As I’ve said many times, there are things that happen in this city that don’t happen anywhere else. Sometimes on one day right after the other.
Wednesday, April 11
Gallery opening of photographer Jonathan Alpeyrie at the Anastasia Photo gallery on the Lower East Side. CN and I drink wine and look at photographs of WWII veterans. They’re diptychs, with veterans on either side of the war juxtaposed against each other. One photograph stands alone, of a singular veteran and in its power—an aged Scottish man sits, frowning and jowly, in a graveyard. He wears a bright red kilt and he’s surrounded by bright red flowers. I like him.
Artsy types fill the space—older guys with sprays of gray in their hair, elbow patches on their tweed jackets, younger guys in skinny jeans and oxford shoes. A girl compliments me on my shoes and I smile. We’re invited to an afterparty at the Gramercy Park Hotel.
A bouncer stands inside the hotel bar, in front of two glass doors and red velvet curtains. We give the right name and in we go. Young people sip cocktails. The velvet couch is prickly under my fingertips.
Thursday, April 12
A client’s assistants are out for the day. I sit in his car while he gets takeout dim sum for a friend recovering in the hospital. He also gets me a ball of fresh mozzarella cheese. It’s creamy and sweet and salty and cold and warm all at once. I probably should have eaten less of it in one sitting. What I haven’t picked apart from it sits in the fridge in a bowl of water, waiting for my eager fingers. It tastes just as creamy and sweet and salty as the first day.
Friday, April 13
On Thursday I realized I had no plans for the weekend. Not feeling especially excited about a Netflix evening, I called SD. A dramaturg for a new play written by a friend (Ramona Clay by Stan Richardson), I was invited. Another thing on the list of things I love about New York is the opportunity people have to develop their creativity. It was great to see a new play written by someone I knew watched in its beginning stages in front of an excited audience. I also realized I had forgotten how much I liked meeting new people.
Saturday, April 14
Japanese food and drinks with GD and her sister. Thick, slippery udon noodles and lightly crispy tempura. Cupcake wine. Afterward I walk to Emack and Bolio’s and get Cookie Monster—oreos and cookie dough—ice cream because I felt like it. In honor of the passing of a great man, I walk to the Met. Gold light pours over the steps and a security guard paces back and forth in front of the big, glass doors. It lightly starts to rain and I walk home. I fold the sleeves of my cardigan over my hands and clasp them tight. I walk home.
