July 5th, 1989
Flight from MAN – JFK
Lexington Hotel, New York City
…I feel asleep before room service arrived and felt so thirsty when I woke up. In Frankie’s room. Sprawled across the couch. The sandwiches we ordered last night were still on the room service tray, hidden under plate covers and hadn’t been touched. Frankie and I were so hungry that we ate them for breakfast. Yuck! I know, I know, disgusting but we were absolutely ravenous.
Went to my room to get ready and couldn’t believe we were coming to New York! I don’t know if it was because our flight originated in Manchester instead of London, but the passengers were really nice. I’ve heard crew talking about how awful the New York passengers can be, but today they were delightful. Frankie and I were in such good spirits throughout the flight and we worked really hard for our lovely pax. I love the New York accent and plan on perfecting it before this trip is over.
As it’s my first time here, I was invited to sit on the flight deck for landing. Unfortunately it was raining, but I still felt really excited to be landing in “The Big Apple.”
It was very lively on the crew bus into Manhattan and everyone seemed to be in a good mood. With the traffic crawling, it took about an hour to reach our hotel and with the combination of the short flight time (just over seven hours today) this appears to be one of the crew’s favourite destinations.
I peered through the rain streaked window on the bus at what is probably the most iconic skyline in the world. It truly is breathtaking. I’m already in love with New York and think I need to live here!
Unfortunately, our hotel is pretty crappy (who cares, we’re in NYC!!!) and mostly not refurbished. Apparently Marilyn Monroe lived here for a while with her husband Joe DiMaggio, no idea who he is. Obviously that was years ago.
My bathroom is very dated looking, with tiny black and white floor tiles and huge taps on the bathroom sink. It’s so dated that in certain circles it might be considered retro cool, but really, it’s just old!
Frankie decided to move into my room (I’m on a much higher floor with a better view.) She wasted no time setting up the ironing board and rearranging some of my stuff. Make yourself at home Frankie! I came out of the shower to find her in a fitted, sequined dress.
Down on the street the buzz felt electrifying and we took a cab to some old converted church that’s now called “The Limelight Club.” It was dead and we thought it was because we were out too early so we left and did what everyone does here: We hailed a cab.
Went to the Iguana bar on Fifty-fourth Street, as recommended by the very nice looking concierge at the hotel. The Iguana bar was jumping and much more our scene. It’s not that we were out too early, we were just in the wrong place. The atmosphere was fantastic with soooo many nice looking men. They’re so completely different to the guys we’re used to in London. They dress much more conservatively for sure and they all have mega nice teeth! There was no shortage of offers of drinks, all of which I declined before Frankie had the chance to accept.
I took note of the two guys standing close to us, who were deep in conversation. The dark haired one reminded me of Gabriel and when I said, ‘No, thank you,” to a drinks offer from a guy with huge shoulders, and slicked back hair, I caught dark haired guy’s eye. He mouthed, “Wall Street,” and I started laughing.
Frankie was so engrossed in the story she was telling me about a guy she met in London last week, that she failed to notice me chuckling. From that point on, the dark haired guy mouthed comments about each guy who came over to offer us a drink. He went from “Artist,” to “Struggling Actor,” “Rock Star,” and finally “Unemployed Journalist.” In between his observations, we turned our attention back to our respective conversations.
One guy came up and asked Frankie if she’d like to dance. She gestured with her hand, around the bar. “Darling,” she breathed, “take a good look around. Do you see anyone dancing? No. Nor do I. There’s no dancing here. Only drinking. Champagne would be lovely, thank you.”
Not surprisingly, the guy turned his back on her and walked away. When I looked over at the dark haired guy, he opened his mouth, but nothing came out! We both started laughing and he came over.
“Hi,” he said, holding out his hand (what is it with these Americans and the hand shaking?) “I’m Christopher.”
“Hello,” I said, shaking his hand. “How would you describe yourself?”
Frankie looked at me, mystified.
“Native New Yorker,” he mouthed.
“Nice,” I said, laughing.
Christopher’s friend followed him over.
“HiI’mRoberthowyouguysdoing?Youwannadrink?” he asked in rapid speed. (More handshaking.) I’d use the word intense for Robert. With the word “very” in front of it. Rapid Robert looked Frankie up and down then wasted no time chatting her up and in less than a minute, an ice bucket with a bottle of Moet appeared on the bar, with four champagne flutes.
I fell into a very easy chat with Christopher.
“Did you really grow up here?” I asked.
“Manhattan, born and bred.”
“I just love it here. I don’t think there’s anywhere else like it.”
“I agree. Are you a frequent visitor?”
“No,” I laughed. “This is my first time here.”
“Way,” I teased.
Frankie and I went to a club with them, called MK’s. I think it was in Chelsea. I have a book of matches so I’ll have to check. The four of us danced the night away on each of the three floors in the club. It was pretty fantastic to say the least.
Robert works on Wall Street, and Christopher works for MTV. They both have apartments in the same building on Seventy-third Street, but I can’t remember how I know that!