The waiters brought us cups of coffee (I don’t drink coffee) and a bagel with cream cheese. I followed him, while he continued his call, to a back room where he gestured for me to sit down next to him. We spoke exactly zero words on the ride over.
We drove through Central Park to the East and parked (illegally) outside of a famous, old Jewish deli.
I rode shotgun while he continued on his call. I walked with him out of the kitchen, out of the house and into a waiting black Land Rover. Finally, he walked towards me, still on his call, and hand signaled for me to follow. I sat, uneasy and confused, like I was trespassing, for thirty minutes. I could see him but he did not look in my direction. The very important man I had come to meet was on a call in the next room over. I announced myself and was soon escorted into a kitchen that was abuzz with assistants, chefs, drivers and entourage. Anxiously, I took the subway uptown and walked over to a beautiful townhouse along Fifth Avenue and Central Park.
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