Shopaholic Takes Manhattan
Page 55
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“Could be,” says the man, nodding. “They can be tricky. Of course, this one,” he adds, slapping it cheerfully, “was made in Germany.”
“Right,” I say after a pause. “Yes. Well, anyway. Thanks for your help.”
“Any time,” says the man — and as he gets back onto his treadmill I can see him smiling.
Oh God, that was really embarrassing. As I make my way, showered and changed, to the foyer of the hotel for the walking tour, I feel a little deflated. Maybe Luke’s right. Maybe I won’t cope with the pace of New York. Maybe it’s a stupid idea, my moving here with him. I mean, if I can’t keep up with a treadmill, how am I going to keep up with a whole city?
A group of sightseers has already assembled — mostly much older than me and attired in a variety of sensible windbreakers and sneakers. They’re all listening to a young, enthusiastic man who’s saying something about the Statue of Liberty.
“Hi there!” he says, breaking off as I approach. “Are you here for the tour?”
“Yes, please,” I say.
“And your name?”
“Rebecca Bloomwood,” I say, flushing a little as all the others turn to look at me. “I paid at the desk, earlier.”
“Well, hi, Rebecca!” says the man, ticking something off on his list. “I’m Christoph. Welcome to our group. Got your walking shoes on?” He looks down at my boots (bright purple, kitten heel, last year’s Bertie sale) and his cheery smile falters. “You realize this is a three-hour tour? All on foot?”
“Absolutely,” I say in surprise. “That’s why I put these boots on.”
“Right,” says Christoph after a pause. “Well — OK.” He looks around. “I think that’s it, so let’s start our tour!”
He leads the way out of the hotel, onto Fifty-seventh Street. It’s a wide and busy street, with canopied entrances and trees planted at intervals and limousines pulling up in front of expensive-looking shops. As everyone else follows Christoph briskly along the pavement, I find myself walking slowly, staring upward. It’s an amazingly clear, fresh day — with almost blinding sunlight bouncing off the pavements and buildings — and as I look around I’m completely filled with awe. God, this city is an incredible place. I mean, obviously I knew that New York would be full of tall skyscrapers. But it’s only when you’re actually standing in the street, staring up at them, that you realize how… well, how huge they are. I gaze up at the tops of the buildings against the sky, until my neck is aching and I’m starting to feel dizzy. Then slowly my eyes wander down, floor by floor to shop-window level. And I find myself staring at two words. Prada and Shoes.
Ooh.
Prada Shoes. Right in front of me.
I’ll just have a really quick look.
As the others all march on, I hurry up to the window and stare at a pair of deep brown pumps with cream stitching. God, those are divine. I wonder how much they are? You know, Prada is probably really cheap over here. Maybe I should just pop in and—
“Rebecca?”
With a start I come to and look round to see the tour group twenty yards down the street, all staring at me.
“Sorry,” I say, and reluctantly pull myself away from the window. “I’m coming.”
“There’ll be time for shopping later,” says Christoph cheerfully.
“I know,” I say, and give a relaxed laugh. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry about it!”
Of course, he’s quite right. There’ll be plenty of time to go shopping. Plenty of time.
Right. I’m really going to concentrate on the tour.
“So, Rebecca,” says Christoph brightly, as I rejoin the group. “I was just telling the others that we’re heading down East Fifty-seventh Street to Fifth Avenue, the most famous avenue of New York City.”
“Great!” I say. “That sounds really good!”
“Fifth Avenue serves as a dividing line between the ‘East Side’ and the ‘West Side,’ ” continues Christoph. “Anyone interested in history will like to know that…”
I’m nodding intelligently as he speaks, and trying to look interested. But as we walk down the street, my head keeps swiveling from left to right, like someone watching a tennis game. Christian Dior, Herm`es, Chanel… This street is just incredible. If only we could just slow down a bit, and have a proper look — but Christoph is marching on ahead like a hike leader, and everybody else in the group is following him happily, not even glancing at the amazing sights around them. Do they not have eyes in their heads?
