Leaving on a Jet Plane
I'm on the airplane, headed to New York.
The in-flight movie is Dolphin Tales. I haven't been watching, but I just tuned in for one scene. What's the world coming to when Morgan Freeman makes prosthetics for sea mammals?
The woman across the aisle from me plays solitaire on her iPad. She's tall and blond and Spanish, dressed in head-to-toe black. Stunning, really. I wonder who she is, what she does, and where she's going. She looks like a Bond heroine. She's making notes on a napkin with a blue ballpoint pen.
There's an empty seat separating me from the woman sharing my row. Good thing—she just had a sneezing fit. She's also on her iPad. Her nails are painted a gunmetal blue and she's wearing a black and gray striped sweater that matches the socks I have on. I want to offer them to her to complete her outfit but she doesn't look like she'd appreciate the thought.
A child screams, pulling me out of my train of thought. I turn my music up, and Marvin Gaye urges me to get it on. In my mind's eye, I picture my Magic Man serenading me, his gyrating hips giving Elvis a run for his money.
My companion for this trip is Whistler, the new Kindle Santa brought me. He's loaded with over a hundred books. It's a giddy thing, having so many books available at a whim.
I have to admit, though, it's not like holding pages in your hands. Whistler doesn't curl up with me the same way a ratty paperback does. He's not as warm or soft, and he doesn't smell pulpy or like mildew. Still, it's the wave of the future, and I'm hopping on. I've started releasing new digital books for you to enjoy, hopefully one every few weeks.
The latest: Perfect for You.
It's fitting that Perfect for You is out this week. It's my sister's birthday week, and it's her favorite story of everything I've ever written. She's been pestering me to publish it for years.
So here it is. Read an excerpt. Buy the book for your Kindle or Nook.
I'm going back to the Lee Childs book I'm reading on Whistler. Happy trails.
New York
One evening, our author sat curled in the corner of the couch, reading. Her Magic Man lay with his head cradled on her lap, staring at the ceiling, obviously plotting—perhaps even world domination. That was his way.
But then suddenly he said, "Beloved, let's go to New York tomorrow."
The author looked up and smiled. "Yes, let's do." So they packed bags and hopped on a plane for the East Coast.
The plane ride was lovely. The pilot, so enamored by the author, gave her a tour of the cockpit. He even let her sit in his seat and press buttons. She only pressed the alarm once.
"What shall we do in New York, beloved?" the Magic Man asked.
She tapped her finger to her chin and thought about all the delights the Big Apple had to offer. The Met, Central Park, Times Square, the little lingerie store in Grand Central Station... And then the perfect idea came to mind, and she gasped. "I would greatly delight in going to eat chicken wings."
"Then you shall," said her man. And they joined Parisa and Logan for a bacchanalia of wings and beer.
Glutted on wings, our duo roamed the city and saw great things. But they longed for the peace and solitude of the country, so they hopped in a car and merrily drove to a land called Connecticut. In this land, they did much, like wade in the pond and play golf and drink bubbles with lunch.
And when they tired, they lay in the hammock and watched the hawks soar over the lake, even though the Magic Man's father was certain the hammock would fall under their combined weight.
Lying in the hammock with her beloved, our author would watch the view and dream of One Day. "Dearest one," she said to her man, "perhaps we can get a rustic cottage on the lake too."
The Magic Man kissed her temple. "Which one would you like?"
"That one." She pointed to a modest little place on the other side of the lake.
The Magic Man nodded. "It looks quaint, though perhaps we should get something that has more room for when we invite friends to stay."
"True. You are ever so wise," she said (without irony).
And they stayed in that hammock, tangled together, feet dangling, dreaming of their future, until it was time to return to Manhattan and another week of adventure.
In a New York State of Mind
A lot happened last week. Unfortunately for you, I'm not ready to talk about a lot of it. Also unfortunately for you, I'm in the mood to do one of my awesome photojournalistic blogs.
My original topic was one so obscure some of you would have gone away, scratching your head and wondering if I'd finally gone off the deep end. But I'm going to save that for another day and instead tell you about some of my adventures in New York.
As most of you know, I'm visiting my sister Parisa. This is the two of us in her kitchen:
Parisa, of course, is the one on the left. She's fond of telling people she's the cute one. I just humor her.
Because I suddenly have more work than any sane person would agree to do, I've been hanging out in a lot of cafés. The café culture is different in New York than on the West Coast. People go to cafés to socialize, not work. I know—it's the strangest thing ever. A lot of cafés frown upon laptops even.
But there are a few choice ones that people use as their office-away-from-office. One of them is the B-Cup in the East Village:
One of my sister's friends saw Julia Stiles hanging out at the B-Cup. I haven't seen her yet. The cute Israeli boys who work here are especially friendly.
Speaking of working... My agent and I have had a number of meetings with industry folk. One of our meetings took place in a chocolatier. As we left, among the chocolate-covered Cheerios and Easter baskets, we spied Peeps dressed in chocolate tuxedos. When I (foolishly) let it slip that I'd never eaten a Peep, my agent decided that it had to be remedied. And documented...
My hands shook from the sugar for hours. I also realized that my agent has serious sales skills, if she can get me to eat fluffy marshmallow crap.
I was at the MOMA with a friend, looking at an exhibit of live naked people hanging on the wall (seriously) when suddenly he asked me if I'd ever had a true New York deli experience. I hadn't, and he felt compelled to fix that. So we ended up sharing a reuben at the Carnegie Deli, apparently the most famous deli in town:
Yeah, that disgusting looking pile of goop was the reuben, hence the reason we shared one. Actually, we shared less than half. I've been eating leftover pastrami for days now. I've never seen sandwiches the size of what they served there. It was obscene. Also obscene were the slices of cake. No, I didn't have one, but I may have to go back to try.
The next photo is of a friend, who came into the city to hang out one afternoon. However, you're going to have to imagine the picture because I forgot to take it. Duh. It's too bad, because we had a cupcake orgy in the park.
Stay tuned for another week, when I may or may not have pictures of the Hachette offices, the Doughnut Plant, tangoing, Culture Espresso Bar, and the firemen at the grocery store.