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Sensuality
and
Urbanism
Part 4
The next afternoon, I met Charlotte and Miranda at a fundraising lunch Samantha had helped put on for the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts. The event brought out New York’s finest public library celebrities. When Miranda arrived, she bumped into Brooke Gladstone and John Hodgeman racing for the last French 75 and her sweet, star-struck heart almost collapsed from the excitement.
Taking our passed apps into the stacks, Charlotte recognized a book of Christian’s photography she’d helped edit. And right next to it was his first book, titled Portraits in Love. Despite our best efforts, Miranda was determined to crack it open.
Charlotte: Maybe we should go find Samantha! We have to congratulate her on this incredible luncheon!
Miranda: Don’t try to distract me. Just let me see the book.
Carrie: Are you sure that’s such a good idea, sweetie?
Miranda: Don’t sweetie me! And yes, I am sure.
Charlotte: Maybe we can all come back tomorrow. We can look through it together when there aren’t so many people around.
Carrie: Sure. I can do that.
Miranda: Guys, I don’t want to spend the next 24 hours wondering just how terrible it will be. I don’t want to lose a day of my life to worry. Especially because I bet it’s not going to be that bad.
Charlotte: What?
Carrie: Excuse me?
Miranda: What’s the worst it can be? Pictures of a beautiful woman? Am I supposed to freak out every time I date a guy with a good looking ex?
Carrie: I usually find a way to.
Miranda: Look, I’m the one dating him. And I want to see it. What are you gonna do to stop me?
Charlotte: I could check it out.
Miranda: And then I’ll just go home and look at it online. At least this way I have you two around.
Charlotte handed Miranda the book. As soon as Miranda opened it, she regretted it. It wasn’t just pictures of a beautiful woman. They were moments in a beautiful relationship. Even though they barely knew each other, Miranda couldn’t help but compare her relationship with Christian to the one she saw in the book. The two of them had never made pancakes. They’d never taken a car trip. They hadn’t even been on a real date, yet.
Miranda: I guess you guys were right. This is pretty horrible.
Carrie: I hate to say I told you so…
Miranda: I really don’t think that’s true.
Charlotte: I just can’t believe how young she looks.
Carrie: Well this picture is eight years old. I bet she looks like all of us now.
Miranda: Hey!
Carrie: Hey who? Hey me?
Miranda: Yes, hey you!
Carrie: I said all of us.
Miranda: Can we just put this book away before anyone sees me with it?
***
As the afternoon wound down, Samantha noticed a patron of the arts who seemed to have his eye on more than just his checkbook. Once everything was wrapped up at the library, he took her to the bar across the street to celebrate.
His name was Alex Perez. He was an editor at large at Art Forum and the son of a Brooklyn real estate developer. But by their second drink, the personal chit-chat was pushed to the wayside.
Alex: Would you like to take this evening somewhere else?
Samantha: I think you read my mind.
Alex: Well, my apartment is only a twenty minute cab ride away. And I have two Hockney portraits up in the bedroom I’d just love to show you.
Samantha: Honey, I can do you one better.
They chugged their drinks and grabbed the nearest cab, but by the time they made it to the Guggenheim, it was already closed.
Security Guard: I’m sorry, ma’am, but the museum’s closed for the day.
Samantha: But it’s barely six. And I’m a member. I still have two more hours before it closes at eight!
Security Guard: Oh, I see! The museum is only open late for members on Mondays. The rest of the time, we’re closed for business by 5:30.
Samantha: But that doesn’t make any sense! Then how can most people with full time jobs ever make it to the museum?
Security Guard: Well, a lot of them come on weekends.
Samantha: But it’s so crowded on the weekends! I was barely in the bathroom for two minutes before people started pounding on the doors.
Security Guard: I hear you. But I don’t make the rules, you know.
Samantha decided that if the rules weren’t going to work for her, then maybe it was time she started making the rules. That night, she reached out to her broker and put in a bid to buy the Guggenheim. To her absolute shock, the bid was approved before she had even sobered up. She had to sell her condo to afford the down payment, but she didn’t mind. She now had one of the best pieces of Manhattan real estate money could buy.
***
That next day, Samantha asked Charlotte to meet at the museum.
Charlotte: Wait, why are we the only people here?
Samantha: It’s closed.
Charlotte: What?
Samantha: I bought it.
Charlotte: No you did not!
Samantha: I absolutely did!
Charlotte: I can’t believe it! How much would you even have to pay for that?
Samantha: Only about 5% more than it was worth.
Charlotte: Wait, then what are you going to do with all of the art here?
Samantha: Well, luckily most of the museum is dedicated to travelling exhibitions, so most of it will just go on to the next museum down the line. But for the rest of it, I was hoping that you could help me.
