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Sensuality
and
Urbanism
Part 1
Another Thursday meant another opening at Charlotte’s gallery. This time, the artist du jour was photographer Christian Paris. After starting his career as a member of the paparazzi, he had moved into the world of white wine and contemplative whispering. Charlotte had recommended Christian to her bosses at the gallery, so she was on high alert making sure everything went well.
As Charlotte’s devoted friends, we tried to get to the opening early. But, by the time we arrived, the gallery was already packed with excited fans. We were happy to see the event going so well, even if we didn’t all understand quite what the hype was about.
Miranda: I don’t understand, why are all of the pictures empty?
Charlotte: What do you mean empty?
Carrie: Well, there aren’t any people in them.
Charlotte: That doesn’t mean they’re empty. See? That one has a tree in it. And that one is looking out a window. At a hill.
Miranda: Okay, then why aren’t there any people in these pictures?
Charlotte: That’s just his thing. He takes these beautiful pictures of the world around him.
Carrie: So it isn’t just that no one wants to hang out with him?
Charlotte: No, he’s very nice.
Carrie: Oh no, is this supposed to mean something?
Miranda: Maybe it’s a symbol for the emptiness of modern culture.
Carrie: Or maybe it’s about how hard it is to find a nice man in Manhattan.
Miranda: Maybe this whole exhibit is a giant Where’s Waldo. There is a nice, financially stable man in the background of one of these pictures. And you can find him, you get to keep him.
Charlotte: Could you two stop making fun of the art? I worked very hard getting this exhibition together.
Carrie: Sorry, Charlotte.
Miranda: Sorry.
Samantha: I don’t know, girls. I feel like there’s something very spiritual about these pieces.
Miranda: Wait, did I miss a memo? Are we supposed to be spiritual now?
Carrie: I prayed that my credit card wouldn’t decline this morning.
Samantha: I don’t know what it is, but I’m having a strong reaction.
Miranda: Maybe you need an antihistamine.
Samantha: Maybe you need a drink.
Carrie: Or five.
While Charlotte and Miranda made up over glasses of mid label white wine, I decided to step outside for a smoke. Out on the cold city sidewalk, I was relieved to find a familiar face…until I realized it wasn’t quite familiar enough.
James: Is that Carrie Bradshaw I see?
Carrie: I’m sorry. This is so embarrassing, but have we met before?
James: Oh no! Am I that forgettable?
Carrie: I am so sorry. Really! I’m just terrible with names. I forget my own sometimes.
James: That’s okay. I’m James Mallow.
Suddenly I remembered. James Mallow was the restaurant critic at The New York Star; my coworker and probably the only person at the paper hearing, “boy, that must be a fun job to have!” more than me. I’d seen him at the odd work event, but I had never put a name to a face. And what a cute face it was!
James: Are you here for work?
Carrie: I guess we’ll see. Depends on whether I can find a date or not.
James: Well how are things looking so far?
Carrie: Too soon to tell.
James: Well here’s hoping something works out.
Carrie: Well, what about you? Are you on your way to the hottest new restaurant in town?
James: It better be. Otherwise I’ll have to re-edit that glowing review they bribed me to write.
Carrie: Seriously?
James: No. Of course not. I don’t even get free food at these things.
Carrie: I don’t know. Maybe you need an impartial observer to make sure you’re on the up and up.
James: Maybe I do. Do you know of anyone who might be interested in the position?
While James and I made our way to a cozy little wine bar on Grand Street, Charlotte had a grand surprise of her own. Specifically, a grand, three tiered gift basket. Almost four feet high and covered in tinsel, it had enough chocolates, olives, and mixed nuts to feed all the starving artists left in Manhattan.
Charlotte: Who would do this to me?
Miranda: Someone who thinks you’re very, very hungry.
Charlotte: It’s huge!
Samantha: Isn’t there room in the back?
Charlotte: No! There is wine in the back. And a walkway that needs to stay clear so people can get to the wine. This is Manhattan. There’s barely enough room in here for me!
As Charlotte tried to find a place to store her basket, Miranda found herself talking to a cute guy.
Christian: Do you like the photos?
Miranda: Mostly.
Christian: Mostly?
Miranda: I don’t know. I just find myself feeling sorry for the artist. He seems so lonely.
Christian: Well, you could maybe help him out with that a little if you wanted.
Miranda: Oh god! Fuck. Are you the photographer?
Christian: One of these days somebody is gonna say that to me with an excited tone of voice.
Miranda: No! I’m sorry. I just…
Christian: Don’t even worry about it.
