Manhattan Dreaming (31 page)

‘Why would you do that to me now? You know I always read the dessert menu first.'

Just as I finished saying that the lights went out and a huge chocolate cake with ribbons of chocolate curls on top appeared, its candles breaking the darkness, and then the singing started. I reached for my camera again and hoped the flash would capture the cake, the hats and the merriment.

‘Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you …' and they all sang along in tune while I got choked up.

‘We all just wanted to wish you the deadliest New York birthday you could have, Lauren, so happy happy birthday,' Kirsten said at the end of the song, holding her glass up to a toast. The rest of the table said, ‘Happy happy birthday.'

I blew the candles out and forgot to make a wish.

‘This is so Ossie,' Vikki said. ‘I think we need some Stevie Wonder singing “Happy Birthday” to Americanise this party a bit. You cut the cake, hon, I'll do the music.' While I started cutting and plating, I got all teary at the thought of such friendship and kindness so far from home. Wyatt saw me wipe a tear from my cheek and winked.

He took the cake and served a piece out to me. ‘And now, you must eat cake. It's a birthday tradition we have here in New York, Lauren,' he said.

I lay down flat and full when everyone had left. It was one of the most loving birthdays I had ever enjoyed. I felt the earrings that Wyatt had given me and wondered what would arrive in the post later in the week from Mum and Dad. The mail had been slow but Mum said she'd sent something. I turned my phone on and there were lots of text messages from back home. I logged on to the computer and my MySpace page was covered in birthday wishes and flashing pictures. I saw Adam in my top friends list and realised I hadn't thought about him in days. I was pleased with myself.

April was another crazy month as we prepared for the short film festival and the opening of my exhibition. I met with the services staff about hanging the works, the media people about the promotions and material for the website, and the catering team about the food.

‘I get a rush doing this,' I said to Wyatt as I put the phone down from an NYU professor wanting to bring some postgrad students to the opening. ‘I'm excited when others get excited.' I was on a high.

‘The adrenalin's pumping then, is it?' He swung around on his chair.

‘Certainly is.' I handed him a sheet of paper. ‘How does this running order look to you?'

He started to scan the page, but before he had a chance to comment I thrust another piece under his nose. ‘And can you double-check' – I stopped myself – ‘okay, I know, triple-check this guest list and see if there is anyone else, especially key community members that are missing.'

Wyatt smiled.

‘What?' I asked accusingly.

‘You remind me of me. It makes me laugh is all. We must drive other people nuts with details.'

I took the paper from him and waved it flamboyantly. ‘Ah, but we get the job done,
and
we get the good jobs, so I'm happy to drive people nuts.'

I jumped up urgently. ‘Shit!'

‘What?' Wyatt jumped up also.

‘I've gotta go, I've got a meeting at the American Museum of Natural History. I'll be back later.' And I grabbed my bag and ran out the door.

In the middle of my exhibition preparations Emma had emailed to say she wanted me to meet with the staff at the American Museum of Natural History to see what potential partnerships could be brokered, and this morning the museum was celebrating the 400th anniversary of Henry Hudson's voyage up the Hudson River. I was glad to be part of a ceremonial welcome from the descendants of those stewards of country who were there when Hudson first sailed. The welcome pulled at my heartstrings and made me homesick, and then the drummers started playing and I was completely in awe. One particular drummer in a green ribbon shirt, baseball cap and Nike runners showed the fusion of cultures and the pride instilled in young Native men even today. My heart was beating in time with the drums, and I felt hypnotised as I walked through the exhibits of the museum, wishing we had three square blocks for our own space back in Australia. I met with their education officer to discuss a potential partnership and all the while thought about the green ribbon shirt guy, and how I could get his group to the NAG.

Back at the NMAI Wyatt and I finalised the last-minute preparations for the exhibition opening. The artworks were being hung, media interest was gathering momentum, and the opening night party looked like it was going to be a swinging bash. I was excited.

