Back in Toledo, I get busy on game plan two. I find some New York apartments on Craig’s List and re-pack the car. I don’t even visit my dog, still at the dogsitter’s. The post office will hold my mail thirty days. The clock is ticking.
On my way back East, I spend the night in Cleveland and have dinner with someone I’ll refer to as Dr. Paris. He’s a physician. This summer, he told me he was going to Europe and neglected to tell me he was taking a girlfriend. I rather like Dr. Paris.
When I arrive in New York the second time, a real estate agent meets me outside a doorman building on 47th between 2nd and 3rd, a charming street. The halls need re-carpeting, and the studio needs a coat of paint. It is not the Penn Club, but it suits my needs. I will miss my gorgeous home with spiral staircase, antiques and chandeliers. Life has trade offs.
I park my car in a mid-town garage that cost $48 a day. The next morning I drive to 116th and find a cheaper lot that charges $14 a day.
Manhattan is the most expensive city in America, but I am afraid if I stay in the suburbs, I will suffocate.
The rent for my studio is higher than my mortgage. Every cab ride cost ten to fifteen dollars. A martini at Ian Schrager’s Gramercy Park Hotel where I meet friends on my first night back in the city, cost $19 without tax and tip.
At the Gramercy, I meet a European man with a face like Fabio. He gives me his business card. I Google him in the morning and find he is a famous artist. Maybe his hair’s not too long after all, I consider as I send him an e-mail.
I’m not looking for Mr. Right; I’m looking for Mr. Right now.
What were some of the trade-offs you had to make in your divorce?
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