Miranda: Are you sure?
Christian: Well, I’m mostly sure.
***
Sometime between the second and third course, I realized something pretty exciting: I was having a wonderful dinner with a beautiful man. James was an avid reader, a great listener, and was six feet tall with the right shoes on. Every time the waiter came by, I found myself ordering something new to postpone the end of the meal when I was sure my golden carriage would turn back into a rotting pumpkin.
People say that office romance is never a good idea. Since I write from home, it seemed like a pretty easy pitfall to avoid. But maybe it's not so bad after all. We’re both writers. We know a lot of the same people. We’d only have to go to one terrible office Christmas party. Maybe the truth is that people warning you about office romance are really just trying to save their sexy co-workers for themselves. As fellow journalists, it seemed like the right thing to do was to investigate.
James: …And by this point, I’d eaten everything I possibly could. But the chef is still coming out of the kitchen with more and more food, going, “Eat. Eat.” I didn’t know what to do. I’m telling him I’m stuffed. I’m asking for the check. And he says, “Don’t leave yet. The roast is almost done.” So, I went to the bathroom and, I’m not proud of this, but, I snuck out the window.
Carrie: He must have been so heartbroken.
James: It was self defense! If I’d eaten another bite, I would have split in two.
Carrie: I’m just picturing him alone in his kitchen with a whole, untouched chicken. Wondering if you’re going to call.
James: Well I’m sure my glowing review the next day made him feel a little better.
Carrie: That must be nice, to give a glowing review. When I date a guy, my review somehow always gets…complicated.
James: Well those guys get something better than a glowing review.
Carrie: Oh?
James: They get to know you.
***
Turns out I wasn’t the only one doing a little job shadowing. While James and I were having dinner downtown, Miranda followed Christian to his uptown studio.
Miranda had expected his studio to be a mess of photos and scattered equipment, but it was closer to a monastery. She hadn’t seen a boy’s apartment this bare since college. While Christian grabbed them a drink, she looked for moving boxes or some sign that he had recently been robbed, but the only clutter she could find were a few contact sheets spread out on his desk.
Christian: Sorry that the place is a little messy. These last couple weeks have been crazy.
Miranda: Messy? I don’t think my apartment has been this clean since I moved in.
Christian: I just like things a certain way, you know?
Miranda: And what way is that?
Christian: I like to really focus on something. One thing. No distractions. And really dive deep, you know.
With his camera away, Miranda felt like Christian’s focus was turning to her.
Miranda: Well, what are you focussing on now?
Christian: Now? Nothing! After this show, I need a break from focusing.
Miranda: Oh.
Christian: Hey, I still feel like celebrating. This is a big night for me, you know? There’s a bar on the corner. Do you want some champagne?
Miranda had had her fill of champagne back at the gallery, but she hadn’t had her fill of Christian.
Miranda: I’d love some champagne!
***
Meanwhile, Charlotte arrived home with her annoyingly large basket. After schlepping it all the way back to her apartment, she decided that she had more than earned a little treat. Unwrapping the basket, she saw something she couldn’t believe. It was Neptune Salt Water Taffy, from a little shop her family used to visit on summer vacations. She’d heard that they closed years ago, but here it was! A pack of her favorite flavor: Vanilla!
She took the taffy to the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, she figured she had just enough time for a quick trip down memory lane. The taffy tasted just like she remembered it. With her eyes closed, she could see the beach. Her father reading. Her mother hiding from the sun. Her brother Wesley flying a kite. She remembered standing at the edge of the water; running through the surf, jumping over waves, and digging in the sand.
But when she opened her eyes, she didn’t see the sea. She didn’t see her apartment either. Instead, she saw a grand bedroom with a sick old man lying in bed. She leaned over to see if she could recognize his sleeping face, but she had no clue who he could be.
Suddenly, a man rushed into the room. Charlotte hurried over to a chair in the corner. She watched as the man took a stethoscope from his leather bag and listened to the sleeping man’s lungs as he took slow, painful breaths. She wasn’t sure where she was or who this man could be. The Doctor was handsome enough, but was he even real? And if he was real, where was she?
Doctor: Oh, hello there.
Charlotte: Hello.
Doctor: How are you doing?
Charlotte wasn’t sure how to answer. In truth, she was feeling pretty freaked out. But what would this doctor say if she told him what was happening to her? If she walked into her bedroom to find a random woman, she certainly wouldn’t be this calm. Was The Doctor just that understanding? Or did he not even realize that anything was wrong at all?
