The first indicators that I’d succeeded included the quiet courtyard on the way to the stairwell, which would over the coming days often be populated by one or both members of the downstairs couple (a regret I carry is not sharing a cigarette with the husband, as he often sat at the small table with his ashtray and a pack of Parliaments), and the mirror on the stairwell so towering that I’d wager the house was built around it.
The apartment itself was big and old, with the grand living room doubling as the entryway. A one-and-a-half-story wall of warm wood paneling straight across from the front door broke up the otherwise bountiful exposed brick, with a dainty spiral stair climbing to a wee balcony whose built-in-appointed perch made me feel like a library cat whenever I ventured off. A bit of measured criticism I will introduce here is that the lovely ample antique furnishings are disappointingly supplemented with pieces picked haphazardly from Wayfair—the bar cart and the coffee table in the living room for example.
Off of the living room is where you’ll find the first of the two balconies. It is radiant. From the living room, head on into the kitchen, all wood finishes, with everything you’d need to cook if you, unlike us, weren’t planning on eating out every meal.
The two bedrooms, a king and a queen, can be accessed on either side of the spiral stair, and are connected on the other side should you wish to run in revelrous circles around the place. The smaller of the two is cozy and has a tiny full bathroom that made me feel like I was on a ship; Sydney and I brushed our teeth together side by side in the master bath, looking at ourselves in the mirror on the ceiling while listening to The Smiths which we were particularly into at the time. There is also some pristine mirrored tile in the vestibule leading from the master suite to the living room.
The kicker here is the balcony off of the master bedroom—you have to open one of the floor-to-ceiling windows to get onto it. It looks out on the avenue and has two rocking chairs from which I intended to read but instead looked at my phone (after this trip, I did delete my Twitter account, aghast at the time I’d wasted reading about publishing drama and instead buying the book that caused said drama in the first place.) Lots of coffee is drunk here, picked up from one of several very good coffee shops in the surrounding area. The ambiance is unforgettable, watching the city wake and set every day from my perch—one that I would soon like to return to.
