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madlorificTitle: The Blog of Eugenia H. Watson
Author: MadLori
Length: 3400
Genre: Family, humor, shameless fluff
Pairing: Sherlock/John (established), John/OFC (referenced, in the past)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Teenagerfic
Summary:We did a bit of shopping – don’t let him tell you otherwise, Sherlock was just as interested as I was in the designer clothing stores – and he took me to dinner to this mad crazy restaurant that seemed utterly dedicated to beef in all its forms. “It’s America, we’re required to eat copious amounts of beef,” he explained, although he himself had nothing but a bowl of lobster bisque. I had barbecued ribs and they were divine. And messy.
Genie's blog stars here: 1 September
My apologies for the gap in entries. I've been dealing with some rather horrific home-related issues and haven't had time for writing. This entry is the first in a series so I'll hope to have an entry up almost once a day as I've been doing. Thank you for your forebearance.
The Blog of Eugenia H. Watson, Girl With the Pearl Earring
2 December
I am in New York City and it is awesome!
I wanted to write last night but I was so damn tired so I waited until today. This is why Sherlock booked us tickets for Friday when I don’t have to start playing until Monday: jet lag.
So yesterday afternoon our flight left around four o’clock. I don’t have afternoon classes on Fridays so I came home at lunchtime. I’d packed my bags the night before. Sherlock, as usual, had waited until the last minute. I could hear him and Dad bashing about their flat trying to get all his things sorted, while I sat patiently in our lounge with my neatly-packed bags, Mum waiting to drive us to the airport.
He was finally ready at two thirty, and off we went in Mum’s car. Mum and Dad and I chatted about the tournament, and New York, and the things that Sherlock and I might do there when I wasn’t playing. Sherlock didn’t say anything. He was just looking out the window, holding Dad’s hand on his knee.
See, Sherlock has a secret. He doesn’t like to travel. Wait, that isn’t exactly true. What he doesn’t like is being away from Dad. He likes traveling fine when they travel together.
Mum pulled up to the dropoff at the terminal at Heathrow. Dad piled out and hauled our bags out of the boot. I hugged Mum tight. “Good luck, sweetheart,” she said. “We’ll be watching the stream in the evening. Keep us updated.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
I moved to hug Dad. He seemed a tad emotional. “Now, you mind Sherlock,” he said.
I laughed. “Dad, between him and me, which is more likely to faff off on a wild adventure?”
He chuckled. “All right, point. Have fun, though. Try not to get too caught up in the tournament that you can’t see anything of the city. Take loads of pictures.”
“I will.”
Dad turned to Sherlock and they embraced. Sherlock pressed his face into Dad’s neck for a moment. Dad pulled away a little. “Call me when you get there,” he said, quietly, adjusting Sherlock’s lapels.
“All right.” Sherlock reached up and clasped Dad’s hands. “I’ll look after Genie, have no fear.”
“I never doubted it.” He kissed him. “I love you.” Sherlock just smiled and touched Dad’s cheek. He hardly ever says that back, at least, not when anybody else can hear. Dad came back to me. “And I love you, Eugenia.” He squeezed me again and kissed my cheek. “I shall miss you dreadfully.”
“I wish you and Mum were coming.”
“So do we, but someone’s got to hold down jobs in this family,” Dad said, smiling.
Sherlock kissed Mum’s cheek, then looked back over at Dad. They just exchanged nods, then Sherlock turned and started for the terminal with his suitcase. I kissed Mum and Dad both again, then grabbed my own bag and hurried after him. “Thank God that’s over,” Sherlock grumbled. “I do loathe good-byes.” I looked back over my shoulder. Mum and Dad were still by the car, watching us leave. They waved when they saw me look. I waved back, then faced resolutely forward.
The best part of traveling with Sherlock is that he doesn’t tolerate anything less than the best possible arrangements. Dad would have had us crammed into coach, but Sherlock had purchased first-class tickets for us. That would make the ten-hour flight tolerable, at least. After passing through security, we boarded and settled into our seats. I set up my travel chess set at once and got out my notes. I’d be reviewing strategies right up until I was scheduled to play. This would be a standard Swiss tournament, meaning that every player plays the same number of games against opponents who are chosen based on rating and accumulated points according to a totally incomprehensible mathematical formula, with your opponents becoming more and more challenging as you win games, so that by the end of the week the best players are playing each other and so forth. The winner is determined by the player with the highest point total.
Sherlock got out a book and immediately went still and silent. He didn’t speak during takeoff.
It took me about two hours to get bored. “I’m bored.”
“Done studying, then?”
