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New York, Act 1, Scene 3

February 18, 2013

The lobby of the Warwick Hotel, three steps down, seemed spacious with high ceilings, marbled floors, and three elevators serving thirty-three floors. At the 11th floor we found room 1122 overlooking the the Hilton Hotel. The room was fine, even without a coffee pot, a microwave or a refrigerator usualy found in motel lodgings. A small bar bore the warning that opening it would incur a $30.00 charge. “Forget it,” I warned John. The room was bright with lights, cream colored walls, wide white crown moldings, artistically arranged groups of pictures, and behind the closet door a full length mirror.  A large TV faced two double, not king, beds. Do they save the kings for younger guests?  

After washing up we  met Beth and Tim in the lobby. ” My wife is feeling better. Ready for dinner?” reported Tim.

“Just  because we haven’t  eaten since breakfast?” I asked, raising my eyebrows askance.

“We’ve made a reservation at a nearby restaurant, Rue 57 on West 57th Street. We’ve never been there, but it got good reviews, ” claimed Beth.

We walked the few blocks toward the restaurant. An enclosed doorway blocked the door from icy drafts that might enter with us. Clever, those New Yorkers.

At 7:30 PM but 4:30 PM Pacific time, the crowded restaurant attracted young people, and we waited a few minutes for a small table near the noisy bar. Tim and I ordered wine, and we all ordered salads and dinner. The food, a potato crusted salmon and a baked halibut, was delicious. The bill was a hefty $185.25 and we left a $35.00 tip, but we had decided not to watch prices, most difficult for those born in the great depression, but this is a truly special occasion. Grandson Kevin will play the French Horn at Carnegie Hall tomorrow! The short walk back to the hotel was invigorating, but we would need no rocking or TV to put us to sleep. The night beyond the skyscrapers, pushed upward by traffic noise and the lights of the big city, ended the first day.

-to be contd.-

 

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