The Last Phone Booth in Manhattan
Beth Merlin & Danielle Modafferi
No space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunity misused.
—Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
Chapter One
I peeked my head out of the bathroom, foamy toothpaste still coating my lips, and scurried in the direction of my ringing phone on the bedside table. Diving across the mattress, I hurried to grab it before it went to voice mail.
“Hi, sweetie!” I panted.
“Hurry and get dressed. I’m sending Leon to pick you up in an hour to come and meet me at the tree for a special little date.” Adam’s voice was rife with confidence as the noise of the city bustled from behind him and into the receiver.
“Wait, what tree? Like the tree? Like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree? Adam, are you insane? All of that holiday traffic. It’s Christmas Eve. It’s probably the busiest place on planet Earth right now. Midtown’s gonna be a zoo.” The plea unraveled from my mouth as more of a rant, and I drew in a long breath once I was finished. “Why can’t we just meet closer to the apartment?” I offered by way of a compromise.
I knew Adam had the best intentions planning us an impromptu date, but the thought of navigating the throngs of last-minute shoppers and bumbling gawkers made my anxiety skyrocket. Unease surged through my body at the thought of all those shuffling out-of-towners, the ones who caused pedestrian pileups every time they stopped dead in their tracks to snap a zillionth picture of the tree. I shuddered and burrowed underneath the covers.
Adam scoffed on the other end of the line. “Avery, are you serious? You live in Manhattan. There are crowds everywhere. Every day. C’mon, I promise, it’ll be worth it.”
“Of course there are crowds in New York, but not like Rockefeller-Center-at-Christmas crowds! Every New Yorker worth their salt knows Midtown is off-limits this time of year,” I joked, but I softened my voice, trying to remind myself that Adam’s spontaneity and thoughtfulness were just two of the many things I loved about him. “It’s cold out, and I say we reschedule whatever sweet idea you planned, and insteeeead, you should just come home and get back in bed with me.” I punctuated the me at the end of my suggestion with a breathy purr, emphasizing my sexy （and hopefully enticing enough） invitation.
“C’mon, don’t be naughty, be nice . . . Santa’s gonna be checking that list tonight,” he teased. “Seriously, though, get dressed. Leon’s already on his way to pick you up, and I promise he’ll drop you right where you need to be—no crowds to battle, okay?”
I guess spending an afternoon with the love of my life under the twinkling lights of the biggest tree in the greatest city in the entire universe wasn’t going to be too shabby. “I’m always nice. You’re the one who’s naughty.” My voice couldn’t disguise my grin. I glanced at my phone, the time 12:21 illuminated over a close-up of me and Adam rosy cheek to rosy cheek from his last spontaneous “little date”—a Thanksgiving skiing trip to Vail. “Okay, okay, give me a few minutes to get ready. Love you,” I cooed.
“Love you more, kid.”
After I took a moment to kick my feet against the bed in defiance—a mock adult-size tantrum that would have been laughable to anyone watching—I sat myself up, remembered I had the most amazing boyfriend in the world who loved to spoil me rotten, and thanked my lucky stars as I scurried my ass to the shower.
Leon, Adam’s driver, pulled up alongside Rockefeller Center, where whistle-toting policemen were directing traffic and pedestrians to and fro. Though the sidewalks were as packed as ever, partitions and arches made of winter greenery and fairy lights outlined the square, highlighting the magnificence of the famous tree as its centerpiece.
I rolled down the window to inhale the sweet smell of roasting chestnuts, while a Salvation Army volunteer’s silver bell chimed into the air, and I wondered why I had put up such a fight earlier—there was nothing more magical than New York City during the holidays. When I was a young girl growing up in a small Connecticut town, every December my parents would pack up the family car and we’d drive into the city to spend the day looking at the famous Fifth Avenue window displays and graceful ice skaters weaving their figure eights below the glittery tree. Finances were always tight, but somehow Mom and Dad managed to make me feel like we had everything we needed. They created special moments to replace the things we couldn’t afford, and those memories became some of my favorites.
The only other time we’d make the trip into Manhattan was on my birthday, when Mom would let me play hooky from school and we’d hop on an early-morning Metro-North train to see a matinee of a Broadway show. We’d stand on the long TKTS line that snaked through the center of Times Square, hoping to score discount tickets, and then wander through the crowded city streets marveling at how much bigger the theaters were compared to our local playhouse.
Mom would even let me stay after to wait by the stage door so the actors could sign the Playbill, which I always proudly added to my collection once I got home. But when Adam started turning my birthday into an all-out extravaganza—usually a surprise trip somewhere exotic or a ten-course private tasting menu at a Michelin-star restaurant—at some point, I guess the tradition of venturing into the city with my mom for a matinee just fell away.
“Hey, Leon, is there any way you can drop me closer to Fifty-Seventh and Fifth? If you leave me here, I’m afraid I’ll never find Adam.”
As if he hadn’t heard me, Leon parked at the sidewalk, hurried to open my door, and offered his hand to help me out of the car.
How on earth am I ever going to—
And suddenly, as I straightened my peacoat and slid on a pair of fluffy earmuffs, turning to look up at the street signs to get my bearings, there was Adam standing in front of the large decorative archway made of crystalline, twinkling, ice-covered branches, highlighted with white lilies and winter sprigs adorned with rustic pine cones. The scene looked like a holiday card, or something from a photo shoot. Oh! They must be filming a movie?! On Christmas Eve?
Adam extended his hand to grab for mine as my eyes and brain competed with one another, racing to take it all in. He looked exceptionally handsome in a hand-tailored Tom Ford suit that was the perfect shade of navy against his olive skin and dirty-blond hair. Oh, how I loved that suit on him. He paired it with a long coat, which he left open despite the plummeting temperature. The air was cold, but thankfully there was no wind, just a chilly stillness, the kind that comes before a soft snow.
I gave Adam’s hand a squeeze and allowed him to guide me through the archway that led to a mostly wide-open street, the crowds held back behind the partitions. The middle of Rockefeller Center was roped off or blocked by decorative fencing, except for two side entrances guarded by large men in black suits.
As we stepped under the trellis, the notes of “Helpless” from the Broadway production of Hamilton floated out through the space, and I couldn’t help but hum along. Emerging from behind one of the burly guards at the side entrance and hooked up to a head mic, an actress who looked a lot like Renée Elise Goldsberry （wait, is that . . .） was singing out to the crowd. She appeared from the right, while a beautiful young woman who resembled Phillipa Soo, bundled in a faux-fur coat, approached from the left.