The film festival was scheduled to happen at the same time and so we had filmmakers and reviewers floating around the museum as well. Wayne Blair's film
Djarn Djarns
was about the love between a father and a son, loss, and how love and friendship can overcome all; Pauline Clague's documentary
Colin and Joyce
was the true love story of Clague's parents, looking at a mixed marriage that had lasted for forty years; and Romaine Moreton's short drama,
The Farm
, was based on her childhood experience bean-picking with her family on a property near Bodalla, New South Wales, in the 1970s. I'd also secured the award-winning feature film by Warwick Thornton,
Sampson and Delilah.
The original plan was to run the Australian films concurrently with local Indigenous films, but after Maria and Wyatt had watched them all we had agreed to give the festival a purely Australian focus.

I had wanted to show the range of genres our filmmakers were working in and the variety of stories and representations they offered, and by all accounts my goals had been met. Feedback forms so far were all positive, with lots of viewers saying they had had no idea there were still Aboriginal people in Australia, and especially in the cities. The educational aspect of the program couldn't be measured fully but I was so pleased at the thought of the impact it could have.

‘Lauren, we've never had such a response to international films before. This is a huge success for us. Maria is never, ever going to let you ever leave.' Wyatt was stroking my professional ego.

‘What? They're not
my
films.'

‘No, but this wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for you, seriously. We all know that.'

I felt a huge sense of accomplishment but by the time the opening night for the exhibition finally arrived, I was more nervous than I'd ever been in my life. I was just hoping I didn't have an anxiety attack and confided that in Wyatt.

‘Try this.' He handed me some Rescue Remedy. ‘Works for me every time.'

People started streaming through the exhibition, taking in the artwork by Karen Mills, whose work incorporated the loop pattern of both traditional dilly bag weaving and knitting stitches which took the artist and the viewer through a spiritual journey using the medium of paint. Students huddled around the work of Judy Watson from the Waanyi language group, whose paintings traced her Indigenous family on the land, exploring issues such as heritage, identity and isolation. Huge portraits by photographer Ricky Maynard from his
More Than What You See
series reported on Indigenous inmates in South Australian prisons. Some of the students revelled in the late Lin Onus' work and his print of Kapt Koori on loan from the National Gallery of Victoria and his infamous sculpture ‘Fruit Bats' featuring rarrk painted fibreglass bats, hanging from an urban washing line. His traditional cross-hatching on man-made material was innovative and it was the first time the Yiribana Gallery in New South Wales had loaned this important work out – another coup for the NMAI.

I tried to be incognito so I could enjoy looking at the artwork as a viewer but also because I wanted to take in everyone else absorbing the pieces. I was pleased people were reading the catalogue and using it as a reference. I stopped at one of Ricky's portraits and stared hard, thinking of Nick in Goulburn and knowing he'd be out soon.

‘You okay?' Wyatt asked, standing close to me.

‘Just a little homesick.'

He put his arm around me and stared at the photo too, and I knew he knew what I was thinking.

‘There's some people who want to meet you, but I can put them off.'

‘No, where are they?'

Wyatt led me to some of the city's top collectors, and eager agents hoping to represent some of the exhibited artists. Then I met students from various universities. There were a couple of students from the class I spoke to who came and said hello and raved about the lecture I'd given them. I was glad Maria was in earshot at the time.

Maria gave a welcome speech, I spoke briefly about the concept of the exhibition, and then Soni Moreno performed. I was so excited to meet her but didn't have my CD there to get signed.

‘It's been a huge success already, Lauren, you should be proud,' Maria said as the evening drew to a close. ‘There's reviewers here, so we'll get some coverage in the
New York Times
and the
Daily News
and that's pretty good for us. Well done.' She hugged me and then had to race over to farewell an elder about to leave.

After the opening, Maria, Wyatt and some of the visiting and local artists all went out to dinner at Alfredo's near the Rockefeller Center and I went too. I relaxed finally, but the adrenalin was still rushing, and we spent a lot of time laughing, mostly at couples sitting at tables and not talking to each other but sending text messages or talking on phones. We toasted the artists, the curators, the museum, the spring weather and the poor waiters who had to deal with our rather loud table in an otherwise quiet establishment. And we all ate too much.

