From Notting Hill to New York . . . Actually (12 page)

‘We sure are!’ he gives a small salute. ‘Seaman John Jeff erson at your service, ma’am. We wouldn’t have been allowed to do this here today if it wasn’t Fleet Week, and our small stunt was for charity. The city’s many fine landmarks are very accommodating to us sailors during Fleet Week.’

‘That’s very good of them.’ I can’t help breaking into a smile at his courteous manner. He’s like a caricature of a movie sailor, standing in front of me and saluting like that. Now I can see the others dressed in their uniforms, I can just imagine him in his full crisp white shirt and
trousers, doffed hat held in front of him, calling me ma’am. ‘They certainly seem to welcome you to the city.’

‘They sure do,’ he says as he pushes the gorilla suit down off his torso so it sits around his waist, revealing a white vest and a pair of extremely muscular arms. ‘It’s my third time here in NYC for Fleet Week; we always have a whale of a time.’ He regards me for a moment. ‘No …’ he says, and he shakes his head.

‘What do you mean, no?’

‘Well, I was just wondering something, and then I thought, John Jefferson, this ain’t the sorta lady that you ask that kinda thing of.’

‘Ask what kind of thing?’ I just can’t help but smile coyly at him. He looks so cute standing there, his top half all squeaky-clean and polished-looking with his blond hair all neat and a twinkle in his bright blue eyes, his bottom half still clothed in the hairy gorilla suit.

‘There’s a big party tonight at one of the bars downtown, and I wondered if you’d like to come along? I mean, you can bring your boyfriend or … or your husband, if you have one with you on holiday?’

‘How do you know I’m on holiday?’

‘I’m just guessing, since you talk the way you do and the fact you’re at the top of the Empire State Building. Not many locals do that on a Monday morning.’

‘That’s true. Yes, I am on holiday. But no, I’m not married
or here with my boyfriend,’ I’m careful to say.

‘I see …’ he replies, considering this. ‘So, do you wanna come to the party? You can bring a friend?’

‘Yeah, I’ll come,’ I say, a grin spreading across my face. ‘And I know just the friend who’d like to tag along with me.’

‘Praise the Lord that is
Jimmy Choo!’ Oscar hails, raising his arms in the air. ‘We’re going to a sailors’ party! I need to leave you alone more often, Scarlett.’

‘We don’t have to go,’ I tease. ‘It might not be that much fun …’

‘Are you kidding me?’ Oscar looks like I’ve just suggested we don’t eat for a fortnight. ‘This is like, Season Five, Episode 67,
Anchors Away!
The one I was telling you about in the taxi, where the girls are invited to a sailors’ party. Oh my God, Scarlett,’ he squeals, clapping his hands manically like a performing seal. ‘This is beyond my wildest dreams, I’m actually living Carrie Bradshaw’s life!’

Later that evening, we arrive at the bar where the party
is being held. The place is huge, and teeming with white uniforms filled with surging male hormones. They spill out onto the sidewalk, and lean casually up against the stairway so we have to squeeze past them to make our way up to the main entrance. Oscar doesn’t even try to hide his joy at this minor inconvenience.

‘Hi,’ I say to the sailor manning the door.

‘Good evening, ma’am,’ he nods at me, and raises a smile at Oscar who has come dressed tonight in his own version of naval uniform: a tight navy and white striped long-sleeved top, white trousers, braces and a bright red neckerchief tied jauntily around his neck. He’d wanted to go out and buy a peaked sailor hat this afternoon to complete his look, but I’d managed to stop him just in time by reminding him of the old adage ‘less is more’.

‘Seaman John Jefferson said for me to come along tonight?’ I mention hopefully.

‘Ma’am, you don’t need no names to get in here looking like you do.’ He looks appraisingly at my choice of dress; it’s crimson, with a long slit up one side. ‘And your friend’s outfit is mighty fine too.’ He winks at Oscar, and Oscar nearly passes out on the spot.

‘Thank you, sir,’ I beam at him. I grab hold of Oscar’s arm and drag him away from the sailor and in through the doorway. Inside is a huge bar on three levels, and every level is packed to the brim with uniformed seamen of differing ranks. It’s like a huge sea of white has washed
over the bar. It’s occasionally broken by a tiny dash of colour from a shimmering dress or a sparkly handbag decorating the women that mingle among the sailors.

