Marooned in Manhattan (8 page)

Chapter 13

A
fter lunch yesterday, I skyped with
Deirdre and Cate, my best friends in Dublin.

‘It’s been raining all day every day per usual,’ claimed Cate gloomily.

Deirdre chipped in, bursting to give me all the news.

‘Aoife McNally had a birthday party with a bouncy castle in her back garden. It was sad. She was mortified that her parents rented a bouncy castle as if she had turned nine instead of twelve. Fiona O’Hegarty’s mum was wearing these super high black heels, the ones with the red soles – Christian Bootins.’

‘You mean Christian Louboutins,’ said Cate.

‘Whatever! Stop interrupting me! I’m trying to tell Evie the story. Anyway, Mrs Hegarty must have had too much vino or something because she decided to have a go on the castle and one of her Lo … one of her shoes punctured it and the whole castle started to collapse. There were loads of little kids on it. They started screaming like mad and there was total chaos as all the parents tried to get to them. Poor Aoife was doubly mortified.’

‘But she got some fantastic birthday pressies,’ said Cate,
‘like a turquoise mountain bike.’

‘I hadn’t finished,’ said Deirdre. ‘John Donaghy broke it off with Sarah and now he’s going with Fauve Brennan. She’s Mark O’Toole’s cousin from Sandymount. She has a tattoo in Celtic script on her shoulder that says
Daughter of Ireland
or something like that, and she has peroxide streaks in her hair and her nose is pierced and she goes snowboarding in France every Christmas. She’s supposed to be brilliant at it. Almost everyone from the class got invited to the church part of Miss Butler’s wedding. Her dress was so gorgeous.’

‘Sounds cool,’ I said cheerfully.

‘Will you listen to her? In America only what … seven weeks and already has an American accent,’ said Deirdre.

‘That’s daft,’ I said. ‘No, I don’t. No way, and I only managed to get two words in. How could you think I sounded American from that?’

‘You have a bit of a twang,’ said Cate.

‘You’ll probably lose it when you are back here a day,’ she added reassuringly.

I didn’t feel reassured.

‘Tell us all about what’s going on with you in New York,’ said Deirdre. ‘I’d kill to be there for a week.’

The phone call with the girls bugged me for the rest of the day. I asked Joanna about it later as I helped her disinfect the examining table.

‘Do
you
think I sound American?’ I wondered.

She laughed.

‘No, definitely not.’

‘Not even a tiny bit?’ I persisted.

‘No, you sound about as American as Kate Winslet.’

‘Who?’ I asked.

‘The
Titanic
chick, the British one.’

‘Oh.’

It was hard to feel reassured by someone who couldn’t tell the difference between a British accent and an Irish one. I tried Scott next as we ate our take-out chicken burritos with extra guacamole.

‘Do you think I’ve started to sound American?’ I asked nonchalantly.

‘Nah,’ he said with his mouth full, ‘you’ve picked up some American words and expressions but not the accent. Why?’

‘It’s just that some of the gang from Ireland were slagging me. They said I sound American. I don’t want to go home with a new American accent.’

Scott wiped some of the guacamole carefully from his chin.

‘Why do you care, Evie?’ he asked briskly.

‘I don’t know. I guess I don’t want to lose being me. I don’t want to be the
American Evie
. That would just be weird. Where would
Irish Evie
go? I mean, where would
I
go?’

Scott offered me some of his tortilla chips as he thought about what I’d said.

I spoke up again.

‘I’m not tough like Mum. She went through hundreds, maybe thousands, of auditions and dealt with so many
rejections. One time, she got rejected five times in a single day. I don’t want to be rejected for having an American accent, for being different.’

I felt a little panicky.

‘It was hard enough fitting in when we settled back
permanently
in Dublin a couple of years ago.’

‘Evie,’ said Scott. ‘What kind of accent you have is not important. It doesn’t define you. You can be
you
no matter what your accent is like. Just be who you are. If that is different from others, so be it. When the Dublin kids realise that their teasing doesn’t bother you, they’ll get bored and move on to something else, like your blue hair.’

