I Love New York

I Love New York

By Maria C. Montesano

Becca's eyes squinted as the streetlights blurred into watery smears. Raindrops beaded off her pale skin. The lightweight linen sweater became drenched. She took a step forward. Her flip-flop sandal slipped right off her foot. She tumbled onto the concrete.

Beep! Beep! The vehicles were trapped in a maze of traffic. Classic New York City during a heavy rainfall. Now her knee scraped, and fresh blood mixed with raindrops. Involuntary movements of shivering skin took their toll. Lowering her head, her eyes began to tear up.

David’s lip burned from the sip of hot coffee. As soon as his face turned to the window, he saw the scene. He scurried over to rescue the woman on the ground.

“Miss, please come under the umbrella. Let me take you inside the cafe.”

Her eyes welled up with teardrops. A stranger’s kindness released instant relief from her tension. For that moment, the aggressive honks of the yellow cab stuck in traffic became mute. He gave over his hand and made her melt.

“Oh, thank you so much.”

David took her arm as she hobbled inside.

“Marta, dear, please get a tea for the lady. I’m going to clean up her wound.”

“I can go into the ladies' room and clean it up.”

“I’m a doctor. This won’t take long.”

David’s latex-covered hands tore off a wipe.

“Not to sound cliché, but this might sting a little bit.”

For a short second, her eyes winced.

“There, we’re all done.”

Marta carried over the tea. A cloud of steam evaporated on her skin, and her face felt comforted.

“Did you know that we were expecting rain today?”

“No, I didn’t listen to any weather report.”

“You’re definitely not from here, are you?”

She smirked, “No, actually, I am from Montreal.”

“Wow, Canadian. Welcome to New York. How do you like it so far?”

“I think it’s awesome.”

“New York City thinks you’re awesome, too.”

He winked as he took a sip of coffee.

“I just realized I am sitting with a beautiful woman from Montreal, and I don’t even know your name. I am Dr. David Renaulter. Please call me David.”

“Hi David, I’m Becca. It’s short for Rebecca.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Would you be interested in joining me for dinner this evening?”

“Yes, I would like that.”

“So then it’s a date. Where shall I pick you up?”

“I’m staying at Freehand New York. I am leaving tomorrow afternoon. I came here for inspiration for my book.”

“You’re a writer.”

“Yes, I am. I am working on a new book right now.”

The pounding rain had calmed down to a drizzle now. David knew he had to think fast if he wanted to spend even more time with her.

“I have a proposition for you. Since you need inspiration, I can be a tour guide. I can also catch you if you fall.”

Her inner love goddess bubbled with excitement. Inspiration wasn’t the word that described what was fluttering in her being.

“You can prevent me from being a fallen angel. But on a serious note, I would oblige. I would love for you to be my tour guide.”

“I’m positive that with me being a native New Yorker taking you around, and you being a creative writer, the inspiration will reveal itself to you fairly quickly. After all, this is the Big Apple. Tons of movies and novels were born in this great city.”

“Do you like to read, David?”

“I do, and you know you just gave me an idea. We’ll find your inspiration. There’s this old bookstore a couple of blocks away from here. We can grab a cab and be there in 15 minutes.”

“Show me the way.”

He hailed a taxi. Becca kept staring at him with admiration. His face was sculpted with high cheekbones. His lips…. She envisioned a kiss. To her surprise, she laid her head on his chest as they were seated in the cab. He took her hand and held it close to him.

***

The periwinkle-colored walls encased bookshelves of literary works across every genre. The building had a distinct smell of nostalgia that any writer recognized.

“That old library smell. I think this was a brilliant idea, David. Thank you for taking me.”

He observed as her fingertips traced the titles, and her eyes lit up. She was definitely his fallen angel. Unlike the books she was reading, he wanted to be part of her story.

“When there is so much choice, it’s hard to pinpoint one thing. Why is this so hard?”