“My eyes are crossing.”
“Read a book.”
“Don’t feel like it.”
“Watch a film. They have them on order.”
“Nothing good. I looked.”
He heaved a sigh. “What would you like me to do? Dance a jig for your amusement?”
“Yes, please.”
“Not bloody likely.”
“Let’s just talk.”
He marked his place and put his book away with a great show of being quite put out. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Tell me stories from when I was little. Or from before I was born.”
“What ‘stories’ would you care to hear?”
I turned on my side and tucked up my legs. “I don’t know. Tell me about when you and Dad first met.”
“Surely you know all about that.”
“Not really. Just that you were flatmates.”
“What more do you wish to know?”
“Was it love at first sight?” I asked, grinning.
He sighed. “Genie, if your aim is to elicit some sort of bedtime story from me about the grand romance you’ve built up in your head between myself and your father, then I suggest you download some teen romance e-books and try those instead.”
“You are no fun at all.”
“So I’ve been told.” He picked up his book. I kept watching him until he finally looked over at me again. “What?”
“Wasn’t it, though?”
“Wasn’t it what?”
“A grand romance.”
He considered this, then a small smile snuck onto his lips. “I can’t disagree with that characterization.” He fidgeted and cleared his throat.
I took pity on him. “So what’s it like, America? What am I to expect?” This is my first trip to America. One hears such things about it. I’ve had people tell me that it’s beyond horrible and people tell me that it’s bloody fantastic. I suppose I’ll find out now who’s right.
“A lot of people commenting on your accent.”
“Really?”
“Indeed. Be prepared for it to be called ‘cute’ an intolerable number of times. Be also prepared for people to think you’re Australian.”
“Australians sound nothing like us.”
“Apparently they do, to Americans.”
“Will everyone have that New York accent?”
“No. Does Estelle?”
“Oh. No, I guess not. She just sounds American.”
“Just be grateful we’re not going to the deep South. You wouldn’t be able to understand anyone.” He thought for a moment. “Americans don’t drink tea, and what they do drink is bloody awful, but they do have lovely coffee, of which they drink truly staggering quantities. Their chocolate is horrid, they will attempt to get you to eat a truly ridiculous amount of food at a sitting, and their telly programs have adverts every five minutes.”
“Blimey.”
“Americans are very – forward. Either they’re very friendly or they’re very unfriendly, and not shy about it either way.”
“Yeah. Jason was that way. Super friendly and sort of touchy-feely.”
“Americans have little regard for propriety or restraint.”
“Sounds like you hate it there.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Every place has merits and demerits.” He pulled a blanket from under his seat and handed it to me. “Try and get some sleep, at least. You don’t wish to be jetlagged for the first round.”
We landed at midnight, although to us it was five o’clock in the morning. Sherlock hailed a cab to take us into the city. He asked the driver to take us over the bridge. I wasn’t sure what that meant, so I just stared out at the New York City skyline, so different from London’s, dominated as it is by the Eye and the bloody Gherkin. “Look, it’s the World Trade Center!” I said.
“So it is.”
“Is that the tallest building in the city?”
“Tallest in America, I believe.”
“And the Empire State Building! Can we go up to the top?”
“I think that can be arranged.”
“What are we driving through right now?”
“Queens, I think.”
“Yup, this here’s Queens,” the driver spoke up. I grinned. He had a real New York accent! “Where you folks from? England?”
“London,” I said. “I’m here to compete in a chess tournament.”
“Chess, huh? Never could get into that game, myself. You seem pretty young for that.”
“I’m sixteen. But I’m very highly ranked!”
The driver chuckled. “I just bet you are, little lady.”
“What bridge are we going to go over?” I leaned up to talk to the driver through his little plastic partition. “The Brooklyn Bridge?”
He laughed again. “Naw, that’d put us downtown, and you folks are going to the Village. We’ll be going over the Williamsburg Bridge. Normally I’d take the midtown tunnel, but I guess your dad there wants you to see the sights, although it’s a bit outta your way.”
“Quite so,” Sherlock said.
“What village are we going to?”
“The chess club is in Greenwich Village, Genie. Our hotel’s just one street away.”
I was a bit giddy. Greenwich Village, for real! I plastered my face to the window as we neared the bridge and swooped over the river into Manhattan. Our driver had decided to play tour guide, which was fine by me. “This here’s Chinatown, you can see there,” he said, deftly weaving the cab in and out of the traffic, still pretty crazy at this time of night. “And in a few blocks we’ll be hitting Soho. I’ll turn north, it’s just a bit up to the Village.”
“We have a Soho in London, too!”
