Pablo Fanque's Fair or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love New York

Readers' Note: The writer has taken care to shield the identity of the unnamed "she" in this article.

"You and he aren't speaking?"

"What do you mean?"

"If I want to see you, I have to hope you're on the skids with your boyfriend," I said.

"Don't be that way," she said. "You want to come over tonight?"

"Now you want me to come over?"

"Are you coming?" she said. "You can finally watch the season finale of True Blood."

"Don't try to tempt me with TV," I said. (I still don't have one).

"And I just bought The Beatles: Rock Band," she said. "You can be Sgt. Pepper."

"You want to watch a movie?"

"What movie?" she said.

"I just got a movie from the library ..."

"What movie?"

"The Taking of Power By Louis XIV."

"I have movies," she said.

"You liked the last movie I picked."

"How are you going to tell me what I liked?"

"It won an Oscar," I said.

"Uh huh," she said. "I have movies."

"We'll probably end up watching Dave Chappelle or Kevin Hart," I said. "I like them, but those aren't movies."

"They'd be better than The Deer Hunter," she said. "Anyway, I have movies. Just bring the food. Okay?"

"Okay," I said. "Did you vote?"

"Of course I voted," she said.

We decided that, although we knew next to nothing about the candidates running for office in the Democratic Primary, to be an uneducated voter was superior to being a non-voter.

"Who'd you vote for?"

"John Liu (for Comptroller)," I said. "I ran into a friend and she said she 'liked his looks.'

"That was enough for you?"

"Apparently," I said. "The ladies working the polls liked my looks. They asked me to work in November."

"Are you?"

"Sure."

"Who else did you vote for?"

"Cy Vance (for District Attorney)," I said. "If Mayor Dinkins can endorse him, he can have my vote."

"You think (William C.) Thompson can beat Bloomberg?" she said.

"I'd like to think that in a city this size, someone else can be mayor," I said. "But the question is, 'Who can do a better job than Mike Bloomberg?' I don't have an answer for that. Anyway, how are you making out?"

"I'm okay," she said. "My doctor changed my prescription, so we'll see."

She had been taking the once-a-day, three-in-one Atripla for her HIV for little more than a week, but it gave her body a blossom of tiny, red bumps: a rash on her once perfect skin.

"I'm switching from Sustiva to Isentress," she said.

"I thought you were taking Atripla," I said.

"Sustiva is in Atripla," she said. "Truvada plus Sustiva. Now I'll take Truvada plus Isentress."

"And your rash will go away?"

"Hopefully," she said. "And I'll be able to wake up at a respectable hour."

She had been laid-off several months ago, but her doctor had encouraged her to enroll in the AIDS Drug Assistance Program (ADAP) and the ADAP Plus program, both run by the State of New York Department of Health. ADAP Plus makes her COBRA payments so that she keeps her employer sponsored healthcare; and ADAP covers the total cost of her HIV prescriptions.

"You think they'll give you a hard time since you just filled a prescription?" I said.

"We'll see," she said.

"Well, I have to get to my kids' school to see the fifth grade teachers, and then I need to go to the library," I said. "I'll be over after that."

"You and the library," she said.

"My tax dollars at work," I said.

"Don't get any DVDS," she said.

"Just books," I said.

I made my way downtown -- to the Morningside Heights Branch, through the majestic Morningside Park and alongside Columbia University -- and then down again -- to the New York Library for the Performing Arts at Lincoln Plaza, the sun slinking low across the city's sky, dipping toward Des Moines.

There was a screen set up on the Plaza and rows of chairs and a crowd forming for a performance I did not know. Then I went down again and emerged in the mouth of Columbus Circle, the fall air whistling around me like a warning. I always try to stop at the Borders there, to see what they're doing with their books and if retail bookstores will survive. When I made it up the escalator I saw that Toni Morrison was signing copies of her and Slade Morrison's new children's book, Peeny Butter Fudge.

"Is Professor Morrison still signing?" I asked the young man at the front of the store.

