Greg is the most thoughtful father and has given his Carmen ticket to Beth. His generosity provides a wonderful tonic for what would otherwise be a very blue New Year’s Eve for her. Instead of brooding over what might have been, she has an opportunity to distract herself with the ultimate dress-up event. I wear my gold sequined “Helen Mirren Oscar” dress for the first time. I was even able to find gold/rhinestone heels at a Nine West on Montague St. I pose for my admiring men, take the elevator down to my “limo” parked directly in front of the door, and head out to pick up my princess. (No wicked stepmother in this fairy tale). There is no traffic at 5:00 p.m New Year’s Eve and I speed across the Brooklyn Bridge and up to 69th street in 15 minutes.
We park in our reserved parking spot under the Met and the two enchantresses hobble their way into the theatre. Beth looks gorgeous in her lapis blue Diane van Furstenberg cocktail dress, but the skirt fits so snugly around the knees that she has to walk like Madame Butterfly with tiny footsteps. Of course, I haven’t worn stiletto heels in 15 years and feel like I’m about to fall face forward onto the concrete. We both feel that we fit in with the society gowns (of course, these women can probably take one look at my dress and know that I bought it in a tent in Hong Kong). The entire Grand Tier is set-up for the gala dinner planned for after the performance which means that the audience is tightly spaced during the intermissions and pre/post performance promenades. We attempted to get iPhone/Blackberry photos of our Met experience with mixed results.
The opera itself, a premier of Carmen, was spectacular. I’ll leave the formal critique for another time, but was pleased that Anthony Tommasini agreed with me when he headlined “That Daring Gypsy Strikes Again, and Anew”…”With this gripping new ‘Carmen,’ the company rang out 2009 on Thursday with a solid success…[uncovering] the rawness and daring at the opera’s core.” What a thrill to witness the premier of a beautiful opera that has always been my favorite.
The curtain falls and the Bravos and Bravas begin. One self-appointed critic shouts out a single, jarring, “boo” in our area. Beth and I are pleased to overhear other audience members dressing him down. The drama continues even after the curtain calls! (the angry fan challenged him to meet outside the theatre for a whipping).
Beth and I hobble across the Lincoln Center Plaza to our Pris Fixe meal at Fiorello’s. We share a small cubicle “dedicated to Luciano Pavorotti” with another female twosome. Our meal is the usual well portioned, hearty Fiorello’s fare and the restaurant buzzes with New Year’s Eve anticipation. We are given tiara’s, horns, noisemakers and a glass of champagne and at midnight we ring in the New Year (with Dick Clark-who I thought was dead-on TV). Beth is amazingly happy and determined to move forward with her life. A pleasant discovery: our dining “partners” are also a mother-daughter combo who had also been at the Carmen premier.
No need to worry about a cab on New Year’s Eve, we have our limo! Of course, this means hobbling 2-3 blocks back to the ramp to the parking garage under Lincoln Center and then through the subterranean maze of different garages. But at last at 1 a.m. I whisk my princess back to a New Year’s Eve party and I park the car and spend the night in her apartment. Rest assured I have taken the stiletto’s off and returned to my warm, comfy boots once I’m in the car.
Who knows what 2010 will bring?
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