“Do you, now? Soho here stands for South of Houston.”
I frowned and turned to Sherlock. “What does ours stand for?”
“Nothing, as far as I know.”
“Well, we got a few of them abbreviations. Noho, and Tribeca, Bed-Stuy, and the like.” The driver chuckled. “Guess we don’t like saying things that’re too long.”
A few minutes later he pulled up outside our hotel, a modest building of red brick on a tree-lined street. I got out of the cab, staring around at the street. “I didn’t think there’d be this many trees!” Trees lined the pavements, wearing their bare-naked December outfits.
“What did you expect?” Sherlock said, unloading our bags.
“I don’t know. Concrete and glass everywhere?” The driver bid us goodnight and squealed off. “I thought you’d have us at the Plaza or someplace posh like that,” I said.
Sherlock and I went into the lobby. “I thought proximity to the chess club would be more important. You’ll be able to come back here and rest or study if you need to. We won’t forever be needing cabs everywhere, we can walk.”
“Aww, Sherlock! I’d almost think you cared! Picking a hotel for my convenience and everything.”
“Yes, well. Don’t let it get around,” he said, dropping me a wink.
Our room was nice enough. I set up my laptop right away and my full-sized chessboard. Sherlock was on his mobile before he even took off his coat. “John. Yes, we’re here. Safe as houses. You weren’t up, were you? For God’s sake, go to bed. It’s almost dawn there. She’s fine, the flight was fine, everything’s fine, all right? Would you like to talk to Genie?” He turned to me. “You want to talk to your father?”
“Tell him to go to bed.”
“You heard that, then? Yes, all right.” He listened for a moment, then his cheeks went a bit pink. “Well, yes. I, uh – I miss you, too. Yes, very well.” He hung up, harrumphing.
“Aww,” I said.
“Shush. You’d do well to take your own advice.”
I put it off for another hour or so but then fatigue set in and I went to bed.
Today has been brilliant! Sherlock was very patient with me and all the touristy stuff I wanted to see. The Metropolitan Museum of Art was amazing! We went up in the Empire State Building. It was freezing but the view was worth it. I looked toward downtown where the giant spike of the World Trade Center stuck up like a big finger, all by itself. “Is that where the twin towers were?” I asked Sherlock.
“Yes. The new tower was built right near where they stood.”
“Do you remember when that happened?”
“Of course. I was in my twenties. I don’t pay much attention to international events but one could hardly escape knowledge of that.”
I put a coin in the viewer thingie and zoomed in on Central Park and the George Washington Bridge. Sherlock got chatted up while we were there, too. It was rather funny. It was a very determined American woman, thirtyish, very pretty. He was being as unreceptive as possible but she didn’t seem deterred. I wasn’t surprised. Sherlock’s dead handsome, he gets chatted up all the time. He’s fifty years old but he barely looks forty. I’ve seen photos of him from around the time he and Dad met and he doesn’t look much different, except for a bit of gray hair at his temples. Then again, Dad doesn’t look much different, either. He jokes that he aged prematurely until he hit forty and then stopped.
Sherlock finally just walked away from the woman without a word and joined me at the viewer thingie. “Cannot people take a very unsubtle hint?” he grumbled.
“Some people think persistence pays off.”
“I don’t see how it could in this case when it is evident that I am a married man.”
“I hear that can have the opposite effect.”
He snorted. I was trying to spot the Statue of Liberty through the viewer thingie. “John and I came here once,” Sherlock said, sounding thoughtful.
“Yeah? When? On vacation?”
“No, it was for a case. You were just a baby. He insisted that we come up here, just as you did, even though it had no bearing on our purpose.” He glanced over to the other face of the building. “We stood over there. He seemed quite enamored of the view. I spotted two pickpockets and a serial rapist while he gawped at the skyline like a tourist.”
“He was a tourist.”
“You know what I mean.” He sighed, wrapping his coat tighter around him. “Come on, let’s go before we freeze to death.”
We did a bit of shopping – don’t let him tell you otherwise, Sherlock was just as interested as I was in the designer clothing stores – and he took me to dinner to this mad crazy restaurant that seemed utterly dedicated to beef in all its forms. “It’s America, we’re required to eat copious amounts of beef,” he explained, although he himself had nothing but a bowl of lobster bisque. I had barbecued ribs and they were divine. And messy.
“Are we exceptionally attractive?” I asked him in the cab on the way back to our hotel.
“Naturally. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just – everyone is so courteous. Waiters and sales clerks and even the bellhop at the hotel. Offering to carry our luggage and help us in any way humanly possible, and all that smiling. It’s kinda creepy. Like they’re all Autons or something.”
