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Sensuality
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Urbanism
Part 7
Charlotte and Miranda were relieved to discover that they had arrived in the same room after sharing a small handful of the magic taffy. The Doctor greeted Charlotte warmly and offered to take her lovely new friend on a tour of the grounds. Quite quickly, Miranda started gathering as much information as she could. Charlotte was grateful that Miranda was taking the situation so seriously, but it was hard not to wish that they could slow down and enjoy the day a little more.
Miranda: Do you think I could ask you some more questions?
Charlotte: Ooh, what if we went out on the rowboat?
Doctor: Sounds like a great idea.
Miranda: Which one of us are you answering?
Doctor: Both of you, I guess.
Miranda: Is Charlotte the first person to visit you, here?
Doctor: No.
Miranda: How often do people visit you?
Doctor: Sometimes, but not often.
Miranda: Once a week? Once a month? Once a year?
Doctor: I don’t know.
Miranda: Do you like taffy?
Doctor: Sure, I like taffy.
Miranda: But is it, like, important to you?
Doctor: No. Is it important to you?
Miranda: Well, no.
Charlotte: She’s asking because taffy is how we got here.
Doctor: Oh, I think we must be talking about different things then.
Miranda: Little chewy candies?
Doctor: Yes.
Miranda: Yeah. We both ate a piece of taffy and somehow ended up here.
Doctor: Wow, wherever you two come from sounds crazy.
Miranda: I guess it kinda is crazy. But probably in a less fun way than you were expecting.
Doctor: Well, can I ask you a question, Miranda?
Miranda: Sure.
Doctor: Why did you come with Charlotte today? Because you wanted taffy?
Miranda: Well, Charlotte told me that you are killed every night.
Doctor: Yes.
Miranda: So…we want to help you.
Doctor: Help me how? Are you two…warriors?
Miranda: Actually, I’m a lawyer.
Doctor: Do you plan to serve them a cease and desist? Because if so, I think you should leave now before you both get hurt.
Charlotte: We weren’t planning to stop the mystery men. We were hoping to help you escape.
Doctor: Escape? But I don’t want to escape.
In all her wondering and worrying about what might go wrong, Charlotte had never considered that The Doctor would want to stay. As the three of them made their way into the waiting rowboat, Charlotte kept looking him in the eyes, searching for some clue. Was he joking? Was he scared? Was he hypnotized? But when she looked, all she could find was certainty.
Charlotte: I know it’s scary, but it will be okay.
Doctor: What do you mean?
Charlotte: If we escape. I know it’s scary. But I know that it will be okay.
Doctor: Things are already okay. Better than okay.
Miranda: What do you mean? Don’t you die every night?
Doctor: Well, I get killed. Sure.
Miranda: Aren’t those the same thing?
Doctor: Apparently not.
Charlotte: But aren’t you…lonely?
Doctor: Sometimes. What about you?
Charlotte: What?
Doctor: Are you lonely?
Charlotte: Sometimes.
Doctor: Terrible, isn’t it?
Miranda: I just can’t understand it. You really want to spend the rest of your life reliving the same day.
Doctor: What do you mean, reliving? Am I not living now?
Charlotte: But it’s always the same day, isn’t it?
Doctor: I don’t know how time works where you’re from, but this is my home. And I love it here.
Suddenly, a fish jumped out of the water less than a yard from the rowboat. Miranda jumped so high she almost flipped the boat over.
Doctor: Sorry about Gavin. He’s such a bitch.
Miranda: I’m sorry, is Gavin the fish?
Doctor: Oh yeah, I’ve named all the fish.
Charlotte: That must have taken forever.
Doctor: Well, there’s only seventeen in this lake, so it wasn’t that hard. Birds, birds are hard.
Miranda: How many birds are there?
Doctor: I still don’t know. I’ve named thirty-four.
As they spoke, a mallard duck fell from the sky before flittering along the lake’s surface.
Doctor: Oh, this is exciting.
Miranda: Does this duck have a name?
Doctor: Diana. She was the first bird to get one.
The Doctor took the boat over to Diana who was scouring the lake for one of its seventeen fishes. He pulled a wrapped crust of bread out of his pocket and started laying a Hansel and Gretel trail behind the boat. Diana followed at a safe distance, happily accepting The Doctor’s gift.