Charlotte: Help you what?
Samantha: Look, I don’t know what to do with this art. But I’m lucky enough to know one of the greatest gallerists in New York City.
Charlotte: Well, thank you, but…
Samantha: So while I thought that, as my friend, you might enjoy a chance to get some one on one time with the museum’s permanent collection–
Charlotte: I guess that’s true…
Samantha: –I’m asking you to do this because you’re the best. And I only want to work with the best.
Charlotte: But Samantha, I’m not the person to call to move this volume of art. And I don’t have a place to keep it.
Samantha: Do you have the phone numbers of the people I could call to handle that?
Charlotte: Yes.
Samantha: Great. Call them yourself. You’re hired.
***
On the other side of 5th Avenue, Miranda was taking a long lunch with her new photographer.
Miranda: God, isn’t it beautiful out here?
Christian: It really is.
Miranda: The leaves are changing color. Everyone is dressed warm and cozy. And look at the sky! Have you ever seen anything as beautiful as that big blue sky?
Christian: I can think of a couple things.
Miranda: You know, there are so many days where New York is just terrible. It’s way too hot until it’s way too cold. And you spend so much time trudging through a sea of strangers to get from one cramped building to another. But it is all worth it for days like this. I really can’t think of anywhere else in the world I would rather be right now.
Christian: I know how you feel. This moment…this time with you…it feels special.
Miranda: God, I just really wish that I had some sort of memento of this moment.
Christian: Maybe we should each pick a leaf? We can press them in a book and we’ll promise that no matter what happens between you and I, we’ll always keep the leaves to remember this beautiful, perfect day.
Miranda: Mmmmh. Maybe. Maybe. But, you know, I have a cat who’s always trying to get at my books. So maybe it needs to be something less delicate.
Christian: Okay, let’s think then.
Miranda: Ooh, I have a good idea! Maybe you could take a picture of me.
Christian: Oh.
Miranda: What?
Christian: You know, I really like to keep my work life and my personal life pretty separate.
Miranda: I’m not asking you to take my portrait or to put me in your next show. Just…take my picture in the park. You know that a lot of people take pictures on dates, even amateur photographers.
Christian: I know, but I don’t take pictures on dates. As a rule.
Miranda: As a rule?
Christian: I don’t know if you know this or not, but I used to be married. And when I was married, I used to take my wife’s picture every day. Multiple times a day. Everywhere we went. And people loved those pictures. I started getting included in group shows and then I was getting solo shows and then, all of a sudden, I had a book and an agent and I was able to quit my day job. It was everything I ever wanted. But I was miserable. Love had become my brand, but I wasn’t in love. Neither of us were.
When I think back about those pictures, they weren’t really about Cat. Like, I get that they were…literally pictures of Cat. But the pictures were about me. About what I wanted in life. About how I wanted other people to see me. Everybody wanted to believe that I was so in love that I couldn’t help myself but take picture after picture of my wonderful wife. But in truth, I was drowning. And Cat hated the pictures, too, because she couldn’t see herself in them. She could only see the person I wished she would be.
So we got divorced. It was hard, but it was good.
Neither of us could afford to get a new apartment, so I started taking long walks every night. I’d try to come home after she was already asleep and smoke weed on the fire escape so she wouldn’t realize just how high I was all the time. And while I was walking around, I started taking pictures. At first, I was desperate for anything that looked like it might end up in a gallery. I had hundreds of vibrant, balanced photographs of Astoria, but nobody wanted them. So I kept trying until I had taken every elegant picture of my neighborhood I could think of. And then I stopped taking pictures all together. I’d just walk for hours, waiting for Cat to fall asleep.
A month before our lease was up, Cat decided to move back to Ohio. Some of our college friends showed up to help her move. I wasn’t supposed to know that she was leaving, so it became somebody’s boyfriend’s job to keep me out of the apartment long enough for her to run away. I took him on my normal walking route and was so excited to show him all these little discoveries I’d made. Silly signs in restaurant windows. Backyard gardens. Old churches. And this guy, I mean, he could not have given a single shit. But I realized that I really cared about these things. I wasn’t just killing time while my ex-wife went to sleep. I was getting to know my neighborhood. I was falling in love.
So the very next day, I came back with my camera. I took five-hundered photos and by the end of the next week, I had a solo show in Brooklyn with the best twenty-three. By the end of the year, I was an exciting up and coming photographer in the art world again. But I wasn’t taking pictures of what I wanted my life to look like. I was taking pictures of the little things that made my life beautiful. For the first time, the life I was already living felt like enough.
Miranda: But can’t I be one of those little things that makes your life beautiful?
Christian: When I fall in love, I don’t want it to be a beautiful little thing. I want it to be everything.
