Manhattan Dreaming

www.anitaheiss.com

Anita Heiss is the bestselling author of
Not Meeting Mr Right
and
Avoiding Mr Right
, both published by Bantam Australia. Anita was recognised for Outstanding Achievement in Literature in the 2010 Deadly Awards for her third novel,
Manhattan Dreaming.

A writer, satirist, activist, social commentator and occasional academic, Anita is a member of the Wiradjuri nation of central New South Wales and an Indigenous Literacy Day Ambassador.

She lives in Sydney and enjoys her research trips to New York.

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Imprint Page

Chapter 1: The quickest way to get over a man is in the arms of another

Chapter 2: The exotic other

Chapter 3: Men behaving badly

Chapter 4: It's not stalking because I love him

Chapter 5: The intervention

Chapter 6: There's a man drought in Canberra

Chapter 7: Rambo's balls are cosy

Chapter 8: Manhattan Dreaming

Chapter 9: Start spreading the news, I'm leaving today …

Chapter 10: From the Big Merino to the Big Apple

Chapter 11: Black Tee guy

Chapter 12: Love needs faith

Chapter 13: Working the Australian accent

Chapter 14: If a man wants to pursue you he will

Chapter 15: Managing the Manhattan life

Chapter 16: Macy's madness

Chapter 17: Navajo Nate is naughty but nice

Chapter 18: I want to suck your blood

Chapter 19: Obamarama

Chapter 20: Beware the black ice

Chapter 21: I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

Chapter 22: Christmas celebration brings love revelation

Chapter 23: The Empire State Building = rift, not romance

Chapter 24: Celebration of inauguration

Chapter 25: The heart has its reasons, which reason knows nothing of …

Chapter 26: DC delights

Chapter 27: The perfect closing to opening night

Chapter 28: Adam comes to town

Chapter 29: An affair to remember

Acknowledgements

By the same Author

‘You look dreadful!' Libby said. I hadn't slept, hadn't had my caffeine hit for the day and hadn't really prepared myself for the conversation I knew was coming.

‘Didn't you see yesterday's paper?' I said, passing it to her. I'd read it a hundred times the night before and I knew it off by heart. I felt sick.

‘What is it?' Libby went straight to the sports section and read the headline out loud: ‘Adam Fuller does a deal with the devil!' Then she read to herself, shaking her head and tut-tutting. ‘I can see how this kept you awake. A man who keeps you awake when he's NOT in your bed can't be good for you.'

‘I have insomnia anyway, you know that. The wonders of concealer,' I joked, pointing to the covered-up dark circles under my eyes.

‘Don't make excuses. Your insomnia is probably due to his behaviour. Aren't you tired of having insomnia? No pun intended.'

‘Yes, I'm tired. Of everything.' I sat down at my desk, put my glasses on and tried to focus on my list of things to do for the day, starting with a project meeting at 9.30 am about the new exhibition we were planning.

‘Just admit you're not sleeping because of him, while he's obviously not sleeping because of
other
people.'

She held up the paper so I could see the photo of him, with the caption ‘Adam Fuller heads to the sin bin on and off the field.' In the photo he had his arms around a woman dressed up, or rather, half dressed up, as the devil. I put my head in my hands and started to cry. It was all too much. I hadn't slept. I hadn't heard from Adam all week even though I had left him voicemails, and texted him and emailed him on MySpace. I didn't know what was going on with us any more. I'd never really known.

‘Lauren, tidda, please don't cry. No man is worth your tears and the one that is won't make you weep.'

‘I'm just tired,' I lied.

‘First thing we need to do is sort out something to help you sleep.'

‘I've been trying to read.' I blew my nose.

‘That's good, what did you read last night, then?'

‘Adam's MySpace page.'

I
was
pathetic. But I was in love, and that's what Libby didn't understand.

‘What? So he's out partying with the trashy she-devil, and you're analysing and obsessing over his MySpace page. And let me guess, it's full of bikini-clad girls all posting suggestive comments and pictures. I know his type. They only have female friends. Makes me sick.'

Libby was right. It was something that had always bothered me, but when I questioned Adam about the bikini girls and their comments he always laughed it off.

Libby was sitting back at her desk loading up Adam's MySpace page.

‘Here he is, Chubby Neck. Jesus, it looks even fatter in this photo.' She spat at the screen.

‘What are you doing?' I said, shocked.

‘Just cleaning the screen,' she said unconvincingly, running a tissue over the monitor.

