An English Boy in New York (17 page)

‘Would that be so bad?'

‘The money's not great,' she said. ‘Your father would have to work more hours.'

Dad looked up at this, panicked. ‘We are going to get this sorted out, Susan.'

We were passing some teenagers throwing a frisbee and a mis-throw sent the pink disc wheeling in our direction. Dad leapt like a stung horse and sprinted a dozen steps to catch it, inches from the ground. He then returned it to the clapping teenagers before jogging back to us.

‘Ta-dah,' he said.

‘What happened to the knee injury?' I asked.

‘Ow,' he said, clutching it quickly.

I glared at him but wasn't able to quiz him further on the mysterious disappearance of his injury because Mum had spotted a group of men playing a game.

‘Ooh,' she said. ‘Three-card Monte.'

We watched for a while as tourists tried the game. It was quite simple, you had to pick which of three cards was the Queen of Hearts. The man running the game would show you the three cards then turn them face-down and switch them around quickly a few times to confuse you.

The first couple of times he did it the man playing won. Then the man bet more money and lost.

‘I've seen this before,' I said. ‘It's a scam. They let you win at first, then the guy hides the queen and switches it for another card.'

‘Keep watching,' Mum said.

The first player walked off grumpily, and another took his place. This guy lost the first game. But put more money down.

‘Sucker,' I said.

He lost the second game and I expected him to walk away, but instead I heard him say, ‘One more try,' and he threw down another $10.

The guy dealing began switching the cards. I watched his hands carefully. He was quick. But I thought I could follow the queen. If he'd switched the queen with another card, then this would prove it. The man pointed to the card I was watching and the dealer flipped the card to reveal  … 

The Queen of Hearts. The man had won. The dealer shrugged and handed him a few notes. The man walked off quickly, clearly delighted to have got the better of the shyster. Still, something seemed wrong to me.

Mum strode forward to take his place.

‘Mum,' I said. ‘I don't think this is a good idea.'

‘I'd like to play, please,' she said, brightly holding out a ten-dollar bill.

‘OK, Kate Middleton,' the man said, taking the note and dropping it in a cigar box full of notes which rested on the edge of the table.

‘Hardly,' Mum said, giggling.

I sighed.

The man showed the three cards and began his switcheroo. Over, under, over again, switch and slide. He moved his hands with the speed and grace of an experienced knitter. I thought I could see the pattern. The queen was on the right.

Mum pointed to the card on the right. The man flipped it. The queen.

‘Double or nothing?' the dealer said. ‘You can afford it, Duchess.' The guy must have been seventy-five years old. He wore a little waistcoat and a cloth cap and looked like he might have been an extra in
Ocean's Eleven
.

Mum pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and dropped it on the table. The dealer snatched it and dropped it into the cigar box. Again the man showed the queen before beginning his elaborate routine. A small crowd had gathered around us.

Again, I watched his hands closely. Again it seemed to me I knew where the queen was. This time on the left.

Mum pointed to the left-hand card. The man grimaced and flipped the card. The queen.

‘You're good at this game,' he said.

Mum held out her hand for her winnings.

‘Give me one more chance to make my money back, huh?' the man said. ‘Double or nothing again?'

Mum hesitated.

‘Come on, Mum,' I said. ‘Let's go.'

But Mum reached into her pocket and pulled out forty dollars. She reached across and placed it in the cigar box. More people had stopped to watch. There were now a couple of dozen. The man licked his lips nervously and began switching cards again. This time, his hands were quicker. He flicked here and there and the routine was different. But I thought I could follow it. The queen was in the middle.

Mum tapped the middle card firmly.

I was watching the guy's face. He grinned briefly and in that instant I knew Mum had been suckered.

‘Sorry, Your Highness,' he said and flipped the card.

It was the Queen of Hearts.

The man stared at it like it was a death certificate with his name on.

Mum grinned. ‘You're right,' she said, holding out her hand. ‘I
am
good at this game.'

The man stood, staring at the card, then up at Mum. It was clear what he was thinking. How the hell had the queen ended up there?

