tales of a girl in the city

janvier 05, 2005


Some people build moats, choose isolated mountaintops, wear armor, carry a sword. I? Buy a ticket to Carnegie Hall.


David's worried and wondering about dress shirts from Hong Kong, and then, practically in the same breath, he's saying, "So I was thinking of coming up to New York on the 15th."

And some of you--most of you, in fact--will say "Fuck it. He's an ass," and will insult him and encourage me to move on. You'll be right. And I won't even hesitate as I tell him, "I'll be shooting in Philadelphia."

He counters immediately with potential plans to visit his friend in Philly on his way to New York. Maybe he'll find me and watch me film. Maybe we can have dinner. The maybe's go on long enough for me to remember the good stuff. And it's hard again, then, to stop his plans short, but...

"I'm not sure what my shooting schedule is yet. We'll see."

As I say it, I think about our 4th of July.

When he emails the next day it's, "When are you going to be in Philly? I'll be there for work on the 14th. Are you just going to Philly, or will there be other stops? Will you still be there on Monday?"

No luck, I reply. Though that doesn't phase him.

"Well, I guess I'll just come on up to New York the night of the 14th, then. I'll be in around 7:00. Sounds like you have to get up early the next day, but maybe we can meet up for drinks or dinner?"

That's when I start to look around for a ticket. Because I'm not strong enough to say no without an excuse.

(You can criticize that all you want, but only if you've never gone back when you shouldn't.)

The Met: No Performance. The New York Phil: Nothing. Carnegie Hall is my last option; I'll take anything. Anything--a euphonium soloist.

I'm in luck, and it's not even terrible. Violin and piano. Brahms, Beethoven, Prokofiev. A single ticket. I know already that I'll wear a creamy sweater. Pretty earrings.

A few clicks and it's purchased. Safe.

I write back, "Sorry. I'm going to a concert that night (can't always listen to Irish drinking tunes.) It starts at 7:30 at Carnegie Hall...."

I know already. The sweater will be meant to approximate the heat of another body. I'll play with my earrings if I miss him--something to do with my hands.

Brahms, Beethoven, Prokofiev.

Their notes will swirl around me, and pile up.