‘Who wants to go ice-skating?' one of the artists asked.

‘Great idea,' Wyatt said, as did most others, and so we all went, except for Maria, who had to get home to her kids.

I hadn't skated since I was a teenager, when Mum and Dad took us to Sydney. I loved it then, but I was nervous wondering how my skinny Koori ankles would cope standing on thin blades.

‘Are you all right?' Wyatt asked as I stood frozen with fear.

‘I'm petrified of falling over and someone skating over my hands. I kind of like my fingers,' I said with a half-smile.

‘You make me laugh, Lucas.' He had recently taken to calling me Lucas, and I liked it. ‘Come on, you can't stand there all night.' He moved onto the ice and held out his hand.

I apprehensively reached out and took Wyatt's gloved hand and slowly we inched into the crowd. I was awkward at first but he was patient, at least for the first two laps.

‘Okay, now we're starting to look like grandparents compared to the kids. That five-year-old has lapped us about twenty times already.'

‘They've got youth on their side,' I said. ‘You can let go now, if you like. I think I'm okay.'

‘There's no way I'm going to be responsible for you coming to work on Monday with no fingers.'

I was glad he didn't let go – I didn't really feel that confident, but I was having a lot of fun. The music in the background was eighties and nineties and couples were doing routines, parents towed kids, friends just had fun. By 11 pm the group had dispersed to their respective boroughs and bars, leaving just Wyatt and I to skate with the other late-nighters. I was eventually able to get some speed up and also do some backwards gliding, with no falls at all. It was the perfect closing to the opening night.

In the first week of June I met with Maria regarding my future at the NMAI.

‘There's only six weeks left on your contract, Lauren, and I'm already missing your great work here. The exhibition was a notable success and I've let Emma know that, of course. We've had many potential partners suddenly appear for future exhibits – including more at the Community House – and indeed, film festivals, thanks to your curating of both.'

‘Thanks, Maria, your acknowledgement means a lot, but you know I was helped all along by Wyatt and other museum staff. It's the same back home.'

‘Yes, I know, but you have energy and drive, and vision, and that's what made it all work in the end.'

I smiled, knowing that Maria was right about my energy and drive. It was what I liked about myself. It had landed me my great job and the fellowship.

‘I've had such a wonderful experience here. The opportunity to bring our artists here and be able to curate at the Smithsonian would've been enough. But I loved working with the team here, too. Wyatt is one in a million, and I've got so many ideas to take back home. It will be very hard for me to say goodbye to everyone here.'

‘Well,' Maria said, looking just like Emma sitting behind her desk back at the NAG, ‘you do realise the fellowship can be extended for another twelve months. I know Wyatt would be thrilled to have you as a co-curator for longer and the security guards wouldn't mind you staying either.'

‘What?'

‘It's a small organisation, and the woman with the funny accent is often mentioned, in a nice way, of course.'

‘Of course.'

‘Have you thought about extending your contract?'

‘To be completely honest with you, Maria, I love it here. It's a great place to work, but I always knew I would only stay the twelve months. I miss my family and friends and the NAG. I've also been toying with the idea of setting up an Aboriginal Artists Management Agency back home – to help facilitate more international exhibitions.' I couldn't tell her that Nick was out of jail too, and I wanted to spend some time with him. It had been too long. I acknowledged to myself that I didn't actually miss Adam any more though, and mentally applauded myself for not looking at his MySpace page at all in recent weeks. I just wanted to go home, it was time.

Then, out of nowhere, Adam called three days later as I sat at home, sweaty after the gym and eating a bowl of fruit salad while Kirsten ironed and we both watched telly.

‘House of hotties,' I answered. I had orange stains on my singlet top and my hair was all messy, my left foot propped on the windowsill in an attempted stretch. Kirsten just shook her head as if to say I was crazy.

‘Babycakes! How are you?'

I was stunned, and almost dropped my bowl. I put my foot down on the floor.

‘Hello, Lauren? It's me, Adam.'

