Manhattan Dreaming (16 page)

‘You really do have a sweet tooth, don't you.' Kirsten laughed at my excitement for dessert.

‘It's my only vice.' That and my addiction to Adam, but they didn't need to know about that.

Just then Hunter the bartender appeared and sat at our table. ‘Hey ladies, sorry it's taken me so long to come say hello – we're soooooo busy tonight.'

‘You must be Lauren. Matt said I'd love you, and I do.' He moved his chair closer to mine. ‘I'm Hunter, it's great to meet you.'

‘Nice to meet you too,' I said politely.

‘There's Sam and Mike – we'll just go say hello to some friends over there, Lauren, be back in a sec,' Kirsten said as she and Vikki got up.

‘Be nice, Hunt,' Vikki ordered.

‘Make sure that's a haytch and not a ceeeee, Ms Veeeee.'

Hunter turned his body completely in my direction.

‘How long have you worked here?' I asked him.

‘About six weeks. My brother used to play for the Manly Maulers, I played reserve grade, he called Matt when I got to New York, so here I am. I love it. Lots of pretty girls just like you. What about you?'

‘Just got here this week.' I wished the girls would come back.

‘Fresh meat in town, the boys are gonna love you.' He ran his finger down my arm. ‘You are Lozalicious.'

‘Excuse me?' I pushed his hand away.

‘Ooooh, touchy! Sorry, love. So what are you doing here in New York anyway?'

I wasn't touchy, I just didn't want to be touched by a sleazebag. I really wanted to walk away but I didn't want a scene on my first night out with my new flatmates, so I answered reluctantly. ‘I start work on Monday at the National Museum of the American Indian, at the Smithsonian, downtown.'

‘Doing what? Displaying skulls and stuff like that, or bows and arrows?' He laughed.

‘I'm a curator, actually, so I'll be working on some exhibitions for the next year.'

‘Curator … I need a curator, for my refrigerator, and my carburettor, I'm no masturbator …'

‘Pardon?' I wasn't sure where he was going with this rave.

‘I'm practising my rap tunes, got some contacts here, and you know they love the Aussie accent.'

‘So I've been told.'

‘I'm working it the whole time I'm here, Lozalicious.'

‘I bet you are.'

‘So, whereabouts are you from back home?'

‘Goulburn originally, but Canberra more recently. Do you know the Big Merino? The HUGE sheep?'

‘Of course, I've been there.'

‘I live close to that. I grew up hanging out there on the weekends.'

‘I climbed right up into the eyes of it once, it was awesome,' he said.

‘Yeah, it's cool.' I was grateful then, to have found something in common.

‘Actually, I think I shagged my ex-girlfriend up in those eyeballs.'

‘What?' I spat some of my Ozmo at him accidentally.

‘Hey, no need for that.'

‘Sorry, it was an accident.' I wiped the table.

‘No, come to think of it …' – and he looked into the air as if concentrating – ‘I'm pretty sure I
did
, on the way to Canberra for a wedding. We were both really horny.'

I wasn't surprised she was his ex if he was telling this story to complete strangers. I couldn't believe a grown man could speak like that in front of a woman.

‘Have I upset you, Lauren? I didn't mean to offend you.'

‘You don't speak like that in front of ladies. Maybe to the boys in the locker room when you're fifteen but not here and now.' I sculled my Ozmo as the food arrived at the table. ‘Hunter, can you please bring me another and tell the girls our meal has been served?' I just wanted to be rid of him.

‘Of course, Lozalicious,' he said with a sleazy grin on his face.

As Hunter walked away I wondered how many women Adam had taken up Rambo's eyeballs and if he told stories like that as well.

I was excited and anxious about starting my job at the Smithsonian. I arrived at Bowling Green an hour early and walked around Battery Park, taking photos of monuments and breathing in the space that would be my second home in Manhattan for the next year. Vendors were setting up to sell pretzels and nuts and tourists were arriving to catch the Staten Island Ferry over to Lady Liberty and Ellis Island. I walked around the museum building to get an idea of its size.

At 10 am I walked in the entrance and started to take off my shoes to go through security. I knew the spiky heels would probably set an alarm off. I placed my bag on the conveyor belt and smiled at the guard.

‘Good morning,' I said.

‘Good morning, ma'am. You have a beautiful smile.'

‘Thank you,' I said, widening my grin.

‘And lips.'

‘Wow, now that's a good start to Monday morning.'

‘I love that accent, where are you from?'

‘Canberra, Australia,' I said proudly.

‘Well, if all the women have lips like that in Canberra, Australia, then I'm going there as soon as possible.'

‘You should go, for sure. They could use a man like you down under.'

‘Hear that boys, they could use a man like me down under.' The group of four ageing guards all laughed.

‘I'm Lauren Lucas.' I gave him my hand.

‘I'm Carlos. Welcome.' He put both hands around mine.

