In a New York Minute

You've heard the phrase- "in a New York minute"- I always thought it meant fast, before you could blink. I grew up here, well, on Staten Island anyway, by way of Brooklyn. I ran for New York City as soon as I was tall enough to reach the fare box on the Staten Island ferry. Back then it was twenty-five cents round trip. I had to be there. Because it is more than just speed- it's density, too. In a New York minute there is so much happening you can barely take it all in and can never predict what will happen or how it will change you. To be a New Yorker is to have faith in knowing yourself, knowing that whatever happens in that blindingly fast, stupendously bright and shiny moment- you've got it covered. Sometimes the minute comes to you, and sometimes you reach out and grasp it- clutching it greedily to your chest, knowing that in all the world that the minute, and you, are totally unique.




Last Thursday night I had the privilege of seeing Patti Lupone in "Gypsy" at City Center. I have been blessed to have a great deal of theater in my life. I was married to a stage hand and perfected my early baking skills by experimenting mercilessly on back stage crew as well as actors and front of the house folks. The year I spent perfecting my banana bread couldn't have been easy on them... but their reputation of being starving artists is well earned- they ate every crumb- none of them starved while I was around. My friend Richard once said "For the love of God don't FEED them- you'll never get rid of them!" It's true. For many years I have been treated to free tickets, house seats and warm welcomes. I remember bringing a loaf of my lemon bread to the theater when I went to see "The Heiress". The loaf was a gift for Francis Sternhagen- an amazing actress whose acquaintance I made while she was working with my ex-husband on a play called "Remembrance" at the John Houseman theater. Frances was part of the beta-baking-testing I did when I opened my second bake shop and was particularly fond of the lemon loaf. "Remembrance" was at least 5 years prior and I did not imagine she would remember me but as I knew I was in for a treat seeing her on stage- I wanted to leave a treat for HER backstage. I sent a note, just so she would know the loaf came from a friendly fan and merely signed it "Melanie". I received a handwritten note by mail two days later absolutely lambasting me for not visiting backstage and admonishing me for not contacting her sooner. I guess Richard was right.

Oy, I digress... but as I said, I have been very lucky. I have seen lots of great theater. I haven't seen Patti Lupone onstage since Evita so many years ago. I almost didn't see her Thursday- the best seats I could get, while a bargain at $25 each were in the second balcony, row G- we had seats 13 and 15- the theater was packed. My companion looked down at the apron of the stage in amazement-" I've never had seats like THIS" he said (he's more of an orchestra man) and truly it was a bit like the view goats have from the top of an alp. "I told you they were far back" I said- "you can go if you like but I'm staying!". I thought everyone knew what nosebleed seats were. He stayed- and we were both glad. I felt like Patti Lupone was playing right to me- the performance was the biggest and the best I've seen, ever. Rose is supposed to be a bit dowdy- a bit of a frump, oddly dressed. Patti was just plain sexy- vamping her way across the stage, a mature woman fully aware of her allure. No woman since Scarlett O'Hara yanked down Miz Ellen's porteires has worn curtain fabric with such style! Her comic delivery- her body language, her angst, her heart- playing Rose as a woman on the edge between madness and great love- she was incredible. The role was written for Ethel Merman and I always associated the character of Rose with Merman's pushy brassiness and at the end of the play as someone you almost felt sorry for. As Patti Lupone took the fur stole from Gypsy and said "this looks better on me than it does on you." it was the world I felt a little sorry for- this Rose was most assuredly in charge. The performance gave me chills- in a New York minute I saw something I would remember the rest of my life.

The next day I had a very early morning meeting in mid-town. I was a bit sleepy after singing the entire libretto of Gypsy to myself through most of the night. I came up out of the subway to the sight of Central Park, misty in the humid haze. The Plaza hotel is shrouded in scaffolding these days as it becomes an apartment building but the fountain in front burbled and wafted a welcome cool breeze as I scooted towards Fifth Avenue. And then- though I was on the cusp of being late, I stopped dead. Five women stood on Fifth Avenue just below 57th Street wearing evening wear at 7:43 in the morning clutching danishes and wearing pearls and big dark glasses. The location- naturally- Tiffany's. I didn't ask why. In a New York minute, there isn't time. It just is. And it's wonderful.




In just 60 seconds in my city you can run through the food hall at Grand Central, and see that Brooklyn and Detroit are just a pickle's length apart. And in a New York minute- the ones you love are standing right there beside you, laughing. And the pickle guys don't blink when you ask to photograph the jars-- they live here too.



And you can have a meeting. And in a New York minute all the work you've done tells you-if you can make it here- survive each and every minute and prevail- people see it. And you get appreciated in ways unimagined and in that minute everything is changed. And breath just disappears- at least for a second. And then life goes on, and you hop a ride for a Philadelphia roll...



In Philadelphia.



:) X