‘Stop it.'

‘That'd be right. All his friends are young, half-naked women. Why do you think that is?'

I felt like I was being interrogated.

‘How can you even look at this page, really? It's borderline offensive to decent women like you. And what about the profile song, “Simply the Best”? Jesus, he's got more tickets on himself than they sell at a home game here.'

‘Stop it now!' I said.

I reached over and closed the browser. Libby didn't get it. I needed to check up on Adam's MySpace page because he was away a lot and it helped me keep track of him, kind of, and what he was doing. I could read the comments on his page and then read what he posted on other women's pages.

I walked back to my desk and logged on to my own computer. ‘I know you don't like Adam,' I told Libby, ‘but I know a different side of him. The kind, gentle, generous side. He's a good guy, mostly. You don't know his private side.'

‘You mean the private side that doesn't make the papers?'

‘Look, he's a guy – a good-looking guy and a public figure. Of course he's going to have women on his MySpace page and around him for publicity shots. It's what football players get paid for, to be friendly in public. It's marketing.'

‘Really? That's what they get paid for? Are you trying to convince me or yourself?' She put the newspaper back on my desk.

‘For your information, Adam was raised well, he went to a good school and I know he's not interested in those women. He says they're just fans anyway. He's expected to friend whoever requests. All the players do it.'

‘Because they are
players
! Can you hear yourself? Are you really that naive?' She pushed the paper closer towards me. ‘Is this what your man is
supposed
to do for his job?'

Although I had looked at it over and over the night before, seeing him with his hand right on the devil woman's breast turned my stomach as if I was just seeing it for the first time. I felt humiliated. I put my head back in my hands. Libby sat next to me and put her arm around me.

‘Loz – I'm your friend. I'm just looking out for you. This has been going on for too long.'

I nodded.

‘A year of you following him to away games, watching him at training, answering his late-night booty calls – when he's not with someone else. I'm sorry, but it's clear he's not committed to you. Or your
relationship
, if that's what you want to call it.'

‘I wish I'd never told you anything. You just throw it back in my face,' I sobbed.

‘Well, why do you tell me everything if you don't want me to comment?' Libby was annoyed.

‘I just want you to listen and support me, is that too much to ask?' I said angrily.

‘So you want me to listen to you telling me about a man who constantly neglects you? No real friend would stand by and remain silent. Anyone in their right mind, friend or otherwise, would tell you that you are too smart to stay in this situation, Loz, really.'

‘But I love him.' I looked at Libby with tears streaming down my face.

‘I know you do. And I know it's hard. And I also know he's an idiot for not loving you back, because you've got so much to offer him, or any man for that matter. You're gorgeous and vibrant – when you've had some sleep' – she smiled – ‘and witty and sexy. You've got the best smile and every woman here at the gallery wishes she had your legs and your hair. And the men just wish they could touch either. You're only thirty and you've gone from the tiny town of Goulburn to the College of Fine Arts in Sydney to get your masters. You've got a CV of exhibitions that shows you can mix it with the best in the art world, you're the only Indigenous Senior Curator in the country, and you've got the best golf swing on any woman I know.
And
you're the only woman I know who can shop in Target and accessorise to look like a million bucks.'

I wiped my tears as Libby continued. ‘And what's Adam got to offer a woman other than a thick footy player's neck?'

She was serious, but I couldn't help laughing. Adam did have a thick neck. He played in the forwards.

‘How can you be so wonderful and mean in the same breath?'

‘Seriously, I don't know what you see in him. I mean aside from his sixpack?'

Libby knew as well as I did that Adam was hot. He had one of those washboard stomachs that we perved on in Libby's firemen calendars. She loved firemen, and bought every edition of every state and territory fireman's calendar every year. Adam looked like those fireys. It was why so many women threw themselves at him. Of course it was what I noticed about him when we first met at the Goulburn Little League fundraiser. His team, the Canberra Cockatoos, had donated their time and some merchandise for raffling. It was love at first sight for me, and I'd loved him ever since. All of him, not just his sixpack.

‘He's got a gorgeous head of hair,' I added, trying to lighten the mood.

‘Hair eventually falls out,' Libby argued.

‘And he can dance.'

‘Oh please, any man can have dance lessons.'

‘I was talking about
horizontal folk
dancing.'

‘Well,
I
don't know about that, but I'm sure that for someone so young he's had enough practice, so he
should
be good at it.'

