Manhattan Dreaming (29 page)

He wanted to take care of me. It echoed in my head.

The perfect man was offering me all the love and affection and practical things any girl in her right mind could want and yet my mouth was moving faster than I could think. ‘It's just that it's too soon for me, and by the time it's not too soon, I'll be going back to Canberra, to my mob, to my family. It's where I belong.'

Cash stood up in his boxers and shook his head.

‘But I don't want to lose you. I don't know how you're single in Australia, but I know that I'll lose you if I don't make a real commitment to you, if not now, then soon.'

‘I won't be staying here, Cash, I already know that. Australia is my home and I could never move anywhere for a man. My grandfather used to say that a man should love the woman enough to follow her anywhere, but a woman should never follow a man anywhere.'

‘I'm not asking you to follow me anywhere.' He was getting annoyed. ‘You're already here. I know you love it here, and I'm making it easier for you to stay. We could have a great life together. I know you know it. You just need some time, is that what you want?'

‘You make out as if I don't know what I want. It's not true. I know I want to go home, I don't need time to think about that. Australia is my home, that's where I belong.' I felt like Cash wasn't hearing me, that he didn't want to hear me, but I was being completely honest with him. I realised sitting there how many times Adam must have said things that I too had failed to hear.

Cash sat back down on the bed and held my hand. ‘And this is where
I
belong, here in New York. This is
my
home. And I want to stay in
my
home too. It's just that I want
my
home to be
your
home.'

‘I'm sorry,' I said and leaned in and hugged the perfect guy, knowing it was the last time we would be together.

Cash called and texted me every day for the following week and even though I missed him terribly – our regular chats, his affection, our friendship – I told him there was no point in seeing each other again, the future was clear. I was sad, but much stronger than I was when breaking up with Adam. I could now recognise when something just wasn't going to work. I was grateful for the minor epiphany. I also knew now what a true and loving companion could be like and how a healthy relationship
should
look, thanks to Cash.

Libby had emailed me three times that week about work and gossip, but I hadn't responded to the personal ones. I didn't want to talk about it. I just wanted to get on with the rest of my life in New York. I dropped her a quick email later to let her know what was going on:

She emailed back:

It was true that I didn't have too much time to dwell on Cash as there were only two weeks before I had to give the lecture on Aboriginal art at the progressive NYU New School in Greenwich Village. I did a quick web search to determine what my student audience might be like and found that most of the programs at the uni were in design, liberal arts, the performing arts, and social and political science. The institution itself aimed to create a place where global peace and justice were more than theoretical ideals, so I was keen to speak there and help achieve their mission through my lecture.

My excitement was tempered by anxiety, though. Wyatt said my lecture would build up our relationship with the university, and Emma had emailed me some notes on artists I should include. I just hoped I didn't have a panic attack on the day.

I wanted to give an inspiring lecture but I wanted to be practical also, pointing the students in the right direction if they wanted to find books on Aboriginal art after the lecture. So I went to the New York Public Library to see what they had on their shelves.

I had a spring in my step walking from home along 7th Avenue in the direction of the library. I wore my pink hat and a matching pink scarf Mum had sent from home. The sun was shining and although it was cold, at least people in the street were smiling again. The snow had melted on the sidewalk for the time being but I still looked for black ice.

I turned at 40th Street and headed towards 5th Avenue. I stopped at Bryant Park and watched people ice-skating. One guy kept eyeballing me each time he went past; was it a particular pick-up gesture in New York? I wasn't quite sure so I walked off.

I took photos of the world-renowned marble lion statues out the front of the library – Patience and Fortitude. The pair were as important to the city landscape as the library itself and I was happy to take more photos for an Italian couple who wanted to be snapped with them.

I walked up the stairs into the huge foyer, looking at the monstrous white columns that framed it, and recalled the scene from
Sex and the City
when Carrie first arrived at the wedding that never happened.

Once inside it was like other galleries and museums, where volunteers greeted me with maps, knowledge and smiles. I first went to the Bill Blass Public Catalog Room and marvelled at the sheer grandiosity of it all. I felt like I was in a sacred site. It was so quiet. I sat in an old wooden carved chair on tiled floors that added to the cold feeling of the space. A guy sat opposite me at a computer at a long wooden desk, with four computers either side. I looked up and admired the ornate ceilings.