Miranda wondered if The Doctor had known that Diana would land on the lake when he agreed to take the boat out. But The Doctor didn’t seem worried about being anywhere at any specific time. He gave the impression of someone who would be just as happy spending this afternoon in the forest or the dining room. She realized that he probably wrapped up a piece of bread every morning, just in case he ran into Diana. But clearly, his day was still going to be great whether he saw Diana or not. She wondered what else he had in his pockets? How many different ways could this day have gone?
But then the vanilla taste was gone. Miranda and Charlotte were back in New York City. And Miranda needed to talk with Christian before it was too late.
***
Miranda called Christian, but he didn’t answer. She tried to leave a message, but his voicemail was full. So, she decided to go to his apartment.
Standing at his building’s front door, looking for the right apartment to buzz, she wondered if this was a giant mistake. But, she had just enough momentum to make her press the button.
Christian: Umm, hello?
Miranda: Hi, Christian. I’m really sorry to come over here like this. I know this seems a little crazy, but I just really wanted to apologize. I was so intimidated by all those pictures of your ex wife. And I feel like I wasn’t ready to hear you in the park. But I hear you now. I have a longer apology, but I guess I’d rather say it to your face. If you’ll let me.
Before Miranda could finish, Christian was already buzzing her up.
Upstairs, Christian took Miranda’s coat and offered to give her a tour of the place. In the hallway were a half dozen framed pictures of New York Yankees walking down the street.
Miranda: Oh my God, is that Aaron Judge?
Christian: Yeah. Are you a Yankees fan?
Miranda: And that’s Gerrit Cole?
Christian: Hey, you are a Yankees fan!
Miranda: Wait, where did you get these?
Christian: I took them. I’m out taking photos a few hours every day. Odds are that I’ll run into a Yankee every now and again.
Miranda: Wait, you took these pictures?
Christian: Yeah.
Miranda: But I thought that you didn’t take people’s pictures anymore?
Christian: Mostly, yeah…but…
Miranda: But what?
Christian: Are you telling me that if you had a camera and you saw Aaron Judge walking down the street, you wouldn’t take his picture?
Miranda: Well, maybe I would.
Christian: Of course you would!
Miranda: But I’d also take a photo of you.
Christian: I…I see what you’re saying. But this is different.
Miranda: Oh, it’s different?
Christian: It is! It’s different!
Miranda: Different how?
Christian: I mean, come on Miranda! It’s the Yankees!
As a Yankees fan, Miranda could understand his point, but she knew she couldn’t live with it. They broke up for good before the tour ever even made it to the living room.
***
Samantha was relieved there were no protestors out when she came home with Simon Newsom, a law professor she had met at the afterparty for an off-broadway play. With the protestors gone, Samantha was ready to give herself a proper homecoming. And Simon, to his credit, was eager to help. Before the elevator had arrived at her sixth floor bedroom, Simon was already on his knees. By the time they were finished, the bed had slid so far down the ramp that it was somewhere between the second and third floors.
Simon: God, I can’t believe that I just had sex in the Guggenheim.
Samantha: It’s incredible, isn’t it?
Simon: How much did you have to pay for this?
Samantha: I don’t understand why people keep asking me that.
Simon: So you’re not going to tell me?
Samantha: How much did you pay for that shirt?
Simon: About three hundred dollars.
Samantha: Well it was more than that.
Simon: So you’re not going to tell me?
Samantha: I have to leave something to the imagination.
Simon: I used to come here all the time when I first moved to New York.
Samantha: I could use some water. Do you want me to grab you anything?
Simon: Do you think I could bring my daughter here sometime?
Samantha: Simon, I think you might have misunderstood what’s happening here.
Simon: Sorry, I didn’t think before I spoke.
Samantha: Happens to all of us.
Simon: I don’t want you to meet my daughter.
Samantha: Thank goodness.
Simon: It’s just that I never brought her here. She’s not old enough to, you know, care about paintings yet. But I’d just be so sad if she never got to see it.
