Authors: Anthony Bidulka
wish to make upon checking in, and select your air-
plane wardrobe accordingly. So, although I was
sharply dressed to make my first entrance into a
swanky New York City hotel, with the best acces-
sory of all, Sereena, and though I had the strong
desire to walk in like Joan Collins in an episode of
Dynasty
, I’m sure I appeared as the worst of
tourist trash, stumbling along behind her like a
poorly trained poodle, gawking at the muralled
ceiling, priceless paintings and intricately tiled
floor. And of all the glory, the most curious to me
was a door. It was on the right as we entered the
exclusive sanctum of The Sherry-Netherland. The
door was curious because of how completely out
of place it appeared in this ornate palace. It was
just a door. No adornment whatsoever, just a plain
old door. So plain it seemed to hope not to be
noticed.
“Members-only club,” Sereena commented as
she swept by. “Want to slip in for a drink? And
that,” she nodded towards another, better-marked
doorway next to it, “is Harry’s. Of course we’ll
have dinner there one night.” I later learned
“Harry’s” is Harry Cipriani, a supposedly famed
Italian/Venetian restaurant.
“Ahhhhhh…I guess we should check in first?”
I answered although she didn’t seem to be waiting
for it.
“Yes, yes, let’s do that,” she said, already at the
front desk.
The woman at the counter was officious and
efficient and deferred to any comment made by
Anthony Bidulka — 261
Sereena like a peon would to a queen. After
receiving our room keys and being told our lug-
gage had already preceded us to our suites, we
were directed to Alfred, the hunched over, octoge-
narian elevator man who patiently awaited the
pleasure of our company. We entered the golden
cage and all was right with the world until, as
Alfred pushed the appropriate buttons and knobs,
I had the sense of being watched. And in the
instant before the doors closed I thought I spotted
the prying eyes of a dark-haired woman standing
by the revolving doors of the hotel. She was look-
ing right at me as if she knew me—in a city of 7.5
million strangers.
Chapter 14
WHEN THE ELEVATOR STOPPED on Sereena’s floor,
Alfred announced the floor, courteously held
open the door with his white-gloved hand for her
departure, and as she sashayed past, he said,
“Good afternoon, Ms. Ashbourne.” Ms.
Ashbourne? I was sure I saw Sereena’s three-inch
heels break stride but then the door slid shut and
she was gone.
“I’m sorry,” I said to the old man, “but do you
know my friend?”
“I know everyone who has stayed at The
Sherry-Netherland during my time here—more
years than I care to count,” he answered pleasant-
ly.
“But you called her Ms. Ashbourne. That’s not
her name.”
He looked at me strangely and almost grateful-
ly shifted away when the elevator thumped to a
halt and he announced, “Sixteenth floor.”
Although I should have stayed with Alfred to
pursue the matter, I got off. Sereena and I had
agreed to meet back in the lobby in an hour and I
wanted to make a few phone calls before then.
As the door closed he said, “I was obviously
mistaken, sir. My apologies.”
Using the phone number given to me by his
mother, I had called James Kraft before I’d left
Saskatoon and set up an appointment to meet
with him. Despite the attraction of the destination,
Anthony Bidulka — 263
I wasn’t about to travel that distance on my
client’s dime (and some of Sereena’s) without
some assurance I’d get what I was going for. I’d
told him I was a Canadian talent agent visiting
New York and had been impressed by some of his
work (which I could recite from the handy resume
on the back of his photo). He seemed excited to
meet. When I got to my room I tried the number
again to confirm our appointment for the next
afternoon but only reached his voice mail. I left a
message repeating the details of our meeting and
telling him where I was staying and the room num-
ber in case he needed to contact me. I then used my
SaskTel calling card and dialled my home number.
“Ya, hello?”
“Mom, it’s Russell.”
“Oi, ees everyting alright? Vhere are you?” she
sounded worried.
“I’m fine, Mom. I’m in New York. We had a
good flight. Did you get home from the airport
okay?” Mom had volunteered to drive us to the
airport in her van. She’s not overly confident with
city driving, particularly in the winter and,
although she seemed to do well getting us there, I
was concerned about her getting back home with-
out our navigational aid.
“Oh ya, uh-huh. I drive slow and get here.”
“Oh, good. Is Kelly coming over today?”
“Ya, ya, she call. She come for supper.”
“Oh good. Okay, I just wanted to check in,
make sure you’re okay.”
“Ya, ya. You haf safe treep, I pray for you.”
Back at ya.
264 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
After a quick shower to freshen up from the
journey and a change into one of my “New York
State of Mind” outfits, which was basically an
over-priced, stretchy top with my wonderpants
and a cozy leather jacket appropriate for New
York winter conditions, I headed back to the ele-
vator. When the door opened I joined a new ele-
vator man—considerably younger and less dried
out than Alfred—and a wizened gnome of a
woman hidden beneath a beehive bouffant and a
sumptuous chinchilla coat. The Sherry-
Netherland, in addition to being a hotel, was also
home to a number of owner-occupied suites and it
was from one of these I guessed this interesting
creature had emerged.
“Main floor,” I told Hunky. His name tag said
“Seth” but I preferred Hunky.
“Yap! Yap! Yap!”
I looked down at a something that could best
be described as Chewbacca sperm. Its two front
paws grazed my shin and its two rear paws rarely
touched the ground as it hopped up and down
like a furry wind-up toy on amphetamines.
