Fool for the City, Pt. 1

“Thirty second and fifth.” Shere turns his haggard face over his shoulder towards me and responds, “T’irty two and fife?” “Yeah.” He starts the meter, drops the cab in gear and blasts away from the terminal. So begins another adventure in The City. Trying to disguise my tourist status I decide to ask a question that I think only a local would ask, “So what looks good today? The bridge or tunnel?” Shere’s in his shirt sleeves with the window down. It’s 61 degrees in January. He glances in the rearview mirror. “Da’ bridge is nuts. Da’ tunnel’s shorta’. Besides, wit’ da’ tunnel it’s just ‘zip, bam’ you’re in midtown.” I nod knowingly, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

I have my window down taking in the June-like breeze. We’re alternately hurtling and screeching to a halt down 495 toward the midtown tunnel. To my right, the Bronx. Off in the distance to my left Queens or Brooklyn. I’m not exactly sure. But straight ahead, straight ahead is the unmistakable skyline of midtown Manhattan. My mind drifts back to the last time I was here. It was just about as warm, only it really was June not January. I was meeting Bob and the boys for a weekend of Yankees vs. Red Sox, Terra Blues and whatever else Gotham threw our way. The purpose of this visit was twofold: satisfy the NYC jones that both of us have and to celebrate a new chapter in my life.

As we emerge from the tunnel into the city my eyes immediately shoot up. I can’t help it. My tourist origins are betrayed. I check the rear view to see if Shere’s made me or not. He’s too busy honking at pedestrians and diving in front of MTA buses and other traffic to care. As we come up 33rd, we find our progress stymied by a barricade on 6th. Shere advises I hop out here and walk the rest of the way—about 2 to 3 blocks—as the detour will cost me. I pay him and hop out into the street.

It’s probably about 3 or 3:30 in the afternoon and the sun is low and lighting up the buildings to the east. I head south down 6th and hang a right at 32nd. With my shoulder bag, leather jacket and jeans I fit right in. I keep my head down fighting the urge to stare at the stunning glow reflecting off the buildings as the sun sets. I cross 5th realizing from the signs around me that I must be in Korea Town or something. I’m staying at the La Quinta. Eventually I spot the sign and am in the hotel.

Now, Bob had sent me pics of the hotel the week before. Among them was a rather enticing image of the rooftop bar. Considering the apocalyptically warm temperatures, I am sure the outdoor patio will be open. I skip the front desk and head straight for the elevator. The buttons only go up to 14. That must be the roof. I get to the 14th floor, the doors open and my intuition is rewarded by a sign that says “Rooftop Bar” and an arrow pointing right. Anticipating that first sip of a Ketel and tonic while enjoying a commanding view of the city I round the corner with the excitement of little Ralphie going for his BB gun, only to be greeted by a chalk board sign blocking my path with this disheartening news, “Rooftop bar closed. Do not open door. Alarm will sound.”

Choking back tears, I call Bob to see where he’s at. He said to meet at the bar. Turns out he’s downstairs in the lobby waiting for me. Has been the whole time. How we missed each other I have no idea. I get to the lobby and spot him in line at the check-in counter. We hug, giant grins on both our faces. We’re back baby!

As we check in Bob asks about the bar. The concierge assures us it will be open, but not till 5. We drop off our bags in the room, contact the rest of the NYC contingent that will be joining us and wait for the bar to open. At about 5 til, the owner spots us loitering in the hall and says come on in. We both head straight for the patio. As we head out the sliding door Bob’s ahead of me and turns around before I do. He’s eyes widen, “Don’t turn around yet! Keep coming, keep coming.” He directs me all the way to the other end of the patio. “OK, turn around.” Piercing the sky less than ½ a block in front of me is the Empire State Building. Even on the roof of this 14 story hotel I feel like I’m at ground level. The spotlights at the top are blazing, giving the top of the building a torch like effect. I look for a giant gorilla peering over the edge at me. No such luck.

Five minutes later Vlad joins us on the patio. We play catch up and then sit down to enjoy the view. Angel and Rob join us a short time later. After a couple of rounds we reluctantly leave our perch and head back to street level. We’ve got reservations at Da Andrea. A little ristorante in the Village that Angel and his wife Tracy discovered. Two bottles of Dolcetto and a pile of fantastic food later we waddle out to the street and start strategizing the evening’s battle plan.

It is decided we will head to the meat packing district and check out Hogs and Heifers. The four of us wedge into a cab and are off. We get dropped off a few blocks shy of our intended destination. Turns out it’s been a while since the boys have been in this part of town and things have changed. What was once a reassuringly scary part of NYC has become the equivalent of Rush Street in Chicago. Old landmarks no longer look like they once did to those of our party that frequented this area as yoots. A reorientation hike ensues. Eventually we find the place. This is the bar where they filmed Coyote Ugly. There really is a Coyote Ugly in Manhattan but for some reason the producers chose this bar to film it in. Maybe back then it was scary enough to keep the tourists away and they could film in peace. Who knows. Having been to Coyote Ugly myself (the place not the movie) I see few differences.

The abrasive-but-cute barmaids wear boots, tight jeans, cowboy hats and halter tops. The juke box is blaring Hank Williams Jr., Johnny Cash, Johnny Paycheck and any other honkytonk Johnny you can think of. Soon we’re moving on to see what else the city has to offer. One establishment leads to another and eventually we wind up at the Bleecker St. Bar. It’s got dart boards, pool tables and a tap with plenty to choose from. Angel, a deadly dart player, announces we will set up camp here.

We play darts till about 2:30 or 3 in the morning then head back to the hotel after seeing Angel off to his midtown apartment and indulgent wife. Vlad parts ways with us at his Queens bound subway stop. Rob was lost to us earlier in the evening, but he came all the way from Jersey and needed to stay on the train schedule. Bob and I aren’t quite ready to turn in yet, though. We both crave pizza. Not far from the hotel we find it at a stainless steel, all night pizzeria. We each get a couple of slices and sit down to recap the evening.

Since I’m facing the window I can see people walking by outside. It looks like some kind of party up the street is breaking up. What look to be 19 or 20 year old couples walk by the window and glance in at the two 30-somethings wolfing down pizza at almost 4 in the morning. A couple of girls walk by the window giggling. One of them blows me a kiss, giggles and keeps on walking. I’m feeling both flattered and p’wned at the same time.

Finally we get back to the room. Bob suggests we cap off the evening with a sojourn on the ledge outside our 3rd floor window. Actually it was more like a small balcony with a big flagpole attached to it, but the signs on the window made it clear that the La Quinta management took a dim view of anyone using it as a balcony. Duly warned, Bob and I elect to take our chances anyway and crawl out onto our new private terrace. I notice Old Glory is still wound up on the flag pole like it was when we got in the room. Filled with purpose, pilsner and patriotism I set to untangling the colors so they could fly freely.

After about 30 minutes of sitting in relative silence absorbing the sights and sounds of New York before dawn, Bob and I wedge ourselves back into the room and hit the sack. Sure, I’m not as wild and crazy as I was when I first came to The City but it still brings out a part of me that only it can. My head hits the pillow and I close my eyes with a vision of the Empire State Building blazing into the night sky.

To be continued . . .