Suddenly, Samantha realized what she needed to do. She dumped Simon the chatty dad and then called her broker to sell the museum back. She says it was for the modest profit, but I heard from a reliable source that she cut a deal to keep Agnes Martin’s Untitled #14 . Charlotte goes by Sam’s office once a week now to visit her.
***
With Bertrand joining us, James thought it best to meet at his apartment on the Upper West Side. I felt like a spy on a mission, but the truth was that I wasn’t the one with the secret. By the time that I arrived, Bertrand and James were already onto their second bottle of wine. I suddenly realized that I was the third wheel here, not Bertrand.
I had had such a great time at dinner with James that I forgot that I barely knew him at all. Sure, he hadn’t told me about his secret relationship with our boss. But he also hadn’t told me about his wall of KISS memorabilia. Or the pile of dirty clothes that seemed to be consuming his living room. For a minute, I wondered if I had gone through the wrong door. But no, this was James’s apartment. He was in the kitchen getting drunk with our boss.
By the time dinner was on the table, James and Bertrand had made it to their third bottle. We sat down for dinner and I watched them talk. They talked about operas I’d never seen and baseball games I didn’t care about. They talked about friends I’d never met and referenced conversations I was not a part of. I could see why they were so drawn together. But for the life of me, I didn’t know why I was there at all. So, I tried my best to join the conversation midstream.
Bertrand: …and next they’re performing Elektra, which I have no interest in seeing. I’m sorry if this isn’t very modern of me, but I don’t want to listen to atonal music. I don’t think it makes me an old fogey to want a melody.
James: You say modern, but that opera is over a hundred years old. If they really want to do something modern, they should do something with a living librettist.
Carrie: So how did you two meet?
Bertrand: We met at the paper.
Carrie: Oh yeah.
Bertrand: Frankly, part of me feels no need for opera to “keep up with the times.” There are worse things to be than a museum piece, you know.
James: As long as there are people who care about opera, there will be people trying to adapt the form to their life. The question isn’t whether it evolves. The question is whether the institutions of opera want to be a part of that change.
Carrie: And how long have you two been together?
James: Well, we say that we’ve been together for a year, but if I’m being honest–
Bertrand: James, don’t tell her that.
James: Sorry.
Bertrand: We’ve agreed on this.
James: Oh, we did? You and me? Both of us agreed?
Bertrand: You’re drunk.
James: Of course I’m drunk. I’ve been drinking.
Carrie: What do you two like to do together?
Bertrand: I mean really, James. Why does it always seem like you’re two glasses of wine away from blowing up my entire life?
James: Every time you come over, you always bring a fucking bag full of wine. And before I can ask, you’re already filling my glass. And then you get so shocked when I’m drunk. As if a magician came and filled me with booze. When it was just some sad, closested newspaper editor.
Bertrand: How dare you call me closeted? You know that I told Meridith just last month!
James: Bravo! At this rate, the rest of New York will know by 2929.
Bertrand: You don’t understand. You don’t have to be afraid to be out at work. You work for me. I work for a board of directors. And they’re all bastards. And half–
James: Half of them are basically republicans. I know. I’ve heard the speech a hundred times.
Bertrand: Well then, I won’t bother you with the rest.
For a moment, there was silence. And then they both looked at me, waiting for me to pick up the conversation they had just smashed on the ground.
Carrie: You know, I don’t know if this is true, but I heard a rumor that Bill and Melinda Gates were going to wait until their children were off to college to get a divorce, but they got divorced sooner because of his ties to Jeffrey Epstein.
Bertrand: Oh, is Bill in the news again?
Carrie: Well, I was just thinking about…you know…your situation.
Bertrand: And what situation is that?
James: You know what, I think that maybe it’s time for dessert. Does anybody want dessert?
Bertrand: Wait, did James tell you that we were waiting for Francis to go off to college…
James: I’m sorry, it just slipped out.
Bertrand: James, that’s not what we agreed to.
James: You keep saying we when you are the only one deciding anything.
Bertrand: Well I’m the one who’s married.
James: Yes. I am very aware of that.
By the end of dinner, they had finished another bottle of wine, kissed, and made up. I figured I should get out before someone asked me to talk again.