“Oh Shelby, stop flirting with the man,” a voice
made of gritty sauce slithered out from some-
where in between the bouffant and the chinchilla.
This was flirting? I smiled at the pile of hair
and then down at its spawn. The dog kept on yip-
ping and looking like it was about to hop into my
arms and chew my nose off.
“Oh really, Shelby, such manners for a lady!”
More gravel from the woman.
Under the spell of some crazed compulsion, I
Anthony Bidulka — 265
leaned down and reached out for Shelby.
Wondrously the movement seemed to appease the
dog-like thing and she shut her trap as soon as my
fingers made first contact. But as my hand ran over
her quivering body I could barely conceal my sur-
prise. She was…crunchy, as if she’d been shel-
lacked or covered in…hairspray. Her owner, in
preparation for a walk in the windy park, had hair-
sprayed her dog’s hair! I looked up at the woman’s
own hair and realized the styles and colour were
not dissimilar.
As I straightened up the elevator came to a
stop and the woman and her Mini-Me dog
stepped out. As they scuttled away from us I over-
heard her chastise her pet, “Shelby, you are such a
slut.”
I looked at Hunky who appeared unfazed.
A New York moment I’d say.
Sereena was a vision in head to toe cranberry-
hued leather as we made our way across Fifth
Avenue at 59th in a swirl of feathery snow that
had just begun to fall from a cotton-batting sky. It
wasn’t particularly cold out, but she’d pretended
it was to rationalize a must-stop at the Plaza’s Oak
Bar for an Offley Port. She expertly led the way
through the maze of horse-drawn carriages,
movers and shakers and hawkers and gawkers
that littered the area in front of the hotel. And
although no less awed than the tourists outside, I
tried my best not to be waylaid by the grandness
of the interior of the hotel when we marched
266 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
smartly through the foyer, as if we did it every
day, and down a corridor or two to the unassum-
ing entrance of the bar.
After soaking up ambiance and pricey port at
the Oak Bar we buoyantly walked arm in arm to
West 54th Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues
where Sereena (and The Sherry-Netherland
concierge) had managed to get us a table at
Aquavit, reputably the grandest of New York’s
Scandinavian restaurants. It claims to raise the
level of eating Swedish food to an art form. And as
my entire experience with Swedish food consisted
of cheese fondue (or is that Swiss?) from Safeway,
this was bound to be a treat for me.
After relinquishing possession of our coats, the
maître d’, a charming man with an unpronounce-
able name and matching accent, seated us at a
lovely table for two near a wall of water cascading
in shimmering sheets from an enormous height.
In no time our server, with the very pronounce-
able name of Joyce, came by to chat. She was
friendly and sincerely thrilled (good training) to
have a New York first-timer (me) and Aquavit
first-timers (both of us) in her restaurant. She was
so knowledgeable about the menu and how each
dish was prepared that we eventually put our fate
in her hands and requested she bring us her
favourites. And drinks.
Normally I wait until liquor is served before
bringing up serious topics, but I couldn’t stand it
anymore. Except for the tree trimming party
where little of substance was discussed, what with
all the zoo animals in attendance, I had spoken lit-
Anthony Bidulka — 267
tle or not at all to my friends who were at Diva’s
the previous Saturday night.
“I’m worried about Anthony and Jared,” I
began. “I almost feel like it was my fault. If it was-
n’t for my client…”
“What’s that? What are we talking about?”
Sereena quipped back.
“Diva’s…Anthony and Jared…the whole
Anthony-sleeping-with-my-client thing?” I shook
my head. Not much got by Sereena. I didn’t know
why was she playing so dense.
“They were sleeping together?”
Duh. “Sereena…you know this. You heard it
too.”
“They had sex, Russell, they weren’t sleeping
together. It wasn’t an affair, was it?”
I sat silently. Sereena’s eyes moved over my
shoulder to someone or someones trying to attract
her attention. She pasted one of her famous mirth-
less smiles on her face and nodded at a table of
diners she obviously knew—or who knew her—
and quickly returned her full attention to me. At
first she said nothing, seeming to concentrate on
the topic I’d brought up as if she’d only just recog-
nized it as worthy of thought. After a few seconds
of that she said, “What happened was unfortu-
nate. Surprising to some, awkward I suppose to
others. But is this a big deal, Russell?”
Of course it is! “Don’t you think so?”
Her head moved slightly from right to left, her
bright eyes intently resting on mine. “It had no
effect on me whatsoever. Except that it prematurely
ended what was a rather pleasant evening—that
268 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
was unfortunate. The rest of it—well, that’s none
of my business.” She stopped short of saying, “Or
yours” and instead said, “What do you think?”
“They’re friends of mine. How can it not affect
me? And as a friend I should care and worry
about what’s going to happen next. Isn’t that what
friends are for?”
“Not always.”
At that point Joyce returned, balancing a tray
so large I’d have thought it was impossible for one
human to do so. I was grateful for her appearance.
I definitely needed a drink. Like a magician
pulling rabbits out of a hat, Joyce revealed her
enticing delicacies with a dramatic flair.
“I know you’ll want wine with dinner,” she
said, “but first, as an aperitif you must have a
Flight of Aquavit, a house specialty.” She placed in
front of us two small, metal-and-wood racks, each
containing three glass containers that looked like