I look around, trying to get my bearings. There are racks and racks of clothes, tables covered in bags and shoes and scarves. I can already spot Ralph Lauren knitwear… a rack full of fabulous coats… there’s a stack of Prada bags… I mean, this is like a dream come true! Everywhere I look, girls are feverishly sorting through garments, looking for labels, trying out bags. Their manicured nails are descending on the stuff like the claws of birds of prey and I can’t believe quite how fast they’re working. As I see the girl who was standing in front of me in the line, I feel a surge of panic. She’s got a whole armful of stuff, and I haven’t even started. If I don’t get in there, everything will be gone. I have to grab something now!

I fight my way through to one of the racks and start leafing through chiffon pleated dresses. Three hundred dollars, reduced to seventy dollars! I mean, even if you only wore it once… And oh God, here are some fantastic print trousers, some label I’ve never heard of, but they’re reduced by 90 percent! And a leather coat… and those Prada bags. I have to get one of the Prada bags!

As I breathlessly reach for one, my hand collides with another girl’s.

“Hey!” she says at once, and snatches the bag up. “I was there first!”

“Oh,” I say. “Erm… sorry!” I quickly grab another one which, to be honest, looks exactly the same. As the girl starts examining the interior of her bag, I can’t help staring at her nails. They’re filed into square shapes and carefully decorated in two different shades of pink. How long did that take to do? As she looks up, I see her hair is two-tone as well — brown with aubergine tips — while her mouth is carefully lined with purple and filled in with pale mauve.

“Got a problem?” she says, suddenly looking at me, and I jump.

“No! I was just wondering — where’s the changing room?”

“Changing room?” She chuckles. “Are you kidding? No such thing.”

“Oh.” I look around again, and notice a spectacular black girl, about nine feet tall, stripping off to her bra and knickers. “I see. So we… change right here? Great!” I swallow. “No problem at all.”

Hesitantly I start unbuttoning my coat, telling myself that I’ve got no alternative — and no one’s watching anyway. But Two-Tone Girl’s expression is changing as she gazes at me.

“Are you British?”

“Yes! Did you recognize my accent?”

“I love the British!” Her eyes light up. “That film, Notting Hill? I loved that!”

“Oh right! So did I, actually.”

“That Welsh guy. He was hilarious!” She suddenly frowns as I step out of my shoes. “Hey, but wait. You shouldn’t have to get changed out here.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re British! Everyone knows the Brits are reserved. It’s like… your national disease or something.”

“Honestly, it’s fine…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.” To my horror the girl strides over and pokes the woman in black standing by the door. “Excuse me? This girl is British. She needs privacy to try on her things. OK?”

The woman turns to stare at me as though I’m a Martian and I smile nervously back.

“Really, don’t worry. I don’t mind…”

“She needs privacy!” insists the girl. “They’re different than us. It’s a whole other culture. Can she go behind those racks there?”

“Please. I don’t want to—”

“Whatever,” says the woman, rolling her eyes. “Just don’t mess up the displays.”

“Thanks,” I say to the girl, a little awkwardly. “I’m Becky, by the way.”

“Jodie.” She gives me a wide grin. “Love your boots!”

I disappear behind the rack and begin trying on all the clothes I’ve gathered. With each one I feel a little frisson of delight — and when I get to the Prada bag, it’s a surge of pure joy. Prada at 50 percent off! I mean, this would make the whole trip worthwhile, just on its own.

When I’ve eventually finished, I come out from behind the rack to see Jodie wriggling into a stretchy white dress.

“This sample sale is so great!” she exclaims. “I’m just like… where do I stop?”

“I know what you mean.” I give her a blissful smile. “That dress looks great, by the way.”

“Are you going to buy all that?” she says, giving my armload an impressed look.

“Not all of it.” I reach into the pile. “Not… these trousers. But everything else.”

“Cool! Go, girl.”

As I happily head toward the paying table, the room is reverberating with high-pitched female voices and I can hear snippets of conversation floating around.

“I have to have it,” a girl is saying, holding up a coat against herself. “I just have to have it.”

“OK, what I’m going to do is, I’m just going to put the $450 I spent today onto my mortgage,” another girl is saying to her friend as they walk out, laden with bags. “I mean, what’s $450 over thirty years?”

“One hundred percent cashmere!” someone else is exclaiming. “Did you see this? It’s only fifty dollars! I’m going to take three.”