I felt silly. Since I wanted James, I assumed that the relationship keeping him from me must be perfect. But the truth was that I was much happier being single on my terms than he was in a relationship on someone else’s. I still want someone to call my boyfriend, but it’s worth remembering that there are just as many ways to be unhappy in a relationship as there are on your own.
Miranda: Do you think I could ask you some more questions?
Charlotte: Ooh, what if we went out on the rowboat?
Doctor: Sounds like a great idea.
Miranda: Which one of us are you answering?
Doctor: Both of you, I guess.
Miranda: Is Charlotte the first person to visit you, here?
Doctor: No.
Miranda: How often do people visit you?
Doctor: Sometimes, but not often.
Miranda: Once a week? Once a month? Once a year?
Doctor: I don’t know.
Miranda: Do you like taffy?
Doctor: Sure, I like taffy.
Miranda: But is it, like, important to you?
Doctor: No. Is it important to you?
Miranda: Well, no.
Charlotte: She’s asking because taffy is how we got here.
Doctor: Oh, I think we must be talking about different things then.
Miranda: Little chewy candies?
Doctor: Yes.
Miranda: Yeah. We both ate a piece of taffy and somehow ended up here.
Doctor: Wow, wherever you two come from sounds crazy.
Miranda: I guess it kinda is crazy. But probably in a less fun way than you were expecting.
Doctor: Well, can I ask you a question, Miranda?
Miranda: Sure.
Doctor: Why did you come with Charlotte today? Because you wanted taffy?
Miranda: Well, Charlotte told me that you are killed every night.
Doctor: Yes.
Miranda: So…we want to help you.
Doctor: Help me how? Are you two…warriors?
Miranda: Actually, I’m a lawyer.
Doctor: Do you plan to serve them a cease and desist? Because if so, I think you should leave now before you both get hurt.
Charlotte: We weren’t planning to stop the mystery men. We were hoping to help you escape.
Doctor: Escape? But I don’t want to escape.
In all her wondering and worrying about what might go wrong, Charlotte had never considered that The Doctor would want to stay. As the three of them made their way into the waiting rowboat, Charlotte kept looking him in the eyes, searching for some clue. Was he joking? Was he scared? Was he hypnotized? But when she looked, all she could find was certainty.
Charlotte: I know it’s scary, but it will be okay.
Doctor: What do you mean?
Charlotte: If we escape. I know it’s scary. But I know that it will be okay.
Doctor: Things are already okay. Better than okay.
Miranda: What do you mean? Don’t you die every night?
Doctor: Well, I get killed. Sure.
Miranda: Aren’t those the same thing?
Doctor: Apparently not.
Charlotte: But aren’t you…lonely?
Doctor: Sometimes. What about you?
Charlotte: What?
Doctor: Are you lonely?
Charlotte: Sometimes.
Doctor: Terrible, isn’t it?
Miranda: I just can’t understand it. You really want to spend the rest of your life reliving the same day.
Doctor: What do you mean, reliving? Am I not living now?
Charlotte: But it’s always the same day, isn’t it?
Doctor: I don’t know how time works where you’re from, but this is my home. And I love it here.
Suddenly, a fish jumped out of the water less than a yard from the rowboat. Miranda jumped so high she almost flipped the boat over.
Doctor: Sorry about Gavin. He’s such a bitch.
Miranda: I’m sorry, is Gavin the fish?
Doctor: Oh yeah, I’ve named all the fish.
Charlotte: That must have taken forever.
Doctor: Well, there’s only seventeen in this lake, so it wasn’t that hard. Birds, birds are hard.
Miranda: How many birds are there?
Doctor: I still don’t know. I’ve named thirty-four.
As they spoke, a mallard duck fell from the sky before flittering along the lake’s surface.
Doctor: Oh, this is exciting.
Miranda: Does this duck have a name?
Doctor: Diana. She was the first bird to get one.
The Doctor took the boat over to Diana who was scouring the lake for one of its seventeen fishes. He pulled a wrapped crust of bread out of his pocket and started laying a Hansel and Gretel trail behind the boat. Diana followed at a safe distance, happily accepting The Doctor’s gift.
