share my happiness. Seeing as I'd told Wyatt previously I wasn't looking for a relationship in New York, I felt slightly strange about telling him earlier. It was now the right time.

‘So,' I said wheeling my chair around to his side of the partition. ‘I really like Cash.'

‘I guessed that, you've been smiling big the last week. He's a good guy, right?'

‘He's a good guy, and I like being around him. He's funny, and clever.'

‘Ah, but is he organised, like you?'

‘He is!
And
he's interested in my work and Aboriginal politics, art and culture. He's perfect. You'll meet him later, he's coming in to check out the exhibition, but mainly to see me. He just likes being around me, apparently.'

‘Of course he does, why wouldn't he? Deadly Indigenous woman. That's what you are.'

‘It's really nice not to have to do much work – I did all the work with Adam. But as you once told me, if a man wants to see you, he will make it happen. Cash makes things happen. I like that.'

‘He's a lucky guy.' Wyatt was looking at his computer screen again. ‘Sorry, I've got to get this email off to Maria asap.'

Cash came in for lunch and went through the museum before coming up and meeting Wyatt briefly. As soon as I'd seen him out of the building I raced back to see what Wyatt thought. But he was very restrained, only commenting, ‘Cash appears to be a genuine guy.'

I didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing but I didn't want to push it. I had to remember we were colleagues and I was a guest at the NMAI.

The opening night of Wayne Quilliam's ‘Lowanna' (Beautiful Woman) exhibition at the American Indian Community House had arrived finally, and so had the UN's Permanent Indigenous Forum members. Kirsten had been working fourteen-hour days and we'd hardly seen each other. She was bringing the members to the opening, though, and we'd planned to go out for dinner afterwards. Cash came along too and mingled effortlessly before I introduced him to the artist.

Wayne stood as tall as Cash, but fairer and bald, with a goatee. He had a warm face and smiling brown eyes as he extended his hand to shake Cash's.

‘Wayne, this is my boyfriend, Cash.' I liked the sound of it – boyfriend. I'd never really said it with any confidence about Adam.

Cash shook Wayne's hand. ‘I like your work, mate. I'd buy some images but I think I'd be a smarter guy if I just commissioned you to take some photos of my own beautiful woman,' he said, referring to the exhibition title.

‘Any time, bruz, I'm always looking for deadly Black sistas to work with.'

After the speeches were done and the crowd thinned out, we all went to Eight Mile Creek, an Australian-themed bar and restaurant with an Out-the-Back garden to sit in during summer and have Sunday afternoon barbecues. It was another one of Kirsten's favourite places because they had Aussie lamb and emu and a range of Australian wines. It was the place she went to when she was really homesick. She wanted to show me and the rest of the mob a different Australian venue than Matt's. It was a good change from the Manchester for the UN mob too.

Vikki was meeting us there, but when we arrived I found her sulking in a corner.

‘What's wrong?'

‘My ex-boyfriend is working behind the bar,' she said, and took a sip of her drink. ‘He was a complete jerk to me, cheated on me and
apparently
he's still with the woman.'

I'd never seen Vikki so upset. I didn't even recall her mentioning an ex-boyfriend who had cheated on her. She always seemed so strong, as if she didn't care about men that much. It suddenly dawned on me that dating three men at a time was actually a protective mechanism for her.

‘He's the reason I don't want to let anyone else get close to me again, not for a long time. I just don't understand why people cheat. He could've just broken up with me if he wanted out. I gave him an out, he didn't take it. Instead he was fucking her and fucking me over at the same time.'

Cash came towards us with a bottle of champagne and some menus.

‘You ladies look like you need some perking up, and can I suggest you both eat something, please?'

‘You don't have to tell me twice to eat. Show me the desserts!' I joked, trying to cheer Vikki up and taking the menu from him.

‘He's a keeper, Lauren,' Vikki whispered in my ear as Cash poured the bubbly. ‘You're very lucky.'

