Read Online From Notting Hill to New York . . . Actually by Ali McNamara - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ali McNamara
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high eighties. What more could you want?’
Oscar and I smile at each other across the back of the cab.
‘What’s Memorial Day weekend?’ I ask. ‘Is it one of your public holidays?’
‘Yep. Boy, have you hit New York City at a great time.’ He surveys me in his rear-view mirror. ‘Single, are you?’
‘I have a boyfriend, but I’m not married. Why?’
‘Because, honey, it’s Fleet Week right now.’
Oscar and I exchange blank looks.
‘Fleet Week is held every year in the city,’ our tour-guide taxi driver continues, speaking to me. ‘It’s a tribute to our good seafaring guys and gals. Huge warships sail into the harbour, and more importantly for you,’ he pauses for a quick inspection of Oscar in his rear-view mirror, ‘and I’m guessing by the look of it, you as well, fella, you’ll be appreciating this – thousand of sailors and marines come ashore for the week, too.’
‘Oh my God, oh my
God
,’ Oscar squeals into my ear. ‘It’s like that episode of
Sex and the City
!’
‘What are you talking about, Oscar?’Oscar was a huge
Sex and the City
fan. He’d already got us signed up on some bus tour of the sights à la Carrie Bradshaw and the girls while we were here.
‘The episode where Carrie, Samantha and Charlotte go to the party with all the sailors, and then Carrie ends up outside with one, but turns him down and instead tells him how much she loves Manhattan.’
I shake my head. ‘Oscar, you know far too much about that show. No, I haven’t seen that episode, I must have missed it.’
Oscar flicks his head back in disgust and holds up a hand. ‘Scarlett, you disappoint me.’
‘I’m more of a movie buff, remember?’
‘Movie buff, eh? Then have you seen
On the Town
?’ the cab driver asks, glancing in his mirror at me again.
I stare blankly at him.
He tuts and rolls his eyes. ‘Gene Kelly, Frank Sinatra and some other guy – never remember his name – dancing their way across New York dressed as sailors? No? Perhaps this will help you remember, then.’ The cab driver clears his throat. ‘They sing this song as the opening number to the movie …’ and from the front of our yellow cab, flying across the Queensboro Bridge into Manhattan, our driver launches into the song. ‘New York, New York it’s a helluva town / The Bronx is up, but the Battery’s down / The people ride in a hole in the groun’ …’ while on the backseat Oscar and I try to stifle our giggles.
‘So, have you seen it?’ he asks enthusiastically when he’s finished serenading us. ‘It’s a classic.’
‘That scene does ring a bell now you mention it,’ I answer politely. ‘But I’m afraid I don’t think I’ve seen the whole movie.’
‘It’s a classic Hollywood musical,’ he huffs. ‘You really haven’t lived, doll. Forget all your state-of-the-art special effects and three-D nonsense. You need to watch some Bing, Frankie and Gene, them’s ya guys.’
After that, the cab driver decides that with our poor taste in cinema viewing we’re not worth bothering about and turns on the radio, delighting in some easy-listening show tunes for the rest of the journey to the hotel, while Oscar and I delight in trying to spot some famous New York landmarks as we get ever closer to the city centre.
Eventually we pull up outside a very nice-looking hotel, with large elegant blue canopies hanging over the windows and a uniformed doorman waiting by a revolving glass door to usher the guests in and out. He rushes over to open my cab door.
‘Thank you,’ I say shyly, as I climb out feeling like a celebrity. ‘That’s very kind.’
While Oscar pays the driver, the doorman proceeds to unloadour bags from the boot of the cab and onto a trolley before pushing them up a slope into the hotel, while we follow gazing about us in awe at the foyer of the Park Avenue hotel we are staying in.
Inside, it’s very tastefully decorated in shades of purple and black, and the moment we step away
Oscar and I smile at each other across the back of the cab.
‘What’s Memorial Day weekend?’ I ask. ‘Is it one of your public holidays?’
‘Yep. Boy, have you hit New York City at a great time.’ He surveys me in his rear-view mirror. ‘Single, are you?’
‘I have a boyfriend, but I’m not married. Why?’
‘Because, honey, it’s Fleet Week right now.’
Oscar and I exchange blank looks.
‘Fleet Week is held every year in the city,’ our tour-guide taxi driver continues, speaking to me. ‘It’s a tribute to our good seafaring guys and gals. Huge warships sail into the harbour, and more importantly for you,’ he pauses for a quick inspection of Oscar in his rear-view mirror, ‘and I’m guessing by the look of it, you as well, fella, you’ll be appreciating this – thousand of sailors and marines come ashore for the week, too.’
‘Oh my God, oh my
God
,’ Oscar squeals into my ear. ‘It’s like that episode of
Sex and the City
!’
‘What are you talking about, Oscar?’Oscar was a huge
Sex and the City
fan. He’d already got us signed up on some bus tour of the sights à la Carrie Bradshaw and the girls while we were here.
‘The episode where Carrie, Samantha and Charlotte go to the party with all the sailors, and then Carrie ends up outside with one, but turns him down and instead tells him how much she loves Manhattan.’
I shake my head. ‘Oscar, you know far too much about that show. No, I haven’t seen that episode, I must have missed it.’
Oscar flicks his head back in disgust and holds up a hand. ‘Scarlett, you disappoint me.’
‘I’m more of a movie buff, remember?’
‘Movie buff, eh? Then have you seen
On the Town
?’ the cab driver asks, glancing in his mirror at me again.
I stare blankly at him.
He tuts and rolls his eyes. ‘Gene Kelly, Frank Sinatra and some other guy – never remember his name – dancing their way across New York dressed as sailors? No? Perhaps this will help you remember, then.’ The cab driver clears his throat. ‘They sing this song as the opening number to the movie …’ and from the front of our yellow cab, flying across the Queensboro Bridge into Manhattan, our driver launches into the song. ‘New York, New York it’s a helluva town / The Bronx is up, but the Battery’s down / The people ride in a hole in the groun’ …’ while on the backseat Oscar and I try to stifle our giggles.
‘So, have you seen it?’ he asks enthusiastically when he’s finished serenading us. ‘It’s a classic.’
‘That scene does ring a bell now you mention it,’ I answer politely. ‘But I’m afraid I don’t think I’ve seen the whole movie.’
‘It’s a classic Hollywood musical,’ he huffs. ‘You really haven’t lived, doll. Forget all your state-of-the-art special effects and three-D nonsense. You need to watch some Bing, Frankie and Gene, them’s ya guys.’
After that, the cab driver decides that with our poor taste in cinema viewing we’re not worth bothering about and turns on the radio, delighting in some easy-listening show tunes for the rest of the journey to the hotel, while Oscar and I delight in trying to spot some famous New York landmarks as we get ever closer to the city centre.
Eventually we pull up outside a very nice-looking hotel, with large elegant blue canopies hanging over the windows and a uniformed doorman waiting by a revolving glass door to usher the guests in and out. He rushes over to open my cab door.
‘Thank you,’ I say shyly, as I climb out feeling like a celebrity. ‘That’s very kind.’
While Oscar pays the driver, the doorman proceeds to unloadour bags from the boot of the cab and onto a trolley before pushing them up a slope into the hotel, while we follow gazing about us in awe at the foyer of the Park Avenue hotel we are staying in.
Inside, it’s very tastefully decorated in shades of purple and black, and the moment we step away
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