I dump my stuff on the table and look around the bright, buzzing room at the girls milling about, grabbing at merchandise, trying on scarves, piling their arms full of glossy new gorgeous things. And I feel a sudden warmth, an overwhelming realization. These are my people. I’ve found my homeland.


Several hours later, I arrive back at the Four Seasons, still on a complete high. After the sample sale, I ended up going out for a “welcome to New York” coffee with Jodie. We sat at a marble table, sipping our decaf Frappuccinos and nibbling at nonfat cranberry muffins, and both worked out exactly how much money we’d saved on our bargains ($1,230 in my case!). We agreed to meet up again during my visit — and then Jodie told me all about this amazing Web site that sends you information on these kind of events every day. Every day! I mean, the possibilities are limitless. You could spend your whole life going to sample sales!

You know. In theory.

I go up to our room — and as I open the door I see Luke sitting at the desk, reading through some papers.

“Hi!” I say breathlessly, dumping my bags on the enormous bed. “Listen, I need to use the laptop.”

“Oh right,” says Luke. “Sure.” He picks up the laptop from the desk and hands it to me, and I go and sit on the bed. I open the laptop, consult the piece of paper Jodie gave me, and type in the address.

“So, how was your day?” asks Luke.

“It was great!” I say, tapping the keys impatiently. “I made a new friend, and I saw lots of the city… Ooh, and look in that blue bag! I got you some really nice shirts!”

“Did you start to get a feel for the place?”

“Oh, I think so. I mean, obviously it’s early…” I frown at the screen. “Come on, already.”

“But you weren’t too overwhelmed?”

“Mmm… not really,” I say absently. Aha! Suddenly the screen is filling up with images. A row of little sweeties at the top — and logos saying, It’s fun. It’s fashion. In New York City. The Daily Candy home page!

I click on “Subscribe” and briskly start to type in my e-mail details, as Luke gets up and comes toward me, a concerned look on his face.

“So tell me, Becky,” he says. “I know it must all seem very strange and daunting to you. I know you couldn’t possibly find your feet in just one day. But on first impressions — do you think you could get used to New York? Do you think you could ever see yourself living here?”

I type the last letter with a flourish, press “Send,” and look at him thoughtfully.

“You know what? I think I probably could.”


HOWSKI AND FORLANO

U.S. Immigration Lawyers

568 E. 56th Street

New York, N.Y. 10016

Ms. Rebecca Bloomwood


Flat 2

4 Burney Rd.

London SW6 8FD

UNITED KINGDOM


September 28, 2000


Dear Ms. Bloomwood:

Thank you for your completed U.S. immigration forms. As you know, the authorities will wish to evaluate the assets and unique talents which you can bring to this country.

Under section B69 referring to special abilities, you write, “I’m really good at chemistry, ask anyone at Oxford.” We did in fact contact the vice-chancellor of Oxford University, who failed to display any familiarity with your work.

As did the British Olympic long-jump coach.

We enclose fresh forms and request that you fill them out again.

With kind regards,


Edgar Forlano

Nine


TWO DAYS LATER, I’m feeling quite dazzled by all the sights and sounds of New York. I’ve walked so many blocks my feet ache, and I’ve really seen some awe-inspiring things. Like, in Bloomingdale’s, they have a chocolate factory! And there’s a whole district full of nothing but shoe shops!

I keep trying to get Luke along to look at all these amazing sights — but he just has meeting after meeting. He’s seeing about twenty people a day — wooing potential clients and networking with media people, and even looking round office spaces in the financial district. As he said yesterday at breakfast, he needs to hit the ground running when he arrives. I was about to make a little joke about “Break a leg!”… but then I decided against it. Luke’s taking everything a bit seriously at the moment.

As well as setting up the new company, he’s had briefings from Alicia in London every morning — and she keeps sending through faxes for him to approve, and needlessly long e-mails. I just know she’s only doing it all to show off to Luke — and the really annoying thing is, it’s working. Like, a couple of clients rang up to complain about things, but when he called Alicia she had already leapt into action and sorted it out. So then I had to hear for fifteen minutes about how marvelous she is, and what a great job she’s doing — and keep nodding my head as though I completely agreed. But I still can’t stand her. She rang up the other morning when Luke was out, and when I picked up, she said “So sorry to disturb your beauty sleep!” in this really patronizing way, and rang off before I could think of a good reply.