The fellas doing security back at the NAG told me that their day could be very long if there was no small talk or a little flirting with pretty young visitors. But was the guard flirting with me? I didn't care, I was just appreciative of the friendliness.

‘Well, Carlos, I'm going to be working here for the next twelve months, so I'm glad we've got our little routine worked out already. My smile looks forward to seeing you tomorrow.'

I knew if nothing else, I was going to enjoy arriving at work at the museum every day.

‘Hey there, Lauren, right on time.' Wyatt picked up my bag off the conveyor belt. ‘Did you have a good weekend?'

‘I did, thanks,' I said, taking it from him and noticing his gentlemanly manners. ‘Did you?'

‘Yeah, I had an awesome weekend, just hanging out with some friends. Left here,' he said, ushering me along. ‘Maria is waiting for us, so we'll head there first and then I'll give you a tour of the building.'

We walked into an office full of light and Maria was at her desk. ‘Welcome, Lauren,' she said, walking over and hugging me. I felt like I was back at the NAG again. ‘Wyatt's going to show you around today, and I want you to take your time going through the exhibits and getting a feel for the building. We'll have a meeting tomorrow morning to discuss the schedule for the next twelve months. Your office is just down the hall, so drop in at any time if you need anything. Open door policy here.'

‘Come, let me show you your prestigious office, Ms Lucas,' Wyatt said, taking me by the elbow and escorting me to our shared space. The desks sat like mine and Libby's back in Canberra. You could tell my desk had just been cleaned. Wyatt's was covered with postcards of Native art and photos of him with artists and his family and friends. I looked to see if there was a ‘couply' kind of photo, keen to see if he had a boyfriend, but there were lots of different guys and a few women too.

Wyatt waited while I unpacked my meagre belongings and personalised my space: a photo of Libby, Denise and I taken on our last night out together, a family pic, some postcards of Canberra and Goulburn and an image from the Michael Reilly ‘Cloud Series' with a boomerang set in a blue sky among the clouds. I pinned them all on the wall and put my NAG coffee mug, my mousepad and an Aboriginal flag on my desk.

‘That's an eclectic mix of things, Lauren. I love the mug.' Wyatt picked it up smiling and I wasn't sure if he was kidding or not. ‘What's the flag?'

‘That's the Aboriginal flag. Black for the people, yellow for the sun – the giver of life – and red for the earth and the bloodshed since colonisation.'

‘Cool, maybe we could swap,' he said, and he reached around to his desk and held up a similar-sized flag. ‘This is the Mohawk flag.' The flag was red, black and yellow and had an image of a long-haired warrior, a single upright feather, rays of the sun, and a red background. I took it from him and looked at it as he explained.

‘The long hair represents the universality of the Native struggle. The feather relates to both tradition and strength. The rays of the sun symbolise fundamental Mohawk values.'

‘I love it, and I love that it's in the same colours as our flag. Too deadly,' I said. Wyatt look confused. ‘Oh – deadly is our word for awesome.'

‘I think we'll find we've got lots more
deadly
things in common over time, Lauren – like how we BOTH have to get to the media department right now!' Wyatt smiled as he motioned for us to leave the office.

The media department wanted to do a story on me for the
National Museum of the American Indian
magazine, so we did an interview and quick photoshoot, and then we began the tour of the museum, starting in the three-storey oval rotunda. ‘This is pretty much an architectural icon,' Wyatt said as we both looked towards the ceiling. ‘The tile and plaster domed ceiling is by Rafael Guastavino and the murals are by Reginald Marsh,' he said, waving his hands. There was a video playing in the room as well. ‘You may like to come back and watch that later.'

As we entered the permanent exhibition I read its sign out loud: ‘Identity by Design: Tradition, Change and Celebration in Native Women's Dresses'.

‘Most of us call this “The Dress Room”. The collection includes – I am very proud to say – the oldest Native wedding dress known to exist. We're really excited about it.' Wyatt paused. ‘You're not married, are you?' he asked, looking at my ring finger. ‘I mean, surely if you had a husband he wouldn't have let you come here for a year all alone.'

‘No, I'm not married yet. I'm not ready to settle down – but in the meantime this is the perfect place to be. Right here in New York.'

‘We're so lucky to have you, then – in the meantime, that is.'

I wondered if he was the marrying kind, and whether or not gay marriage was legal in New York State or would he have to go to Massachusetts, Connecticut, or Iowa or maybe even Canada.

‘How about you Wyatt? Are you married?'

‘No, not yet, but hopefully one day.'

He ushered me further through the space, talking all the while. ‘Through here is our current exhibition, “Fritz Scholder: Indian / Not Indian”. It tackles some of the identity issues in Native art. See, Scholder was one-quarter Luiseño – the tribe from Southern California – but raised white, and although he was one of the most influential, prolific and controversial artists in the history of Native art, he never bought into the identity debate, he just painted and let other people do the debating. He's a hero of mine for that in many ways. This is one of my favourites …' Wyatt stopped in front of an acrylic on canvas work,
Vampire Kissing Fallen Angel #1
.