“Don’t make it so hard. Pick 3 random books and narrow down an idea. If you have an idea, you have an inspiration.”

“Another brilliant idea.”

After a few minutes of contemplation, Becca picked 3 books and placed them on the table.

“Let’s see what you picked, Miss Writer.”

“I didn’t pick any specific kind. I want you to be my muse. Pick a page from each of the 3 books and read a line from each. From there, the portal in my brain that creates will open my imagination.”

“Alright, let’s do this then.”

He opened a book, and his fingers turned pages until he picked one.

“Ready. The rain poured, and the outside windows of the train displayed the scene of handkerchiefs waving for some loved ones for the last time.”

“Interesting. Here is the next book, David.”

“The coach prayed to his angel as Roy batted the ball and got a home run.”

“Isn’t that something? Ok, last one.”

“Their hearts were beating, faces flushed, a kiss the little cherub named Cupid would be proud of.”

“I have my inspiration.”

“Do you care to share it with me?”

“I will tonight at dinner. I think we should be heading back. It’ll give me time to freshen up back at the hotel.”

“I suppose I will see you tonight, then, Becca.” He kissed her on the cheek.

***

The ginger hair and flowered sundress made Becca feel like a goddess. Her entire spirit felt rejuvenated. Her purpose for this visit had been fulfilled. She found inspiration. Filling her lips with some red lipstick was the final step to make her face pop. She grabbed her clutch and walked to the lobby.

Biting on one single-stemmed red rose, David stood there.

“This is for you.”

“Thank you. You look quite dapper this evening.”

“Dapper, that’s not a word I hear often. I have the cab waiting outside. I made reservations at Dolci’s. It’s an Italian restaurant.”

“Wonderful, I am starving."

During the ride, David took her hand and caressed it. She wanted to pinch herself or feel some slight painful infliction. A reminder that this was reality and not some story in her head.

***

Seated at their table, Becca’s pointer finger twirled the spoon.

“Do you play with your food as well?”

“Funny, no, it’s just a nervous habit. I was thinking about the two lines that you read. It follows a plot of a love story. The first line reminds me of a young wife whose husband is leaving for military duty. Their love is so intense because of the mental anguish of the couple being separated from each other. Likely not knowing the outcome. The second. The coach shows a leap of faith, praying to a higher power for a home run. The final line is like a 3rd party had manifested every event so those two hearts can meet.”

“Deep thinking. What is your inspiration?”

“That life isn’t what you expect. Every day is a special surprise. Some days are average, other days are disappointing, and some are extraordinary. As humans, we think that we have everything figured out, until, of course, life happens.”

“I was thinking the same. I went to my same cafe this morning, not having any idea I’d fall in love with someone from Montreal.”

“Where do we go from here, David?”

“We enjoy our chicken cacciatore.”

Becca felt like a character in one of her stories. Not the show, don’t tell, but the feel that she was here.

One of the rules in writing is show, don’t tell. The universe was letting the author finally feel shown. The touch, sound, taste and smell. David’s caressing touch was comfort. His voice was whimsical. The food was a melt-in-her-mouth sensation. Her fragrant luxury perfume. Words on paper never did real-life experience justice. In any piece of literature, the story, or in this case, the dinner, came to an end.

***

“Thanks for driving me to the airport. I had a wonderful weekend.”

“The word on that sign is giving me anxiety. I will be honest.”

“J. F. K. Airport?”

“No departures. I don’t want you to leave, Becca.”

“I agree. How are we going to do this? Do long-distance relationships work? I mean, in a story they can, but this is real-life, David.”

“I am the content creator in my story, Becca. Not only will it work, but I will be in Montreal next weekend.”

“I can’t wait to see you next weekend.”

“Text me when you land.”

High-pitched roars of plane engines were silenced as she turned around and waved goodbye. The city unblocked her as a writer, and the inspiration was obvious. She loved New York, but it gifted her a surprise she herself couldn’t have written a true love story.