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Friday, November 26th, 2021: Midtown East, Manhattan, New York City — Casey
Casey is only in New York City for about an hour before deciding he doesn’t like it. It’s too loud, it has too many people in too big a hurry to get places, and the streets are all too straight and intersect too precisely. Atlanta is a comfortable city, worn around the edges and small enough that Casey knows where everything is, but big enough to have plenty of variety; New York is an enormous and impossible grid, and Casey finds himself wondering what kind of people would choose to live here voluntarily.
“Let’s not ever move to New York City,” Casey says to David in a low voice as the two of them stand close to each other on a subway train. “Not even for a little while. I don’t like it.”
“I didn’t think that was a possibility,” David answers, looking almost alarmed. “Why would we?”
“I don’t know! If it ever comes up, though, we both need to be firm with our ‘no’,” Casey says.
“To who?” David frowns. “And are we supposed to get off here?”
“I don’t know that either!” Casey says. “It’s either this one or the next one. Or possibly the one after that.”
“It’s Lexington. But there’s two Lexingtons.” David shakes his head. “We can always walk if it’s the wrong one. Right?”
“Right,” Casey says, a little dubiously. “MARTA’s just so simple. It really only takes you five or six places.”
“The MTA or whatever it’s called goes a lot of places.” David pulls out his phone and stares at it. “Why would I want to go to the Hypnosis Center?”
“I can’t think of any reasons.”
“Yeah, me either.” David pokes at his phone a few times. “There’s… a lot of restaurants, once we get aboveground.”
“We should be aboveground now,” Casey says firmly. “Right now. I think this stop will be our stop whether it’s actually our stop or not, because I hate this subway.”
David nods and follows Casey off the subway towards the escalators. “What do you think a ‘creative salad’ is?”
“I try not to think about things like that, David,” Casey says. They ride up the escalators and emerge onto a busy street. Casey stands on his toes to attempt to look past the crowd of people and orient himself, but doesn’t have any luck. “Do you know which way we’re supposed to go?”
“Should be two blocks,” David says, pointing through the crowd of people.
“How can you even tell?”
“The phone,” David admits, setting off in the direction he pointed. The hotel does appear after two blocks, though, and David smiles a little. “Why is a city in our own country so much harder than a foreign country?”
“Um. Because we keep expecting the signs to make sense and we wouldn’t if they were in French or Vietnamese?” Casey offers.
David laughs. “Yeah, that’s probably true.”
After checking in and dropping their suitcase and hanging bag in their room, Casey and David head back down to the street, where Casey looks at the only barely-diminished crowd in dismay. “What’s wrong with these people? Why are they all wandering around New York City at seven at night? Don’t they have other places to go?”
“They probably live here?” David suggests. “There’s a Japanese place really close. And a deli? I think it’s a deli. But not the Publix kind.”
“Hmm. Maybe we should stick with the deli,” Casey says. “It seems safer.”
“That way,” David says decisively, pointing again. When they reach the deli, David looks around. “Let’s learn how to hail a taxi for tomorrow.”
“Agreed. This whole city is just insane!”
Saturday, November 27th, 2021: Nederlander Theatre, Broadway Theatre District, New York City — Dave
The cab ride to the theatre is definitely more uncomfortable than the earlier ones to MOMA and the Guggenheim, mostly because now Dave and Casey are dressed up. The MOMA and the Guggenheim showcase visual media, which is frankly more comfortable than live theatre. Dave doesn’t really know what to expect, though he’s sure it will be excellently executed.
“You going to see Clouds in My Coffee?” the cabbie asks in a thick New York accent. “Really popular with the tourists.”
“David,” Casey whispers, sounding alarmed. “How does he know we’re tourists?”
Dave shakes his head in response to the cabbie before turning to Casey. “He heard us talk!” he whispers back, the raises his voice. “No, uh, we’re going to see Milk. At the Nederlander.”
“Milk, huh? Must be new,” the cabbie says. “Newsies was there for years. I never saw it, but my brother saw it like thirteen times, fourteen times.”
“That’s a lot,” Dave manages. “But yeah. It’s just opening. Tonight’s the opening night.”
“Big theatre fans?” the cabbie asks.
“No,” Casey answers, before Dave can say anything. “No, we’re not.”
“The people that wrote it, we went to high school with them,” Dave says, trying to explain. “They invited us up for the opening night festivities or whatever they’re officially called.”
“Hey, nice! You should get you some autographs, then.”
Dave looks at Casey and shakes his head slowly. Why would they get autographs? Casey looks equally confused by the cabbie’s suggestion. “I guess we’ll think about it,” Dave finally says. Dave is relieved when they arrive at the theatre and exit the cab, and a quick stop at the will-call window results in their tickets. He hands one to Casey as they walk inside the lobby.
