A Little Trouble with the Facts Read Online Free PDF Page A

“That’s very nice dear,” and turned back to the Rolex at her right.
    After a couple of hours listening to silverware tap fine china, I heard crunching crinoline as the gents led their ladies away. I stood at the edge of the gilded railing on the second tier and gazed at the mezzanine. I’d failed to get any items or any contacts. I hadn’t managed a single round of witty quippery.
    My celluloid fantasy was revived, though, because just then, Jeremiah burst back through the front doors and ran up the stairs. I wondered if I was imagining things, but he said, “I need to use the loo. Would you mind very much watching the door?” On his way out a few minutes later, he stopped. “This is no place for a beautiful woman in a scandalous gown,” he announced. “Unless you’re staying for the Carmen matinee, I could give you a ride anywhere you need to go.”
    Anywhere. It was a big offer for a girl fresh off the farm. I had nowhere to go except home to my redheaded roommate in her Peanuts Gang socks. I was all dressed up with nothing to show for it. Anywhere sounded like the place to be. I lowered my chin and said in my best Audrey Hepburn, “Yes, please.”
    If I’d been wise, I’d have made to the nearest pay phone and called an item in to Bernie: “Jeremiah Sinclair Golden Jr. seen making a trip to the WC and coming back glassy-eyed.” If I’d been smart, I’d have said, “What would a man like you want with a wildflower like me?” But after his “anywhere,” the room filled again with glitter, and all I could see was starlight.
    “Where to?” he said, holding open the door of his stretch Lincoln Town Car at the edge of the grand plaza, as the fountain’s waters glowed in triumphant arcs behind him. I looked around for Billy Wilder, to see if his ghost was directing the scene. I searched for Samuel Taylor, his scriptwriter, because I didn’t know my lines. What would Audrey say? I told him the address of my tenement on East Fifth Street and he repeated it to his driver, adding, “Take the long way through the park,” just like William Holden. He didn’t need any prompting. Then he closed the glass partition with his remote.
    It was one of those flawless New York City nights in the early blush of spring. The scent of lilacs drifted in through the cracked window. I leaned back on the soft leather bench and imagined the landscape montage that George Cukor would insert into this scene. We’d see the whole Central Park, from glorious glimmering Broadway down to the Plaza Hotel. The camera would pan out past the tinted glass of the limo, as I rolled down the window to smell the early blossoms. We’d see deer and elk frolic with foxes; see night shadows form on the Loeb Boathouse, near where—later in the movie—Jeremiah and I would have our first kiss in a rowboat. Swans would float in a moonlight-reflecting lake.
    “You must be new to the city. I’ve never seen you before,” said Jeremiah.
    I opened my eyes. “There are eight million people in this city. You couldn’t possibly have met everyone.”
    “But if I’d met you, I would’ve remembered.”
    My cheeks grew hot. “It’s true. I just moved here.”
    “You see? I was right. You’re new. The new new thing.”
    It felt like a kind of anointment. Then the old movies turned Blake Edwards–Technicolor. Jeremiah’s limo pulled to a stop in front of Tiffany, where Holly Golightly took her breakfast. The light changed and the car continued down Fifth Avenue, and the whole glinting panorama came to life. The gold-plated shops were like so many old friends from my magazines: Bergdorf and Trump Tower, Gucci and Brooks Brothers, Cartier and Saks. We drove through the Disney glow of Times Square—I saw Carolines and the Walter Kerr, TKTS and MTV—and past the Fashion District all the way down to the East Village.”
    Jeremiah’s leg was leaning against mine as we sat in the limo in front of my East Fifth tenement, and this was all the