‘I know who it is.' I moved back against the wall and slid down it. ‘I'm just a bit shocked, that's all. What's wrong?'

Kirsten put the iron down and mouthed, ‘Are you okay?' I just nodded yes.

‘Nothing's wrong,' Adam said. ‘I'm calling to say I'm going to be in New York next week. To see you. To see the city.'

I was still stunned. He was coming to see me? The city? Next week?

‘This is a bit sudden, isn't it? I mean I haven't heard from you in months. Where have you been? Why now?' I had so many questions I didn't know where to start. I didn't even
want
to start. I was over him. I didn't want to see him.

‘We can talk about it all when I get there. I'll email you my flight details. Are you still at the same address? Where is it? Chelsea?'

So he'd received my emails, he'd even read them, and
now
he could apparently manage to send me an email with his flight details, so it appeared he knew how to reply to email as well.

‘Babycakes? Are you there?'

I no longer got weak at the name Babycakes. In fact, it annoyed me.

‘I'm here. And stop calling me that. Email me your flight details. I'll find you a hotel. You can't stay here, I've got two flatmates.'

‘I've missed you, Loz, really.'

‘I'll see you when you get here. Bye.' I couldn't bring myself to say I missed him back, not after all this time.

‘It was him, wasn't it? That footyhead fella. What the hell did he want?'

‘He's coming here, to see me, to see New York.'

‘Are you okay with that? Do you want to see him?'

‘Oh fuck, I don't know. And see, he even makes me swear. It's over, I'm over it, him.'

‘It's so typical, men that is. When it suits them they get their shit together. It's good you're making him stay in a hotel, though. That's the best hint.'

I put my bowl on the table, still flustered. ‘This fruit's not enough, sis, I need something harder. You wanna go to the Oz for a drink?'

‘Oh, I'm so sorry, I have work emails I have to send tonight and can't do it blurry eyed or minded. But you go. You'll be right there.'

‘Yeah, I'm a local yokel for sure by now.'

I showered and changed and went to the Australian, hoping I could also get Matt's opinion. He was a straight bloke, thought like a straight bloke, and would tell me straight like a bloke.

‘This is a surprise, seeing you here on a school night,' Matt joked.

‘I know, I needed a drink.'

‘Sounds serious. Usual?'

‘Please.'

‘So what's up?'

‘Adam called – he's coming to New York next week. I don't know why. He said he wants to see me. You're a bloke – do you think that's true?'

‘I'm sure he'll be happy to see you, of course. What bloke wouldn't?' Matt said as he poured my drink.

‘But?'

‘Lauren, he probably didn't tell you he's been dropped from the team. His game is off, they're losing, and everyone's blaming him.'

‘And?'

‘And no other club will touch him, he can't get a contract.'

‘For a few lost games? That's ridiculous, he's got a good track record.'

‘It's not just that, he's been in the papers again about his off-field behaviour, you don't need to know the details. I knew he was coming, footy grapevine. A lot of players come to New York if they're in the shit back home.'

‘Why here?'

‘Because it's a big city perfect for hiding in until things settle down in Oz. He would've showed up here at some point.'

I was confused and annoyed. I didn't want him to come to New York. I was happy now and I had friends I wanted to myself. ‘Well, I knew you first, so your loyalties should be with me, right?'

‘Right.' Matt laughed. I was being ridiculous.

I drank my one Ozmo and as I got up to leave Matt gave me some pavlova to take home. I ate it in the bath. No-one would've believed me if I told them. But I wanted to think, relax, spoil myself with sugar and stare at the Empire State Building. I was in emotional turmoil. I didn't think I wanted Adam any more. I'd stopped looking at his page. I hadn't emailed or texted him for months. But just the sound of his voiced had pulled my heartstrings, but why? He hadn't changed, he hadn't really missed me, and he was only coming to America because he was shamed out of Australia. Why did I even care any more? Because he was my first real love, and my only love. But I was still determined not to let him get under my skin again.

