Читать книгу Confessions of a New York Taxi Driver - Eugene Salomon - Страница 14

It is lust that keeps the species reproducing itself. But it is love, respect and honesty that keep people staying together as partners throughout a lifetime. So it’s nice when you meet a couple who still enjoy each other’s company after dozens of years. It rehabilitates the idea that we, too, if we’re lucky (or skillful) enough may also have it so good. With that in mind, here’s a different kind of story about sex in a taxicab.

I picked up a man and a woman at a hotel near LaGuardia Airport on a lovely summer evening in 1987. They were seniors, near seventy years of age I guessed, and were en route to the Sloan– Kettering Hospital in Manhattan. Through the course of conversation I learned that their names were John and Barbara, that they were now retired – he had been a banker and she had been a teacher – and that the reason for their trip to the city was to begin cancer therapy for John.

They hadn’t been to New York in forty years, they said, not since they’d moved to California after World War II. But they had once lived and worked in the city and, in fact, they’d met each other here when they were both employed by the same company in an office near Herald Square. They wondered if it would be all right with me if, before we got to the hospital, we could take a brief tour around Manhattan for old times’ sake to see some of the sights which had been a part of their lives so many years ago.

Would it be all right with me? Were they kidding? Anything that keeps the meter running is just fine with me, and the truth is I always enjoy serving as a tour guide. It gives some contrast to the usual A to B fares and provides me a chance to show off my knowledge of the city, as well. I got on the Brooklyn–Queens Expressway and headed toward the Midtown Tunnel. Fifteen minutes later we were on 34^th Street in Manhattan, heading west toward Herald Square.

The Empire State Building is on the corner of 34^th Street and 5^th Avenue, so I pointed it out as we approached it, thinking that surely this would be a sight they would want to see. But John and Barbara had little interest in the majestic skyscraper. What they were really interested in seeing in Herald Square was the Chock Full O’ Nuts coffee shop at the corner of 34^th and 6^th. It was there, they said, that they’d spent so many lunch hours gazing into each other’s eyes over chicken salad sandwiches.

As we got to the intersection both John and Barbara were straining their necks trying to get a glimpse of the place. But the Chock Full O’ Nuts coffee shop was gone. It had been replaced by a Gap clothing store.

It was obvious to me this was a major disappointment for them. That coffee shop had been an important landmark of their life together, and now it was just a memory. We continued driving west on 34^th Street in a gloomy silence, but after about a minute John spoke up.

‘I know what,’ he said to both Barbara and me, ‘let’s go over to 31^st and Broadway. If it’s still around, there’s another restaurant over there that’s pretty special to us.’

Barbara smiled, as apparently she knew what John was talking about. I made a right on 8^th Avenue and another right on 36^th Street, and we were on our way. A cheerfulness returned to the cab.

‘There’s a Horn and Hardart over there on Broadway,’ John said. ‘That’s where I proposed to this lovely, young lady.’

I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that the Horn and Hardarts were long gone. When we got to 31^st Street we found a parking lot where the automat had once been.

The gloom returned. I drove down Broadway until we were approaching 25^th Street, and then Barbara had an idea.

‘What about Schrafft’s?’ she asked. ‘There used to be one on Madison Avenue. We ate dinner there a million times.’

I told them I wasn’t sure if any Schrafft’s were still around, but it did seem to ring a bell in my mind that there had been one on Madison. It was worth a try, so I drove to 23^rd Street, where Madison Avenue begins, and we headed uptown.

The traffic on the avenue was a mess, which actually was fortunate because it gave us a chance to examine every store and restaurant on each block as we crawled along. There was a sense of anxiety in the taxi as each new block failed to reveal a Schrafft’s and, by the time we were in the forties, the anxiety was taking on the feeling of despair. When we finally reached 60^th Street, and still no Schrafft’s, the search was over.

‘Could you just drive us over to the hospital, then?’ John asked with a tone of resignation in his voice. I made a right on 68^th Street and headed east toward Sloan-Kettering. I noticed in the mirror that Barbara was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. We drove a couple of blocks. Then suddenly John’s voice returned with a new vitality.

‘What about the Plaza?’ he asked. ‘That’s still there, isn’t it?’

‘Sure,’ I replied.

‘Well, let’s go!’

Instantly their spirits lifted. The Plaza Hotel was only a few blocks away. I made a couple of turns and in less than two minutes we were parked right in front of the beautiful, old landmark. Both John and Barbara seemed mesmerized by the sight of it, almost in a state of awe. I noticed that Barbara’s eyes were tearing again, but this time she made no attempt to dry them. John appeared to be getting a bit misty, too.

‘We spent our wedding night here,’ Barbara said softly, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

We just sat there for a couple of minutes in front of the Plaza and then John had another idea. ‘Do you think you could take us for a ride through Central Park?’ he asked me.

‘Well, I could,’ I said, ‘if it’s still open. They close the park to cars at seven o’clock.’ It was nearly seven already, so I drove as quickly as I could to the entrance at 6^th Avenue, and we were in luck – it was still open.

‘Tell you what,’ John said as he handed me some money, ‘here’s ten bucks. That’s your tip above whatever the meter says when we get to the hospital. But the deal is, while we’re in the park here, keep your eyes off of that damned mirror!’

Barbara scolded him, but I had taken no offense.

‘It’s a deal,’ I replied. Some of the great events of history have been created by just such conspiracies.

We headed north on Park Drive, the road that runs the two and a half mile length of Central Park. The ride, with its scenes filled with trees, flowers, and people in each other’s arms, took about twelve minutes. I must admit that I cheated two or three times and looked in the mirror to see what could be going on between two septuagenarians.

What was going on was plenty! They were wrapped around each other like a couple of vines and I would rank them right up there near the top of my all-time list of back seat kissing fools.

As we were approaching the exit of the park at Central Park South they straightened themselves up into normal sitting positions.

‘I’m sorry,’ Barbara said a little awkwardly, ‘for using your taxi for a purpose other than the one for which it was intended.’

‘Hey, that’s all right,’ I replied, ‘cabs are for kissing.’

It was one of those brilliant utterances which come tumbling out of your mouth every once in a while, almost of their own volition, which are just the right thing to say for the moment. Any lingering feeling of embarrassment dissipated into the evening air and, as we came out of the park, there was a noticeable serenity in the taxi. I made a left on Central Park South and headed for the East Side. It took about five more minutes to get them to the hospital and, as we said goodbye, I sensed a kind of bonding with Barbara and John that I think was mutual.

I felt that I would see them again one day.