Charlotte: I’m…um…a family member. Distantly related. He might not even recognize me. But, you know, I was in town. So I thought I should come by.
Doctor: Well, I’m glad you’re here.
Charlotte: Do you think that he’ll get any better?
Doctor: Mr. Westinghouse? No, I’m afraid not.
Charlotte: Oh no!
Doctor: I know it’s hard to hear. But I am fairly confident that he’s comfortable.
Charlotte: Does he need anything? A back rub? Soup? I guess I don’t have any food with me, but if you had some stuff lying around I could try to make soup.
Doctor: Right now, Mr. Westinghouse needs his sleep. Have you had a proper tour of the place yet?
As The Doctor led her around the estate, Charlotte tried to work out where she was. Surely not Manhattan! When she looked out the window, all she saw was forest. And while she knew it was almost midnight in New York, wherever she was, the sun was still shining bright.
Walking down the path through the garden, a root caught Charlotte’s foot. Falling, she reached out to catch herself, but caught a thorny rosebush instead. As the doctor came to her rescue–carrying her home, wrapping her wounds, sitting beside her bed–she started to fantasize about their future together. She’d often dreamed about marrying a doctor. But the dreams had never felt this real before.
The Doctor asked Charlotte to rest and she was happy to oblige. He carried her to the rich, leather couch in the living room and buried her under quilts and soft, knitted blankets.
Doctor: I feel so terrible about your fall. I’ve fallen in that exact same spot a dozen times before. I just wish I had done something about that root before it was too late.
Charlotte: Before it was too late? You make it all sound so very serious.
Doctor: You’re right. I’m sorry. I must be blushing, I’m so embarrassed.
Charlotte: Why should you be embarrassed?
Doctor: You’re the one who fell and yet I’m the one being melodramatic. I’m so sorry.
Charlotte: Please don’t be sorry. You’ve done so much to help me feel better. I almost feel better now than when I arrived.
Doctor: I’m really glad to hear that.
Charlotte: Do you think I could borrow your phone? Just to let my friends know that I’m okay?
Doctor: I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you right. Could you repeat your question?
Charlotte: Oh, I just wanted to use the phone.
Doctor: Phone? Fff-oh-nnnn?
Suddenly, Charlotte noticed the sweet taste of vanilla that had been lingering in her mouth was gone. Before she knew what she was doing, she blinked. And when her eyes opened, she was back in Manhattan. She’d only been gone for ten minutes.
As Charlotte’s devoted friends, we tried to get to the opening early. But, by the time we arrived, the gallery was already packed with excited fans. We were happy to see the event going so well, even if we didn’t all understand quite what the hype was about.
Miranda: I don’t understand, why are all of the pictures empty?
Charlotte: What do you mean empty?
Carrie: Well, there aren’t any people in them.
Charlotte: That doesn’t mean they’re empty. See? That one has a tree in it. And that one is looking out a window. At a hill.
Miranda: Okay, then why aren’t there any people in these pictures?
Charlotte: That’s just his thing. He takes these beautiful pictures of the world around him.
Carrie: So it isn’t just that no one wants to hang out with him?
Charlotte: No, he’s very nice.
Carrie: Oh no, is this supposed to mean something?
Miranda: Maybe it’s a symbol for the emptiness of modern culture.
Carrie: Or maybe it’s about how hard it is to find a nice man in Manhattan.
Miranda: Maybe this whole exhibit is a giant Where’s Waldo. There is a nice, financially stable man in the background of one of these pictures. And you can find him, you get to keep him.
Charlotte: Could you two stop making fun of the art? I worked very hard getting this exhibition together.
Carrie: Sorry, Charlotte.
Miranda: Sorry.
Samantha: I don’t know, girls. I feel like there’s something very spiritual about these pieces.
Miranda: Wait, did I miss a memo? Are we supposed to be spiritual now?
Carrie: I prayed that my credit card wouldn’t decline this morning.
Samantha: I don’t know what it is, but I’m having a strong reaction.
Miranda: Maybe you need an antihistamine.
Samantha: Maybe you need a drink.
Carrie: Or five.
While Charlotte and Miranda made up over glasses of mid label white wine, I decided to step outside for a smoke. Out on the cold city sidewalk, I was relieved to find a familiar face…until I realized it wasn’t quite familiar enough.
James: Is that Carrie Bradshaw I see?
Carrie: I’m sorry. This is so embarrassing, but have we met before?
James: Oh no! Am I that forgettable?
Carrie: I am so sorry. Really! I’m just terrible with names. I forget my own sometimes.