‘My hair hasn’t been blue in ages,’ I said, ‘but ok, I get your point.’

I mustn’t have sounded completely convinced.

Scott sighed.

‘Evie, you don’t need a stamp saying
100% Irish
on your forehead, like a packet of Irish sausages. You are half-American and that’s not so bad. We’ve got Thomas Jefferson and Bart Simpson and Marilyn Monroe and ice hockey and Harley-Davidson bikes and Quentin Tarantino and … and … and … Brangelina and raspberry-chocolate milkshakes and JFK.’

‘And RFK,’ I said proudly, showing off a little.

‘And Bobby,’ he smiled.

‘Who is Quentin Tarantino?’ I asked.

‘He’s a movie director.’

‘Can I watch one of his films?’

‘No, you have to wait until you are older. Now, get out of here and take your multiple identities down to the clinic and see if Joanna needs any help.’

Chapter 14

I
saw my first Broadway show last night.
It was opening night for Mrs Winters’ new musical,
Starchitect
. Greg invited Kylie and me. We had fantastic tickets, in the middle of the main section, three rows from the stage. Finn was also there with Tamara. She was wearing a shimmery, light gold, chiffon summer dress with flat, gold, gladiator sandals. With her golden hair swinging down her back, she looked like a gilded statue, surrounded by a halo of gold. She smiled at us and said my ‘brogue’ was ‘cute’. I guess I didn’t sound American to her.

‘She’s hurting my eyes,’ said Kylie, putting on her pink cat eye sunglasses, not caring that sunglasses are not usually worn in theatres. I never saw Finn without his Rangers cap before. Kylie nudged me; the curtains were rising and she looked as excited with anticipation as I felt.

The musical was about three architects, two men and one woman, who enter a competition to build the new, highest building in the world in Shanghai, in China. They were not just work rivals; all three of them were in love with the same woman, a professional photographer named Lillian who had short, spiky, cranberry-red hair.

‘Nobody would fall in love with that hair,’ whispered Kylie.

During the play, the architects all cheat and do nasty things to each other to try to win the competition and to win Lillian. In the end, Lillian didn’t choose any of them. However, none of them was really cut up about it because through the course of the show, each of them realised that what they actually loved most was the joy of designing a building. Nobody won the competition because the ruthless Chinese billionaire who had commissioned the building had a change of heart and decided to build good quality housing for the zillions of desperately poor Chinese factory workers instead of one big fancy office building. He and Lillian fall in love and walk off together into the smog at the end of the show, singing a duet.

We all squeezed through the crowds to reach backstage afterwards, Kylie coughing a little because the smog special effects were a little overpowering. It felt strange to be back in the theatre world again, strange and familiar at the same time. I kept expecting Mum to pop up and give me a sip of champagne out of her glass as she always did on opening night. But of course she did not.

Hordes of people crowded around Angela’s chair. Angela is Finn’s and Greg’s mom. Although her hair is short and purple-ash grey, she looked beautiful. She wore a dark green, mid-length cape over a sherry coloured strapless dress. She didn’t look anything like either Finn or Greg. When she saw us kids, she immediately sprang up from her chair, pushed
her fawning admirers aside and came over and hugged Greg. She tried to hug Finn too, but he held back a little so she had to make do with rubbing his arm. She kissed Tamara and Kylie and me, twice each, which is very common in the theatre world and in Paris.

‘Did you girls enjoy the show?’ she asked.

‘It was wonderful, really great,’ gushed Tamara and Kylie in unison and Angela smiled.

‘What about you, honey?’ she asked me.

I nodded truthfully and she smiled, pleased.

‘I saw your poor mother once, sweetheart … dear Alicia. She was on the stage in London. Six years ago or maybe it was seven. She was the most beautiful Rosalind.’

I was shocked to notice that tears came into her eyes. I mean – she saw my mum once in a play. She didn’t know her at all, certainly not enough to cry for her. But I’m used to theatre people being overly dramatic. Tears rolling down her cheeks, Angela leaned down to envelop me in a hug and I felt dizzy and overpowered by the strong smell of her perfume, like incense at Easter mass, a smell that always makes me feel a little afraid. I stiffened. Finn pulled his mom gently away from me.