I felt ill walking down the corridor of the hotel I'd booked Adam into at Times Square. I knew he'd want to be in the middle of everything. I wasn't even convinced he deserved to see me. I wasn't sure I wanted to see him, but I was undeniably curious. I hadn't even bothered to wear anything special, he didn't deserve that either. I was hoping the evening would be over quickly.

He opened the door and grabbed me tightly and started kissing my neck. Nothing had changed, he hadn't changed, it was always just physical with Adam. He knew my weakness, but things were different now. I'd had other men kiss my neck, other men who had wanted to be with me properly, took me to restaurants, answered my emails and called me. Other men who wanted to do things during the day, and not just at night. But there was still the same intense attraction that I had for him back in Canberra. I tried to resist.

‘Wait.'

‘What? Loz, come on, I've missed you. And I know you've missed me, I kept all the emails.'

‘Why didn't you respond to them, then?'

‘I don't do emails, you know that. I'm here now. We're together. We're in New York. Let's get busy.'

It had been months since I'd had sex, although I knew it had probably only been days since Adam had. But seeing him then made me want him again, at least physically, and my heart was being pulled by him as well. I could feel myself weakening.

‘I want to make love to you, Lauren,' he whispered.

‘And me to you.'

I thought making love to Adam when I didn't love him any more would be different – maybe mechanical, maybe more exciting. Since coming to New York I felt less inhibited, and I wasn't going to let it all be about Adam now. But it was comforting to be with him again, it was familiar. And without intending or wanting it, all my feelings for him came flooding back. I left before sunrise and hoped Kirsten and Vikki hadn't noticed me out for the night. I was still the strong Lauren at home in Chelsea.

Adam slept the first two days away with jet lag, which was fine, because I had to make up enough hours to take some time off to hang out with him. As soon as he felt human, though, he wanted to go to Chelsea Piers to check out all the sporting spaces there. We stopped at the Empire Diner on 10th Avenue for brekky on the way.

‘It's a twenty-four-hour diner, great for brekky and brunch,' I said as we walked along the street, Adam holding my hand like we were a couple, the couple I had wanted to be back in Canberra a year ago.

Inside I sat down, desperate for some caffeine, and Adam dying for a fry-up.

‘What do you call this kind of diner-style thing, Loz?'

‘It's art deco,' I said, looking at the chrome stools with black patent vinyl seats and black glass-top tables. ‘I like coming here cos it's off the main drag, but there's not a lot to look at.'

‘You can watch all those dog walkers,' he said, and we both looked out the window at the tracksuited men and women with dogs on leashes.

‘Finished?' Adam asked before I'd even put my mug down. ‘I can't wait to get to the Piers, they've got hockey and a driving range and heaps of sporting stuff to do.'

‘Apparently.'

Chelsea Piers was a huge sporting complex on the river. I was keen to ice-skate again but Adam wouldn't be in it. He just wanted to watch the ice-hockey and hit golf balls. So we did what he wanted, and I hit balls for the first time since leaving Canberra. I quickly got my swing back, and could tell that Adam noticed too by the way he smiled when I drove the ball to the 100-metre mark. I missed the open spaces that Canberra had for things like golf, and it was good to be doing something ‘normal' with Adam again. I'd forgotten how much fun we could have together, but I wasn't the one on holidays, so the fun didn't last long.

‘I have to go to work for the afternoon. You can come and hang out at the museum if you like.'

He pulled a brochure out of his back pocket.

‘Loz, the only museum I want to go to is the Sports Museum of America – it's on Broadway, near a bowling green.'

‘It's not a bowling green, the place is
called
Bowling Green. It's near my work, we can get the subway together.'

‘Great,' he said, putting his arm around my waist. ‘I really am happy to see you, babycakes.'

I glared at him.

‘I mean Lauren,' he said, ‘but you'll always be my babycakes.'

I couldn't help but smile. He was sweet and that's what I had always liked about him. As we sat on the subway saying nothing I was remembering the nice times we'd enjoyed back in Canberra, just the two of us in simple circumstances.

As we emerged above ground, I said, ‘I'll meet you here at 5.30 pm, okay?'

‘Okay,' he said and kissed me hard on the mouth.