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It was Friday night in the West Village. Baseball was on, and the bars were full of Yankee fans. Sausage and I were sat at a bar that was lit by rainbow fairy lights. We ordered drinks and agreed that the baseball kit was the worst of all the American sports kits.
A man settled on the stool next to Sausage. He was quick to tell us he worked in the Financial District. “I tell banks what to do,” he said, comfortably. He didn’t look like the men in the movies, he was wearing specs and a woolly jumper. He also had heavy eyelids. I wasn’t sure if this was a permanent feature, or because of the three cucumber martinis, he had claimed to have consumed earlier that evening.
The Man in Finance had come from money. He didn’t say this directly, but he told us he grew up in Boca Raton. I hadn’t heard of it. But, apparantly it’s the “Beverly Hills of Florida”.
“Do you have a boat?” Sausage asked him. He seemed to like this question.
“I did,” he said through a heavy sigh. “But I sold it.”
“A paddle boat?” I asked. He did not like this question.
“No. Not a paddle boat.”
We asked him what brought him to New York.
He said that he loved his lifestyle in Florida, but he came to New York to be a “big dog.” His phone started ringing. An unknown caller. He instructed us to look after his drink and ran out of the bar. Five minutes later, he returned to his stool, proud as a pudding.
“Was it a girl?” we asked.
“No, it wasn’t a girl.”
“Ohhh….druuugs….”
His face went serious. He scanned the room and lowered his voice. “Want some?”
We began thumping our chests like Matthew McConaughey.
“Mmm mm. Thump Thump. Mmm mm. Thump Thump.”
Man in Finance joined in.
“Mmm mm. Thump Thump. Mmm mm. Thump Thump.”
I began to add in the squarks.
“Gah!…. Gah!….. Gah!”
But this was too far, and it stopped the whole thing.
He went serious again. “So, want some?”
“Nah,” we said and continued the subject of New York.
(This is a family friendly blog after all.)
The Man in Finace loved New York. He lived in a one-bedroom flat near Central Park. He loved that he could go to a different bar every weekend, and the city provided everything he wanted.
“How could you not love New York?” he said with his arms opened wide.
“UM…I’m not a fan,” Sausage announced.
He almost fell off his stool.
“I’ve never met anyone, anyone, who doesn’t like New York.”
“It smells really bad.”
“There are some smells, but surely you can’t hate the city for that?”
Sausage described how every day she has to step through a group of men on her stoop, hunched down, rolling joints like they’re in an arts and crafts class. She also doesn’t like to ride The Subway at night. I agree, it’s a layer between Earth and Hell.
“And women are getting punched in the streets!” Sausage said, finishing off her list. She was referring to a trend where women are randomly getting punched in the streets. (Read about it here)
“Oh, yeah, I heard about that,” said the Man in Finance, then paused. “But still…it’s New York!” It was like he was defending Christmas. He turned his attention to me. “What do you think?”
I was a child when I first visited New York, and was mesmerised by how the buildings disappeared into the clouds like fairy-tale beanstalks. There were marshmallows in the cereal. Pizza slices the size of my schoolbooks, and a restaurant called Mars 3000, where the waiters were aliens.
As an adult, New York still has it’s magic, but it’s not because of the gigantic pizza slices. The city has this atmosphere that no other place can mimic. It’s like you’re in the middle of a human beehive. There is so much life stuffed on that tiny island. And where there is life, there are stories. It’s no wonder the city has inspired so many artistis.
Like, one of my favourite photos, A Llama in Times Square (1957), taken by Inge Morath.
You can spot locations of movie scenes wherever you go. The Plaza Hotel, where Katie sees Hubble with his new wife, in The Way We Were. The Big piano in FAO Schwarz , where Tom Hanks plays Chop Sticks in Big. And Grand Central Station, where Marty the zebra found his other zoo animal friends in the film, Madagascar.
There are icky things about New York, like the tourist trapping Elmo in Times Square. Someone please take Elmo to the dry cleaners. The city can smell of bagels, marijuana, sewage and sweat all at once. And I wouldn’t walk around at night, as it can feel less like Sex and the City, and more like the zombie film, I Am Legend.
But, I still love New York, and I told the Finance Man this… with a caveat.
“New York is a casual lover. You only visit him. You never settle down.”
(I wished I smoked when I was saying this.)
The Finance Man didn’t agree, of course. As far as he was concerned, New York was the greatest city in the world. He ordered another martini and offered his cocaine once more. We turned it down again, and told him to save it for a rainy day.
By now, the baseball was finished, and the Yankees had won. It was home time. We left the Man in Finance at the bar with his martini, waiting to encouter another stranger. Hopefully they’ll want his cocaine. Meanwhile, Sausage and I walked back through the West Village, arm in arm, laughing. The Empire State Building glowing blue above us. Oh, New York.
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