‘
Vamos
! Let’s eat, I’m starving,’ he said.

‘Yes, of course, darling,’ Angela answered.

We walked a few blocks to a bistro, dodging around the clusters of tourists gawking at the billboards and the lights in Times Square.

‘I will be on that billboard one day,’ announced Kylie pointing
to a giant electronic screen, displaying two actresses standing on a motorbike. Occasionally, Finn glanced behind to make sure Greg, Kylie and me did not get lost in the shuffle.

‘He is so the older brother,’ said Greg, in a resigned tone, slapping a mosquito on his neck.

The bistro had a long narrow bar, smoky mirrors and red leather banquettes around the sides. The
maitre d’
embraced Angela and led us to a large booth near the back. Other members of the cast and crew filed in from time to time and sat down at neighbouring booths.

We started with oysters, except for Greg, who has a
shellfish
allergy, and Kylie, who hates them.

‘I can’t stand the slimy feel and the seawater taste,’ she explained with a shudder.

Angela sat at the edge of the booth so she could nip out for cigarette breaks without everyone having to get up to let her out. She clearly enjoyed being the centre of attention. She was very funny and self-disparaging most of the time and I couldn’t help liking her.

We didn’t have to wait for the newspapers to come out in the morning with reviews of the show because the first show review appeared on a blog eleven minutes after the show ended. During the meal, more and more reviews went online and Daren, the director of the show, read them out in the restaurant and we cheered and clapped because they were all good except for one very sour one, which said that the actress who played the part of
Lillian
sounded like a
raccoon
in labour.

‘There always has to be one hater,’ said Finn, rolling his eyes, ‘as if that guy knows what a raccoon in labour sounds like.’

Tamara laughed prettily and reached up and ran her hand quickly through his hair. I didn’t like it.

Chapter 15

A
ugust has arrived and with it, the
sticky heat that Frank had promised. Scott gave me the money to take Ben to the local grooming salon to get shaved down so he would be more comfortable in the humidity. Ben was prancing along as usual, stopping to sniff and to pee on the trunk of every tree on the sidewalk, especially on the tree trunks that other dogs had already peed on. But when we got to within a few metres of the grooming place, he stopped dead and would not budge, no matter how much I implored him. Eventually, I had to pick him up and carry him in, which caused me to sweat a ton so I looked like I had just stepped out of the shower. Once inside, he seemed resigned to his fate and went off pretty meekly with
Meredith
, the groomer.

When I picked him up a few hours later, he looked so different, much skinnier, like a shorn newborn black and white lamb, and he wore a bright yellow satin ribbon tied in a loopy bow around his neck. I knew Ben must hate that ribbon. He never wears clothes like so many of the dogs in Manhattan and the ribbon made him look like he was a girl. As soon as we were out of sight, I bent down and unwrapped him. He Evie Brooks is Marooned in Manhattan
licked my hand, grateful to have a little dignity restored.

We got back in time to help Scott with the afternoon clinic. The first patient was Bailey, which is obviously a name for a small dog, a miniature poodle or a shih tzu. But, to my surprise, Bailey was a large, beautiful, eight-month old Doberman Pinscher with a friendly face.

Amanda is Bailey’s ‘Mommy’. She is about thirty years old. Her long, dark-brown hair was scraped tightly back from her face into a ponytail secured by a yellow elastic band. From the second we met, she talked in a hoarse, nasal voice, without pausing to breathe, about all the dogs she has ever had or known, which is a lot because she is a professional dog trainer and walker. She said she walks about fifteen dogs a day, five at a time. She also gives puppy training and obedience classes. I thought I recognised her. I remember seeing her in the Park with five dogs, all different sizes, on little leashes connected to a big leash. I noticed that she talked to them constantly, mainly about her difficult love life.

I helped Amanda lift Bailey up onto the examining table. She was still talking. She was sure that Bailey was going to be a champion in the show ring. I started to get the impression that when it came to dogs, Amanda was a bit of a know-it-all.

