How much for a twist, little pale man?

Day 1.

Another early start to the day. Being three hours behind the east coast, getting up at 8 felt like getting up at 5. Amy had almost certainly been awake for hours but had somehow restrained herself from getting up and moving about. However, the consensus of the Harlemites was that everyone should be up at 8.

Seeing daisy actually awake and bright that morning was a bit of a shock. One wonders if New Zealanders are fully human. She seemed quite happy perched in the centre of the sofa-bed in the middle of her curtain material bed sheets (it was all we could find that would fit).

The morning blurs in my mind. I made tea. Of that I am certain. I made tea for Em and she asked where the sugar was. I gave her no sympathy. Or sugar of course. Biped probably had coffee and Amy peppermint tea but the beverages of others were not my concern so I will stop trying to remember them.

There was a bowl. I am certain that other people experienced the bowl more than I did. I knew it to be an elusive bowl and much in demand by those that ate the mysterious cereal. As I said, mornings blurred. The only item of import was my tea.

The plan for the day was to meet the other Hobblings and their SOs for a picnic on Great Hill at 106th street. With two showers and one Hobbling that seemed incapable of spending less that 45 minutes showering, getting ready to face the day was slow going. And yet the troop of seven was out of the door by ten thirty.

And once outside, it decided to rain.

It took a while to make new arrangements after rain scuppered the picnic plan. I rather pathetically phoned Charity to ask her to be the decisive one, sheltering under scaffolding near 110th street subway station. Aimless, we headed downtown with the general idea that those without umbrellas really ought to purchase one. Halfway there, we realised that we were missing the assigned meeting up time in the park so Amy and I (being armed with brollies) volunteered to head back and gather the stragglers.

I was in the midst of phoning Rian when my mobile told me I had voicemail so I clicked the dial voicemail button and listened to the response. Rather comically it was an American going “Hello? Hello? Keppet, hello?” and I sniggered that obviously someone had not worked out that they were leaving voicemail.

Oops, the request to access voicemail had not gone through but my call to Rian had. I kicked myself and called her back claiming some sort of technical difficulty. Moving on from my embarrassment, I told her to stay put in her swanky hotel in Time Square to be collected by Hobblings rather than come uptown. Meanwhile, no one had the means to tell Heather of the change of plans.

Amy and I rushed uptown and walked across to 106th street and Central Park West on our way passing some wonderful shops including a bakery we swore to return to. I think in the future I should note that the Upper West Side is the place in NY to stay. We made it to the designated meeting place a little late but Heather was not there yet. Amy bought some fruit at some stalls there while I peered around corners and under hedges wondering where the geneticist was hiding. Not many minutes later, a figure was striding up the avenue. A figure reminiscent of Xena the warrior princess… Well, maybe not but she was instantly recognisable. I waved, she waved and we met with a manly handshake (much more sensible than that hugging business, particularly when someone is carrying a hot cup of coffee as she was). Heather took the news that we were pathetic and changing plans at the last minute remarkably well and we wandered back to the subway discussing our backgrounds, mainly professional. Between the three of us, we covered the main sciences. Which I felt was remarkable. On route, I talked with Charity and between Charity and the ex-local Heather, we arranged a new meeting place at Canal and Mott in Chinatown.

Heather, Amy and I had to fight the crowds along Canal Street. Every few metres, someone was thrusting a bag in Heather’s face asking whether she wanted a designer item for a fraction of the price. Amy and I followed in her wake and were much less hassled by hawkers but more distracted by the odd vegetable and fruit stalls. Again, there were frantic phone calls to make sure that people were at the correct meeting place. I heard from Charity that she was there. I heard from Rian that she was there with the other Harlemites. However, Charity and Rian did not seem to be together. I guess that they eventually realised who they were standing on a street corner with because when we three got there everyone was together and Charity had identified a restaurant large enough for us all. (I am amused to read sus' blog entry on this).

