Last Call

Summer is taking its good, sweet time leaving New York. It was balmy out last night—likely one of the last warm evenings of the season—so J and I had drinks on an outdoor deck that was 14 floors above Broadway and 54th St. To the left, down below, the marquee for the David Letterman show jetted out onto the sidewalk. To the right, Broadway flowed into the evening glow of Times Square. The tourists, God bless them, were out en masse.

J is a producer at a major news organization. She just won an Emmy for a piece she did on a children’s hospital in Iraq. I asked her where she was going to keep the statue and she said she wasn’t getting one. Apparently, when you win an Emmy, you have to pay for the statue. It’s $350 and she doesn’t want to spend the money. D, her husband, said that he’d be happy to pay for it but she is resistant. She can certainly afford it. She just doesn’t want to pay for it. She’s crazy, right? Wouldn’t you buy your Emmy if you won one? I would.

Here’s another sure sign that summer is coming to a close: They are rolling up the sod in Bryant Park to make way for the ice skating rink. Construction will start next week. By the time the autumn winds start to whip down 42nd Street off the Hudson River, the hot chocolate kiosks and morning skaters will be back.