James: That’s okay. I’m James Mallow.
Suddenly I remembered. James Mallow was the restaurant critic at The New York Star; my coworker and probably the only person at the paper hearing, “boy, that must be a fun job to have!” more than me. I’d seen him at the odd work event, but I had never put a name to a face. And what a cute face it was!
James: Are you here for work?
Carrie: I guess we’ll see. Depends on whether I can find a date or not.
James: Well how are things looking so far?
Carrie: Too soon to tell.
James: Well here’s hoping something works out.
Carrie: Well, what about you? Are you on your way to the hottest new restaurant in town?
James: It better be. Otherwise I’ll have to re-edit that glowing review they bribed me to write.
Carrie: Seriously?
James: No. Of course not. I don’t even get free food at these things.
Carrie: I don’t know. Maybe you need an impartial observer to make sure you’re on the up and up.
James: Maybe I do. Do you know of anyone who might be interested in the position?
While James and I made our way to a cozy little wine bar on Grand Street, Charlotte had a grand surprise of her own. Specifically, a grand, three tiered gift basket. Almost four feet high and covered in tinsel, it had enough chocolates, olives, and mixed nuts to feed all the starving artists left in Manhattan.
Charlotte: Who would do this to me?
Miranda: Someone who thinks you’re very, very hungry.
Charlotte: It’s huge!
Samantha: Isn’t there room in the back?
Charlotte: No! There is wine in the back. And a walkway that needs to stay clear so people can get to the wine. This is Manhattan. There’s barely enough room in here for me!
As Charlotte tried to find a place to store her basket, Miranda found herself talking to a cute guy.
Christian: Do you like the photos?
Miranda: Mostly.
Christian: Mostly?
Miranda: I don’t know. I just find myself feeling sorry for the artist. He seems so lonely.
Christian: Well, you could maybe help him out with that a little if you wanted.
Miranda: Oh god! Fuck. Are you the photographer?
Christian: One of these days somebody is gonna say that to me with an excited tone of voice.
Miranda: No! I’m sorry. I just…
Christian: Don’t even worry about it.
Miranda: Are you sure?
Christian: Well, I’m mostly sure.
***
Sometime between the second and third course, I realized something pretty exciting: I was having a wonderful dinner with a beautiful man. James was an avid reader, a great listener, and was six feet tall with the right shoes on. Every time the waiter came by, I found myself ordering something new to postpone the end of the meal when I was sure my golden carriage would turn back into a rotting pumpkin.
People say that office romance is never a good idea. Since I write from home, it seemed like a pretty easy pitfall to avoid. But maybe it's not so bad after all. We’re both writers. We know a lot of the same people. We’d only have to go to one terrible office Christmas party. Maybe the truth is that people warning you about office romance are really just trying to save their sexy co-workers for themselves. As fellow journalists, it seemed like the right thing to do was to investigate.
James: …And by this point, I’d eaten everything I possibly could. But the chef is still coming out of the kitchen with more and more food, going, “Eat. Eat.” I didn’t know what to do. I’m telling him I’m stuffed. I’m asking for the check. And he says, “Don’t leave yet. The roast is almost done.” So, I went to the bathroom and, I’m not proud of this, but, I snuck out the window.
Carrie: He must have been so heartbroken.
James: It was self defense! If I’d eaten another bite, I would have split in two.
Carrie: I’m just picturing him alone in his kitchen with a whole, untouched chicken. Wondering if you’re going to call.
James: Well I’m sure my glowing review the next day made him feel a little better.
Carrie: That must be nice, to give a glowing review. When I date a guy, my review somehow always gets…complicated.
James: Well those guys get something better than a glowing review.
Carrie: Oh?
James: They get to know you.
***
Turns out I wasn’t the only one doing a little job shadowing. While James and I were having dinner downtown, Miranda followed Christian to his uptown studio.
Miranda had expected his studio to be a mess of photos and scattered equipment, but it was closer to a monastery. She hadn’t seen a boy’s apartment this bare since college. While Christian grabbed them a drink, she looked for moving boxes or some sign that he had recently been robbed, but the only clutter she could find were a few contact sheets spread out on his desk.
Christian: Sorry that the place is a little messy. These last couple weeks have been crazy.
Miranda: Messy? I don’t think my apartment has been this clean since I moved in.
Christian: I just like things a certain way, you know?
Miranda: And what way is that?
Christian: I like to really focus on something. One thing. No distractions. And really dive deep, you know.
