Slow Dance with Manhattan

If Manhattan were a man he would wear a London fog raincoat, have a three-day beard, and smoke New Ports. He’d put his arm around my waist, pull me in close, and whisper “Don’t leave me.” And I’d promise I never would again.

If Manhattan were a song it would be Tony Bennett singing “Foolish Heart”. It would be that kiss almost on the lips. The one that leaves you wishing you had turned in time to catch it full on. The one you have been waiting for as long as you can remember. The one oh so worth the wait. Be still my foolish heart.

If Manhattan were a dance, it would be a slow dance. The kind where your partner is pressed so tight against you that you feel their warm breath on your neck when they exhale. The kind where you can’t tell if it is your heart pounding or theirs. The slow dance where you wish the song would never end.

The last time I was in Manhattan was 40 years ago. I had flown to Chicago to audition for “Show Boat” and took the Lake Shore Limited on to Manhattan. That was when I fell in love with New York. It was a seven-day love affair I have never gotten over. Time and life choices had kept us a part, but I was still smitten, and I hoped it wasn’t too late.

The last leg of the train ride was along the Hudson River. The leaves on the trees were all red and gold. It took my breath away. Today as my train pulled into Penn Station I was once again in Manhattan. I grabbed my suitcases and headed for the subway to 42cnd Street. I don’t like being underground, but this was underground in Manhattan.

Sitting on the subway hot tears filled with 40 years of longing wet my cheeks. A young man in a Bob Marley T shirt asked me if I was OK. “Yeah” I said smiling through my tears, “I’m in New York.” He smiled back and said “Yeah, I get it.” He sat next to me.

I felt like he was holding the space for me and I was grateful.

Times square looked like New Years Eve due to a free Alisha Keys concert which meant no cab I’d have to walk. This neon galaxy with wet streets and twilight sky smelled smokey from burning leaves and roasting chestnuts. I was glad I had worn the scarf a sales girl with extra-long red nails talked me into at the Beverly Hills Macy’s. It felt good around my neck, so soft and warm. It was a comfort. A single earring glittered in the wet gutter. I bent down, picked it up, and put it in my pocket for good luck.

Every breath I took I felt more alive. Dreams I was sure had burnt to a crisp on the back burner suddenly felt possible. The innocence and vulnerability that even Hollywood could not tarnish attracted New York knights in shinning armor who helped me get through the crowd with all my luggage and to my hotel. I had not traveled light to say the least. I was alone in the Big Apple but not really. I was escorted by New Yorkers, generous and kind, nothing like their unearned reputation.

I checked into the Edison and went up the elevator to my room. You could feel the history. That’s why I love old hotels. The gold railing with the art deco touches felt cool in my hand as I grasped it and felt the elevator rise to the 5^th floor. The doors opened, and I went down the long hallway with the 40’s floral carpet, to my room.

My room was small with a queen size bed. The east wall was all windows. The colors were crème and black. A big Art Deco Mirror hung on the wall. Next to it was a large modern TV screen. I turned on the TV and the first debate was on. I muted the sound and you could hear Alisha Keys, John Mayer and a choir of 10,000 New Yorkers singing “Some people want diamond rings, some people want everything, but everything means nothin’, if I ain’t got you.”

Manhattan had taken me back.