I needed was a little free time without Dwight, and thanks to Josh Cho, this was it. Carpe diem, y’all. While Dwight went to John Jay College of Criminal Justice and spoke to his friend’s students about rural police work, I could pick up a great souvenir of New York.
Hey, shoes beat a plastic Statue of Liberty, don’t they?
We had been out since ten this morning, which was when the snow stopped and a dispirited sun almost made it through the gray sky.
A heavy snowfall is take-your-breath-away poetry in white when left undisturbed. But plowed and shoveled into waist-high walls along every curb, dusted with soot, desecrated by dogs, and churned into gray mush by Monday morning’s heavy wheels?
Sorry. Poetry it’s not.
Despite the usual bitching from its inconvenienced citizens in the outer boroughs, the city was coping rather efficiently, all things considered. Most of the main arteries were cleared, and between the sun and the scattered rock salt, the sidewalks were getting easier to navigate except at the corners where water had pooled or the sewer openings were blocked. We took a bus down to Rockefeller Center, where we leaned on the rail to watch the ice skaters till we were thoroughly chilled, then poked in and out of the shops along the Channel Gardens before crossing Fifth Avenue to warm ourselves in the stately quiet of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
By then we were both in need of a restroom. If St. Patrick’s has any, they aren’t apparent, but there was a hotel nearby. Travel tip: hotel restrooms are spotlessly clean as a rule and some are luxurious marble and mirrored fantasies. Unless you look like a street bum, the staff won’t pay you any attention.
Warmed and, um, shall we say…rested?… we wandered back toward Eighth Avenue and stopped for lunch at a nondescript café just off Broadway where we ordered steaming bowls of mushroom and barley soup before catching an uptown bus.
As Dwight got off at Columbus Circle to walk over to John Jay, he reminded me to turn my phone back on.
He knows I hate feeling like I’m tethered to the world and I had switched it off after Sigrid’s call. In that short time, I had missed three texts from Emma, one of my many nieces. Nothing of substance, just lots of exclamation points exhorting me to call before her lunch period was over. Like I even knew when that would be. A final text told me to check my email. If I knew Emma, it was probably some extra-funny joke going around the Internet. Jokes could wait when shoes beckoned.
I had not intended to buy new boots, too, but those flimsy plastic ones had already popped an elastic loop, and when the salesman showed me a pair of sleek calf-high boots lined in natural lambswool, I succumbed to temptation.
“Boots are practical,” I told myself. “A necessity in all this ice and snow.”
“Boots, yes,” said my internal preacher, “but what’s Dwight going to say about those pricey red high heels?”
“Bet Dwight won’t say a word if she wears them with that new negligee,” said the pragmatist.
“Besides, I can truthfully say they were on sale,” I said. Never mind that the sale price was almost twice what I would have paid for an off-brand at home.
The preacher rolled his eyes, but kept quiet as I pulled out my credit card. The very nice salesman wrapped my old shoes without sneering, put them in a bag with the new red ones, and volunteered to dispose of those plastic horrors. “Now don’t forget to wipe your boots with a clean damp cloth when you get home,” he said. “Wet the cloth with a little diluted white vinegar. Rock salt is hell on leather.”
Who says New Yorkers aren’t friendly?
Walking back to the apartment wasn’t too bad even though the temperature had begun to drop. The wind had picked up and felt as if it were blowing straight off the North Pole. I pulled my hat further down over my ears and wrapped my scarf around my face so that only my eyes were unprotected. By nightfall, these filthy puddles of water would be crusted in ice again.
The man on the elevator was the same as had taken us down earlier today. No brass name tag on his brown uniform. It occurred to me that he had the same slender build as the one who had quit yesterday. Could it be that men were hired for their ability to fit into existing uniforms?