‘One hundred and twenty dollars, please,' Mum said, still holding out her hand.

The dealer man glanced over at someone in the crowd. I thought I recognised him as the man who'd ‘won' earlier. The man shrugged.

‘Come on, buddy,' someone else called. ‘Pay the lady.'

The dealer frowned and opened up the cigar box. He counted out the notes and reluctantly passed them to Mum.

‘Thanks,' she said before walking away. Dad and I trotted after her, I looked back to see the old dealer scratching his head in puzzlement. His accomplice was watching us go.

‘That was amazing,' I said when we were safely away. ‘How did you do that?'

She looked up at me as we walked. ‘I could see where he was putting the queen when he wanted to switch,' she said. ‘He was slipping it under the cigar box. When I gave him the forty dollars I took it out again. Then when I tapped the middle card I switched it with the queen. Simples.'

I gasped, shocked. ‘You cheated!'

‘No, he cheated,' she pointed out. ‘I just evened things up.'

Dad's one of those people who's never quite got the hang of walking. At least not when there are other people walking nearby. You can't get past him easily in a corridor, it's all ‘Scuse me, sorry. Haha. Shall we dance?' And when you're out on the street, walking next to him, he'll keep veering into you for no reason. He trips up every thirty feet, he walks too close to people in front of him and stops suddenly and turns around so people behind bump into him. He's not great at standing, either. In London, he always stands on the wrong side of the escalators. I mean, how can he not see that EVERYONE else stands on the right? There are signs all over the place saying stand on the right. Then when he gets to the top of the escalator he just stops there and looks around while people pile up behind him falling over. There's a sign at Waterloo underground that says
135 days since the last accident at this station.

Needless to say, Dad last went to London 136 days ago. He's a menace.

New York is not designed for people like my father. While it's true the pavements are mostly pretty wide, there are a lot of people on them. I think New Yorkers are taught to walk properly from an early age; everyone's very good at nipping in and out of the stream of pedestrian traffic. There are bumps occasionally, of course, and people abuse each other in a good-natured manner but on the whole, the system works. At least it did until Dad arrived.

‘Where are you going?' Mum says, grabbing him by the collar as he wandered into the path of a group of schoolchildren. Then he floated off in the other direction and collided with a businessman, spilling his coffee. ‘Watch it, buddy!' the man spat.

‘What's wrong with you?' Mum asked, shaking her head. ‘Is it your knee?'

* * *

Eventually we arrived at Bloomingdale's and split up, agreeing to meet back near the 59
^th
Street entrance in an hour. Dad went off to look at Lycra and Mum went off towards the lingerie section.

‘Where are you going to go?' I asked Gex.

‘I'll come with you,' he said.

‘Really? I'm only looking at wool and needles and stuff.'

He shrugged. ‘Ain't got any money anyway.'

So along he came. He sat on a low display while I fingered the wools, cooing appreciatively, and was remarkably patient when I spent a good twenty minutes picking up needles of various sizes and makes, trying to find the perfect Hoopie needle.

I looked up at him at one point to find him shaking his head sadly at me.

‘Can we go now?' he said eventually.

‘I've found them,' I said.

‘Found what?'

‘The needles I'll buy if I win the prize money at the DeathMatch.'

I showed him. Two 10.5-size faux-ivory Spry in their Ollivander's box. But these could create genuine magic. ‘The weight, the balance, the feel of them. If I had these  …  well, I'd be smoother, I'd be quicker, I'd make fewer mistakes.'

‘They make that much of a difference?' Gex asked.

‘Oh yeah,' I replied, gazing down at the needles.

‘How much are they?'

I showed him the price tag and he nearly exploded.

‘You is paying fifty dollars for knitting needles?' Gex was looking utterly baffled as my phone rang.

It was Brandi, giddy with excitement.

‘We've got Donovan, we've got Donovan!'

‘Who's Donovan?'

‘Who's Donovan? He's only the presenter of the third highest-rated afternoon TV talk show in New York state.'

‘Wow,' I said, though it didn't exactly sound like
The X-Factor
. ‘I'll send a car,' she said. ‘Do you have any  …  suitable clothes?'