“Didn’t you always want Rachel Berry’s autograph?” Dave asks quietly.
“Why would we want autographs of people we already know?” Casey says. “They send us cards sometimes. They sign the cards. They sent us a wedding present, even.” He shakes his head.
“Maybe he meant the people we don’t already know? But I have no idea who is and isn’t famous.”
“I don’t know anything about theatre people. Any of them could be theatre–famous and I wouldn’t know about it,” Casey admits.
“Nametags. Nametags would help,” Dave says under his breath as they proceed into the theatre and take their seats. Dave looks around the theatre but doesn’t see anyone he recognizes. “Maybe theatre people always are this excited-acting before a show.”
“Everyone in New York City is busy and excited all the time,” Casey says, like the statement is factual and indisputable.
“Yeah, I’m beginning to think so,” Dave agrees. Everyone slowly quiets, and Dave turns his attention forward as the musicians begin to play and the theatre grows dark. Dave knows the story, of course, and he knows Casey does as well, but Casey still watches the musical unfold intensely, and eventually Dave finds himself drawn up in it as well.
When the first act ends and intermission begins, Dave stands up briefly. He can see Hudson near the front of the theatre, more or less guarding Puckerman – or Other Hummel as Dave should probably call him now. Dave shakes his head and turns to Casey. “Look down there,” he says quietly, inclining his head towards the first few rows.
Casey scans the rows and smiles when he sees Hudson. “Finn looks like he’s Puck’s Secret Service detail, doesn’t he?”
Dave laughs. “Yeah, that’s a pretty good description.” Dave wonders, as the second act begins, how they can keep the initially upbeat feel going, since the story has to end the way events really unfolded. As Jack’s voice sings and Harvey climbs the stairs, Dave hears a sniffle coming from Casey’s direction. He turns towards Casey, who has tears running down his cheeks, and Dave pats his hand.
“I’m not crying,” Casey whispers stubbornly.
“Okay,” Dave whispers back, and he keeps patting Casey through the remainder of the musical, including Harvey’s death and the quiet candlelight afterwards, which is pretty neat to see staged, Dave has to admit. He still has his hand on Casey’s when the applause begins, and that’s when he moves it.
Both of them are surprised when Kurt indicates the real Cleve Jones and real Anne Kronenberg in the audience, and the two of them stand. Dave whistles under his breath and leans towards Casey. “I had no idea they’d be here.”
“Me either,” Casey says. Despite ‘not crying’, he’s still sniffling and wiping his eyes.
“Everyone seems to have liked it,” Dave says, looking around at the rest of the audience. “I guess they did a good job. Sad story, though.” Dave’s not sure why they picked the story of Harvey Milk to write a musical about, in the end, but since they did, they executed it well enough.
“Very sad,” Casey agrees. “The music was good, though.”
“Yeah.” Dave grins. “Not that we know that many musicals to compare it to.”
“It was good for music, though, as far as music goes,” Casey says.
Dave nods, and then he and Casey begin the process of getting out of the theatre. They’re invited to some kind of after-performance reception or party, being held on top of a hotel that is just seven blocks away, or so the information they have assures them. Dave decides that a cab is still better than walking, and thankfully, they get a quiet cabbie who doesn’t want to ask them questions.
The after-party is crowded, loud, and full of very big personalities; Dave figures that out within three minutes, and possibly within two. “Let’s find a Coke,” Dave says to Casey. “And maybe some food that doesn’t look suspicious.”
“Nothing with liver,” Casey says quietly. “Or leeks. I think leeks are trendy right now. Everybody at the farmers market has heirloom leeks.”
“Especially not the two of those together,” Dave says, shuddering a little. “Do you think all the food is kosher or something?”
“Can shrimp be kosher? I saw shrimp thingies.”
“I don’t think so. Let’s go get shrimp, then.”
Saturday, November 27th, 2021: Haven Rooftop, Sanctuary Hotel, New York City — Casey
“So, how much longer do you think we have to stay to be polite?” Casey whispers to David. They both have their backs to a wall, trying to stay out of the way of all the hobnobbing important theatre people, David clutching his second Coke and Casey holding his third Coke in a death grip.
“Probably long enough that they know we were here,” David replies.
“How long is that, though?”
“After they get here, at least,” David says, but then nods towards the door. Kurt, Puck, and Finn walk through the door, Finn in between Kurt and Puck with his arms thrown over their shoulders like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do.
“Well,” Casey says, “they sort of don’t win at being sneaky.”
David laughs. “I guess not. No one seems surprised, though.”
