The rest of the day passed in a pampered blur. One of the guests yesterday gave me a hugely generous gift card for a Day Spa on Madison Avenue which I spent on a facial with every conceivable treatment known to woman, and a few silly ones I'm sure they made up. When I came out of the salon it was already dark and great big fat flakes of snow were falling lazily on to the street. I felt like I was in my very on New York fantasy as I walked across Park Avenue and back to the house.
Within an hour we were leaving again to go downtown to dinner and a concert in Carnegie Hall where we had another box shared with two elderly ladies, one who had a cane and another who had two canes - both with three wheels which meant manoeuvring them between the gilt chairs took some effort, as well as a large, ominous dressing taped to the side of her face.
'Introduce yourself because I've forgotten her name.' whispered my friend after greeting both dowagers warmly. I looked at the one cane lady and smiled. She smiled back. What do I say? 'Hello I'm Marion McNobody and why the heck would you care?' I was suddenly crippled with shyness but feeling the weight of my friend urging me to do my social duty, I opened my mouth obediently but nothing came out. The old lady smiled at me again uncertainly and then turned her head tremulously like one of those nodding dogs on the back seat of a 1960s Ford Escort back to the stage onto which members of the orchestra that we had come to hear, were carrying their instruments. I sighed with relief and began to clap with the rest of the audience as seconds later the orchestra launched, conductorless into Mozart's ballet music for Idomeneo, and I watched them sway to and fro like corks in a musical sea, my anonymity preserved.
At least until the interval by which time she was asleep.
