Chapter 14
A couple of days later
"Is that really Central Park; just there?" Syed asks, his voice full of wonder, as he stands looking out over the balcony of their suite on the 10th floor of the Plaza hotel in New York.
"Yup," Danny confirms, coming up behind him and slipping his arms around his waist.
"Wow," he giggles, "I love this hotel."
"It's not bad, is it?"
"So, what are we doing first?"
"Well, we could go down to Battacy and grab the ferry out to the Statue of Liberty?"
"Sounds great," Syed enthusiastically agrees, turning around in his arms and impulsively kissing him.
They eventually get to see the Statue of Liberty, and stroll casually back up through Washington Square and along Fifth Avenue; checking out the shops; stopping for a coffee now and then.
"What are we doing tonight?" Syed asks casually at one point.
"What would you like to do?"
"Well, we could go to the theatre."
"We could," Danny agrees, "is there something you wanted to see?"
"There's this play called Tape at the Jose Quintero Theatre on West 42nd Street."
"Is it a musical?" Danny asks; his tone carelessly casual, his expression less so.
"You're not a fan, I take it."
"Not so much, no."
"I don't mind them, usually, but the odd time I walk out at the end of a performance feeling a bit like I've only seen half the story. A couple of months ago, for example, I saw a play called Urinetown at the St James Theatre. It was a good play; some of the songs were fantastic, but there was this one character, Mr McQueen; he was basically the worshiping side-kick of a typically-one-dimensionally Dr Evil character. He had very little to say, one or two lines at best; but to me he seemed so much more interesting than the other characters; and I couldn't help wishing that the writer/director had produced something with a lot less singing and dancing and a lot more character development. One scene in particular stuck with me; it was near the end of the play: Dr Evil had just been killed off in spectacular fashion. All the 'good' guys were fired up with their success, but the person most affected by this momentous event, the character who should have been the centre of attention in that moment, was stood to the side of the stage where he'd spent most of his time; and I was probably the only person in the audience to witness Mr McQueen's wonderfully-expressive reaction to this so-major an event – at first, he appeared shell-shocked and unable to process what had just happened; and then, there was a gradual transformation as the character appeared to awaken as if from a trance. Not knowing quite what he was supposed to do, he automatically took the hand offered in friendship, offered a hesitant smile; he instinctively did just enough to blend in, to save his own skin. The actor managed to convey all this without saying a word, and most probably without much hope of anyone in the audience having noticed.
As I left the theatre, I remember feeling so sad for this amazing actor, and for what might have been if he'd been given a more central role to allow him to show off his incredible talent."
"Those songs do take up way too much time, and they sound very similar for the most part; and they can distract from the intensity of the story," Danny enthusiastically adds his ten cents worth.
"I did actually get the opportunity to see Urinetown again when it transferred to the West End," Syed continues, giving him a look of annoyance at the interruption.
"For the second performance there was an understudy playing the Mr McQueen role, but his performance didn't have anywhere near the same intensity or attention to detail. In that last scene, I particularly watched him, and he did no more than look shocked at the death of his master; nothing more imaginative than that."
"This amazing actor, who was so good you went to see him twice ..."
"It wasn't the like that, there was a spare ticket ..."
"... was he hot?" Danny asks suspiciously.
"No," Syed laughs, "or at least I didn't think so. He had nice eyes, I suppose."
"Did you hang around afterwards to get his autograph? Did you talk to him?"
"No."
"You're not seeing him again."
"I didn't see him, I saw a play; he just happened to be in it," Syed reminds him, amused and rather pleased to witness this sudden display of irrational jealousy.
"You know what I mean," he grumbles.
"I promise hand on heart that I won't see him again; better than that, I'll ignore his calls, delete his texts, I'll unfriend him on Facebook ..."
"Syed," Danny barks.
"I'll write a song telling everyone that we are SO over ..."
He quickly backs away as Danny takes a playful swipe at him.
"You're very brave out here with lots of people around; but when we get back to the hotel, I'll make you pay ..."