“Maybe that’s just normal in New York,” Casey offers, shrugging slightly. “Maybe everybody’s like that because there are so many people around, so nobody has any personal space here.”
“Yeah, maybe so.” David shrugs and sips at his Coke. “If all of their parties are like this one…”
“This party is very exhausting,” Casey says. “You wouldn’t think it would be, because all we’re doing is standing, but it is.”
“Yeah, I guess I expected something different,” David acknowledges.
“It doesn’t really feel like a party. It feels like…” Casey tries to come up with an explanation of exactly what it feels like, but the best he can really do is, “A dog show.”
“I think we’re going to lose. Or are we the confused audience at the dog show?”
“I think we’re both. We’re the dogs and the audience. I’m not sure who the judges are, though,” Casey says. He looks over towards where they last saw Finn and the Hummels, but now it’s just Puck there, talking to Taylor and a woman Casey recognizes from photographs he’s seen online. “Oh! Look, it’s Taylor and his fiancée!”
“They didn’t have as far to travel,” David remarks with a nod. “It’ll be nice to meet her, though.”
After a couple of minutes, Puck gestures in Casey and David’s direction, and Taylor and his fiancée walk in their direction. Puck follows them, then offers his hand to David as he gets closer. “Hey, thanks for making the trip up.” When David releases Puck’s hand, Puck grabs Casey’s and shakes it. “It’s good to see you, try to grab us later,” Puck adds, then disappears back into the crowd.
“New York makes people fast,” Casey remarks as Puck vanishes. “Taylor! Hi!”
“Yeah, he sounds like he’s from New York now,” David agrees. “Hey, Taylor. And you must be Matilda.”
“Hi, yes, I am,” Matilda says, smiling. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“We’ve been appointed,” Taylor admits. “The three of them decided that the two of you looked overwhelmed or something.”
“That’s, um. Probably accurate,” Casey confesses.
“Parties in Atlanta aren’t so loud. Or crowded.” David pauses. “They also have more cheese straws.”
“And little sandwiches,” Casey says.
“What’s a cheese straw?” He looks at Matilda, who shrugs. “Is it like a drinking straw with nacho cheese inside?”
Casey glances over at David, trying not to look as puzzled as he feels. “No,” Casey says. “They aren’t that.”
“They’re, you know.” David makes a gesture with one hand. “A cheese straw. Like a savory cookie.”
“They sort of look like caterpillars,” Casey says. “Not in a gross way, though. Just sort of vaguely caterpillarish.”
“It must be a southern thing,” Matilda says, still looking somewhat puzzled. “So do you two make the trip up here very often?”
“No,” Casey says, probably a little too hastily for politeness.
Taylor laughs. “Is the overwhelmedness more generalized to the entire city than just the party?”
“It’s just too big,” David answers carefully. “We came through a borough or two? On the train. And there’s more to the city we haven’t even seen.”
“We went to the MOMA and the Guggenheim,” Casey says, in lieu of explaining all the ways in which he doesn’t like New York. “Tomorrow we’re going to the Skyscraper Museum.”
“I didn’t know there was a Skyscraper Museum,” Taylor says. “Is it an architecture thing?”
“Physics, too,” David says, nodding.
“And then we’re eating at the Brooklyneer!” Casey says. “They have twelve kinds of pickles.”
Matilda frowns for a second. “How do they make cucumbers taste twelve different ways?”
“Oh, I don’t think they’re all cucumbers,” Casey says.
“Oh, like that pickled okra that Joel Heidl is always using to garnish the plate,” Matilda says, nodding. “That makes sense.”
“We’ve probably done our job,” Taylor confides. “If you wanted to escape. I doubt they really expected you to find them later.”
Casey sighs in relief and takes David’s hand with the hand not holding his Coke. “Thank goodness. I really want to take off my tie and my dress shoes,” Casey confesses.
David nods. “I just want to feel like I’m not breathing recycled air.”
“And some place where people don’t talk too quickly for me to understand them would be nice, too,” Casey adds. “Everybody in New York talks too fast.”
“Sometimes,” Taylor agrees. “It was good to see the two of you.”
“Yes, it was nice to meet you,” Matilda says, smiling at them.
“You too,” David responds, nodding, and then he heads towards the exit, leading Casey with him. They take the elevator down to street level and David hails a cab.
After David tells the cabbie where to take them, he and Casey both sit back against the seat and Casey leans against David’s arm. “This day is too long.”
“I’m putting on sweatpants as soon as we’re in the room.”
“Me, too,” Casey says. “And we’re watching the Travel Channel.”
“Yeah.” David nods. “And room service,” he adds after a moment. “I know what the food on that menu is.”
“New York wouldn’t be so bad if it were all exactly like that,” Casey says.