The Story of a Chair

It was not the iconic opening scene in Breakfast at Tiffany's that made me fall in love.  The black dress, the upswept hair, the enormous glasses. . . and of course, Tiffany's at dawn. Although I came very close.

New York City's most iconic cinematic seduction did not hold a candle to the rush I felt watching Holly Golightly's fantasy stroll come to an abrupt end.  A five-floor walk up.  Misplaced keys.  An infuriated super.  Lipstick stored in the mail box.  Parties with no guest lists, and without an end in sight.  A phone hidden in a hatbox, a misplaced shoe, a cat with no name.

Then to sit on a fire escape amidst the crowds and sing the loneliest song in the word. . .that was and is the New York City that has a permanent hold on my heart.  Inexplicable. Frenzied, even, but sparkling with possibility and feeling - the forgotten pulse that suddenly begins to beat and leaves F. Scott Fitzgerald reverent:  "New York had all the iridescence of the beginning of the world."  A perfect place for an awakening.

And there in the window of the new Modani Furniture store on 19th between Park Avenue South and Broadway was perhaps the most perfect desk chair in the entire world.

I walked in immediately, paid for the chair, and carried it out of the store much to the bemusement of Roman, the coolest salesman in New York.

"Are you sure you don't want it delivered?" Delivery? And deny myself the fun of cabbing it uptown with Holly?

"I got it, thanks." I really did.

The next empty cab that pulled up was one of those big van ones. . . the driver loved the chair and even helped me bring it from the cab to my building's lobby.  I was in love with this afternoon.  No desk yet, and not much of anything else, but I look at Holly Golightly every time I enter my apartment and recall a girl who was once lost, but did eventually get found.

It makes me happy. Rave on, Truman Capote.