Miranda paused for a moment. It was a lot to take in and she knew that the next thing she said would either make or break this relationship.
Miranda: Does that mean that there’s no chance you’ll ever make me your phone background?
Taking our passed apps into the stacks, Charlotte recognized a book of Christian’s photography she’d helped edit. And right next to it was his first book, titled Portraits in Love. Despite our best efforts, Miranda was determined to crack it open.
Charlotte: Maybe we should go find Samantha! We have to congratulate her on this incredible luncheon!
Miranda: Don’t try to distract me. Just let me see the book.
Carrie: Are you sure that’s such a good idea, sweetie?
Miranda: Don’t sweetie me! And yes, I am sure.
Charlotte: Maybe we can all come back tomorrow. We can look through it together when there aren’t so many people around.
Carrie: Sure. I can do that.
Miranda: Guys, I don’t want to spend the next 24 hours wondering just how terrible it will be. I don’t want to lose a day of my life to worry. Especially because I bet it’s not going to be that bad.
Charlotte: What?
Carrie: Excuse me?
Miranda: What’s the worst it can be? Pictures of a beautiful woman? Am I supposed to freak out every time I date a guy with a good looking ex?
Carrie: I usually find a way to.
Miranda: Look, I’m the one dating him. And I want to see it. What are you gonna do to stop me?
Charlotte: I could check it out.
Miranda: And then I’ll just go home and look at it online. At least this way I have you two around.
Charlotte handed Miranda the book. As soon as Miranda opened it, she regretted it. It wasn’t just pictures of a beautiful woman. They were moments in a beautiful relationship. Even though they barely knew each other, Miranda couldn’t help but compare her relationship with Christian to the one she saw in the book. The two of them had never made pancakes. They’d never taken a car trip. They hadn’t even been on a real date, yet.
Miranda: I guess you guys were right. This is pretty horrible.
Carrie: I hate to say I told you so…
Miranda: I really don’t think that’s true.
Charlotte: I just can’t believe how young she looks.
Carrie: Well this picture is eight years old. I bet she looks like all of us now.
Miranda: Hey!
Carrie: Hey who? Hey me?
Miranda: Yes, hey you!
Carrie: I said all of us.
Miranda: Can we just put this book away before anyone sees me with it?
***
As the afternoon wound down, Samantha noticed a patron of the arts who seemed to have his eye on more than just his checkbook. Once everything was wrapped up at the library, he took her to the bar across the street to celebrate.
His name was Alex Perez. He was an editor at large at Art Forum and the son of a Brooklyn real estate developer. But by their second drink, the personal chit-chat was pushed to the wayside.
Alex: Would you like to take this evening somewhere else?
Samantha: I think you read my mind.
Alex: Well, my apartment is only a twenty minute cab ride away. And I have two Hockney portraits up in the bedroom I’d just love to show you.
Samantha: Honey, I can do you one better.
They chugged their drinks and grabbed the nearest cab, but by the time they made it to the Guggenheim, it was already closed.
Security Guard: I’m sorry, ma’am, but the museum’s closed for the day.
Samantha: But it’s barely six. And I’m a member. I still have two more hours before it closes at eight!
Security Guard: Oh, I see! The museum is only open late for members on Mondays. The rest of the time, we’re closed for business by 5:30.
Samantha: But that doesn’t make any sense! Then how can most people with full time jobs ever make it to the museum?
Security Guard: Well, a lot of them come on weekends.
Samantha: But it’s so crowded on the weekends! I was barely in the bathroom for two minutes before people started pounding on the doors.
Security Guard: I hear you. But I don’t make the rules, you know.
Samantha decided that if the rules weren’t going to work for her, then maybe it was time she started making the rules. That night, she reached out to her broker and put in a bid to buy the Guggenheim. To her absolute shock, the bid was approved before she had even sobered up. She had to sell her condo to afford the down payment, but she didn’t mind. She now had one of the best pieces of Manhattan real estate money could buy.
***
That next day, Samantha asked Charlotte to meet at the museum.
Charlotte: Wait, why are we the only people here?
Samantha: It’s closed.
Charlotte: What?
Samantha: I bought it.
Charlotte: No you did not!
Samantha: I absolutely did!
Charlotte: I can’t believe it! How much would you even have to pay for that?
Samantha: Only about 5% more than it was worth.
Charlotte: Wait, then what are you going to do with all of the art here?
Samantha: Well, luckily most of the museum is dedicated to travelling exhibitions, so most of it will just go on to the next museum down the line. But for the rest of it, I was hoping that you could help me.
Charlotte: Help you what?
Samantha: Look, I don’t know what to do with this art. But I’m lucky enough to know one of the greatest gallerists in New York City.