I searched the library catalogue for Australian Aborigines, Aboriginal Australians and Aboriginal artists to see what was available there. I found Michael Riley's
Sights Unseen
edited by Brenda L Croft. There were other titles, but this was the most appropriate for the students, I thought. It had essays by renowned Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australian contributors and some of the country's top art experts. I also searched American Indian art, Inuit art, Indians of North America and Eskimos of Alaska. There were thousands of entries.

I went to the reading room to finish my research and develop a resource guide for the students. The room felt highbrow and intellectual. It was what I would call a traditional library, very different to my old library back in Goulburn, and even different to the National Library in Canberra. I felt smarter just walking through it. The space made me want to read and learn more, and although I was there to research, I felt the tourist wave come over me. I wanted to take photos but I didn't.

I scanned the reading room and saw people who were studying. There were men in suits and students in college sweatshirts. And there was no talking at all, and definitely no talking to yourself, at the New York Library. I had to snap myself out of daydreaming and get stuck into my lecture plan. I wrote a structure that I could use also to deliver a paper at the NMAI if Emma ever wanted me to.

Lecture structure:

1. Intro self – acknowledge traditional owners of New York
   
2. Intro to Indigenous Australia – basic demographics – stats on where we live (rural / remote), where we're employed, history of defining Indigenous Australians, etc.
   
3. The diversity of Indigenous visual arts by form:
   

I was getting inspired as I typed quickly on my laptop.

My only concern as I punched the keys was that I would run out of time with all the information, ideas and artists I wanted to inspire the students with. Back at the NMAI I showed Wyatt the plan.

‘It's good, Lauren. Actually, it's great. There's so much here that will give the students a foundation and understanding not only of the art scene, but the social and political too,' he said, concentrating on the page as he spoke.

‘Thanks, your opinion means the world to me. Is there anything else I should add?'

‘It's not essential, but it would be helpful to the students if you did some comparisons along the way, with the demographics and the like, in terms of what's what for Native Americans. I'm sure many of the students will be surprised.'

‘Oh, that did cross my mind, but I wasn't sure. If there's anything you can give me on that front, that'd be great. I'll get on to it right away.' And I sat down and started working on the additions immediately.

The day arrived and I was excited about giving the lecture. NYU sounded flash, but Vikki told me the New School was like UTS in Sydney, basically a concrete slab. I didn't care. The students were friendly in the way only New Yorkers could be, and they were genuinely interested in art from the oldest surviving culture in the world. After a general introduction I gave my lecture, focusing on the regions I had been fortunate enough to visit and artists whose work I had exhibited, including material from the East Kimberley, the Tiwi Islands and major cities like Sydney and Brisbane.

I was intrigued by some of the questions from the students: Is Australia a racist country? Has anything changed since John Howard lost the election? How did I think art empowered Aboriginal people?

The clock struck 4 pm and students started packing up folders and bags and moving out of the room. I couldn't believe how quickly the time went.

‘Hi, my name's Dason.' A student introduced himself to me while I unplugged my laptop. ‘I really enjoyed your lecture, and I'll definitely check out the books and websites you recommended. I wondered if I might buy you a coffee and talk a little about my PhD? I'm thinking of incorporating a discussion of art.'

I looked at my watch.

‘There's a group of us going,' he added.

‘Sure, just let me call the office.'

I told Wyatt I was going to do some follow up with the students and headed to Cafe Reggio in MacDougall Street with Dason and the group. I knew Denise and Libby would be jealous of me hanging out with the cool people in the ‘cool street'.

Dason and I chatted on the phone a few days later. He seemed to have developed a crush on me over the coffee and chat, but I wasn't interested. On Valentine's Day two weeks later, a massive bouquet of flowers arrived at the NMAI. Both Wyatt and I were at our desks when security called.

‘Wow, I've got flowers downstairs,' I said, rushing out the office door.

‘Lucky you.'

I walked back hidden behind a massive bouquet of roses, busting to read the card in private.

‘Gees, that's some Valentine.'

‘I know, aren't they beautiful?' I sat down and took the card from the small gold envelope.

The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of … Pascal
.

I sighed out loud.

‘Is that a good sigh?' Wyatt asked.

‘I'm not quite sure who they're from.'

‘Your man in Australia, perhaps.'

‘Highly unlikely.'

Even though I had sent Adam a card, just because I wanted to send
someone, anyone
, a card, I was fairly sure the flowers were from Cash. He was the romantic one with money to spare. I sent him a text to say thank you for the flowers, but there was no response.