‘I like him, we're friends and we're having fun. But I'm definitely going home next year as planned.'

December brought with it below-zero temperatures and snowfall. One day, the snow lifted and Cash took me for a stroll through Brooklyn Park and taught me how to make snow angels by lying straight out and scissoring legs and arms like doing jumping jacks lying down. We took photos of each other and watched kids ice-skating. I had fun and the sun shone strongly. But as we walked over the Brooklyn Bridge into the city the temperature dropped rapidly and I could feel the icy wind tear through me. Everyone in New York looked miserable now, not like summer, when I'd first arrived. It was a little like the Canberra winter that I didn't miss.

I was wearing so many layers I could hardly move. Underwear, thermal vest, skivvy, jumper – or ‘sweater' as Vikki had pointed out – a coat, hat, scarf, gloves, and boots. It was impossible to feel sexy with so many layers on. I always felt bulky. I didn't want to buy one of the down coats that every second woman had on, but I had no choice. My Canberra coat just wasn't doing the job.

‘Just a tip, the really long down coats you see people wear, they're called “drug dealer coats” because the dealers who stand on the corner all night wear them to stay warm,' Vikki advised as I headed to Century 21. I bought a three-quarter-length one, not realising that the fur-lined hood was actual fur and not ‘faux fur' as I had imagined. I told myself it was okay, as was the pink rabbit fur hat I bought. Rabbits were a pest back home. Dad used to catch them and Mum would make rabbit stew.

The weather became increasingly unbearable, especially when the heating went out in our building. Sometimes it lasted a few hours, sometimes a few days, depending on what needed to be fixed. On the odd occasion when the pipes froze, there'd be no hot water either. One night I went to bed looking like a cat-burglar about to take a cat-nap: black socks, leggings, skivvy, Koori Radio beanie and my QANTAS eye mask. It was a rough night's sleep. When the heating finally came back on it made so much noise – spluttering, hissing, banging and farting – that the radiator sounded like it was going to blow up.

‘Stay with me,' Cash offered when I complained about the first frozen and sleepless night.

I stayed with him for two nights because of the heating, but it wasn't something I wanted to do too often. I didn't want to lunge into anything serious, knowing I'd be going back to Australia in July anyway.

I was really sick with the flu by the second week of December. I didn't know how the whole of New York wasn't ill, considering that people generally spent their nights in stifling apartment blocks with central heating and then headed out into the freezing blizzard. In and out, in and out, to the point that my body just couldn't take it any longer. And then, just as Wyatt and Maria had convinced me to go home to bed, I sprained my ankle.

It was my own fault. I didn't want to be like everyone else, staring at the ground looking miserable. I always walked facing the day, facing the world. But I didn't listen to Vikki, who warned me constantly to ‘watch out for the black ice'. I should've been watching the footpath, making sure I didn't slip and slide in the slush, but I didn't. My left foot slid on black ice and I almost did the splits, twisting my right ankle. I can't imagine what it must have looked like from front on or behind me. My leg started to throb immediately and then I started to cry.

‘Are you okay, ma'am?' A security guard came out of CVS pharmacy on 8th Avenue and grabbed my elbow. I was weeping like a child, my nose still running from my cold, I had a temperature, and now I was embarrassed with a sprained ankle.

‘I'm not sure,' I sobbed.

‘Let me help you up.'

‘I didn't see the ice.'

‘Black ice, it's got three people today already.'

‘Good. At least I don't look like the
only
fool.'

‘You're a pretty fool. I also had to help up a 250 pound man, so you're a pleasure.' He was trying to make me feel better. ‘Where are you going?'

‘Just up to 25th.'

‘Charlie … Charlie,' he called in towards the shop entrance. Charlie came to the door. ‘I'm going to walk this lady to 25th, she's hurt her ankle.'

‘All right, man. Don't be long.'

‘Really, I'll be fine,' I said, putting my foot down and then cringing with the pain. He walked me all the way to my door and I buzzed Vikki to come down.