"Is that a promise?" Syed asks softly, with a look that can only be described as provocative.
A teasingly playful Syed is so completely irresistible; Danny's hands itch to get hold of him, and he has to stuff them in his pockets. "Tell me more about this Tape," he orders gruffly.
"Well, its a play about two guys and a girl who meet up in a hotel room to reminisce over their time in high school together years earlier; and during the course of the conversation, one of the guys admits to having date-raped the girl."
"Sounds interesting; who's in it?"
"A well-respected theatre actor from back home, Marc Elliott – he's won a couple of Olivier best-actor awards for his work in the West End, and a best-actor Tony for his work on Broadway - it's been said that he's one of the best actors of his generation."
"Well, if he's that good, and if he's one of our own; then we've got to support him?"
"I know it's only our first night here, and you're probably starting to feel the jet-lag catching up with you …"
"No, I'm actually feeling pretty good, as it goes; but if I start snoring half-way through, you'll need to give me a nudge."
"You can count on it," Syed happily agrees.
"Only one problem; it could be sold out."
Syed shakes his head. "I went online earlier whilst you were in the shower and booked us a couple of tickets."
"You're very sure of yourself all of a sudden," Danny teases.
"Maybe I am, and what are you going to do about it?" he flippantly challenges, giving him a cheekily-flirtatious look.
"Nothing, nothing at all," Danny smiles, as he watches him walk off with a confident stride.
"Come on; if we hurry, we'll have time to get something to eat, the play doesn't start until eight," Syed calls over his shoulder, his voice rising in excitement.
###
The following day, Syed spends the morning wandering around Central Park checking out all the delightful little twists and turns. He feeds the ducks whilst keeping an eye out for the turtles, and spends a pleasant couple of hours watching a couple of baseball games being played enthusiastically by local teams. The sun is shining and the birds are singing, and Syed can't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.
Danny's morning is spent listening to speaker after speaker going on about the recent regulatory changes, the current world economic climate and the future of the banking landscape; and other related subjects which he would have found interesting a week ago. But his mind keeps wandering, and he can barely hide his relief once they reach lunchtime and he can escape. By early afternoon, he and Syed are at the top of the Empire State Building checking out the views.
"Having fun?" he asks, as they wander along Lexington Avenue.
"Yea, it's all so fantastic; I can't believe how much taller the buildings are ... everything is on a much larger scale," Syed enthusiastically responds. "I swear, it feels almost claustrophobic sometimes when you look up and realise you can barely see the sky beyond. And yet, there's a familiarity about the place because you've seen so much of it in the movies and on TV."
"Exactly, that's exactly what I thought the first time I came," Danny agrees. "I can still remember the trip in the taxi from the airport; I had this crazy notion that the tops of the buildings were tilting towards each other. I've been here on a few business trips over the years, but this is the first time I've had the chance to really explore."
"Are you having fun?" Syed asks, looking up at the distinctive Chrysler Building Crown a short distance away.
"Yea, I'm glad you came."
"Me, too," he agrees.
"Madison Square Garden, tonight, a game of ice hockey? What do you think?" Danny casually suggests. "I was chatting to one of my clients at the conference, and he mentioned he had a couple of spare tickets; gave me his PA's number; said she'd courier them over to the hotel, if we were interested."
"Seriously?" Syed asks surprised. "That was nice of him. I'd love to go; who's playing?"
"Haven't got a clue, forgot to ask," he confesses sheepishly.
"Well, I suppose we'll find out when we get there," Syed responds with a grin.
#
"Where are you?" is the text from Danny the following morning.
"Stop texting," Syed replies.
"I'm bored."
"Focus on what the speakers are saying."
"Wanna see you."
"Lunchtime."
"Now."
"No, and no more texts for at least 1 hour," Syed sternly orders.
"Spoilsport *unhappy face*"
Syed smiles. He resists the temptation to respond once more, knowing it will only encourage him.