Eleven people (nine Hobblings plus Rian’s SO, Paul and my sanity-keeper, Amy) sat around the largest table in the Chinese restaurant. A bit of musical chairs meant that Amy and Charity could sit next to each other and share vegetarian meals while the rest of us shared the meaty dishes. There was a bit of a communication error when they didn’t bring rice with our meal but that was soon sorted and we span the rotating wheel of dishes around each taking a small portion of each delight. Dana and Lars joined us just as the meal was getting started and we all shuffled around fitting a record breaking and some say unlucky thirteen people around the table.

The meal was excellent thanks to a table that encouraged conversations and, well, the people that populated it. Paul showed amazing generosity and paid for the meal for thirteen people. He deserves many thanks for that and so I think I will dedicate this paragraph to him. To Paul, whose tolerance of crazy unprepared Hobblings knows no bounds.

Then we rushed off to our Accomplice meeting spot. We had been given it in most dramatic fashion the day before over the phone. I had to go to the bother of setting up my voicemail account in fact to receive a message that began with a shouted “Christine if that is in fact your real name…” and went on in semi-coherent mumbles to give the location as by a fish tank in a bar called Sequoia, South Street Ferry. I am glad that others were more on the ball than I was because I assumed that this would be at the most southern point of Manhattan and was all set to go to the Staten Ferry terminal. Well, when I say more on the ball…

We trusted Charity and Heather to guide us. Charity drifted back down the group, giving up the lead to Heather who took us on a massive hike in the wrong direction. I get very stressy when it comes to appointments and things so I was not pleasant company when we were running late. By the time we realised that we weren’t going to make it, there wasn’t even time to catch a cab even if we could find enough for all of us. The map was handed to sus in the end who took us straight to the location albeit twenty minutes late. Once there, I got all pathetic and declined to go into the bar to initiate contact with the man in black nursing a lemonade. In a thirteen-person huddle, we shuffled forward and surrounded the poor chap nervously. I don't recall anyone saying anything... we just exchanged glances, unsure of how to proceed. Perhaps there were giggles, whispers of “what if this is just a normal guy?” and the observation that a fish tank usually holds fish. And also water. Then he turned on us and pretty much shouted that we were late and this was unacceptable... and to come back at 3pm. He stormed out leaving us to look at each other open mouthed.

I drowned my shame in a bar... most of us did. Was it too early in the day to be drinking? Sus went off to do her own thing (probably involving a trek through muddy fields) and Amy vanished on us too (causing me some alarm). The remaining eleven took over the entire length of a bar (not the Sequoia). Em bought Frangelica and lime for me. It was sweet but good (better once I put more lime in it) and I can see why she drinks it a lot. In the middle of my drink, I went out to look for Amy and encountered a street performer who bent himself into various positions. He was saying how nobody could move as the balance of the universe had to be just right in order for him to do some particular bend… I moved and found Amy who was struggling to phone her parents. I gave her entirely the wrong country code and returned to my drink.

At five to three we were gathered outside the Sequoia. We took the opportunity to take group pictures (well, Amy took them and there were many). As 3pm struck, or would have had there been a clock nearby, we moseyed into the bar and took stools around some tables. Biped observed that the contact would probably arrive late by twenty minutes just to punish us. He did indeed arrive a little late. Looking shifty, he breezed past us and gestured that we should follow.

To the other end of the bar. I can’t help but feel that as far as covert operations went, this one needed some work. All thirteen of us followed the man in black a full five metres and watched in (be/a)musement as he checked around for lurking “feds”. We were instructed to make a circle so that he could see us all. After berating us yet again for being late (I do think that a location that is actually near a subway station would be better…) he got on with the plot. He introduced himself as Louie. Apparently he had some friends… well, maybe not friends… business colleagues… well, acquaintances… who needed a quick way out of the city. We were to go around New York and find them and give them plane tickets. Biped: Have you considered e-tickets? Louie observed that online activity was too easily traced and moved on. The whole spiel took about forty minutes, the time mainly taken up with a bit of “audience interaction” such as asking where we were all from and telling us what we could do with the money we’d be getting for doing this task. I recall I was to buy a spade for use in the Garden of England… More time was used up with him saying words such as “seeked” leading to an incredibly pained look on Q’s face and some subsequent tension between her and the institution-educated New Yorker. We also had to sign accident waivers and two of us were given blue baseball caps to wear (myself and Rian) to help the acquaintances identify us.

