catch the subway, or duck into the Met to look at Madame X, or spend all day wandering the park, or even go sit up on the new High Line and people-watch. My days of making those kinds of memories were over.
We’d better get our damn bagels.
* * *
My boobs made the front page of the next day’s New York Post, alongside a photo of us arriving at the Plaza and some inside shots by the official event photographer. The headline: BEX MAKES THE BREAST OF IT.
At least the writer had complimented my composure, which was a welcome boost heading into a busy day. Nick had a solo trip to Washington, DC, where his brief morning meeting with the president to discuss mental health initiatives was our justification for detouring to the States in the first place. Originally, Marj had made this a day off for me, but two weeks before we left, Bea suggested that I do some unaccompanied duchessing to individualize me a bit, and Marj had agreed.
My first event of the day was touring the 9/11 Memorial, which I very much wanted to see, and was also the absolute last place I wanted to stumble. The mayor’s wife met me downtown accompanied by a petite, earthy woman who had lost her spouse in the tragedy and had devoted the past fifteen years to fighting Congress to get benefits for the families of victims and first responders.
“I don’t know if my husband would approve of me doing this with you,” she said, before cracking an enormous grin and adding, “He really hated the Cubs.”
The memorial itself was serene and moving, especially the reflecting pools in the footprint of the fallen towers with the names of the victims etched in bronze panels around them. I ran my hands over her husband’s name, wishing that I didn’t have to do it in front of a press pack. They made me feel like I was giving a performance, even though what I felt was sincere.
“You must miss him,” I said to the widow as they snapped away.
“Every day,” she said. “I wish we’d had more time together. But when you love someone, it’s always too soon to lose them.”
“I admire your courage so much,” I said as we headed inside to the museum.
“I don’t know if it’s courage. I’m just a doer,” she said. “‘You’ll always feel better once you get off your butt’ is my motto. If you can’t change your own circumstances, then change someone else’s.”
The rest of the day was a whirlwind of meetings with philanthropic organizations, a facility I had found myself that was like New Mentality—I’d been proud of that discovery—and a museum Bea dug up that wanted to start its own version of Paint Britain, the charity I’d started before Nick and I got engaged. She’d told them I could discuss my experience as a cofounder, which made me look knowledgeable and further gave me a chance to do some watercolors with kids, something that Bea knew played to my strengths. It was 6:00 p.m. by the time I made it to my final appearance of the day, at the Empire State Building. I smiled to myself, remembering the time Lacey and I had overdrawn our account and she’d tried to sweet-talk the operator into letting us up to the top for free by telling him that she was supposed to meet someone up there who might be the love of her life.
“I’ve seen those movies, kid,” he said. “All of ’em. Isn’t a day someone doesn’t try that line on me.”
Lacey had begun to protest, then gave up. “You caught me,” she said. “That was lame. We’re just two idiots who screwed up our budget.”
“One idiot who screwed up our budget,” I corrected her, “and one idiot who assumed the other idiot was not, in fact, an idiot.”
He’d unhooked the rope for us. “Lucky for you, I’m retiring tomorrow,” he said. “Say hi to Tom Hanks for me.”
This time, after posing for a few photos and making engaged faces at the building’s new exhibit about its construction, I walked onto a waiting elevator, which dumped me out on the viewing deck, empty and secured for me. My protection officers were downstairs (watching me on CCTV in case something crazy happened, like a sudden hurricane or a visit from Spider-Man). There was no docent to talk me through the sights, no members of the public for me to meet, nobody’s hand to shake and no