Page 98 of Atlas: The Story of Pa Salt
I was shocked. ‘Goodness, you misunderstand, Mr Meyer... I just wanted to thank you.’
He snorted. ‘Thankme? I didn’t do anything for you, buddy.’
‘No, but your sister did, in ways that she never knew about. I had hoped to meet her in person to tell her.’
He sighed. ‘Sorry to say that you’re over a decade too late, kid.’
‘I know. I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m absolutely not here for any money. I just wanted to tell you how much your sister unknowingly changed my life.’
There was a pause before Eugene laughed down the line. ‘Well, how about that? Who knew that Brits really were that polite?!’
‘I’m not British, actually.’
‘Look at that, we’re getting to know each other already!’ He paused to inhale. ‘So, you wanna meet? I’m just about to leave my hotel for a story I’m working on this afternoon.’
‘That would be wonderful,’ I confirmed.
‘Great. I’m headed to 132 West and 138th Street. Meet me there in a half hour.’
The numbers meant nothing to me. ‘Where is that near?’
‘It’s Harlem, kid. Listen, just repeat it to a cab driver. There’s a diner close to the church. Have him drop you there.’
‘Will do. My wife and I will see you shortly.’
He gave a loud cough. ‘Woah, hold up. Wife? You didn’t mention a wife.’
I apologised. ‘Sorry, I should have been clearer. She was also awarded the Prix Blumenthal. She’d love to thank you as much as I would.’
Meyer tutted. ‘I mean, it’s up to you, buddy, but things could get a little hairy out on those streets today. It’d be safer to leave her behind. Either way, I’ll see you at the diner.’ Mr Meyer hung up the phone.
I returned to the room in a daze and told Elle about my conversation with Eugene. Although initially deflated, the promise of a trip up the Empire State Building that afternoon cheered her up.
‘What do you think he means when he says the streets could get dangerous?’ Elle asked.
‘I honestly have no idea. But I’ve got to get going. The last thing I want is to miss him.’ I gave Elle a kiss and hurried back downstairs. The doorman hailed me a bright yellow taxi cab, and I asked the driver to take me to 132 West and 138th Street.
He turned around to face me. ‘You sure, mister?’ he asked.
‘That’s what I’ve been told,’ I confirmed.
The driver shrugged. ‘Whatever you say.’
As we made our way towards Harlem, I noticed the enormous, glittering skyscrapers of Midtown start to recede.
‘Can I ask what brings you to this part of town, buddy?’ asked the driver.
‘I’m meeting someone here,’ I replied.
‘Huh. I’m guessing you’re not from round these parts. First time in New York?’
‘That’s right, yes.’
He chuckled. ‘I thought so. You don’t meet many folks from outta town wanting to come to Harlem.’
‘Why is that?’
‘All I’m saying is most tourists wanna see the Statue of Liberty, Central Park and the Met. They don’t want any of therealAmerica.’