“Remember, many service staff here work for tips. It’s in their financial interest to be solicitous.”
“The clerk at that purse store wasn’t working for tips.”
“Expectations of service culture are somewhat different here, Genie. People who work in jobs where they interact with customers are expected to bend over backwards to extend them every conceivable courtesy and to do with sincere pleasure.”
“I don’t think I could do that if I worked in a shop.”
“Then I’d advise you not to attempt to do so in this country.” We were at the hotel by this time. Sherlock’s mobile rang just as we got to our room.
“That’ll be Dad,” I said.
Sherlock smirked, and I knew I was right. “Evening, John. Yes, all’s well. You know, I might regard the fact that this is your second call today as a judgment upon my guardianship capabilities.” He paused, listening, and then flushed pink again. “Oh. Well, that’s different, then. What would you like to hear me say?” He paused again, then cleared his throat pointedly. “John, I cannot possibly say that. Because our daughter is sitting right here! Here, speak to her, you are quite ridiculous.” He handed me the phone without a word, then went over to his laptop.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hello, sweetheart. How is New York?”
“It’s brilliant! We went up in the Empire State Building!”
“I’ve done that. Lovely view.”
“We went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Sherlock took me shopping.”
“Oh Lord, how much did you buy?”
“Not nearly as much as he did. Two new suits, I think.”
“It was one new suit and a jacket,” Sherlock interjected.
“Hear that? Yes. How are you and Mum getting along all by yourselves?”
“Your mum’s fine, but I’m not. I miss both of you terribly already.”
“Aww. I miss you too, Dad. It’s only a week and we’ll be home.”
“Can’t come soon enough. What’s on for tomorrow?”
“Going to the chess club to meet some people. Play a few warm-up games.”
“Are you nervous for the tournament?”
“Not really. I’m in a good position. I’m at the upper end of the ranked players entered but not at the very top, so I’m not expected to win. Takes some of the pressure off. I’ll play better without it.”
“Mum and I are pulling for you. You’ll destroy them all.”
I grinned. “That’s not too likely, but thanks for the vote of confidence. You want Sherlock back?”
“Yes, thanks. Goodnight, Genie.”
“Night, Dad.” I handed the phone back to Sherlock and turned to my laptop. I wished I could call Zack or Skype him, but it was after midnight at home. I’d do it tomorrow.
Like my thoughts had made it so, my mobile went off. Text message.
Miss you.
A little shiver went over me. It was Zach.
I miss you too. Just thought about calling you.
Best not. Supposed to be sleeping. Don’t want the parentals to hear.
Le sigh.
Le bigger sigh. How is trip so far?
Smashing. Went up in Empire State building today. Ate barbecued ribs.
Aren’t you there to play chess?
All chess and no play makes Genie a dull girl.
That doesn’t rhyme.
It’s a sexist saying in the first place. As if all work and no play don’t make everybody dull, not just boys.
Death to the patriarchy?
A-bloody-men. I love having a feminist boyfriend.
Hey, an empowered girlfriend benefits me, too.
That sounds like you have nefarious intentions, Mr. Lancaster.
Not saying a word.
Keep an eye on my parents while I’m gone, huh? Dad gets lonesome.
Genie, I love you but I am not chatting up your Dad.
You what? I just sort of stared at the previous message for awhile. He didn’t respond for long enough that I started to get nervous.
Yeah. I love you. I know I’m not supposed to this soon. But it isn’t soon. It’s years and years and there’s never been anybody but you, not really. I sound like a schmoozy love ballad. Ugh.
I couldn’t stop grinning. You can sing me a schmoozy love ballad anytime you want.
I am losing major manliness points right now, aren’t I?
Yes, you are, and you’re better off without them.
As long as you think so. I gotta go. I need sleep.
Okay.
Goodnight.
Wait?
What?
I love you, too.
I’m gonna have good dreams tonight. Night.
When I closed my phone, Sherlock was looking at me, having hung up with Dad while I was texting Zach. “Mr. Lancaster?”
“What was it? My telltale flush? My fidgeting? My silly grin? The angle at which I’m holding my neck?”
“No. You have a specific alert sound for his texts.”
I felt quite stupid just then. “Oh. Right.”
We watched some American telly (he wasn’t kidding about the adverts). I sat down to write this blog entry, which is now finished, and soon it will be bedtime. Tomorrow I will go to the chess club and pick some fights.
Because I have come here to kick ass and take names. And I already know everyone’s name.
My thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
katead who provided a lot of information about how America seems to a Brit.