‘We have the same discussions back home,' I told him. ‘What constitutes “Aboriginal art” and who is an “Aboriginal artist”? It's complex, and sometimes takes the focus away from the art itself, which can be problematic.'

Wyatt was nodding, as if he totally understood what I was saying without the need for further explanation. ‘I know, which is why your proposed urban exhibition will fit in perfectly here. This is the space it will go into.'

I looked around the walls, imaging the artwork of my own artists hanging here on opening night.

‘Who actually comes to opening nights here?'

‘A mix of people: curators from around the city, gallery people, local Native artists living in New York, art collectors looking to buy, university lecturers with their students. Actually, Maria was talking about getting you to give a lecture about Aboriginal art at the NYU New School. It would be great for us. It would bring more people into the Palace.'

‘The what?'

‘Oh, some of us call the museum the “Palace”.'

‘I like it. The Palace it is.'

We eventually made it downstairs, but not before I was completely confused by all the back corridors.

‘I'm going to need a behind-the-scenes map to remember all these doors and back entrances.'

‘I'll draw you one, you'll be right. Mind you, I'm
still
finding doors I didn't know existed. This is the Diker Pavilion, where we screen national and international Indigenous films. We have a biennial Native American Film and Video Festival – the next is in April.'

‘I'll definitely check those out, too. Maybe we could think about doing an Aboriginal Australian Film Festival here at some point.'

‘Sounds like an awesome idea, Lauren. You should mention it to Maria tomorrow.'

As we walked I marvelled at the amount of marble in the museum: floors, walls and pylons.

‘Most of the white marble is from Vermont and New Hampshire and the coloured marble from Italy,' Wyatt told me. He seemed to be knowledgeable about the whole building.

I noticed a lot of marine references in the architecture with carved details of seashells and boats.

‘What's with the marine theme?' I asked.

‘This is the old Customs House – and this used to be the country's most important port of entry, so lots of history in this site. And this is the museum shop.' Wyatt was whisking me through the building.

‘I have to admit that one of my favourite parts of any museum or gallery is the shop. So many pieces to take home to remind me of an exhibition by artists I love but can't always buy.' I touched my ‘Love needs faith' pendant and scanned the space quickly, taking in the book collection, dolls, posters, jewellery and cards. I knew I would be spending some of my first pay cheque here and sending quality items back to Mum and the girls. A school group came in, bustling with excited students.

‘Are schools your main visitors here?'

‘American Indians are part of the curriculum in New York, so that encourages a lot of school visits, but we get tourists and locals too. This is one of the few free museums in the city, so it's very popular.'

I was getting hungry. ‘And where do the staff eat lunch? Do you all go out?'

‘Most of us eat it at our desks – museum wages don't pay that much. I'll show you the break room, where some of the service staff eat.'

The break room was a bland space, with cream laminated surfaces and tables.

‘I think I'll eat in the park. It's such beautiful weather and a gorgeous spot on the water.'

‘I'd be happy to join you, if you want company any time.'

‘That'd be great, of course.'

‘I need to tell you, though, in winter you'll be grateful for the heating in your office at lunchtime, trust me.'

‘I'm from Canberra, so I'm used to the cold.'

‘Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you.'

‘And where's the best coffee?'

‘Well, there's a Starbucks nearby.'

‘Um … I don't go to Starbucks.'

‘Don't say it, Guantanamo Bay?'

‘Yep.'

‘Me too. I'll show you the best coffee at lunchtime.' He held the door open for me as we entered another corridor. Wyatt was cool, had the coffee knowledge, the politics and was chivalrous, leaving the likes of Hunter for dead. I wished I could send him to Australia to run some workshops with Aussie men, including Adam.

‘What about after work? Is there somewhere people go after work?'

‘We sometimes go to the White Horse Tavern for lunch or after openings, or maybe if we've just had a really, really bad day and want to debrief. I can show you where that is as well. It's not far from here.'

‘You're so kind, thanks. I was really nervous about coming to New York, but everyone is incredibly helpful and hospitable.'

‘Lauren, I think you'll find that most people react to you in a positive way because you give off a pleasant vibe. Keep that up and you'll be fine.'

‘How was your first day Lauren?' Maria asked me on day two.

‘Excellent, but I'm still trying to absorb everything.'

‘Don't wear her out in the first week, Wyatt.' They both laughed. ‘Now, we need to lock in some events. Lauren, you'll be working on these too, as part of your broader role at the NMAI over the next twelve months. Okay?'

‘Okay.'

‘We've got the art market at the end of August, and there's storybook readings every Saturday at noon – so put that in your schedule. If you can come to one a month that would be great.'

‘Of course. I'll come to this week's session.'

‘I'd also like you both to come to Washington with me in March to the advanced screening of
Trail of Tears
, which is part of the
We Shall Remain
series.'