“Right,” I say after a pause. “Yes. Well, anyway. Thanks for your help.”
“Any time,” says the man — and as he gets back onto his treadmill I can see him smiling.
Oh God, that was really embarrassing. As I make my way, showered and changed, to the foyer of the hotel for the walking tour, I feel a little deflated. Maybe Luke’s right. Maybe I won’t cope with the pace of New York. Maybe it’s a stupid idea, my moving here with him. I mean, if I can’t keep up with a treadmill, how am I going to keep up with a whole city?
A group of sightseers has already assembled — mostly much older than me and attired in a variety of sensible windbreakers and sneakers. They’re all listening to a young, enthusiastic man who’s saying something about the Statue of Liberty.
“Hi there!” he says, breaking off as I approach. “Are you here for the tour?”
“Yes, please,” I say.
“And your name?”
“Rebecca Bloomwood,” I say, flushing a little as all the others turn to look at me. “I paid at the desk, earlier.”
“Well, hi, Rebecca!” says the man, ticking something off on his list. “I’m Christoph. Welcome to our group. Got your walking shoes on?” He looks down at my boots (bright purple, kitten heel, last year’s Bertie sale) and his cheery smile falters. “You realize this is a three-hour tour? All on foot?”
“Absolutely,” I say in surprise. “That’s why I put these boots on.”
“Right,” says Christoph after a pause. “Well — OK.” He looks around. “I think that’s it, so let’s start our tour!”
He leads the way out of the hotel, onto Fifty-seventh Street. It’s a wide and busy street, with canopied entrances and trees planted at intervals and limousines pulling up in front of expensive-looking shops. As everyone else follows Christoph briskly along the pavement, I find myself walking slowly, staring upward. It’s an amazingly clear, fresh day — with almost blinding sunlight bouncing off the pavements and buildings — and as I look around I’m completely filled with awe. God, this city is an incredible place. I mean, obviously I knew that New York would be full of tall skyscrapers. But it’s only when you’re actually standing in the street, staring up at them, that you realize how… well, how huge they are. I gaze up at the tops of the buildings against the sky, until my neck is aching and I’m starting to feel dizzy. Then slowly my eyes wander down, floor by floor to shop-window level. And I find myself staring at two words. Prada and Shoes.
Ooh.
Prada Shoes. Right in front of me.
I’ll just have a really quick look.
As the others all march on, I hurry up to the window and stare at a pair of deep brown pumps with cream stitching. God, those are divine. I wonder how much they are? You know, Prada is probably really cheap over here. Maybe I should just pop in and—
“Rebecca?”
With a start I come to and look round to see the tour group twenty yards down the street, all staring at me.
“Sorry,” I say, and reluctantly pull myself away from the window. “I’m coming.”
“There’ll be time for shopping later,” says Christoph cheerfully.
“I know,” I say, and give a relaxed laugh. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry about it!”
Of course, he’s quite right. There’ll be plenty of time to go shopping. Plenty of time.
Right. I’m really going to concentrate on the tour.
“So, Rebecca,” says Christoph brightly, as I rejoin the group. “I was just telling the others that we’re heading down East Fifty-seventh Street to Fifth Avenue, the most famous avenue of New York City.”
“Great!” I say. “That sounds really good!”
“Fifth Avenue serves as a dividing line between the ‘East Side’ and the ‘West Side,’ ” continues Christoph. “Anyone interested in history will like to know that…”
I’m nodding intelligently as he speaks, and trying to look interested. But as we walk down the street, my head keeps swiveling from left to right, like someone watching a tennis game. Christian Dior, Herm`es, Chanel… This street is just incredible. If only we could just slow down a bit, and have a proper look — but Christoph is marching on ahead like a hike leader, and everybody else in the group is following him happily, not even glancing at the amazing sights around them. Do they not have eyes in their heads?