Eventually we were moved another couple of metres out of the bar and into a mall where Louie and Em pretended to be considering whether the bar was worth a visit in rather loud voices. With spectacular sleight of hand, Louie shoved the plane tickets into Em’s bag and ushered us outside to stop in front of a door with a “no blocking” sign. “Look at you,” he observed, “already breaking the law.” We moved on past many people Louie pointed out as feds including a small child in a pushchair (I was more distracted by the Spider-man balloon animals on sale from a street vendor). Bringing us to a quite industrial spot away from the shops and bars, he made us gather in a circle again and told us that we had to watch out for those small feds. I forget who but let’s pretend it was Heather commiserated that the FBI were putting midgets into child suits nowadays. I do believe that sus, Amy and I giggled something about robot midgets in the corner causing the wrath of Louie to descend on us for not paying him attention. And then we were punished with a bad John Wayne impression. Louie gave Rian a collection of photographs and Q a Dictaphone with “walking music”. She played it: Frank Sinatra, Come Fly With Me.

The photographs were all of buildings or objects just within sight. As we walked towards each subject, we looked at the next photograph and looked out for that location. In this simple way, we found ourselves outside a bar with the note on the photo to ask for Milton. Em, in her natural habitat, took the lead and inquired of the barman whether Milton was around. The man behind the bar was unruffled when he claimed the honour of the name and invited us to order a drink- beer, wine or whatever. Feeling that I had been extravagant enough that day, I opted for an orange juice. We all grabbed our drinks and sat at a long table in the centre of the room. And admired the décor.

Bras. Everywhere. Em declared it her type of bar. Amy was looking to nab one of them apparently. The guy behind the bar passed a letter to Amy and she opened it, read it aloud and then passed it down the table to those that could not hear her. The letter gave us further instructions as to what to tell the acquaintances when we passed on the plane tickets as well as a lot of preamble and “in character” waffle. Cryptic Bar Guy (there is always one… I thought that we’d have more time to talk toot with him than we actually did) was looking at us and holding a laminated sheet of black paper. Q grabbed it and noticed the holes in the sheet. Placing it on the letter we read… rubbish. Realising that there was possibly another orientation to try, Q turned the sheet around and we read instructions about the next location.

We left the bra bar and trusted sus to guide us yet again (a choice that never failed us) to a payphone by the Enterprise Car Rental place. Expecting a phonecall, daisy volunteered to accept it and we all hung around the phone. A person from the rental place came up to us asking rather pointedly if he could help us. “Oh, we’re just waiting for a phone-call,” I said. He went away and returned with a pack of cigarettes and offered me one. Looking in the pack, I saw that they were rolls of paper so I took one and thanked the man, inwardly upset that we wouldn’t have that mystic payphone ringing experience. Q took the roll of paper and opened it. There was a map to a fountain. Sus lead the way yet again.

The fountain was in a small garden and utterly wonderful. Being tourists not taking Accomplice very seriously, we posed for photos around the fountain and then hung around wondering what to do next. Rian: Do you think that has something to do with us? (pointing at a man on a bench with sunglasses, a white stick and a sign hanging around his neck saying “does anyone have a blue hat?”). We approached him and Rian and I sat on the bench with him. As perhaps the lamest opening ever, I asked him whether he liked out hats. Oh dear. I never claimed to be good under pressure or indeed to know when pressure was being applied or, as in this case, clearly not. Others were more on the ball however and soon we were in the middle of the next act with the blind guy waving his stick at everyone, just missing them and complaining that he could smell rotten avocados. Em handed over a plane ticket and Heather read out the instructions from the letter.