‘Well, kiss me Hardy, it’s Christmas come early!’ Oscar says, spinning around when his head can no longer spin far enough for him to take in the whole panorama. ‘Scarlett, I’m diving in! Get the drinks in, darling; I’ll be back in two shakes of a duck’s tail. Or would that be shag, seeing as we’re in a room full of men of the sea.’ He turns back briefly and winks. ‘And if I can’t get one of those tonight, then my name’s not Oscar St James, master of seamen everywhere!’

‘Oscar, wait!’ I call as he disappears into the sea of white. ‘What am I …’ But he’s gone.

I make my way over to the bar, and try not to look too conspicuous as I stand there waiting to be served. Suddenly, coming to this party doesn’t seem like such a good idea after all. The sailor standing next to me leans over in my direction.

‘Buy you a drink, ma’am?’

‘Er, no thanks. I’m getting them in for me and a friend.’

‘I’ll buy your friend’s too. What’s her name?’ He grins at me through yellowish teeth, and I can smell the alcohol fumes wafting from his breath.

‘Oscar, and he just
loves
sailors!’

This line seems
to work, with not only this sailor but a few others that try their luck with me in the minutes afterwards. Eventually the barman sees me and drifts over in my direction.

‘What’s it to be, miss?’

‘I’ll get these,’ a voice behind me says.

I’m about to turn around and bat back yet another unwanted advance, when I realise I recognise this voice.

‘Jamie!’ I say in relief as I turn around. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

‘Trying to get a story, for my sins,’ he says, grinning at me. ‘We’ve been asked to do a piece on Fleet Week, and I’m looking for a different angle to just ships and sailors parading up and down in straight lines.’

‘Well, this is certainly different.’

‘Do you guys want serving or not?’ the barman calls from behind us.

‘Sorry, yes, yes we do. Two Cosmopolitans, please.’ I turn back to Jamie. ‘What would you like?’

‘Not one of those, that’s for sure. I’ll just take a beer – Bud if you have it.’

The barman nods and goes off to make the cocktails.

‘
Sex and the City
?’ Jamie asks.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Your drinks;
are you ordering them because of the show? I had a friend once who was mad on it.’

‘Yes, my friend is too. That’s why I’m getting them. He’s so excited to be here tonight too because of the show.’

‘He?’

‘Oscar – he’s gay,’ I say, as though this explains everything.

‘I see. Well, I don’t see, really. What’s that got to do with the TV show?’

I explain to him the about the
Anchors Away!
episode.

‘I must have been fortunate enough to miss that one,’ Jamie says, grimacing.

I laugh. ‘No, it doesn’t really seem like your sort of show. I have to say, I haven’t watched that many episodes either. It’s Oscar who’s the fan; we’re even supposed to be going on a tour while we’re here of the
Sex and the City
hot spots.’

‘I’ve heard about that, sounds horrendous.’

‘Again, Oscar’s idea. But it keeps him happy, so I don’t mind.’

‘What keeps
you
happy, then, when you’re not investigating antique brooches?’ Jamie asks, his dark brown eyes looking directly into mine.

‘Two Cosmos and a Bud!’ the barman calls from behind us.

‘No, my shout,’ Jamie says, reaching for his wallet as I
delve into my bag. He hands over a note and then passes me the two cocktail glasses. ‘Shall we see if we can find a seat amid all this madness?’ he asks. ‘Or is a boring TV reporter cramping your style, compared to these sailor boys?’

‘No, not at all. Again, I only came here tonight for Oscar.’

We wind our way across the bar and eventually find a high table and two stools tucked in a corner slightly away from the partying going on in the rest of the bar. I send Oscar a quick text to let him know where his drink is, but I don’t hold out much hope of him picking it up. I predict he’ll be far too busy with whatever poor sailor he’s set his sights on.

‘I think I might be able to help you with your brooch,’ Jamie says when we’ve got ourselves settled at the table.

I’m trying to sit as elegantly as I can in my dress, perched on top of a high stool, but it’s not easy. The dress keeps gaping open, and I try desperately to keep it together to maintain a shred of decency about myself and to conceal the colour of my knickers.

Jamie tries to be polite and force his eyes away from my dilemma, but they do keep darting back to my exposed legs.

‘You can?’ I
ask, gripping the two pieces of red fabric tightly in one hand while, with the other, I casually try to sip my cocktail.

‘Yes; if you’re free sometime in the next couple of days, my friend from the US Roadshow will take a look at your dad’s brooch for you.’

‘Really? That would be fantastic, thanks!’

‘No worries. They work at the Met when they’re not doing the show. The Metropolitan Museum of Art?’