Next Entry
Author: MadLori
Length: 3400
Genre: Family, humor, shameless fluff
Pairing: Sherlock/John (established), John/OFC (referenced, in the past)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Teenagerfic
Summary:We did a bit of shopping – don’t let him tell you otherwise, Sherlock was just as interested as I was in the designer clothing stores – and he took me to dinner to this mad crazy restaurant that seemed utterly dedicated to beef in all its forms. “It’s America, we’re required to eat copious amounts of beef,” he explained, although he himself had nothing but a bowl of lobster bisque. I had barbecued ribs and they were divine. And messy.
Genie's blog stars here: 1 September
My apologies for the gap in entries. I've been dealing with some rather horrific home-related issues and haven't had time for writing. This entry is the first in a series so I'll hope to have an entry up almost once a day as I've been doing. Thank you for your forebearance.
The Blog of Eugenia H. Watson, Girl With the Pearl Earring
2 December
I am in New York City and it is awesome!
I wanted to write last night but I was so damn tired so I waited until today. This is why Sherlock booked us tickets for Friday when I don’t have to start playing until Monday: jet lag.
So yesterday afternoon our flight left around four o’clock. I don’t have afternoon classes on Fridays so I came home at lunchtime. I’d packed my bags the night before. Sherlock, as usual, had waited until the last minute. I could hear him and Dad bashing about their flat trying to get all his things sorted, while I sat patiently in our lounge with my neatly-packed bags, Mum waiting to drive us to the airport.
He was finally ready at two thirty, and off we went in Mum’s car. Mum and Dad and I chatted about the tournament, and New York, and the things that Sherlock and I might do there when I wasn’t playing. Sherlock didn’t say anything. He was just looking out the window, holding Dad’s hand on his knee.
See, Sherlock has a secret. He doesn’t like to travel. Wait, that isn’t exactly true. What he doesn’t like is being away from Dad. He likes traveling fine when they travel together.
Mum pulled up to the dropoff at the terminal at Heathrow. Dad piled out and hauled our bags out of the boot. I hugged Mum tight. “Good luck, sweetheart,” she said. “We’ll be watching the stream in the evening. Keep us updated.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
I moved to hug Dad. He seemed a tad emotional. “Now, you mind Sherlock,” he said.
I laughed. “Dad, between him and me, which is more likely to faff off on a wild adventure?”
He chuckled. “All right, point. Have fun, though. Try not to get too caught up in the tournament that you can’t see anything of the city. Take loads of pictures.”
“I will.”
Dad turned to Sherlock and they embraced. Sherlock pressed his face into Dad’s neck for a moment. Dad pulled away a little. “Call me when you get there,” he said, quietly, adjusting Sherlock’s lapels.
“All right.” Sherlock reached up and clasped Dad’s hands. “I’ll look after Genie, have no fear.”
“I never doubted it.” He kissed him. “I love you.” Sherlock just smiled and touched Dad’s cheek. He hardly ever says that back, at least, not when anybody else can hear. Dad came back to me. “And I love you, Eugenia.” He squeezed me again and kissed my cheek. “I shall miss you dreadfully.”
“I wish you and Mum were coming.”
“So do we, but someone’s got to hold down jobs in this family,” Dad said, smiling.
Sherlock kissed Mum’s cheek, then looked back over at Dad. They just exchanged nods, then Sherlock turned and started for the terminal with his suitcase. I kissed Mum and Dad both again, then grabbed my own bag and hurried after him. “Thank God that’s over,” Sherlock grumbled. “I do loathe good-byes.” I looked back over my shoulder. Mum and Dad were still by the car, watching us leave. They waved when they saw me look. I waved back, then faced resolutely forward.
The best part of traveling with Sherlock is that he doesn’t tolerate anything less than the best possible arrangements. Dad would have had us crammed into coach, but Sherlock had purchased first-class tickets for us. That would make the ten-hour flight tolerable, at least. After passing through security, we boarded and settled into our seats. I set up my travel chess set at once and got out my notes. I’d be reviewing strategies right up until I was scheduled to play. This would be a standard Swiss tournament, meaning that every player plays the same number of games against opponents who are chosen based on rating and accumulated points according to a totally incomprehensible mathematical formula, with your opponents becoming more and more challenging as you win games, so that by the end of the week the best players are playing each other and so forth. The winner is determined by the player with the highest point total.
Sherlock got out a book and immediately went still and silent. He didn’t speak during takeoff.
It took me about two hours to get bored. “I’m bored.”
“Done studying, then?”
“My eyes are crossing.”