The plane will take you to the airport at Miami. You will meet an albino midget. He is called Abe. You will know him because he is albino. And a midget. He will be holding a lemon. You will go up to him and ask “how much for a twist little pale man?”.

What can I say? Heather delivered it most eloquently. I think of all the things that are admirable about her, surely the ability to keep a straight face under these circumstances must rank pretty high.

The blind man quite rightly pointed out that he would find it hard to identify an albino midget- what was he to do? Feel up all the little people to see whether they were holding a lemon? He’d get arrested. I think someone suggested that maybe he could smell the lemon… but in the end he had his own solution. He turned his sign around and it read “is anyone an albino midget?”. He gave us a key and let us look into a large box he had been guarding (well, actually Rian had been sneaking peeks into it the whole time). It had a little wooden model of the area and the location of our next meeting place marked with a man standing next to a red box. Yet again trusting sus, we were on our way.

And she missed the man by a few metres. There was a small triangle of land with benches between two roads and she thought that he was in the larger park area across the road. To be fair, he didn’t have a red box with him but a little chest so I am surprised that someone identified him and we found our next post so easily. This man was dressed like an accountant having a mental breakdown and he stuttered and jiggled from foot to foot. As we went through the routine of handing over the plane ticket and having Heather deliver in most Shakespearean tones the midget speech, I thought that this was quite an interesting setup. He was acting (rather well) as someone mentally disabled and yet of course we all acted towards him as a normal human being. Because that is what he was. It just struck me as interesting that I could relax in his presence and I think that he was doing me a service in a way to show me that I was capable of this. Anyway, we had a box to open. And what do you know? It was locked. Not with a key but a combination. But don’t worry- the combination was a year, we were told- the year that the chief engineer of the Brooklyn Bridge died (two months after his bridge was approved apparently). And we could find it written at the first tower. Which was miles and miles away (well, some distance possibly not far but we were lazy) but don’t worry for he had a bicycle we could use. So sus borrowed the bike and strapped on an ill-fitting yellow helmet. Looking as ridiculous as possible, she pushed the bike off and almost failed to mount it, knocking some pedestrians into the East River for luck. It should be mentioned here that there was a plaque giving the date just a few metres away from where we were standing and had we come to meet the man by the quickest route, we would have seen it.

Meanwhile, for it took the peddling sus some time to make the trip, Paul read a newspaper article in practised tones (I note this because I know that I couldn’t read anything out loud) about diamonds and Bill Gates. Honestly, I was bored and more interested in keeping a look-out for sus, calculating the odds of her taking the bike and abandoning us to the game. But she returned in style (well, in her ill-fitting, yellow cycle-helmet), a real photo-finish. “1869!” I noted that we could have just tried guessing and would have got that faster but of course where would the fun be in that? Daisy opened the chest. Inside was a fortune cookie, three dollar-bills and a paper place-mat with a map drawn on the back.

Q ate the cookie. The fortune was in Chinese. Twitchy Guy noted that the map took us through Chinatown where, maybe, there would be someone that could read Chinese. Yet again following sus and her mighty map skills (which makes it odd that we dubbed Em “map girl” for the trip though I suppose that is because we kept on giving her maps to carry), we found ourselves battling Chinatown. We stopped off on the way to let a couple of people use some public toilets while Rian and Em tried to get the fortune translated. The first person they asked was of course not Chinese. The second person was more helpful (“it says Green Frog”) but not actually accurate as it said “Buy a frog”, or so the organiser told us at the end of the day.