With his camera away, Miranda felt like Christian’s focus was turning to her.
Miranda: Well, what are you focussing on now?
Christian: Now? Nothing! After this show, I need a break from focusing.
Miranda: Oh.
Christian: Hey, I still feel like celebrating. This is a big night for me, you know? There’s a bar on the corner. Do you want some champagne?
Miranda had had her fill of champagne back at the gallery, but she hadn’t had her fill of Christian.
Miranda: I’d love some champagne!
***
Meanwhile, Charlotte arrived home with her annoyingly large basket. After schlepping it all the way back to her apartment, she decided that she had more than earned a little treat. Unwrapping the basket, she saw something she couldn’t believe. It was Neptune Salt Water Taffy, from a little shop her family used to visit on summer vacations. She’d heard that they closed years ago, but here it was! A pack of her favorite flavor: Vanilla!
She took the taffy to the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, she figured she had just enough time for a quick trip down memory lane. The taffy tasted just like she remembered it. With her eyes closed, she could see the beach. Her father reading. Her mother hiding from the sun. Her brother Wesley flying a kite. She remembered standing at the edge of the water; running through the surf, jumping over waves, and digging in the sand.
But when she opened her eyes, she didn’t see the sea. She didn’t see her apartment either. Instead, she saw a grand bedroom with a sick old man lying in bed. She leaned over to see if she could recognize his sleeping face, but she had no clue who he could be.
Suddenly, a man rushed into the room. Charlotte hurried over to a chair in the corner. She watched as the man took a stethoscope from his leather bag and listened to the sleeping man’s lungs as he took slow, painful breaths. She wasn’t sure where she was or who this man could be. The Doctor was handsome enough, but was he even real? And if he was real, where was she?
Doctor: Oh, hello there.
Charlotte: Hello.
Doctor: How are you doing?
Charlotte wasn’t sure how to answer. In truth, she was feeling pretty freaked out. But what would this doctor say if she told him what was happening to her? If she walked into her bedroom to find a random woman, she certainly wouldn’t be this calm. Was The Doctor just that understanding? Or did he not even realize that anything was wrong at all?
Charlotte: I’m…um…a family member. Distantly related. He might not even recognize me. But, you know, I was in town. So I thought I should come by.
Doctor: Well, I’m glad you’re here.
Charlotte: Do you think that he’ll get any better?
Doctor: Mr. Westinghouse? No, I’m afraid not.
Charlotte: Oh no!
Doctor: I know it’s hard to hear. But I am fairly confident that he’s comfortable.
Charlotte: Does he need anything? A back rub? Soup? I guess I don’t have any food with me, but if you had some stuff lying around I could try to make soup.
Doctor: Right now, Mr. Westinghouse needs his sleep. Have you had a proper tour of the place yet?
As The Doctor led her around the estate, Charlotte tried to work out where she was. Surely not Manhattan! When she looked out the window, all she saw was forest. And while she knew it was almost midnight in New York, wherever she was, the sun was still shining bright.
Walking down the path through the garden, a root caught Charlotte’s foot. Falling, she reached out to catch herself, but caught a thorny rosebush instead. As the doctor came to her rescue–carrying her home, wrapping her wounds, sitting beside her bed–she started to fantasize about their future together. She’d often dreamed about marrying a doctor. But the dreams had never felt this real before.
The Doctor asked Charlotte to rest and she was happy to oblige. He carried her to the rich, leather couch in the living room and buried her under quilts and soft, knitted blankets.
Doctor: I feel so terrible about your fall. I’ve fallen in that exact same spot a dozen times before. I just wish I had done something about that root before it was too late.
Charlotte: Before it was too late? You make it all sound so very serious.
Doctor: You’re right. I’m sorry. I must be blushing, I’m so embarrassed.
Charlotte: Why should you be embarrassed?
Doctor: You’re the one who fell and yet I’m the one being melodramatic. I’m so sorry.
Charlotte: Please don’t be sorry. You’ve done so much to help me feel better. I almost feel better now than when I arrived.
Doctor: I’m really glad to hear that.
Charlotte: Do you think I could borrow your phone? Just to let my friends know that I’m okay?
Doctor: I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you right. Could you repeat your question?
Charlotte: Oh, I just wanted to use the phone.
Doctor: Phone? Fff-oh-nnnn?
Suddenly, Charlotte noticed the sweet taste of vanilla that had been lingering in her mouth was gone. Before she knew what she was doing, she blinked. And when her eyes opened, she was back in Manhattan. She’d only been gone for ten minutes.
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