“Read a book.”
“Don’t feel like it.”
“Watch a film. They have them on order.”
“Nothing good. I looked.”
He heaved a sigh. “What would you like me to do? Dance a jig for your amusement?”
“Yes, please.”
“Not bloody likely.”
“Let’s just talk.”
He marked his place and put his book away with a great show of being quite put out. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Tell me stories from when I was little. Or from before I was born.”
“What ‘stories’ would you care to hear?”
I turned on my side and tucked up my legs. “I don’t know. Tell me about when you and Dad first met.”
“Surely you know all about that.”
“Not really. Just that you were flatmates.”
“What more do you wish to know?”
“Was it love at first sight?” I asked, grinning.
He sighed. “Genie, if your aim is to elicit some sort of bedtime story from me about the grand romance you’ve built up in your head between myself and your father, then I suggest you download some teen romance e-books and try those instead.”
“You are no fun at all.”
“So I’ve been told.” He picked up his book. I kept watching him until he finally looked over at me again. “What?”
“Wasn’t it, though?”
“Wasn’t it what?”
“A grand romance.”
He considered this, then a small smile snuck onto his lips. “I can’t disagree with that characterization.” He fidgeted and cleared his throat.
I took pity on him. “So what’s it like, America? What am I to expect?” This is my first trip to America. One hears such things about it. I’ve had people tell me that it’s beyond horrible and people tell me that it’s bloody fantastic. I suppose I’ll find out now who’s right.
“A lot of people commenting on your accent.”
“Really?”
“Indeed. Be prepared for it to be called ‘cute’ an intolerable number of times. Be also prepared for people to think you’re Australian.”
“Australians sound nothing like us.”
“Apparently they do, to Americans.”
“Will everyone have that New York accent?”
“No. Does Estelle?”
“Oh. No, I guess not. She just sounds American.”
“Just be grateful we’re not going to the deep South. You wouldn’t be able to understand anyone.” He thought for a moment. “Americans don’t drink tea, and what they do drink is bloody awful, but they do have lovely coffee, of which they drink truly staggering quantities. Their chocolate is horrid, they will attempt to get you to eat a truly ridiculous amount of food at a sitting, and their telly programs have adverts every five minutes.”
“Blimey.”
“Americans are very – forward. Either they’re very friendly or they’re very unfriendly, and not shy about it either way.”
“Yeah. Jason was that way. Super friendly and sort of touchy-feely.”
“Americans have little regard for propriety or restraint.”
“Sounds like you hate it there.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Every place has merits and demerits.” He pulled a blanket from under his seat and handed it to me. “Try and get some sleep, at least. You don’t wish to be jetlagged for the first round.”
We landed at midnight, although to us it was five o’clock in the morning. Sherlock hailed a cab to take us into the city. He asked the driver to take us over the bridge. I wasn’t sure what that meant, so I just stared out at the New York City skyline, so different from London’s, dominated as it is by the Eye and the bloody Gherkin. “Look, it’s the World Trade Center!” I said.
“So it is.”
“Is that the tallest building in the city?”
“Tallest in America, I believe.”
“And the Empire State Building! Can we go up to the top?”
“I think that can be arranged.”
“What are we driving through right now?”
“Queens, I think.”
“Yup, this here’s Queens,” the driver spoke up. I grinned. He had a real New York accent! “Where you folks from? England?”
“London,” I said. “I’m here to compete in a chess tournament.”
“Chess, huh? Never could get into that game, myself. You seem pretty young for that.”
“I’m sixteen. But I’m very highly ranked!”
The driver chuckled. “I just bet you are, little lady.”
“What bridge are we going to go over?” I leaned up to talk to the driver through his little plastic partition. “The Brooklyn Bridge?”
He laughed again. “Naw, that’d put us downtown, and you folks are going to the Village. We’ll be going over the Williamsburg Bridge. Normally I’d take the midtown tunnel, but I guess your dad there wants you to see the sights, although it’s a bit outta your way.”
“Quite so,” Sherlock said.
“What village are we going to?”
“The chess club is in Greenwich Village, Genie. Our hotel’s just one street away.”
I was a bit giddy. Greenwich Village, for real! I plastered my face to the window as we neared the bridge and swooped over the river into Manhattan. Our driver had decided to play tour guide, which was fine by me. “This here’s Chinatown, you can see there,” he said, deftly weaving the cab in and out of the traffic, still pretty crazy at this time of night. “And in a few blocks we’ll be hitting Soho. I’ll turn north, it’s just a bit up to the Village.”
“We have a Soho in London, too!”
