The Prince left for a month in Europe. Something I’d never done. Something he’d never done before either. He expressed his hesitancy before he left Chicago. Unsure of how he felt about being away from home for so long. Untethered from his normal routine. Unsure of how soon he may tire from the activities planned.
We followed one another on social media, though neither of us are active to any degree above ‘occasional’. Still, it was one more way to stay connected. To see what he saw and for him to see what I was doing – which wasn’t much other than going to work and going to the gym.
He sent me a message when he was back in New York and suggested again that I plan a visit. It was now mid September. After a couple scheduled phone calls for the sake of aligning schedules, we settled upon a mid-November date for my visit. Airfare was reasonable – what is not about New York is hotel space. I asked the Prince if I might be able to stay at his place. He said it wouldn’t work well because he lives with his brother and that we’d have no privacy.
As it turned out, our agreed to dates were a week before Thanksgiving and consequently, hotel prices were better than I expected, as it is the lull in visitors leading up to the kick off of winter holiday season.
The early morning Saturday flight put me into LaGuardia at 10:00a. I was awestruck at the new LaGuardia. That may sound hyperbolic but after having been in and out of the old LaGuardia many times, what has been done to LaGuardia seems nearly impossible. How the new terminals were built while keeping the place operating – it is a modern-day miracle.
From there to the subway on an express bus put me into Manhattan by 11:00a. At Bryant Park I emerged, re-engufled immediately in the city where I lived in the summer of 1997. The busy sidewalks, the crowded streets, and all the accompanying sounds and smells – they are like a switch in me that reconnects my brain to the internal maps that allow me navigate Manhattan.
The Prince had to work this Saturday and it was too early to check into the hotel, so I stashed by bags at the bell desk and ventured to a lunch spot around the corner. Via text I coordinated a meet up with a former colleague. We strolled 8th Avenue looking for an open outdoor table to enjoy a coffee and catch up, then strolled some more.
Back at the hotel I scored a slightly early check in, showered, then took a brief nap. The Prince said he’d be by around 6:00 and from there we’d find dinner. At six he arrived. In the room we embraced, kissed, and slid our hands down the back waistband of one another’s pants. A firm grip on the buttocks seems to ground the embrace.
On our phones we searched for a dinner spot, agreeing to a small Italian place in Hell’s Kitchen. “Authentic” it claims – a claim made by most Italian places in New York. This was, however. The narrow space with a long bar and tiny tables – packed of course, bustling with waiters moving along the narrow corridor of seated diners. We took a spot at the bar to avoid the wait.
When I lived in New York that summer of ’97 I felt like I was living in a movie. Like I could watch myself in this movie. At the bar with the Prince I felt the same way as the back of the bar was a mirror and I could see myself, again, as one of the characters in this massive live performance. Having a ‘supporting male’ in tonight’s scene felt great, and anyone watching would have witnessed robust dialogue, beautifully plated food, perfectly-cast Italian waiters costumed in black pants, white shirts, and red ties. Viewers would have witnessed the bromance.
After dinner we stumbled around the neighborhood for a bit, past my old apartment, then the Prince took me to one of his favorite bars, Industry. Being only nine o’clock and too early for Manhattan’s night-life, we pretty much had the place to ourselves, taking one of the empty sofas while putting our feet up and leaning back. It had been a long day for both of us. The two-for-one special for the early hours of Saturday night got us through and then it was time for bed.
The walk back to the hotel was in the same direction as the Prince’s apartment. From there I traveled vertically while he continued horizontally a few more blocks. We’d make the morning’s plans via text.
At 11:00 we agreed to meet at Oculus in lower Manhattan. The only thing I wanted to see that weekend besides the Prince was the World Trade Center monument. I arrived before he did and had about thirty minutes to myself.
I hadn’t been to the site of the towers before, but I did watch the horrific events unfold on television – a day when I was flying and my flight was cancelled and I was then stuck in Portland, Oregon for five days. The flight I was working that day was, I learned later, one of the targeted west-coast flights.
The experience of arriving to beautifully and perfectly manicured grounds brought me to tears. How something so beautiful and serene could be born from so much destruction and rubble is a testament to the human spirit. My lower lip trembled and sunglasses hid the tears. The black stone walls draped with falling water are like an inverse image of the towers themselves. Then in the middle of the footprint, a deeper, seemingly bottomless pit allows a place for the water to go – it’s destination unknown. It is so quiet there.
Back at the Oculus I waited the Prince. We went back to the monument together and talked about that day. He was in Dubai at the time – watching the same video feed that I was. It was all “live” around the world that day. I told him about my day that day. I couldn’t contain the tears. The Prince put his arm around me and pulled me close as we walked silently side by side.
We made our way west to the river front then walked north to Chelsea Pier. The Prince told me he was making plans to find a new apartment, that he’d had enough of living with his twin brother. He went into the details – which left my mouth agape.
He and his twin brother went to school together, got their degree together, and work in the same field. They have spent nearly everyday of their life together – and now live together in New York. Recent events have created a rift and the recent events are rooted in the twin brother imitating the Prince on social media, befriending the Prince’s friends, and in several instances, meeting up and having sex with these people, never disclosing that he’s the brother. From subway cars to cruises, to vacation time in Europe, the brother is socializing with people who think they’re with the Prince.
The Prince discovered this only after friends had texted him stating that they felt the conversation had been ‘off’. Then there was the time that they ran into one another at a sex party in Spain, dressed exactly alike. As it turns out, the brother has on-line access to their shared accounts, both credit and phone, hence his ability to schedule, plan, and show up.
I’d never heard of anything like this – certainly not a first hand account. I had so many questions that I was rendered speechless. And while he was telling the stories, the same amount of bewilderment concerned the Prince. He simply does not know why his brother is doing this.
We made our way to the High Line, then to Hudson Yards, and then finally, a cozy spot for lunch. We’d planned to met another friend of mine that afternoon but after walking eleven miles we were bushed. We needed a nap.
Back at the hotel our nap time was co-opted by making out once we hit the bed. Or maybe just a few minutes after having gotten off our feet. Possibly a bit longer. The Prince, in this mindset, likes referring to me as ‘Dad’ – and wanted to ensure that Dad had access to everything in New York that he’d come to experience. All the things that we were unable to accomplish during our previous visits. Ultimately, this is exactly why I came to New York. I wanted a weekend of a ‘boyfriend’ experience. Everything that had happened in the interim was serendipitous – which suited me just fine.
We dozed for about an hour afterwords.
Being Sunday, the Prince had to prepare for work in the morning. And while I had hoped he would have spent the night, it was in fact no surprise that he couldn’t. I napped a bit more following his departure, then made my way along 5th Avenue down to Rockefeller Center – retracing the route I used to take early mornings in Manhattan as the city began to awake. I’d often catch the opening of the Today Show live from the NBC studios.
On the flight home I wondered if I could live in New York again. I think this often. Maybe I could If I had the Prince to come home to every night. Maybe not. I’ve grown accustomed to the life I have in Chicago which I could not afford to duplicate in New York. Granted, New York comes with some unique perks, the Prince excluded. Still, I’d probably grow accustomed to life there if I had to.
The Prince has since moved into a new apartment, living alone for the first time in his life. I’ve suggested that he let me know when it’s a good time to come out and see the place.
The 36 Broadway 
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