‘Yes, I know what the Met is. I’m thinking of visiting it while I’m here.’

‘Really?’ Jamie looks surprised. ‘I didn’t think it would be your sort of thing.’

‘Why not?’

He shrugs. ‘Don’t know really, you just don’t strike me as the art museum type.’

‘There’s an art museum type?’ I tease, taking a sip of my drink. ‘And what do they look like, then? Studious, bead-wearing types in glasses and sandals?’

‘Hmm, she thinks she’s a comedian.’ Jamie takes a swig of his beer. ‘Certainly not sexy English women wearing dresses slit up to the thigh, that’s for sure.’

I blush and take another sip of my cocktail, and find to my surprise that it’s finished. I pick up Oscar’s. It’s not like he’ll be needing it any time soon.

‘I have a boyfriend,’ I murmur, intensely studying the contents of the glass as I stir the liquid
around with the little plastic cocktail stick.

‘Ah,’ Jamie nods. ‘I thought you might have. Where is he then, this boyfriend?’

‘He’s back in London, working.’

‘Didn’t he want to come with you on your trip?’

‘No; we thought it was best for me to have some time away for a while.’

‘We?’

I look up at Jamie now. ‘Yes, we. Sean’s been to New York loads of times, and this trip was supposed to be about me seeing my dad as well as the city. That’s why my friend Oscar is here with me; his sister lives here.’

‘Right,’ Jamie says, nodding, but he doesn’t look very convinced. ‘So is that how you were getting rid of all the sailors earlier, by telling them you had a boyfriend?’

‘Oh no, when they offered to buy me and my friend a drink, I just mentioned my friend’s name and it soon got rid of most of them when I told them he was gay.’

‘Most?’

‘The ones it didn’t I sent in his direction.’

Jamie laughs. It’s a big, bold, warm laugh that instantly makes me want to laugh along with him.

‘You’re a bit mad, you, eh?’ Jamie says, grinning at me now.

‘Am I?’

‘Yeah, I think so. But in a good way.’

‘I’m glad it’s in
a good way.’

‘Whoa! Look at that,’ Jamie exclaims at something over my shoulder. ‘Now that is a story in itself walking across the floor. Imagine coming into a room full of sailors dressed like that. He only needs a hat. Oh wait, he’s wearing one now.’

I don’t even need to turn around.

‘That will be Oscar,’ I say unblinkingly.

‘That’s your friend?’

I do turn around now, and see Oscar walking towards us with his arms draped around not one, but two sailors. He’s wearing one of their hats at a jaunty angle and has also managed to collect a series of lipstick kisses over both his cheeks.

‘Scarlett, darling!’ he coos as he reaches my side. ‘This is where you’ve got to. Meet Lewis and Dawson – they really float my boat, don’t you, boys!’

The sailors give little nods of their heads.

‘And who might this be?’ Oscar raises his neatly plucked eyebrows at Jamie.

‘This is Jamie. I told you about him, remember? He’s here looking for a story.’

Jamie kicks me under the table.

‘A-about bars. About bars, that’s right. New York bars, and how they overcharge tourists.’

‘So you’re the infamous Jamie?’ Oscar loosens his grip on his two bodyguards
and folds his arms across his chest. He tilts his head to one side as he gives Jamie the once-over. ‘Where’s your partner in crime tonight then, what’s his name – Mac?’

‘I assume you’re referring to my cameraman, Max?’ Jamie regards Oscar equally coolly. ‘He’s probably at home watching a movie or playing on his Xbox, if I know Max. We’re not glued at the hip.’

Oscar’s hands rest on his hips now as he strikes a confrontational pose. ‘So why are you here tonight, then, if you’re supposed to be working and he’s not?’

‘Because I source the stories, and Max just comes along when we need to film them. Look, what is all this?’ Jamie turns towards me. ‘Why am I getting the third degree?’

‘Oscar’s just a little protective of me, that’s all.’ I turn my attention back to Oscar. ‘Oscar, stop it. I just bumped into Jamie when I was at the bar, and he saved me from all the sailors that were bothering me.’

Oscar narrows his eyes for a moment, stares hard at me and then at Jamie, and then he grins. ‘And that was a bad thing? I’ve been trying to get sailors to bother
me
all night!’

The rest of the evening passes without too much incident, unless you count Oscar dancing the lambada on a tabletop with one sailor,
then singing the theme tune to
An Officer and a Gentleman
with a chief petty officer on a makeshift karaoke as incidents. With Oscar, I just counted them as part of everyday life.