"I think so," he said. "You can go to the back. They should be there."

I found Professor Morrison surrounded by six or seven Borders' employees and two women -- an editor, a publicist? -- who must have been from Simon & Schuster, the book's publisher, looking regal as ever, two men in suits and felt hats standing to the side, staring much like I was.

"Let me get you a copy," one of the young women said. "I just need to walk you to the register. Did you hear Patrick Swayze died? I can't believe the Dirty Dancing man is gone," she said, and then she released me to the registers and two more young women battling the relative fame of the rapper Jay-Z.

"Why don't you like Jay-Z?" I said.

"Thank you," the other young lady said. "I love my customers. She doesn't know."

"Who do you like better than Jay-Z?" I asked the first young lady, as she slid my book across the scanner.

"I'm sure there's a rapper I like better, I just can't think of their name right now," she said.

I asked her if she'd read Dan Brown's new book, The Lost Symbol, and if she could recommend it.

"I can recommend it," she said.

"But you haven't read it," I said.

"I can recommend lots of books I haven't read," she said. "You want it? It's forty percent off."

"I just want to know if Michael Windsor designed the jacket," I said.

"How would I know that?"

"Let me see," I said, and I turned the book over and pointed beneath Dan Brown's author photo, showing her where to look.

"You want a signed a copy?" she said.

"Dan Brown had an in-store signing?"

"No; he just showed up and signed books for people who were standing in line, and then he signed some more copies for the store," she said.

"Is it a first edition?" I said.

"The book just came our yesterday and he signed them yesterday, so," she said.

It was a first edition. But how could it not be with a five million copy first print run?

"Okay, I'll get one then."

Then I went to Whole Foods for the Kettle chips they have there and the green rubber bands that I sometimes wear on my wrist.

"It's my favorite color," I told the cashier.

"You want some more," she said. "That's all you're gonna take? Here." And she put another handful into my bag.

I walked uptown to the Ollie's past Lincoln Plaza, now filled with people: Renee Fleming on the screen singing "Messiaen," her voice mingling with the sounds of cars and her words coming around the buildings like headlamps.

"Is this a Renee Fleming concert?" I asked a man in a suit, a wired earpiece in one ear and snapping pictures on an iPhone.

"It's the New York Philharmonic's opening night," he said. "She's singing 'Messiaen,' but next is Berlioz's 'Symphonie fantastique.' You should stick around; it's the best thing you've ever heard."

But I had a friend to get to, so I made a note of the time and the songs, hoping WNYC and Terrance McKnight would air the show or, at least, the songs, and walked on until I reached Ollie's and the three Fates with their phones.

"May I take your order?" the third Fate asked me. "Thank you. We'll call your number."

And then my phone rang.

"Where are you?"

"I"m at Ollie's," I said "I'll be there in a bit."

"Take a cab," she said. "I'll give you the money when you get here."

"I'll be there soon enough," I said. "The train moves. Besides, I need to walk down to get a copy of Harper's Bazaar. Janet's on the cover. Is she still with Jermaine Dupri?"

"No."

"They were so in love," I said.

"Everyone was once," she said. "Hurry."

I gathered my food, bought the magazine and then took the Number One train to Columbus Circle and then the storied A to Sugar Hill, where all the cool kids live, and when I made it to her apartment she fixed me with a stare.

"I know," I said. "Whole Foods, but I can't find these chips anywhere else."

"You and your junk food, she said.

"So, did they give you a hard time?"

"Nope, they just asked if I knew Truvada was in Atripla," she said. "Then the pharmacist was like, 'Don't take Atripla with Truvada. It's too much.' They paid for the Isentress right away but they wanted to make sure I was going to stop taking the Atripla if they paid for the Truvada."

"So you got it?" I said.

"Got it."

"Look at you, Miss State Run Single Payer Healthcare," I said.

"I'm working on my parade wave now," she said.

"What are we watching?"

"Dave Chappelle's For What It's Worth," she said. "But first, Sgt. Pepper, let's play."