I’m a great lover of renting other people’s places. This weekend, my friends Julie and Mags, also writers, and I went to New York City to do a little writing, a little sightseeing. I was put in charge of housing options, and sent them three—one ridiculously fabulous apartment that would’ve only cost a couple of major organs each; a place in Brooklyn; and a place on the Lower East Side. We picked the Lower East Side.
It was love at first sight. Sure, sure, the door to the apartment was a little, er, colorful with graffiti and stickers, and the flights of stairs were something out of an Escher painting, but once we got up, it was heaven, gang! We were instantly cooler, just by being in a brick-walled NYC apartment. Jules and Maggie, being friends for ages, shared the master bedroom, and I slept in a little twin bed in the tiny bedroom next door, separated only by a thin wall, almost like their kid, listening to my two moms chat late at night. For NYC, it was really quiet, and the place was so cozy and charming!
Neither of my friends had ever been to New York before, so I became their tour guide. We took the Staten Island Ferry for the views of the city, went to Ground Zero, Tribeca, SoHo, Greenwich Village Washington Square Park, had dinner at my favorite restaurant—Porto Bello on Thompson Street. We talked about books and friends and family…all of us lost a parent too young, all of us love children. Maggie and I are happily married to wonderful men; Julie is single, but a palm reader told her that won’t last long.
The whole weekend was wonderful and invigorating and so, so much fun—especially karaoke in the world’s sketchiest place, but man, did we rock the house! (Enthusiasm counts for so much!) Julie and I should cut a single of Endless Love because yes! We were that good, and no! It wasn’t just the margarita talking!
Now the girls have left, since they needed to catch flights, and I’m sitting alone in the sweet little apartment, a little sad to go, but eager to see McIrish and the dogs (and cat). Staying in this apartment, hearing about my friends’ lives, eavesdropping on strangers, making friends with the crazy singing guy on the subway…there’s nothing better. And now I’m dying to get home and write. There’s a lot to be said for filling the well with love and friendship.