I sat down, shattered again. If I didn't know Libby better I'd think she was being a bitch. But I understood she was trying to tell me what I already knew, but chose to ignore. Adam was a player, on and off the field. He didn't want to settle down. He was three years younger than me and in the prime of his career. I just didn't want to believe that he didn't want me as much as I wanted him. I was all those things that Libby had pointed out. How could he
not
want me? Maybe I needed to get a devil's outfit or something. I blew my nose hard and Libby looked over at me repentantly and began to apologise.

‘I'm sorry, that was harsh. Okay, I can see some things that would make you love him, and what you might see in him. But what I don't understand is why you put up with his behaviour. He's not even worthy of you. And you know it. And so does he, which is why he needs to have floosies around him, to stroke his ego when he feels inadequate.'

Libby opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again, shaking her head sideways. She sat at her desk and shuffled papers around.

‘What? Say it. Why stop now? What else do I need to hear for my own good?'

‘Just tell me why you don't end it. Whatever it is you have with this fella can't be worth all the pain and humiliation, can it? You have other options.'

‘I don't want other options. I want Adam.' I flicked through my diary to let Libby see I had work to do, hoping she'd drop the subject.

‘You know what they say – the quickest way to get over a man is in the arms of another. And by my calculations, you'd be over Adam in no time at all.' Libby's tone at least had become gentler.

‘I just can't control my heart. I can't control the way I feel about him.'

‘No, you can't control the way you feel, but you
can
control your
mind
, and your
thoughts,
which in turn control your emotions.'

Libby was always right. But even so, it was just not that easy to let go.

‘We seriously need to detox you of Adam. And the detox needs to start today.'

Libby walked around to my computer and immediately deleted the screensaver of Adam and me together taken the night we met. It was our first photo.

‘Do you think he has a photo of you two as
his
screensaver? Of course not, he'd have a pic of
himself
. A big profile shot with his chubby neck.'

I had to laugh, Libby had Adam's ego sorted out. He did have photos of himself all over his house and his screensaver was probably an action shot of himself.

‘Actually, can he even
use
a computer? I mean he
is
a footballer. And while we're at it, where's your crackberry?' Libby picked up my handbag.

‘Where's my what? That sounds vulgar.'

‘Your crackberry, you know …' and she rummaged through my bag. ‘I know you save the voicemail messages he leaves.' Then she held up my BlackBerry.

‘Get out of it, you psycho.' I grabbed my bag and the phone from her.

‘You know I'm right. They HAVE to go. No more listening and re-listening to messages from Mr Chubby Neck.'

‘Stop it!'

‘I can't believe a woman of your age and accomplishments saves voicemail messages. I mean, it's not like you're not going to hear his voice again. I've never met a man who talks so much.'

Libby had nailed it again, Adam was a talker. But I didn't mind it. We got on well, because I was a good listener.

‘Seriously, Loz – that man could have his own talk show with no guests!'

‘God, you're cruel sometimes. Adam can talk, but he's smart and articulate and you know it.'

Libby raised one eyebrow. ‘Well, I concede, he is articulate for a
footballer
.'

‘And he's well educated – he went to uni.'

‘My dear tidda, he went to uni but didn't finish his degree – I'd say that he's not one for long-term commitment and goals.'

‘Well, he still reads widely.' I felt like I was back at school on the debating team.

‘Reads what? Picture books? Or perhaps
Picture Magazine.
'

I'd had enough. ‘Stop it! You're talking about the man I love.'

‘Who, my dear friend, looks like he loves a few other people as well.' Libby held up the newspaper again.

‘Is it just Adam you hate or all men?' Libby's recent history with men was depressing – the last three were so bad she had vowed off men altogether.

‘Hey, don't make this about me – you started this, coming in here looking like death warmed up because of His Highness, The Royal Chubby Neck.'

‘Stop calling him that, please.'

‘Sure, let's just call him Adam Fullofhimself. Anyway, it's probably fair to say I hate all men. I can certainly understand why Canberra has the highest proportion of same-sex couples – female couples – in the country. The men here are enough to turn any straight woman, almost …' Libby stopped mid-sentence as a hot young maintenance guy walked past the window with a ladder.

‘Is that true?' Emma, the director of the gallery walked in. She was in her signature look – a chocolate brown suit with white tee underneath and white flower in her poker straight dark brown hair. Same style, just different colours every day. I really admired her ability to look elegant, professional and feminine at the same time.

‘Sorry, Emma, just considering the dating opportunities in the great capital,' Libby said.