“Do you, now? Soho here stands for South of Houston.”
I frowned and turned to Sherlock. “What does ours stand for?”
“Nothing, as far as I know.”
“Well, we got a few of them abbreviations. Noho, and Tribeca, Bed-Stuy, and the like.” The driver chuckled. “Guess we don’t like saying things that’re too long.”
A few minutes later he pulled up outside our hotel, a modest building of red brick on a tree-lined street. I got out of the cab, staring around at the street. “I didn’t think there’d be this many trees!” Trees lined the pavements, wearing their bare-naked December outfits.
“What did you expect?” Sherlock said, unloading our bags.
“I don’t know. Concrete and glass everywhere?” The driver bid us goodnight and squealed off. “I thought you’d have us at the Plaza or someplace posh like that,” I said.
Sherlock and I went into the lobby. “I thought proximity to the chess club would be more important. You’ll be able to come back here and rest or study if you need to. We won’t forever be needing cabs everywhere, we can walk.”
“Aww, Sherlock! I’d almost think you cared! Picking a hotel for my convenience and everything.”
“Yes, well. Don’t let it get around,” he said, dropping me a wink.
Our room was nice enough. I set up my laptop right away and my full-sized chessboard. Sherlock was on his mobile before he even took off his coat. “John. Yes, we’re here. Safe as houses. You weren’t up, were you? For God’s sake, go to bed. It’s almost dawn there. She’s fine, the flight was fine, everything’s fine, all right? Would you like to talk to Genie?” He turned to me. “You want to talk to your father?”
“Tell him to go to bed.”
“You heard that, then? Yes, all right.” He listened for a moment, then his cheeks went a bit pink. “Well, yes. I, uh – I miss you, too. Yes, very well.” He hung up, harrumphing.
“Aww,” I said.
“Shush. You’d do well to take your own advice.”
I put it off for another hour or so but then fatigue set in and I went to bed.
Today has been brilliant! Sherlock was very patient with me and all the touristy stuff I wanted to see. The Metropolitan Museum of Art was amazing! We went up in the Empire State Building. It was freezing but the view was worth it. I looked toward downtown where the giant spike of the World Trade Center stuck up like a big finger, all by itself. “Is that where the twin towers were?” I asked Sherlock.
“Yes. The new tower was built right near where they stood.”
“Do you remember when that happened?”
“Of course. I was in my twenties. I don’t pay much attention to international events but one could hardly escape knowledge of that.”
I put a coin in the viewer thingie and zoomed in on Central Park and the George Washington Bridge. Sherlock got chatted up while we were there, too. It was rather funny. It was a very determined American woman, thirtyish, very pretty. He was being as unreceptive as possible but she didn’t seem deterred. I wasn’t surprised. Sherlock’s dead handsome, he gets chatted up all the time. He’s fifty years old but he barely looks forty. I’ve seen photos of him from around the time he and Dad met and he doesn’t look much different, except for a bit of gray hair at his temples. Then again, Dad doesn’t look much different, either. He jokes that he aged prematurely until he hit forty and then stopped.
Sherlock finally just walked away from the woman without a word and joined me at the viewer thingie. “Cannot people take a very unsubtle hint?” he grumbled.
“Some people think persistence pays off.”
“I don’t see how it could in this case when it is evident that I am a married man.”
“I hear that can have the opposite effect.”
He snorted. I was trying to spot the Statue of Liberty through the viewer thingie. “John and I came here once,” Sherlock said, sounding thoughtful.
“Yeah? When? On vacation?”
“No, it was for a case. You were just a baby. He insisted that we come up here, just as you did, even though it had no bearing on our purpose.” He glanced over to the other face of the building. “We stood over there. He seemed quite enamored of the view. I spotted two pickpockets and a serial rapist while he gawped at the skyline like a tourist.”
“He was a tourist.”
“You know what I mean.” He sighed, wrapping his coat tighter around him. “Come on, let’s go before we freeze to death.”
We did a bit of shopping – don’t let him tell you otherwise, Sherlock was just as interested as I was in the designer clothing stores – and he took me to dinner to this mad crazy restaurant that seemed utterly dedicated to beef in all its forms. “It’s America, we’re required to eat copious amounts of beef,” he explained, although he himself had nothing but a bowl of lobster bisque. I had barbecued ribs and they were divine. And messy.
“Are we exceptionally attractive?” I asked him in the cab on the way back to our hotel.
“Naturally. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just – everyone is so courteous. Waiters and sales clerks and even the bellhop at the hotel. Offering to carry our luggage and help us in any way humanly possible, and all that smiling. It’s kinda creepy. Like they’re all Autons or something.”
