Beth searched the recesses of her mind for the location of such a deli, but couldn’t place it. Though it was hard to throw a stone in Manhattan without pegging a deli at some point.
‘I don’t think so. But a sandwich would be perfect, as I can eat on the run. Where is it?’
‘Oh, not far. This place has become one of my favourites since I got here. It’s on 54th Street, between here and Third Avenue. Is that good for you?’ He was directingthatsmile at Beth, and she couldn’t decide if his words were laced in double entendre, or if his suggestion was mere coincidence.
‘Actually, that’s quite serendipitous,’ she said, convinced now more than ever that he, and not Billy, was the mastermind in question. And it merely made this all the more confusing. ‘The very area I was heading to, actually.’
***
Having knocked off at the same time for lunch, Beth and Ryan arrived at their destination in no time – Ryan springing for a cab further down Lexington Avenue so they wouldn’t have to ‘deal with the cold and the Christmas crowds’.
As the cab made its way to their destination, Beth watched all the festive hustle and bustle on the streets outside, and realised that it was now less than a week until Christmas. Time had seemed to fly by lately, and what with Danny blowing hot and cold, as well as this treasure hunt keeping her so preoccupied, she felt she barely had time to breathe.
The cab pulled up to the corner of 54th and Lexington, and Beth easily spied the deli that Ryan was so eager to go to. As he helped her from the cab, he nodded in the direction of where they were headed.
‘So where is your errand? Do you want to do it before or after lunch?’
Beth needed to think of a way to shake him – he might be playing dumb about where she was headed, but she really needed to do this part on her own.
‘Just a couple of blocks away. Why don’t you go ahead and order? I shouldn’t be long.’
Ryan smiled mischievously. ‘You got it. Just tell me what you want.’
To determine what this clue means, she thought. But she ordered a sandwich just the same.
After outlining her order for a pastrami on rye and an iced tea, she watched as Ryan headed in the direction of their lunch place, thankfully not giving Beth a backward glance.
Maybe he understood that she simply needed privacy for this, or perhaps he was merely pretending that he wasn’t interested. She looked briefly over her shoulder, but yes, he was definitely gone and she was now on her own.
Approaching the corner of 52nd Street, she quickly figured out exactly where she was supposed to be headed. A small group of tourists were amassed around what had to be the world’s most famous subway grate.
Beth moved closer to the group and realised that she’d happened across a tour in progress. She stood close to the back of the crowd, listening to what the tour guide had to say.
‘So, the iconic scene fromThe Seven Year Itchwas originally scheduled to be shot here, on location in Manhattan on 15 September 1954,’ said the pretty young tour guide in charge of the group. ‘It was slotted to begin at one a.m.; however, the location was leaked to the press and thousands of fans and media personalities showed up, just to get in on the action. The crowd was going absolutely wild – watching Marilyn’s skirt blow higher and higher – much to the chagrin of Joe DiMaggio, Marilyn’s then current and bitterly jealous husband. He was present in the crowd and it was absolutely driving him mad with envy that the crowd was so intent on ogling his wife’s nether regions. Their marriage was already on the rocks, apparently, but this put it over the edge. And the couple divorced shortly thereafter.’
Beth tapped her foot, thinking hard. So the guide had confirmed Danny’s story. But what now?
‘Ultimately, the footage shot that day was all for naught, though. It was completely unusable as film editing techniques of the time didn’t allow for the noise in the background to be removed. So the director, Billy Wilder, ended up having to shoot the entire sequence at 20th Century Fox Studios in LA at a later date. Just a bit of movie trivia. However, if you would like to take this opportunity to stand where Marilyn stood, please do. There isn’t an active subway line under this grate; it was inactive even when they were filming here. Instead an effects man was tasked with standing under this grate, using a fan to blow up Marilyn’s skirt from below. I only tell you this so any ladies wearing skirts today know there is nothing to fear,’ joked the guide.
The crowd began to disperse, going about posing and taking a look down into the depths below the grate. Beth smiled at the touristy craziness of it all. After all, while Marilyn Monroe happened to stand on this particular section of earth over half a century ago, at the end of the day it was still just a subway grate.
Finally, when she had the opportunity and the way was clear, Beth approached the grate, wondering if she should be looking for something specific. She stood over the ironwork and looked down – nothing to see but darkness. She placed her feet where she imagined Marilyn might have and tried to summon the imagery of that scene – the heat, the sexiness, the excitement. She closed her eyes and could even have sworn that as she did, she felt a breeze sweep through the area – cooling her ankles. Her imagination, no doubt.
But when she opened her eyes again, she was no further ahead – she didn’t know anything that she didn’t know before.
What am I looking for? Beth thought, peering up at the buildings around her. OK, so an iconic movie moment might have happened here, but this corner was just like any of the hundreds in Manhattan.
But just then her line of thought was interrupted.
‘Excuse me, miss? I think you dropped something,’ said a voice behind her.
Beth spun around to meet a stranger’s face – a young man, probably no more than nineteen or twenty, wearing what appeared to be a hotel bellhop or concierge uniform. He held a jacket in one hand and Beth could just make out a name tag reading ‘Steve’ attached to one of the garment’s lapels. However, what captured her attention was not his uniform, but what he held in his other hand.
A book.
‘I think you dropped this,’ the young man called Steve said again, holding the book out to her.
‘No, I didn’t. It’s not mine,’ Beth protested politely.
