Free A New Yorker's Stories by Philip Gould Page A

thought about several alternatives all of which would make me extremely late and possibly jeopardize the whole thing. At that moment another fellow was hailing a cab, because he was also put out by the subway problem. In a moment of desperation I cried out “can you give me a lift?” He turned toward me and said, “Where are you going?” I told him and he said, “Get in.” So off I went with a New Yorker who saved my day in an act of spontaneous generosity and trust. We hardly exchanged more than three words, respecting each other’s privacy. I stepped out of the cab at 76th Street and Fifth Avenue, just one block from The Carlyle. I was on time because New York can sometimes be a very friendly place.
    The Carlyle was something else. The marble floors and thick plush carpets kept me, I hate to say, on my toes, making adjustments for the changes underfoot. I passed through several chambers before I found my friend already seated and waiting. Wow! What an atmosphere of elegance and privilege and money. The rooms were of various shapes with fancy wall decorations, and oriental tapestry covered low benches. The room where we met was oval shaped, in a Baroque tradition, with only four tables placed against the walls so each table was essentially isolated. The ceilings in the room were high, so the place felt spacious and the sounds were muffled; you could talk to your luncheon partner without any danger of being overheard. It was perfect for the sort of tête-à-tête meeting that requires intimacy and confidentiality. I didn’t need any of that sort of thing but the ambiance was interesting to experience.
    The menus were an elaborate set of leather-covered booklets for different parts of the meal. Mind you, this was just lunch. And four or five people were in attendance throughout the meal: maitre d’, sommelier, waiter, and busboy. I probably lost track of everyone coming to our table in the course of the meal. Prices were terrible, that is, terribly high. I settled for the little menu of three courses for $31.00. I had a puree of parsnip soup served in a shapely small, off-white tureen. When I added some lemon juice the thick, rich mix was more palatable. The main course was salmon, cooked as I requested, medium well done, surrounded by the tiniest of lentils in a white creamy sauce. I ended with a regular coffee and a chocolate cake…a cake so rich I could not finish it. This was a once in a lifetime to do, never, never to be repeated.
    The lunch was leisurely enough, actually a little too protracted, and I never did get used to the thick carpets or to the sequence of little rooms. My friend was used to treating himself well so he surely didn’t relish the meeting the way I did.

HOW TO PENETRATE THE CORPORATE INNER OFFICE
    Monday is an unusual day because I have an aerobics class at a quarter past one; too close to lunchtime to eat and too late to eat “lunch.” So I snack at ten-thirty in the morning and after gym I snack again at Zabars. The best part of this strange timing is that I have the better part of the afternoon at my disposition. I caught the Broadway bus 104 on the fly to 57th Street. Walked two long blocks, prestigious blocks, to 57th Street and Fifth Avenue. Everyone knows Tiffany’s is located on the southeast corner of this intersection.
    Tiffany’s has very rarely been my destination. However, on a mild December afternoon lots of people must have had Tiffany on their minds. The store was buzzing with shoppers, a gentle buzz, to be sure, almost on the hushed side as customer and salespeople hover over diamond necklaces or jewel-studded bracelets. Some men survey the cavernous room. You sense security must be a big concern. These fellows were so well groomed. I thought they must visit the barber at least twice a month.
    Well, I have the name of an employee of Tiffany in my little calendar book but who should I ask where to find her? I was