Sitting right at the centre of Times Square on the steps in front of the iconic billboard, he sips a coffee as he looks down on the frantic mixture of locals, tourists, street performers, yellow taxis and the odd police car; all seemingly squeezed into an impossibly small space, and everyone trying to get to where they want to go; the wall of noise, the almost overwhelmingly-vibrant colour scheme of advertisements and bright lights. He takes a deep breath and slowly releases it, feeling completely happy and relaxed.
In the afternoon, he and Danny visit a couple of museums; and in the evening, after dinner, Syed suggests that it might be fun to go for a ride in a horse drawn carriage around Central Park; he is surprised when Danny agrees.
"Wait," he anxiously grabs his arm as they are about to cross the street. "Maybe we shoulden't bother. To be honest, I'm not really that fussed."
"I know you are; you fancy it, so we'll do it, simple as," is Danny's simple logic.
"It might look a bit odd, two guys …; it's the sort of thing couples do, couples which include girls …"
"You see groups of guys doing it as well …"
"Yea, but two guys … what if the driver guesses the truth; what if he's the sort of guy who has a problem with it?"
"So, we make sure he doesn't get suspicious; we bloke it up a bit; follow my lead." Danny walks off confidently.
"Bloke it up?" Syed faintly repeats, biting his lower lip anxiously.
#
"You can be sure they won't be impressed that we got tired waiting; but honestly, how fucking long does it take two women to get ready?" Danny begins the conversation once they are seated, his voice ringing with irritation.
"I know," Syed responds, imitating his tone. "You'd think we were going for an audience with the President."
"How can anyone spend an hour just doing their hair, and all that make-up?"
"They do wear way too much make-up, which really isn't good for your skin, it clogs the pores …" Syed trails off as Danny shakes his head, his eyes twinkling in amusement.
"Did you see the game last night," he desperately ad-libs.
"Yea, it was shit, wasn't it?" Danny responds.
"How Nadal didn't manage to score in the last minute, I'll never understand."
"Nadal?"
"Rafa Nadal, the new player Arsenal signed during the summer; you must know about him."
"Rafa Nadal, the tennis player," Danny responds, his voice shaking slightly as he tries to control his laughter.
"Don't muck about, Danny, you know who he is; signed from that Spanish club; everyone's been going on about the coincidence of them having the same name," Syed desperately tries to cover.
"Oh, yea, him; signed from Barcelona; broke the club transfer record, didn't he?"
"Exactly."
"He's freakishly tall."
"That's the guy; he's got almost shoulder-length hair and big brown eyes …" he trails off once more as Danny starts to shake his head.
"He's got a sweet left foot," he helpfully nudges him in the right direction.
"Yea," Syed inadequately responds.
Figuring it best to leave it at that, Danny moves them on to chatting casually about more general subjects.
#
"Thank you," Syed says politely to the driver as they exit the carriage after arriving back where they started.
"That Nadal's got a seriously hot body, you forgot to mention that," the driver responds with a wink and a smile. Syed's answering smile is a little forced.
"It might surprise you to know that my friend here can be a very convincing liar when he knows his subject," Danny laughs.
"Danny," Syed snaps indignantly, giving him a punch on the arm. As the driver watches them walk away bickering like an old married couple, he smiles wistfully. "Will the day ever come when we no longer need to be so wary of strangers?" he wonders.
"Do you think that guy might do … anything?" Syed frets as they walk down the street. "He seemed pretty cool about it, but …," biting his lower lip he can't help looking apprehensively over his shoulder as if expecting to see a gang of thugs with baseball bats coming after them.
"He's got no problem with us," Danny unhesitatingly assures. "And even if he did, and he decided to come after us; we could take him, and his mates, any day of the week."
"Hello, my name is Syed Masood; do I seem to you at all like the kind of guy who would be able to 'take' someone?"
"Actually, now that you mention it, I seem to remember, earlier, back at the hotel …," Danny responds, his voice dropping seductively.
"Stop it, Danny," he giggles, punching him in the arm.