The first place on our map was an address and the words “pick-up”. We went there and were offered… a frog in a bag. Daisy paid the three dollars and we all watched it squirm in its polythene prison. It was quickly dubbed Gulliver and on its travels to the next place on the map- “Inglesia, drop-off” in Little Italy. Sus found the church and we hesitated over what to do next. There was a woman with a carrier box for a pet sitting on the steps but she didn’t pay us any attention. Another woman was hanging around and she came up to us and asked where we got the frog and er, why exactly we were carrying one. Charity decided to go into the church to see if the drop-off was in there but came out with no sign of anything. Finally we attracted the attention of the frizzy red-head on the steps as she inquired about the frog too. Speaking at many miles an hour, she also explained that she was out looking for her cat. Within seconds she had us calling for her cat before saying “oh, that’s right- he died in 1992.” Sensing that perhaps, just maybe she was our contact, Em asked for her name and handed over the plane ticket. Heather read her piece about the albino midget. Called Abe. Red had a problem with the concept of a midget. Heather explained, “a short person but not underly aged”. Then they commiserated with each other at what the humid Miami air would do to already quite frizzy hair. Red took the frog. I hoped that it would go to a good home- perhaps Accomplice was a front for a frog liberation group? We later discovered that it was just returned to the Chinese shop and undoubtedly ended up as someone’s meal. Poor Gulliver. We prodded her for further instructions and she passed over something written in code and instructions to go to an Italian restaurant.

The street was chaotic. There was a street fair going on and herding thirteen Hobblings to the mystery location was not easy. We ended up in single file so I am not sure what exactly went on at the front- how contact was initiated with the Russian guy. But it was and he ushered us into a restaurant with a large table laid out for us. There was wine and water and he poured us all a glass if we wanted it (mine was woefully small and the bottle too far away to help myself). Waiters came around with appetizers and there was bread on offer. I stuck to the bread, not being able to identify much that was on the olive-oil drenched plates. Meanwhile, the Russian guy was showing off his Elvis impersonation and offering to get a Russian mail-order husband for Em. Some people were still playing the game, however, and there was a large box for us to inspect. The key we received earlier opened it and inside were LPs of some of the worst music Q had ever had the misfortune to rummage through- or at least that is what her face told me. Finally she came to a Frank Sinatra LP, “Come Fly With Me”, and she declared “finally something decent”. Russian Guy asked whether we had heard any music that day and I could almost see Q roll her eyes as she removed Frankie from the box and opened the record sleeve. Inside was a code wheel and within seconds she had done her mojo and deciphered the coded message we had been given. “Look at the key ring”. With some difficulty and help, she got the picture that was on the key-ring out of its plastic protection. It was a photo of a slutty girl with a blue feather boa. There were also instructions to go to a local Australian bar and find Bunny.

We grabbed the final item from inside the big box (a small cigar box) and gave Russian Guy the plane ticket and midget speech. Out on the crazy Italian street again, we elbowed north past stalls selling deep-fried Oreos. We found the bar but it was small and couldn’t handle all of us so we sent token Aussie number one (Q) inside while Em stayed outside and argued which were the best Aussie beers with the doorman. The rest of us observed the skeleton watching us from the roof of the building across the street and worried that the game was about to get more serious. Q came out with no success so other Hobblings went in to try to spot the feathered friend. As we waited, a peculiarly petite girl wearing a feather boa and little else darted past us and into the bar. She emerged with the Hobblings trailing and told us all to follow her. She went down some stairs next to the bar entrance that lead down to the basement level of the Aussie bar- obviously we had been searching the wrong section. We were ushered into an area with a low table and many small stools. We got settled and listened to Bunny squeal. “Have you got them?” “Yes,” said daisy. “Have you seen them?” “Yes,” said daisy, the rest of us all confused. Did she mean the cigars? “Well, hand them over!” squealed Bunny. Daisy handed over the cigar box and Bunny peered inside, tutting that there were some cigars missing and that we must have been smoking them. At the bottom of the box, she fished out some tacky costume jewellery. “You know what these are of course!” So, there had been a point to the Bill Gates and diamonds article. And yet as far as a story goes, it did perhaps need some work done to it. Bunny said some stuff about not going to Miami and maybe it was something about double-crossing the others? But I really wasn’t following. I was staring at the dodgy old man who was leaning over a railing and peering down Bunny’s top (actually, I don’t think he was but I reserve the right to embellish). Bunny kept on squealing and rabbitting (ha) on and then broke off- “Why are you so quiet?” I pointed out the man behind her in a kind of “you should watch what you say because you are being listened to” way. Bunny tried to shoo the lurker away much to my confusion as I was sure he was part of the show. She said that they were busy and it wasn’t a show for the public and so on. More squealing, and he didn’t go. She gave him a cigar. She called the barman over to throw him out. He continued to come back and leer. And then lunged forwards (and apparently Hobblings near to him were pretty shocked by this) and slapped cuffs on Bunny, revealing himself to be a detective. “Are you with her?” he asked. “No no…” we all said (of course).

