Carnival of Light || Paul McCartney/Beatles

09. New York

Carnival of LIght (Part 2)

09.

April 1967

My flight was delayed, so I didn't land in New York until late afternoon. I looked out my taxi's window to see Manhattan in the distance, its skyscrapers looming over the East River like modern day standing stones.

New York was fine, but it was Los Angeles I was really excited about. I'd been dying to see California for absolutely ages. I added three days to my trip so I could explore — all by myself, a most wonderful prospect. But first I had to get through five days in New York.

It was late afternoon when my taxi pulled up to the Carlyle Hotel, just a few blocks from Central Park on the Upper West Side. I was planning on a nap and a bath before finding something to eat, but the concierge informed me that Mrs Janet Moss of A.I.M. had invited me to dinner. A.I.M. were my barmy American agents, and I was already dreading dealing with them in person.

No nap for me. The concierge showed me to my suite with a view of the park from its sitting room. I unpacked and changed, fussed with my fringe hopelessly, then hopped in a cab to the Russian Tea Room in midtown. It looked inconspicuous enough from the outside, but inside it was a gaudy red and gold art deco monstrosity.

The maitre d' led me over to a table where the three blokes who'd come to London to sign me up back in February were waiting with a woman with a blonde Vidal Sassoon bob and a 1950s lashing of red lipstick. She stood and took a drag off her cigarette, her eyes sweeping over me, taking in my pale blue chinoiserie-print dress with its floppy lace collar, lingering on the enamelled Persian pendant hanging over my heart

"Janet Moss," she shoved her hand at me. "Good of you to finally come and see us, Ms Beauford."

"My pleasure," I shook her hand, managing not to wince at her vice like American grip. I nodded to the blokes as I took my seat. "Hello again."

"Ron," Janet clicked her fingers at one of them, startling me. "Give Ms Beauford her schedule."

"My schedule?" I accepted a folder from Ron. It felt heavy.

"You're only here five days. We got a lot to squeeze in," Janet explained, flicking ash from her cigarette. "Everyone is going fucking crazy for Ingenue."

I frowned. "What do you mean everyone? It only came out here today."

"It went out to press and the usual people two weeks ago," she said flippantly. "The feedback's been outstanding. Everybody wants to meet you. We won't have a problem getting you a favourable paperback deal. When you're out in LA you'll speak to our movie people too."

"I'm sorry, movie people?" I blinked at her through the haze of smoke. "What do you mean?"

"That's what you do with a good book," Janet explained. "You turn it into a movie."

I stared at her for a long moment. "I don't know that I want it to be a film."

"Why the hell not?" She looked at me like I was mad. "Do you have any idea how many paperbacks To Kill a Mockingbird sold once they turned it into a movie with Gregory Peck?"

"No," I admitted

"Fuckloads," her eyebrows rose meaningfully. "And we're gonna sell fuckloads of your book, Ms Beauford."

"Look," I sighed. "I'd rather not have so much fuss made if you don't mind."

"So much fuss?" Janet laughed. "That's very quaint and English of you, but I'm afraid you've written a book people are going to make a fuss about. Considering how crazy everyone's going for Ingenue you may have written the novel of the decade."