‘Kiss my sweaty butt,’ Helen had told her.
‘Thank you,’ Abilene had said.
Skipping the World Trade Center, they’d taken the subway back into mid-town, gotten off at the wrong stop, and hiked for an hour before reaching the Hilton.
A brief rest, a change of clothes, and they’d soon been off again. This time, to Greenwich Village for dinner and the Brecht play.
They’d gotten off the subway at the Houston Street station.
Then they’d gone exploring, wandering up and down narrow streets, going into clothes stores and bookshops, walking past sidewalk cafes, scanning menus in restaurant windows. Somehow, they’d found themselves across the street from a park. After checking her guidebook, Vivian had identified it as Washington Square.
Joining a crowd at one end of the park, they’d spent a while watching a young man juggle machetes while riding a unicycle.
Then they’d gone back to the maze of streets where they’d seen so many restaurants. Some of the eating places looked too crowded, others too formal, none just right. So they’d kept on walking, discovering streets they’d missed before, always on the lookout for a ‘neat place’ to have dinner.
Helen was the one who found it.
‘My God!’ she’d gasped. ‘We’ve gotta eat here! We’ve gotta!’
It was an Italian restaurant called ‘Grandpa’s.’ In the window near its entrance was taped a newspaper clipping: an article about the restaurant with a photograph of its owner.
Its owner was Al Lewis, ‘Grandpa Munster’ from the old TV show.
So in they’d gone, and Al Lewis had greeted them at the door. He wasn’t in costume. He wore trousers, a plaid shirt and a ball cap instead of his Munster outfit. But Helen had seemed no less excited about meeting him. She’d blushed and searched her purse for paper and shyly asked for his autograph.
All through dinner, she’d stared at him.
On their way out, Vivian stopped and asked him directions to the Dunsinane theater. While he’d explained how to get there, Helen had watched him in awestruck silence.
‘That was so great,’ she’d said when they were outside.
‘The high point of the trip, huh?’
‘Pretty near.’
‘Better than the Statue of Liberty?’
She’d rolled her eyes upward and groaned.
Mother Courage, with actors wandering into the audience and shouting in people’s faces, had seemed nearly as unnerving to Abilene as the winding staircase in the Statue. She was glad when it ended.
‘So where is the subway station?’ Helen asked.
Finley grinned back at her. ‘It must’ve moved.’
‘It’s gotta be around here someplace.’ Vivian stopped at a corner, glanced at the street sign, and raised her guidebook close to her face.
Abilene looked up at the sign and found herself grinning. ‘Hey, it’s Mulberry Street. And to think that I saw it.’
‘I don’t see it,’ Vivian murmured.
‘What?’ Cora asked.
‘Mulberry Street.’
‘And to think that I saw it,’ Abilene repeated.
‘What are you talking about, Hickok?’
‘Mulberry Street. Dr Seuss.’
‘Give us a break.’
‘I can’t find it on the map,’ Vivian said.
‘It’s gotta be on the map,’ Abilene told her. ‘It’s famous.’
‘You try and find it.’
Vivian handed the guide book to Abilene. In the center of one page was a small map of Greenwich Village. She squinted at it under the streetlight. ‘Well, there’s MacDougal.’
‘But we’re on Mulberry. Where the hell is Mulberry Street?’ She kept looking at the map. Streets went every which way, going off at odd angles, ending, resuming elsewhere. She found no Mulberry Street. Finally, she shook her head. ‘I sure don’t see it.’
‘Look for Broome,’ Cora suggested. ‘We’re at Broome and Mulberry.’
She studied the map, searching for Broome. ‘It’s not here either.’
‘Oh man,’ Helen moaned.
Vivian grimaced. ‘I think we might’ve gotten off the map.’
‘Then where the hell are we?’ Abilene flipped the page over and found a small map of the East Village. ‘Could we be in the East Village?’ she asked.
‘You got me.’
‘Jesus,’ Helen said.
‘These street names don’t look very familiar,’ she said, and a drop of water hit the page. She lifted her face and a cool drop splashed her forehead. ‘I hate to mention it, folks. I think it’s starting to rain.’
‘I was hoping that was just a little bird shitting on my head,’ Finley said.
‘Just some drizzle,’ Cora said. ‘It won’t kill us. Let’s keep walking. We’re bound to come to a main road before long. If we can’t find a subway station, we’ll get a taxi.’
Abilene handed the guidebook back to Vivian. ‘So which should we take?’ she asked. ‘Mulberry or Broome?’
‘Either way, we’re lost,’ Helen said.
‘Mulberry hasn’t gotten us anywhere,’ Cora said. ‘Let’s try Broome.’
As they crossed the road, the raindrops began to fall more rapidly. By the time they reached the other side, the drizzle had turned into a shower.
Walking backward at the head of the group, Finley stretched out her arms and said, ‘Could be worse.’
‘Yeah?’ Abilene asked. ‘We’re lost and it’s pouring.’
‘And my feet are killing me,’ Helen said.
‘At least we haven’t been mugged.’
‘The night’s still young,’ Abilene told her.
Finley laughed and whirled around.
‘Where are all those damn taxis when you need them?’ Cora said.
A few cars were passing on the street, headlights glaring on the slick pavement, tires swishing. There didn’t seem to be a cab among them. Nor were there any shops or restaurants in sight where they might take shelter and ask directions — or phone for a cab. There were only apartment buildings with dark entry-ways.
‘I don’t like this,’ Helen said.
‘Where is everyone?’ Abilene said.
‘Staying out of the rain,’ Finley called back.
‘We’re bound to find a taxi sooner or later,’ Vivian said. ‘Or a subway station.’
As they walked past a recessed entryway, a derelict wrapped in a blanket raised his head and yelled, ‘Hey!’ Abilene’s stomach lurched. She hurried past him and looked back. He was out of sight.
‘Wanta ask him for directions?’ Finley asked.
Cora elbowed her and she laughed.
‘This is getting a little too hairy for me,’ Abilene said.
‘Just consider it an adventure. That’s what we’re here for, right? Adventure! ’
‘Getting lost wasn’t what I had in mind,’ Vivian said.
‘Hell, it’s our last night in the Big Apple. At least it’ll be a memorable one.’
‘If we live through it,’ Helen said.
‘At least you can die happy,’ Finley told her. ‘You met Grandpa Munster.’
‘Uh-oh,’ Vivian said. ‘Here comes someone.’
Walking up the sidewalk toward them was a slim man dressed in jeans. His shirt was off. He walked briskly, swinging his shirt beside him.
At least he’s not staggering, Abilene thought.
‘Everyone just stay calm,’ Cora advised. ‘If he tries anything, I’ll handle it.’
As he neared them, he slowed his pace. He was a young man, rather handsome. ‘Are you ladies all right?’ he asked.
‘We’re not sure where we are,’ Vivian told him.
Nodding and frowning, he stopped in front of her. His long hair was pulled back in a pony tail. His wet torso gleamed in the streetlight, and Abilene could see raindrops splashing off his shoulders. ‘I wondered about that,’ he said. ‘If you knew where you were, you wouldn’t be here. This isn’t the best of neighborhoods, you know. You’re heading straight into the Bowery.’
‘Oh dandy,’ Finley said.
‘We’re trying to get back to our hotel,’ Vivian explained. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘The Hilton.’
‘You aren’t going to get there this way.’
‘We’ve been looking for a subway station.’
‘You won’t find one around here. I guess the best bet’d be Canal and Broadway.’