Bunny left her handbag behind. With a couple of exchanged glances, we pounced on the tacky item and emptied its contents. Some rather personal effects and one dictaphone tape fell out. Spotting some speakers behind us, we hooked up the dictaphone we received from Louie to allow the tape to be heard by all. It was the Man of the diamond operation (I really wasn’t following… were the diamonds stolen? Or just bought from a dodgy source?) giving a private message to Bunny (and telling us how to hook it up to the speakers- oh we were so ahead of the game when it came to technology). It told Bunny (or rather us) where we could find a briefcase with our reward money. It was hidden in the bar so we got it and placed it on the table. The recording told us that the combination code was the name of the midget. Despite having heard it a number of times that day, I hadn’t a clue so I let daisy seated next to me do the hard work. She turned the case around to open it, letting those opposite us both see the contents first.

Or rather, have the springy snakes fly out at them first.

I was most pleased with daisy’s aim.

There was triumphant music and out from the shadows came a man and Bunny. The man introduced himself as the organiser. "You know the funny thing about the internet," he said, "is how you can record the IP addresses of visitors and see what site they came to you from. And one day we noticed people from all around the world... coming from one site... and so we read it." I was delighted by this. Fame at last! He went on to ask who it was that found out about Accomplice and after we went around denying knowledge it dawned on us that the person that wanted to go to it was the person that at the last minute didn’t show up! So there was laughter and thanks given for them accommodating our lateness. He asked us to stay a while and enjoy the drinks at the bar but we had to be on our way for our dinner reservation at Carmine’s.

The restaurant was on the Upper West Side which I think we have already covered was a great area of the city. Carmine’s, the family pasta place, was a zoo. I have never been in a restaurant that busy or noisy. I had a lot of problems hearing the person sitting opposite me at the table. Hey, I had problems hearing the people next to me. Since we were such a large group, we were split across two tables. Amy and Charity stuck together as non-meat eaters (the food was in large, sharing portions) and I of course stuck by Amy as abandoning her on the first day to Hobblings seemed a tad cruel. Sus, Q and daisy made up the rest of the table. We observed that apart from Em, the other table were all (how to say this politely…) old and decrepit (from the perspective of a fresh-face person in their early twenties) and joked that we were the children’s table. Apart from that joke, dinner was a rather subdued affair as we were all shattered. The waiter talked us into getting more food than we knew what to do with. We grimly shovelled down our pasta (rather bog-standard stuff that you could whip up in a few minutes if Sainsbury’s was nearby) and asked for the bill without fussing over dessert. Every few minutes during the meal, there was a burst of “Happy birthday” from a nearby table with the waiters delivering huge ice-cream cake things. I understand that there was some sort of plan to get in on this action but nothing came of it. We paid our bill (a cheap-skate $15 each) and lurked on the pavement outside for Em and biped to join us so that we could all go back to the apartment together. It appears that the bill on the adult’s table was twice as much and the party only got started once Em and biped left.

Worn out, we eight (the Harlem Seven plus our good friend Charity) went to the apartment. We collapsed in the living room and Charity shared out her comics (I said she was our good friend). Em got to read Civil War #4 first and I had to suffer her gasping every few seconds. But then I had to suffer the actual comic which I do not rate highly at all (the parody is better- link on request if you don’t want to look for it on the Board). Amy of course retired first and I am pretty sure I followed soon after.