Miranda wondered if The Doctor had known that Diana would land on the lake when he agreed to take the boat out. But The Doctor didn’t seem worried about being anywhere at any specific time. He gave the impression of someone who would be just as happy spending this afternoon in the forest or the dining room. She realized that he probably wrapped up a piece of bread every morning, just in case he ran into Diana. But clearly, his day was still going to be great whether he saw Diana or not. She wondered what else he had in his pockets? How many different ways could this day have gone?
But then the vanilla taste was gone. Miranda and Charlotte were back in New York City. And Miranda needed to talk with Christian before it was too late.
***
Miranda called Christian, but he didn’t answer. She tried to leave a message, but his voicemail was full. So, she decided to go to his apartment.
Standing at his building’s front door, looking for the right apartment to buzz, she wondered if this was a giant mistake. But, she had just enough momentum to make her press the button.
Christian: Umm, hello?
Miranda: Hi, Christian. I’m really sorry to come over here like this. I know this seems a little crazy, but I just really wanted to apologize. I was so intimidated by all those pictures of your ex wife. And I feel like I wasn’t ready to hear you in the park. But I hear you now. I have a longer apology, but I guess I’d rather say it to your face. If you’ll let me.
Before Miranda could finish, Christian was already buzzing her up.
Upstairs, Christian took Miranda’s coat and offered to give her a tour of the place. In the hallway were a half dozen framed pictures of New York Yankees walking down the street.
Miranda: Oh my God, is that Aaron Judge?
Christian: Yeah. Are you a Yankees fan?
Miranda: And that’s Gerrit Cole?
Christian: Hey, you are a Yankees fan!
Miranda: Wait, where did you get these?
Christian: I took them. I’m out taking photos a few hours every day. Odds are that I’ll run into a Yankee every now and again.
Miranda: Wait, you took these pictures?
Christian: Yeah.
Miranda: But I thought that you didn’t take people’s pictures anymore?
Christian: Mostly, yeah…but…
Miranda: But what?
Christian: Are you telling me that if you had a camera and you saw Aaron Judge walking down the street, you wouldn’t take his picture?
Miranda: Well, maybe I would.
Christian: Of course you would!
Miranda: But I’d also take a photo of you.
Christian: I…I see what you’re saying. But this is different.
Miranda: Oh, it’s different?
Christian: It is! It’s different!
Miranda: Different how?
Christian: I mean, come on Miranda! It’s the Yankees!
As a Yankees fan, Miranda could understand his point, but she knew she couldn’t live with it. They broke up for good before the tour ever even made it to the living room.
***
Samantha was relieved there were no protestors out when she came home with Simon Newsom, a law professor she had met at the afterparty for an off-broadway play. With the protestors gone, Samantha was ready to give herself a proper homecoming. And Simon, to his credit, was eager to help. Before the elevator had arrived at her sixth floor bedroom, Simon was already on his knees. By the time they were finished, the bed had slid so far down the ramp that it was somewhere between the second and third floors.
Simon: God, I can’t believe that I just had sex in the Guggenheim.
Samantha: It’s incredible, isn’t it?
Simon: How much did you have to pay for this?
Samantha: I don’t understand why people keep asking me that.
Simon: So you’re not going to tell me?
Samantha: How much did you pay for that shirt?
Simon: About three hundred dollars.
Samantha: Well it was more than that.
Simon: So you’re not going to tell me?
Samantha: I have to leave something to the imagination.
Simon: I used to come here all the time when I first moved to New York.
Samantha: I could use some water. Do you want me to grab you anything?
Simon: Do you think I could bring my daughter here sometime?
Samantha: Simon, I think you might have misunderstood what’s happening here.
Simon: Sorry, I didn’t think before I spoke.
Samantha: Happens to all of us.
Simon: I don’t want you to meet my daughter.
Samantha: Thank goodness.
Simon: It’s just that I never brought her here. She’s not old enough to, you know, care about paintings yet. But I’d just be so sad if she never got to see it.
Suddenly, Samantha realized what she needed to do. She dumped Simon the chatty dad and then called her broker to sell the museum back. She says it was for the modest profit, but I heard from a reliable source that she cut a deal to keep Agnes Martin’s Untitled #14 . Charlotte goes by Sam’s office once a week now to visit her.
