24 Hours In New York
SEVEN
ZERO
I looked up at the two digits above the front door.
Seven. Zero.
The familiar numbers set behind a pane of glass that retained
a long-standing crack stretched across the zero, were lodged inside a small box,
embedded within the white painted wall.
But I hadn’t thought I’d be looking at them again quite
so soon.
Pressing the enamel doorbell, which was encircled by a
rusty silver frame, I looked down at the well-trodden welcome mat beneath my black shoes and studied the loose fibres
detaching themselves in all directions as I anxiously wiped my worn, now
well-travelled leather soles.
Twelve seconds later the silhouette of a figure
appeared behind the door which then started to swing backwards.
As it disappeared into the shadow of the hallway, a face
emerged, bathed in a golden glow as, at that moment, the sun escaped from
behind the clouds above.
It was Dad.
‘Hello David,’ he said, shaking his head, with an
animated smile.
All I noticed however, was what was hidden behind his welcoming
facial expression.
His kind eyes telling me,
‘I
knew this was going to happen.’
HOLLYWOOD
Have you ever fantasised about becoming a Hollywood
superstar? A Hollywood actor? To be famous. To be loved. Adored by millions. To
be worth millions. To see your name in lights. Being photographed on the red
carpet. I bet you have. I know I have. Hundreds of times. Is that shallow?
Shallow of me to want that fame and the riches that come with it. You could say
I was a dreamer, people have suggested that many times, but dreams do come
true, don’t they?
I was seduced by the romance of Hollywood whilst watching
many American shows such as Dallas, Dynasty and The Colby’s and I wanted to be
a part of it. To be watched by millions of adoring fans on their screens, in
the corner of their living rooms, in their homes around the world. If English
born Michael Praed could crack America as Prince Michael of Moldavia in
Dynasty, then why not me? I was told on many occasions that I resembled him,
with the same good-looking features and the long shiny hair, but they were the
only similarities. He could act. I couldn’t. I’ve never acted. Apart from in life
itself.
But I wanted to conquer the good old US of A. My
greatest desire was to be part of what I
was watching on the screen in front of
me. At the age of ten I was already star struck, with James Bond being my very first
hero. I wanted to be like him. I was a huge 007 fan and even made my own James
Bond briefcase. It was a brown leather case with the flap and lock at the
front, one that Dad no longer required. There I was at such a tender age
thinking that I was Bond. A spy with my James Bond case, full of homemade
secret agent equipment. I’m certain Q would not have been enamoured however with
my cardboard gadgets. So just hitting double figures in age, I was acting in my
own world and I wanted Hollywood.
And I was determined to fulfil my dream. To turn my
dream into a reality.
Was I just crazy?
I’m sure my family thought I was crazy. Who am I
kidding? That’s exactly what they thought. Me, a Jewish kid who lived in a
modest house with Mum, Dad, four brothers and a sister in a residential road in
Edgware, North West London thinking that I could make it big in Hollywood. Maybe
I was influenced by the first couple of jobs I had. At the age of fourteen I’d had
a weekend job at a salon called Manhattans on the high street. I hated the
people I worked with there, they treated me like shit and gave me a nickname, Cute but Dumb. My first nickname had
been Muttley, given to me by a school
friend. I’d hoped it had something to do with my surname and not that I
resembled the dog from the cartoon, ‘Dastardly and Muttley.’ A few years later,
my first full time job was as an estate agent with a company called Liberty
Estates in Burnt Oak.
I always wondered if I was destined for America.
So, with years of dreaming behind me, at the age of
nineteen and without telling a single soul, not even Mum or Dad, I decided that
I was going to book my dream ticket to America.
Cute but Dumb, I’ll let you decide.
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