Charlotte: Well, thank you, but…
Samantha: So while I thought that, as my friend, you might enjoy a chance to get some one on one time with the museum’s permanent collection–
Charlotte: I guess that’s true…
Samantha: –I’m asking you to do this because you’re the best. And I only want to work with the best.
Charlotte: But Samantha, I’m not the person to call to move this volume of art. And I don’t have a place to keep it.
Samantha: Do you have the phone numbers of the people I could call to handle that?
Charlotte: Yes.
Samantha: Great. Call them yourself. You’re hired.
***
On the other side of 5th Avenue, Miranda was taking a long lunch with her new photographer.
Miranda: God, isn’t it beautiful out here?
Christian: It really is.
Miranda: The leaves are changing color. Everyone is dressed warm and cozy. And look at the sky! Have you ever seen anything as beautiful as that big blue sky?
Christian: I can think of a couple things.
Miranda: You know, there are so many days where New York is just terrible. It’s way too hot until it’s way too cold. And you spend so much time trudging through a sea of strangers to get from one cramped building to another. But it is all worth it for days like this. I really can’t think of anywhere else in the world I would rather be right now.
Christian: I know how you feel. This moment…this time with you…it feels special.
Miranda: God, I just really wish that I had some sort of memento of this moment.
Christian: Maybe we should each pick a leaf? We can press them in a book and we’ll promise that no matter what happens between you and I, we’ll always keep the leaves to remember this beautiful, perfect day.
Miranda: Mmmmh. Maybe. Maybe. But, you know, I have a cat who’s always trying to get at my books. So maybe it needs to be something less delicate.
Christian: Okay, let’s think then.
Miranda: Ooh, I have a good idea! Maybe you could take a picture of me.
Christian: Oh.
Miranda: What?
Christian: You know, I really like to keep my work life and my personal life pretty separate.
Miranda: I’m not asking you to take my portrait or to put me in your next show. Just…take my picture in the park. You know that a lot of people take pictures on dates, even amateur photographers.
Christian: I know, but I don’t take pictures on dates. As a rule.
Miranda: As a rule?
Christian: I don’t know if you know this or not, but I used to be married. And when I was married, I used to take my wife’s picture every day. Multiple times a day. Everywhere we went. And people loved those pictures. I started getting included in group shows and then I was getting solo shows and then, all of a sudden, I had a book and an agent and I was able to quit my day job. It was everything I ever wanted. But I was miserable. Love had become my brand, but I wasn’t in love. Neither of us were.
When I think back about those pictures, they weren’t really about Cat. Like, I get that they were…literally pictures of Cat. But the pictures were about me. About what I wanted in life. About how I wanted other people to see me. Everybody wanted to believe that I was so in love that I couldn’t help myself but take picture after picture of my wonderful wife. But in truth, I was drowning. And Cat hated the pictures, too, because she couldn’t see herself in them. She could only see the person I wished she would be.
So we got divorced. It was hard, but it was good.
Neither of us could afford to get a new apartment, so I started taking long walks every night. I’d try to come home after she was already asleep and smoke weed on the fire escape so she wouldn’t realize just how high I was all the time. And while I was walking around, I started taking pictures. At first, I was desperate for anything that looked like it might end up in a gallery. I had hundreds of vibrant, balanced photographs of Astoria, but nobody wanted them. So I kept trying until I had taken every elegant picture of my neighborhood I could think of. And then I stopped taking pictures all together. I’d just walk for hours, waiting for Cat to fall asleep.
A month before our lease was up, Cat decided to move back to Ohio. Some of our college friends showed up to help her move. I wasn’t supposed to know that she was leaving, so it became somebody’s boyfriend’s job to keep me out of the apartment long enough for her to run away. I took him on my normal walking route and was so excited to show him all these little discoveries I’d made. Silly signs in restaurant windows. Backyard gardens. Old churches. And this guy, I mean, he could not have given a single shit. But I realized that I really cared about these things. I wasn’t just killing time while my ex-wife went to sleep. I was getting to know my neighborhood. I was falling in love.
So the very next day, I came back with my camera. I took five-hundered photos and by the end of the next week, I had a solo show in Brooklyn with the best twenty-three. By the end of the year, I was an exciting up and coming photographer in the art world again. But I wasn’t taking pictures of what I wanted my life to look like. I was taking pictures of the little things that made my life beautiful. For the first time, the life I was already living felt like enough.
Miranda: But can’t I be one of those little things that makes your life beautiful?
Christian: When I fall in love, I don’t want it to be a beautiful little thing. I want it to be everything.
Miranda paused for a moment. It was a lot to take in and she knew that the next thing she said would either make or break this relationship.
Miranda: Does that mean that there’s no chance you’ll ever make me your phone background?
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