‘Bailey’s just got a bit of bleeding from his toe nails. I must have nicked one when I was cutting them yesterday, which isn’t like me at all. I’m always so careful.’

Scott began to examine Bailey while Amanda regaled me with stories about the long line of Dobermans she had owned since she was a little girl, one of which had won ‘Best
in Breed’ at the Westminster Dog Show in 1996.

‘Wow!’ I said, courteously, although I’ve never been overly impressed with dog show titles. Ben wouldn’t be allowed to enter. Under dog show rules, you are not permitted to show neutered dogs and Ben was neutered when he was six months old because Scott thought that was the healthiest option for a dog living in New York City. And, the dog shows only allow one hundred percent pedigree dogs to take part and Ben is a half-breed. That is so snobbish and unfair. Many of the nicest and friendliest dogs that come into the clinic are mixed breeds, mainly adopted from shelters.

‘We need to get some blood work done, just a few tests,’ Scott told Amanda gently.

Amanda grimaced.

‘Scottie,’ she said loudly and he winced. ‘I can’t afford to pay for totally unnecessary tests. It’s just a little nail problem. It was my fault. These things happen.’

Scott was firm.

‘I think it is more serious than that. We need to do the blood tests. You can pay over time in small instalments.’

Amanda still looked doubtful but she acquiesced.

‘Ok,’ she mumbled and she kept up a stream of chatter to Bailey as Scott drew the blood.

I overheard Scott calling Amanda a few days later with the results. Bailey had von Willebrand disease, a blood disorder, which I gathered could be pretty serious. Scott told Amanda that it was similar to haemophilia in humans.

‘It can’t be cured, Amanda,’ said Scott, ‘but it can be
managed
.
Bailey should be able to have a reasonably normal life. It’s important that you avoid playing rough with him as even light injuries can cause problems.’

I couldn’t hear Amanda’s side of the conversation, but I felt sorry that her dreams of stardom at Westminster with Bailey had been shattered.

Not long after lunch, when I was cleaning out Sam’s new tank, Janet telephoned to announce that she has a wonderful, new boyfriend, Brendan.

‘He’s a sound engineer,’ she said, a little breathlessly. ‘We met on the set of a new TV show filmed in Westport, a documentary about a family from Dublin who moved there to run a goat farm and open up a cheese and yoghurt shop. Remember – I told you all about it in my emails.’

‘Oh yeah,’ I said, privately thinking that the pilot had not sounded riveting.

‘I have never been on a set with so many problems in my life,’ she chattered. ‘The director had a bad pint of Guinness or something because he ended up in hospital with a mysterious stomach ailment, and half the cheese turned out to be mouldy and we had to substitute fake cheese.’

She paused for breath.

‘Anyway, about Brendan and me – we are thinking that I will move in with him, to his house in Bray.’

‘That sounds a little fast,’ I ventured.

But Janet wrongly jumped to the conclusion that I was thinking about myself.

‘Love, there will be loads of space for you,’ she
emphasised
.
‘Brendan’s house has four bedrooms and he has a back garden. He can’t wait to meet you. He has heard all about you. It will be great craic the three of us living together. You are going to adore him. He’s an expert at cooking spicy shrimp pad thai and he does brilliant, dead-on
Monty Python
impressions.’

‘It was Mum that liked
Monty Python
, not me,’ I said, absentmindedly, and then I immediately regretted sounding so bratty.

‘He sounds really nice,’ I added quickly.

That made her happy.

‘He is,’ she gushed. ‘He doesn’t have a hair on his head, but he’s gorgeous. He’s completely different to anyone I have ever gone out with before.’

‘That can only be good,’ I answered. ‘I like him already.’

Janet giggled.

‘Not long now, darling, you’ll be back home in just under five weeks.’

Why didn’t that make me feel excited? Maybe I was coming down with something, like heatstroke.

‘Gotta run, miss you loads. Tell David I was asking for him and tell Brendan I look forward to meeting him, bye!’ I said, and hung up.