‘Hon, are you all right? I told you about the black ice. It's a killer.'

‘I know.' I wept all the way upstairs.

‘Let's get you into bed, where you need to STAY for the next couple of days.'

I felt miserable, and couldn't be around anyone. Cash took the following afternoon off and came over with a bag of food to keep me nourished for the week, knowing that I would be stuck in bed. He also brought the entire series of
West Wing
over for me.

‘Tonight, Ms Lucas, we have my world famous cure-all chicken soup that is sure to make you feel better from top to sprained ankle and then toe!'

Cash sat at my bedside and ate the chicken soup with me as we watched the news. I was enjoying all the attention he was giving me.

‘I bought some chest rub that will help you breathe when you sleep. Shall I?' He pulled the jar out of his bag.

‘Oh all right,' I said, giving in. He gently worked the rub into my back first and then my chest.

‘I suppose you want me to do you too?' I asked with an attempted laugh.

‘No, sugar, tonight it's all about you.' Wow, all about me, that was a first. Cash slid into bed next to me for an hour before he had to go to the restaurant at six. I told him to stay away for the rest of the week because I didn't want him to get sick. As he left he handed me a menu.

‘I know you like butter chicken, so if you have a craving, call this restaurant. They deliver and I have a tab there, order whatever you like. It will make me happy if I can't see you that at least I know you're eating properly.' Cash was the perfect friend and considerate lover and nurse.

When he left I Skyped Libby, because it had been weeks since we'd talked and she was arriving to visit in only eight days. With the laptop resting on a pillow and a cup of tea next to the bed, I sniffled over the ether.

‘Miss you guys so much,' I said through a semi-blocked nose.

‘Not half as much as we miss you. And what's wrong with you? You look awful.'

‘Thanks a million. I'm sick, bad cold, and sprained my ankle.'

‘Poor thing! You'd dry out quickly back here, it's stifling. I just put some washing on the line and it dried in about an hour! Are you okay?'

‘I'll be fine, Cash has just been here, made me chicken soup and brought me …' I held up the
West Wing
DVDs and saw Libby clap her hands in approval of his choice.

‘He sounds like a good guy.'

‘He is, and so attentive it almost feels abnormal. Well, abnormal for me. He fusses, and thinks ahead, and we don't argue and he's not running around with other women.'

‘Now don't be putting him on a pedestal straight away, tidda, okay?' I could see the restraint in Libby's face, no doubt worrying I'd fall for Cash and end up being hurt again.

‘Oh no, my days of doing that are definitely over, and it's not like I'm in love with him or going to fall in love with him, because what would be the point? I'm going home in July.'

‘Well, then, I'm glad to hear you'll have someone to take care of you until I get there in EIGHT DAYS!' she screamed. ‘I am soooooo excited, look!' She panned her laptop around her bedroom and showed me her half-filled suitcase and travel books and brochures. ‘I'm going to be well prepared.'

‘I can see that,' I laughed, ‘but leave some room for shopping, okay?'

‘Oh, I'll buy another case and fill that up.'

‘That's a girl, I'll have to send some gifts home with you, too.'

‘All good, tidda, but I'll have to get to work now, 9 am meeting. See you soon. We're going to have so much fun. I'm still working on my list of things to do, I'll email it to you.'

‘Can't wait,' I sneezed and coughed.

‘Get better all right? Bye.'

‘Bye, love to everyone there.'

Libby logged off first. I didn't want to break the connection, I felt homesick for Canberra. For my friends and my family. I didn't want to call Mum and Dad because I knew I'd cry and that would only upset them.

In a moment of extreme weakness I went onto MySpace and checked Adam's page. Nothing had changed at his end, but for some reason I felt the need to email him. I wanted him to know I was sick.

I assumed that when he read I was sick he'd email me back with at least some words of comfort and good wishes. But by the time I went back to work a week later I still hadn't heard from him, and I felt like an idiot, again.