***
With Bertrand joining us, James thought it best to meet at his apartment on the Upper West Side. I felt like a spy on a mission, but the truth was that I wasn’t the one with the secret. By the time that I arrived, Bertrand and James were already onto their second bottle of wine. I suddenly realized that I was the third wheel here, not Bertrand.
I had had such a great time at dinner with James that I forgot that I barely knew him at all. Sure, he hadn’t told me about his secret relationship with our boss. But he also hadn’t told me about his wall of KISS memorabilia. Or the pile of dirty clothes that seemed to be consuming his living room. For a minute, I wondered if I had gone through the wrong door. But no, this was James’s apartment. He was in the kitchen getting drunk with our boss.
By the time dinner was on the table, James and Bertrand had made it to their third bottle. We sat down for dinner and I watched them talk. They talked about operas I’d never seen and baseball games I didn’t care about. They talked about friends I’d never met and referenced conversations I was not a part of. I could see why they were so drawn together. But for the life of me, I didn’t know why I was there at all. So, I tried my best to join the conversation midstream.
Bertrand: …and next they’re performing Elektra, which I have no interest in seeing. I’m sorry if this isn’t very modern of me, but I don’t want to listen to atonal music. I don’t think it makes me an old fogey to want a melody.
James: You say modern, but that opera is over a hundred years old. If they really want to do something modern, they should do something with a living librettist.
Carrie: So how did you two meet?
Bertrand: We met at the paper.
Carrie: Oh yeah.
Bertrand: Frankly, part of me feels no need for opera to “keep up with the times.” There are worse things to be than a museum piece, you know.
James: As long as there are people who care about opera, there will be people trying to adapt the form to their life. The question isn’t whether it evolves. The question is whether the institutions of opera want to be a part of that change.
Carrie: And how long have you two been together?
James: Well, we say that we’ve been together for a year, but if I’m being honest–
Bertrand: James, don’t tell her that.
James: Sorry.
Bertrand: We’ve agreed on this.
James: Oh, we did? You and me? Both of us agreed?
Bertrand: You’re drunk.
James: Of course I’m drunk. I’ve been drinking.
Carrie: What do you two like to do together?
Bertrand: I mean really, James. Why does it always seem like you’re two glasses of wine away from blowing up my entire life?
James: Every time you come over, you always bring a fucking bag full of wine. And before I can ask, you’re already filling my glass. And then you get so shocked when I’m drunk. As if a magician came and filled me with booze. When it was just some sad, closested newspaper editor.
Bertrand: How dare you call me closeted? You know that I told Meridith just last month!
James: Bravo! At this rate, the rest of New York will know by 2929.
Bertrand: You don’t understand. You don’t have to be afraid to be out at work. You work for me. I work for a board of directors. And they’re all bastards. And half–
James: Half of them are basically republicans. I know. I’ve heard the speech a hundred times.
Bertrand: Well then, I won’t bother you with the rest.
For a moment, there was silence. And then they both looked at me, waiting for me to pick up the conversation they had just smashed on the ground.
Carrie: You know, I don’t know if this is true, but I heard a rumor that Bill and Melinda Gates were going to wait until their children were off to college to get a divorce, but they got divorced sooner because of his ties to Jeffrey Epstein.
Bertrand: Oh, is Bill in the news again?
Carrie: Well, I was just thinking about…you know…your situation.
Bertrand: And what situation is that?
James: You know what, I think that maybe it’s time for dessert. Does anybody want dessert?
Bertrand: Wait, did James tell you that we were waiting for Francis to go off to college…
James: I’m sorry, it just slipped out.
Bertrand: James, that’s not what we agreed to.
James: You keep saying we when you are the only one deciding anything.
Bertrand: Well I’m the one who’s married.
James: Yes. I am very aware of that.
By the end of dinner, they had finished another bottle of wine, kissed, and made up. I figured I should get out before someone asked me to talk again.
I felt silly. Since I wanted James, I assumed that the relationship keeping him from me must be perfect. But the truth was that I was much happier being single on my terms than he was in a relationship on someone else’s. I still want someone to call my boyfriend, but it’s worth remembering that there are just as many ways to be unhappy in a relationship as there are on your own.
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