I’d had plenty of opportunities to go around the city with my camera. In fact, it accompanied me everywhere. But I didn’t want to capture the usual tourist sights. While I appreciated the value of the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, and Times Square, I wanted to photograph therealpeople. Just everyday folks going about their normal lives.
I’d been chatting to an old guy called Carlos, who worked a hot dog stand on the corner of East 8thand University Place. I’d got some beautiful shots of his friendly, gap-toothed grin as he served his faithful, regular customers. Instead of me paying him in some way for allowing me to take his picture, he had insisted on giving me free hot dogs the three times I had been to see him, telling me I was too darn skinny. I’d bought him a Yankees baseball cap as a thank you. The old one he wore looked real tired, and his face had lit up when I presented the new one I had bought for him. He had immediately pulled it on and posed for another photograph.
I’d shot some great images of performers in Central Park, who were playing very alternative music considering the crowd that gathered. They were a group of younger guys, maybe in their late teens. A guitarist, a singer, a violinist, and a guy playing a single drum but somehow making it sound like a full kit. I sat on the grass, munching on a dog from Carlos’ stand and listening, head back, eyes closed, facing towards the sun. Suddenly, the opening bars of ‘Strange and Beautiful’ caught my attention and I gasped. I opened my eyes, my gaze darting around the area as my heart thudded at my ribs.
Is Fin here? Please let Fin be here. What would I say if he was?
As the singer began to deliver the very words that Fin had used to steal my heart, I clambered to my feet and began to walk back towards my plush Upper East Side apartment. It was a good thing I had grown familiar with the city as my vision was blurred with tears. My appetite ebbed away, and I dumped the hot dog in the nearest garbage can as I swiped at the damp trails on my cheeks. Of course he wasn’t there. He wouldneverbe there. His letter had made it patently clear how he felt about me. And I could never forgive him for the things he had said. Even if he came and apologised.
Which he wouldn’t.
I had to give up and move on. Jeez, how many times had I had that conversation with myself? I was like a damn broken record.
Zara from the gallery had asked me to go out for drinks after work on several occasions, but I had always avoided it. I wasn’t ready to socialise. But my reaction to hearingthatsong made me realise I was living in the past.
Next time she asked, I would force myself to go.
50
Fin
I had always hated flying. Not so much because of the fear—although I admit that did play aweepart—but more because of the hours of time it afforded me in my own head. Thinking was such a dangerous pastime. I should’ve been using the time wisely to plan what I would say to Star once I was face to face with her again, but alas, my brain chose to torture me with conjured mental images of her slamming the door in my face. It was a very real possibility. One I hoped beyond hope wouldn’t come to fruition.
I stuck my ear-buds in and listened to the track list I had created especially for the flight. The problem was that every single song reminded me of Star. It hadn’t been my intention to do this, but regardless of that fact, every time I hit skip I was greeted with something that struck a chord inside me.
I decided to watch a movie. I had heard great things about The Goldfinch so I figured I’d give it a go. The cinematography was amazing, the acting was great too but I just couldn’t focus.
Eventually, I gave up and tried to sleep instead.
* * *
The plane landed in JFK and I was off there as fast as my feet would carry me, and as fast as the throngs of people with the same idea would allow. It was almost midnight, and the late October temperature felt sub-zero. I just wanted to crash. My stomach protested its emptiness, but eating was the last thing on my mind. I figured the sooner I got to sleep, the sooner I could go to the gallery and tell Star how I felt.
After going through customs and grabbing my bag from baggage claim, I made my way outside into the chilly New York night air and hailed a yellow cab.
One pulled up right away, and I clambered inside. ‘Hi. Plaza Hotel, please. But can you go via the Napier gallery. I don’t need to stop I… I just want to see it.’
‘Sure thing, boss,’ came the gruff voice with the strong Bronx accent. I smiled to myself about the fact that I had walked into a cliché of my own imagining.
We darted through the brightly lit streets of New York City, and I watched the myriad shops and businesses whizzing by. I wondered why I had never visited in all the time Elise and I were together. It was the kind of place she would have loved. As we passed the Napier Gallery, my heart jumped into my throat. The thought that I was passing by the place where Star spent much of her time filled me with a variety of emotions. Pride, fear, regret but most of allhope. I had to cling on to that.
It was all I had left.
The cab eventually drew up to the curb outside the stunning, multi-storey Plaza Hotel building, where it glowed like a beacon on Fifth Avenue. A beacon provided to me by a very insistent Alasdair, who assured me it was Colette’s treat, not his. As I glanced up at the structure, I could see the hue of many room lights where the occupants had left their drapes ajar. Knowing I would soon be in one of the plush rooms made me relax a little. I paid the driver and grabbed my bag.
Once I had checked in and been shown to my room, I dropped my bag on the floor at the end of the bed and stripped out of my clothes. I gave myself no time to check out the luxurious suite. I needed to wash the grime of the day from my skin before bed.
Standing underneath the powerful jets of hot water and cocooned in a blanket of steam, I closed my eyes and relaxed. A sense of relief that I was at least in the same city as the woman I loved washed over me, and my anxiety began to leave my body and run down the drain with the water.
* * *
Sleep didn’t come readily, and by the time I decided to get out of bed, I had to make peace with the notion that I wouldn’t look great for my first meeting with Star in months. Although, maybe seeing the evidence of my lack of sleep would make her realise I was seriously missing her.
I hoped so.
I ordered bacon, eggs, and fresh orange juice to be delivered to my room, and when it arrived, I sat at the small table by the window and almost vacuumed the food off the plate. My appetite was back. The sharp, refreshing tang of citrus awoke my taste buds, meaning I thoroughly enjoyed devouring the rest of the food on my plate.
I was refuelled and ready to go. A kaleidoscope of butterflies had taken flight inside me, and my palms were slick with sweat, but I made my way down in the elevator and left my luxurious surroundings, stepping out onto the hectic streets of New York City. The kindly doorman dressed in a long coat and a top hat hailed a cab for me, and I clambered in, almost losing my balance. I had never been so bloody nervous. Walking out on stage to perform was a walk in the park compared to how I felt right then.