“Remember, many service staff here work for tips. It’s in their financial interest to be solicitous.”
“The clerk at that purse store wasn’t working for tips.”
“Expectations of service culture are somewhat different here, Genie. People who work in jobs where they interact with customers are expected to bend over backwards to extend them every conceivable courtesy and to do with sincere pleasure.”
“I don’t think I could do that if I worked in a shop.”
“Then I’d advise you not to attempt to do so in this country.” We were at the hotel by this time. Sherlock’s mobile rang just as we got to our room.
“That’ll be Dad,” I said.
Sherlock smirked, and I knew I was right. “Evening, John. Yes, all’s well. You know, I might regard the fact that this is your second call today as a judgment upon my guardianship capabilities.” He paused, listening, and then flushed pink again. “Oh. Well, that’s different, then. What would you like to hear me say?” He paused again, then cleared his throat pointedly. “John, I cannot possibly say that. Because our daughter is sitting right here! Here, speak to her, you are quite ridiculous.” He handed me the phone without a word, then went over to his laptop.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hello, sweetheart. How is New York?”
“It’s brilliant! We went up in the Empire State Building!”
“I’ve done that. Lovely view.”
“We went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Sherlock took me shopping.”
“Oh Lord, how much did you buy?”
“Not nearly as much as he did. Two new suits, I think.”
“It was one new suit and a jacket,” Sherlock interjected.
“Hear that? Yes. How are you and Mum getting along all by yourselves?”
“Your mum’s fine, but I’m not. I miss both of you terribly already.”
“Aww. I miss you too, Dad. It’s only a week and we’ll be home.”
“Can’t come soon enough. What’s on for tomorrow?”
“Going to the chess club to meet some people. Play a few warm-up games.”
“Are you nervous for the tournament?”
“Not really. I’m in a good position. I’m at the upper end of the ranked players entered but not at the very top, so I’m not expected to win. Takes some of the pressure off. I’ll play better without it.”
“Mum and I are pulling for you. You’ll destroy them all.”
I grinned. “That’s not too likely, but thanks for the vote of confidence. You want Sherlock back?”
“Yes, thanks. Goodnight, Genie.”
“Night, Dad.” I handed the phone back to Sherlock and turned to my laptop. I wished I could call Zack or Skype him, but it was after midnight at home. I’d do it tomorrow.
Like my thoughts had made it so, my mobile went off. Text message.
Miss you.
A little shiver went over me. It was Zach.
I miss you too. Just thought about calling you.
Best not. Supposed to be sleeping. Don’t want the parentals to hear.
Le sigh.
Le bigger sigh. How is trip so far?
Smashing. Went up in Empire State building today. Ate barbecued ribs.
Aren’t you there to play chess?
All chess and no play makes Genie a dull girl.
That doesn’t rhyme.
It’s a sexist saying in the first place. As if all work and no play don’t make everybody dull, not just boys.
Death to the patriarchy?
A-bloody-men. I love having a feminist boyfriend.
Hey, an empowered girlfriend benefits me, too.
That sounds like you have nefarious intentions, Mr. Lancaster.
Not saying a word.
Keep an eye on my parents while I’m gone, huh? Dad gets lonesome.
Genie, I love you but I am not chatting up your Dad.
You what? I just sort of stared at the previous message for awhile. He didn’t respond for long enough that I started to get nervous.
Yeah. I love you. I know I’m not supposed to this soon. But it isn’t soon. It’s years and years and there’s never been anybody but you, not really. I sound like a schmoozy love ballad. Ugh.
I couldn’t stop grinning. You can sing me a schmoozy love ballad anytime you want.
I am losing major manliness points right now, aren’t I?
Yes, you are, and you’re better off without them.
As long as you think so. I gotta go. I need sleep.
Okay.
Goodnight.
Wait?
What?
I love you, too.
I’m gonna have good dreams tonight. Night.
When I closed my phone, Sherlock was looking at me, having hung up with Dad while I was texting Zach. “Mr. Lancaster?”
“What was it? My telltale flush? My fidgeting? My silly grin? The angle at which I’m holding my neck?”
“No. You have a specific alert sound for his texts.”
I felt quite stupid just then. “Oh. Right.”
We watched some American telly (he wasn’t kidding about the adverts). I sat down to write this blog entry, which is now finished, and soon it will be bedtime. Tomorrow I will go to the chess club and pick some fights.
Because I have come here to kick ass and take names. And I already know everyone’s name.
My thanks to
katead who provided a lot of information about how America seems to a Brit.Next Entry
