East side, West side,

All around the town,

The tots sang "Ring-a-Rosie,"

"London Bridge is Falling Down."

Boys and girls together,

Me and Mamie O'Rourke,

Tripped the light fantastic,

On the sidewalks of New York.

Traditional Words and Music By: Chas. B. Lawlor and James W. Blake; Copyright Unknown

-7-

Harry is as good as his word. In fact, a few minutes before 11:00, he waits for Ruth in the Oak room, the Plaza's restaurant, and appropriately named because of its beautiful English oak walls. So beautiful are the walls and so lovely a room is it, that for one moment Harry can well imagine his friends and colleagues sitting here smoking a cigar and nursing a brandy. This, he thinks, looking around in appreciation, is a Club. And one steeped in tradition as well.

But all that fades when she walks in, wearing her coat. It's open and he can see she's wearing a black turtle neck sweater, a flared skirt and black tights. On her feet she wears flats, also black. Perfect for sightseeing and for ice skating, he thinks. And for ogling. Not that he would do the last as a gentleman, of course. Nor would he do so given his profession where a schooled expression is not just obligatory but invaluable. He looks at her, then, with polite admiration.

But polite does not equate with pedestrian. Not at all. His eyes sparkle as they skim over her fitted sweater and skirt. He takes in her hair as well, softly pulled back off of her face, perhaps to keep it out of the way on the ice. He draws nearer.

"Lovely." She says, looking at the recently restored wood which now gleams all around them.

"Lovely." He says his eyes on her. "Yes."

She looks up at him and colors. "Well." She says. "Shall we?"

And he says. "Yes."

They cross the street, stopping first at the Grand Army Plaza directly across the hotel. There's a young couple taking pictures of the statue of Pomona, the Roman goddess of abundance. She is raised up high in the centre of the plaza and stands above and in a bowl of water which cascades down to another bowl and finally down to the last level where they stand. The goddess bends down towards them holding a bowl of fruit as well. She wears nothing except for a bit of material against one leg. Her rounded hips and full breasts revel in all their glory, the bright rays of the sun showcasing every luscious line of her feminine form. Both Ruth and Harry, side by side, look up admiring her. After a few minutes, Harry walks around, examining the back of the sculpture which shows her lovely derriere as well.

"Excuse me. " Ruth turns toward the voice. A young woman, one half of the couple there, holds out a camera towards her. "Would you mind? Please? We're on our honeymoon and…"

"Of course not. " Ruth says and smiles brilliantly.

"Oh! The young woman says. "You're English, right?"

Ruth nods. "From the U.K."

The newlywed grabs her husband's arm. "We're tourists, too. The Midwest." She spreads one arm out. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Harry begins to walk back to where Ruth and the couple are chatting.

"Congratulations," Harry says softly to the young man. And best wishes to you, " he says, turning to the young woman.

"Thank you," they both say, smiling at him. As Ruth focuses the camera, they stand together near the statue, and she snaps their picture. Their arms are wrapped around one another, their golden rings shiny and new.

Ruth hands back the camera, smiling, "I wish both of you the best."

"Thank you!" she says, accepting the camera. She checks the image and nods. "It's perfect. Thank you so much!" She turns to go, but turn back. "And how long are you married?" The woman asks.

Harry clears his throat. "Well."

Ruth says only, "Have a wonderful time!"

"You too," the couple call out, their attention focused upon themselves once more. Ruth and Harry watch them as the newlyweds walk down the avenue, their arms still wrapped around one another.

"Sweet." Ruth says, watching them.

"Yes. " He says, not quite looking at her. "Well," he says, tugging at his collar a bit, "Where to first?"

"The library?"

He nods.

And they set off. They take 5th Ave towards Bryant Park on 42nd street. But on the way, they stop off at St. Patrick's cathedral. St Pat's of course, is huge. And so are the crowds. But they brave them and enter, walking down the long aisle, passing the equally long wooden pews. Ruth cranes her neck at the stained glass all around her. There are many side chapels in the cathedral as well. Walking further down, she stops at one. Candles flicker in the votive holders, most of them already lit. But she finds one that is not and lights it. She stands there for a long moment. The candle flickers like the others, the small red votive holder emitting a warm glow. She senses Harry just a bit behind her, quietly waiting. And watching. When she turns, he gives her a gentle smile.

With a final nod to the grandeur of the church, they continue down towards the avenue, still negotiating the crowds, the noise, and the sidewalk, the last which is at times blocked off due to construction. But they manage, sometimes stepping into the street, ever mindful of the bike couriers and recreational cyclist as well. The day is crisp and cold but the sun is high in the brilliant blue sky. And in no time at all, it seems, they are staring up at the two huge marble lions flanking the NY Public Library.

