paintbrush than a computer mouse in my hand, and yes, I still type with two fingers (oh, all right, then, one finger), and it’s true thatllpa’s ill tyhat until recently I thought a spreadsheet was that curtain-thingy on the bottom of the bed (apparently it’s called a valance, which quite frankly is a really stupid name for it. Spreadsheet makes far more sense), but how hard is it to write down all the things you have to do, then tick them off when you’ve done them?
Feeling rather pleased with myself, I look back at the computer screen and my neatly typed list. Actually, hang on a minute, rewind that thought. I have to do all these things? By the end of this week?
Shit.
6. Panic.
But not right now. It’ll have to wait until later, as it’s lunchtime, I realise, seeing Magda’s head popping out of the back office to remind me it’s time to eat. Again. I swear I could set my watch by her. Bang on one o’clock she sends me out to Katz’s, our local deli, for her usual order of a pastrami sandwich on rye and matzo-ball soup. Though with her tiny size-zero figure and twenty-inch waist, I have a sneaking suspicion it’s Valentino, her Maltese, doing most of the eating.
Katz’s is a New York institution that’s been around for ever. For tourists and those new to the city like me, it’s famous for Meg Ryan’s faked orgasm in When Harry Met Sally. It happened right in the middle of the deli. There’s even an arrow pointing to the exact table where it was filmed.
‘God, I love that scene.’ Taking a ticket, I turn to Robyn, who’s just popped out between appointments to meet me with a set of keys she’s had cut for the apartment. She works at Tao Healing Arts, not far from here, in Chinatown.
‘Men don’t.’ She grins, also taking a ticket and following me to the counter, where, as always, there’s a long queue. ‘It scares them. Women who fake it are like the Tooth Fairy. We don’t exist.’
I laugh. When she’s not quoting Oprah, Robyn can be very funny.
‘Saying that, I’ve never needed to fake it.’
I stop laughing abruptly. ‘You haven’t?’ My voice comes out a little higher than intended.
‘Nope, not me.’ Shaking her head decisively, she leans closer. ‘I’m like a hair trigger.’ She snaps her fingers and I jump slightly.
‘A what?’ I ask in confusion.
‘You know, I respond to theÎresjustifo t slightest stimulation,’ she says cheerily. ‘What about you?’ She meets my eyes with that shiny, happy confidence that Americans seem to ooze from their pores.
‘Oh, um. Just a few times,’ I fib, pushing my sunglasses back on my head and flicking my hair about, like I always do when I’m avoiding. Well, I’m not going to admit I can’t remember the last time to little Miss Hair Trigger over here, am I? ‘You know, sometimes, when I’m a bit tired.’
‘Have you tried sensual massage?’ she suggests helpfully.
That’s another thing about Americans – they are always so completely earnest. With fellow Brits, this conversation would have already descended into lewd jokes and leg-pulling, like the recent afternoon I spent in a bookstore with Kate sniggering at the illustrations in The Joy of Sex. She was going to buy it as a wedding gift for her friends, but after seeing the pictures of the hippy guy with the long beard and skinny legs, she was scared it might have a detrimental effect on their love life. She ended up buying them a set of steak knives instead.
Still, I am an adult, not a teenager. I should be able to have a conversation about orgasms and sex without being immature and having to make silly jokes, I tell myself firmly. I mean, I’m not that childish.
‘It can really help get you in the mood.’
‘What? The mood for lurve?’ I joke, doing my best Barry White impersonation.
Robyn’s steadfast gaze doesn’t waver. ‘You know, I’ve got some Chinese herbs you can take for that.’
‘For what?’ I say, pretending to look at the menu, even though after six weeks of doing the lunch run, I know it off by heart.
‘Loss of interest in sex, lack of libido . . .’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my libido,’ I snap, then blush with embarrassment. ‘Thanks very much, but it’s fine, honestly.’
‘You know it’s important to get in touch with your sexuality,’ she continues matter-of-factly. ‘You Brits can be so uptight. You’re never going to come with that attitude.’
‘I do