#
They walk along, looking around them at all the tourists also walking along looking around them.
"What are you thinking about?" Danny asks after he slips into a thoughtful silence.
"Look over there," he points towards a young family entering a nearby restaurant.
"You hungry?"
"No," he smiles. "That little girl, she looks a bit like Yas."
"You're missing her," Danny says sympathetically. "He automatically puts his arm around Syed's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "When do you next get to see her?"
"Probably sometime after we get back; Amira phoned this morning to say they'd arrived in London last night."
"That's good, isn't it?"
"Yea, I know; but I've been thinking … Yas is going to be so confused. She's lived with Amira's father, with my family, with me and Christian, with Amira and James in Birmingham, and now, she's back in London again. She won't know who her daddy is or where her home is, at this rate."
"You have to do everything you can to make sure she feels secure knowing that you will always be a constant in her life, no matter how many boyfriends come and go."
"I suppose," he murmurs with a sigh. "Sometimes, I feel so helpless. I have so little control over the fate of my precious little girl. It would have been so much simpler if I'd stayed with Amira in the first place."
"And how do you think Yasmin would enjoy living with a daddy who was miserable all the time?"
"We could have been happy."
"Really?"
"No," Syed shakes his head. "It was horrible; having to lie all the time; pretending to have feelings … It got to a point where my nerves started to jangle every time Amira walked into the room, or spoke, or laughed … I could hardly bear it in the end."
"As long as you keep contact with Yasmin and fight for your right to see her; and as she gets older, make sure she has the security of knowing she can always come to you, no matter what the problem is; or even if there isn't one; Yasmin will know who her daddy is."
Syed gives him a grateful smile. "Do you have any children?"
"No, I don't," Danny responds; his tone is wary; the quick glance he gives him can only be described as worried.
"I'm not suggesting we have one," Syed laughs, "I'm just curious."
"I could never picture myself with kids," Danny confesses. "I love spending the odd Saturday with Sharon and Lorraine, Tara's two; they're really good kids, but I'm also perfectly happy to see them leave at the end of the day."
"It's different when you have your own," Syed assures, "if you ever do have your own," he quickly adds.
"I'm not saying I'll never want them … God, this is a bit heavy," Danny mumbles, and Syed is amazed to see that he is actually going quite red in the face.
"I guess it's not the best time to tell you that I'm a couple of weeks late," he laughs.
"What?" Danny asks seriously.
"Nothing, just something a girl I was good friends with at Uni once told me in the strictest confidence. At the time, I assumed she meant an essay, and I couldn't understand why she was so worried about telling her boyfriend of all people, as he was always late handing in his course work."
"Oh, I get it," Danny twigs. "You think that just because you're here in New York you get to act the wise guy," he drawls in his best, broad, TV, New York accent; his hand reaching under Syed's jacket to give him a playful dig in the ribs.
"Danny," Syed giggles, quickly pushing him away.
"A little bit ticklish, are we? How did I never notice that before?" he laughs delightedly, as his hand searches for another weak spot.
"Danny, DANNY," Syed squeals, struggling to get away from him. "No, Danny, people are watching," he begs breathlessly, as Danny playfully circles him, repeatedly reaching out to tickle him and then jumping back and out of reach; and then suddenly, he pulls him into a doorway; and they are staring into each other's eyes, all the traffic and noise melting away. Syed's smile fades, and he is transfixed by the hot, sexy guy standing in front of him. He reaches up to touch his cheek. "When you look at me, I forget what I'm supposed to be doing; who I'm supposed to be," he breathes. "That's what happened, you see … I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't resist … and then, you kissed me, and everything changed … everything else in my life faded to grey ..." The hasty, impulsive confession over, he instinctively leans towards him.
"Sorry, I'm sorry …," he starts to say when Danny doesn't react, and simply stares at him, "I didn't mean … forget I said anything …"
"Shush," he whispers, his head dipping, his mouth finding Syed's, his hands slipping around his waist.