‘None,' I answered confidently.

‘OK, I'll come now,' she said.

‘I'm not at the hotel,' I said. ‘I'm in Bloomingdale's.'

‘Perfect,' she said. ‘Stay right there. I'm on my way.'

12.47pm

I've got to say, shopping for clothes is extremely tedious. I understand now why Dad locks himself in the toilet every time Mum suggests going in to town. As soon as Brandi arrived at Bloomingdale's, Gex made his excuses, and a few suggestive gestures behind Brandi's back as he left. I texted Mum and told her I'd see them back at the hotel later.

‘Wow!' Brandi said as I came out of the changing room. ‘Lose the tie.'

‘But I'm going to be on telly,' I said.

‘That's why you've got to look good,' Brandi said. ‘Shame we don't have time for a haircut.'

She stepped over as I loosened the tie and began messing with my hair. She was standing very close and smelled amazing. She undid the top two buttons on my shirt.

‘They'll fix your hair in make-up, anyway,' she said. ‘Try these shoes.'

I put the shoes on and she stood back to appraise.

‘How do I look?' I said.

‘You look hot,' she said.

‘Well, it is very warm in here.' I said.

‘No, I mean  …  you look  …  great,' she said. But she wasn't even looking at the suit, she was looking into my eyes when she said it. She was behaving a bit oddly.

‘OK.' Brandi held up the credit card. ‘Anything else you need?'

‘Well,' I said, eyeing the card, then glancing over towards the knitting section. ‘There is one more thing  … '

1.21pm

‘It's a very bright colour,' Brandi said, inspecting the wool I'd just bought. We sat in the back of a yellow cab heading uptown.

‘Tell me about it,' I said. ‘It's cerise, and it gives me a headache.'

‘So why did you buy it?'

‘It's for a  …  client,' I said. ‘Someone very important. That's the colour he wants.'

‘See, Ben,' she said. ‘New York's rubbing off on you. You're hustling.'

And just then, in the back of a cab, in a new suit, a beautiful blonde by my side, eight balls of the finest wool on my lap, I wondered if maybe she was right.

Unfortunately the headache got worse as we crawled downtown. The traffic was slow and Brandi looked nervous, which made me nervous. I rubbed my temples. I shouldn't have looked at the wool.

‘You got a headache?' Brandi asked.

‘It's the wool,' I said. ‘I don't suppose we have time for lunch?'

‘'Fraid not,' she said. ‘Hang on.'

She dived into her handbag and pulled out a pill bottle. ‘Try these,' she said, handing them to me. ‘I get them from Canada.' She passed me a bottle of water and I swallowed two of the pills.

‘Just take one,' she said.

‘One? I had two.'

‘Really? They're kind of strong. Especially on an empty stomach.'

‘You said take these. Not take
one
of these.'

‘Oh, sorry. Well, I'm sure you'll be fine.'

‘What are they?' I asked, even more nervous.

‘Just paracetamol,' she said.

Brandi swept me through reception at the studios, telling everyone who tried to stop us that we were late. The headache had gone but I felt a little woozy. Canadian paracetamol is strong! We were directed to the green room, where we'd wait for my name to be called. The floor manager came up to me. She was pretty, with long black hair and wore a headphone/mic that I found quite fetching. I wobbled a bit and Brandi grabbed my elbow to steady me.

‘Hi,' I said. I may have been grinning a lot. ‘I'm English.'

‘I know who you are,' she said shortly. She explained I would be on third. First up was a man with a hole in his stomach who apparently was able to feed bits of food in tied to a string then extract them hours later, half digested.

‘Does he do that for a living?' I asked, nauseous.

‘Kind of. He's an inspirational speaker,' the floor manager said. ‘After him there's a guy who is going to marry a woman on death row.'

‘Wow,' I said.

‘Then it's you, and then finally we have the contortionist,' she finished.

I turned around to see a slim girl in an animal-print leotard sitting on the sofa reading a book. Both her legs were behind her head. I blinked a few times but the hallucination didn't disappear. What the hell kind of programme was this?