for myself, just like the song in City of Angels told me to. I’d go see Mr. Campbell’s play and we’d talk afterward, and when he realized that I’d come all the way into the city to see it, he’d see how committed I was, and there was no way he couldn’t cast me as Cordelia. It was all going to work out.
I was walking faster than usual, picking up the rhythm of everyone around me. Since I was now alone, it was like I could take it all in a little more—the relentless thrum of the construction drills, the smoke rising up from the taped-off construction zones in the middle of the road. The cacophony of honking that soon became just like background noise, the distant wail of sirens a few streets over.
I had expected the next intersection to say Sixth Avenue, but instead, it said Madison. I hesitated for a moment, then crossed the street with everyone else as the light changed from the red hand to the white outlined figure of a guy. I knew that there were streets in Manhattan that weren’t numbered—and then when they were over, the numbers came back again. So I just had to get past these named streets and then I’d be back on track.
I stepped onto the curb just in time to avoid a Sea Food delivery guy on a bike zooming around the corner. Pedestrians and drivers yelled at him as one, then immediately moved on.
I passed by the façade of a grand-looking hotel, flags out front flapping in the breeze, black town cars idling at the curb, and then had to jump back when a car zoomed out of the attached parking garage and out onto the street. The guy next to me, AirPods in his ears, met my eye and shook his head and I rolled my eyes in solidarity, before we both walked on. But as I did so, it was with a secret bounce in my step. I’d just been taken for a New Yorker! Someone who’d also reached the end of their rope with these parking-lot car shenanigans. I quickly reached the next street—this one was Park. As I waited for the light to change—I didn’t yet feel confident to cross against the light unless there were also a lot of other people doing it—I looked up and my breath caught in my throat.
There was a stunning building ahead of me, silver and Art Deco and stretching high above the rest. My first thought was that it was the Empire State Building, but a moment later I realized that wasn’t right, and that I was looking at the Chrysler Building. Humming the line about it from Annie, I smiled as I crossed the street.
It wasn’t until I’d passed Lexington that I realized something was wrong. Not only had I not seen any sign of the theater district, but the buildings seemed to be getting smaller, not bigger. And when I reached the next intersection, and it said Third Avenue, I understood, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, that I’d just walked three avenues in the wrong direction.
I sighed as I turned around, bitterly aware that this wouldn’t have happened if I’d had access to Google Maps like a civilized person. But because I didn’t—because Stevie had gone home and left me behind—I’d just wasted time going in the exact opposite direction, and now I needed to retrace my steps all over again.
I looked around, and when I saw MURRAY HILL BAGELS on an awning, I realized that I’d ended up back in Mallory’s neighborhood. I’d never even heard of Murray Hill an hour ago, and now I’d been here twice.
I rubbed my hands together as I started walking back where I’d just come from, feeling the cold seeping into them. I really needed to have prepared better for this. Gloves, scarf, maybe even earmuffs—a hat would truly mean the end of my waves. But I was only now realizing that when I’d been to the city in winter in the past, it had involved going from train to cab to restaurant to theater, then back again. My parents had always figured out which trains to take, and if it was far, they usually just decided to get a cab or an Uber. Or we’d drive into the city—we had certain garages we always used in the theater district, and my dad would duck out when the curtain call started, so that by the