"Although built earlier," Ruth says, "the library was dedicated in 1911. This is of course, the main branch, but there are others scattered throughout the boroughs of Manhattan." She stops, pointing to the stone lions, one on either side of them. "These were named Fortitude and Patience by the mayor of NYC, Fiorello La Guardia, during The Depression. They've had other nicknames as well, such as Lady Astor and Lord Lennox, even though," she smiles, " you can clearly see that they are both males." She looks up the shaggy marble manes on each lion. Then she glances over at Harry and sees he is smiling at her.

"As ever, Ruth, you're a fount of information." He says then pauses before going on. "You really do know everything, don't you?"

"Nonsense." She says firmly. But she stands up a bit straighter as they climb the Library's steps and enter the massive edifice.

About an hour later or so, they leave from the west side of the library, just steps from Bryant Park and Citi Pond, the ice rink there. Large enough to handle crowds, the outdoor rink is surrounded by glass buildings where one can shop, eat, or rent skates. The rink is already teeming with people. Ruth and Harry watch the skaters glide past them. Some struggle; some fall; some skate very well; but all, it seems, are having fun, as the sun sun glints off silver blades going round and round. There are also a few who skate beautifully, floating above the ice untethered, it seems, by either gravity or perhaps, earthly concerns.

"Shall we, then?" Harry asks.

She turns to him. "Sure."

They head into the skating hut, also a glass enclosure. Moments later, skates dangling, they head over to the lockers. Soon they are sitting side by side on a bench, lacing up their skates.

Harry, black skates finally laced up, flexes his ankles a bit. "Too bad I don't have mine," he says. "These really don't-"

He stops. She is looking at him strangely, her white skates laced up as well.

"Do you really skate, Harry?"

"A bit." He says.

"Really." She takes a small breath. " I didn't know that."

"Lots of things, Ruth, you don't know about me." He says and then stands up. Extending his hand to her, he helps her to her feet. Both stand there looking at one another. Her balance is good. And so is his.

"How are they?" He says, finally dropping her hand.

"Not the greatest support," she says, echoing his sentiments, "but they'll do, I suppose."

Both head back to the rink. He lets her go first and watches as she carefully steps over the rim and onto the ice at last. She skates a little away from him, almost gingerly at first. But after a minute or two, she does more than a decent job of it. Although there is nothing fancy about her skating, it is clearly competent. She skates back to him, her cheeks flushed.

"Nicely done." He says and means it.

Then he takes off. He skates out to the middle of the rink, posture upright, head high, creating a lean line despite his stocky body. He finds an area less crowded and manages a figure eight. Twice. Then he skates backward a bit and does a slight turn, as smooth as liquid mercury. Breathing a bit heavily, he glides back to her. Her mouth is hanging open.

"Harry." She manages to say at last. "I had no idea! You can really skate!"

He smiles. And almost does a little bow. "Just a bit. Learned as a kid." He says, still a bit breathless." My uncle's place in the Cotswolds. Gloucestershire, actually."

"You never cease to amaze me," she says.

"I try, Ruth. I try." And he beams.

"So?" He holds his hand out. She takes it.

And even though they both wear gloves, it is as if they do not. The heat from their hands permeate through to the other's hand, the leather melting away. Their cheeks turn pink and little white puffs of air waft above them. They skate on, their bodies warming in the cold air as well. They are still holding hands when a little girl, red scarf tied around her neck, bumps into them. "Sssorry," she says, showing a missing tooth. She begins to tumble, but Harry grabs and rights her. "There you go!" Upright again, the little one smiles up at him. A moment later, her mother glides by. " Thank you! " She says waving a mittened hand.

He turns to nod at her. Another skater, a teenage boy and obviously a novice, heads directly for Harry, his back still turned. The young man comes to a dead stop. Seconds after, the young man's friends plow into him. And Ruth. And Harry. And in moments, all are sprawled on the ice, a tangle of skates, arms and legs. Harry finds himself completely on top of Ruth, his hand pressing into a soft mound. He removes it quickly. "Sorry," he mutters. Then he says, "Good God. Ruth. Are you you ok?"

"I think so," she says, still trying to untangle herself from arms and legs and sharp blades. The young crowd, unhurt, are now laughing hysterically as they quickly pick themselves up and skate away. Ruth, the last to get up, says nothing as Harry fusses over her. "Did you hit your head?"

"No." She says as he helps her up. Then she smiles at him. "I'm fine. Really, Just a bit shocked, I think. I just didn't see that coming."

Harry shakes his head. "You sure you're ok?"

"Of course. " She says.

"I'm sorry that I fell on you. I hope I didn't hurt you. I didn't, did I?"

"Harry," she says, just before she takes off on her skates, "It was the highlight of my day."

When he catches up with her, she doesn't look at him when she speaks. " I…I.. don't know why….I…said that." Her face is very pink.

"I'm glad you did," he says softly.

Neither speaks for a moment. He holds his hand out again. She takes it immediately. The music plays. Children laugh. People fall. But they skate. On and on…..