Well, the actual stroll took place twenty days ago, and if I keep putting off the telling of it, I’ll end up forgetting the whole thing.
I had originally planned to celebrate my 60th birthday (a beautiful, round, memorable milestone) in Taos, where Gary and I lived for nine years. Taos is a rural, charming and esoteric place. I’ve written about the Taos Hum, and there is a lot of more material to work with there in terms of supernatural occurrences. Or plainly put: weird stuff…which is why we love it. But then I was invited to do a book signing in New York at The Mysterious Bookshop, the oldest bookstore in the world dedicated to mystery and crime fiction. So, I changed my tune, shifted gears, and headed for the Big Apple.
It was such a pleasure to finally meet my editor, Taz, and Soho’s publicist, Lily, in person. Seeing them over Zoom is nothing compared to meeting them in real life! I also got to see the new Soho Press offices in Chelsea, a gorgeous space flooded with light.
We had lunch at a restaurant called Coppelia —yes, like the famous ice cream parlor in Havana. I devoured a plate of ropa vieja (shredded beef) with tostones… and then flan for dessert, topped with a perfect layer of caramel. I forgot about calories because a birthday only comes once a year, ¿verdad?
After a short subway ride (a novelty for me, because I’ve become quite the country mouse here in Hobbs) we met with SJ Rozan, author of the Lydia Chin and Bill Smith detective series and many other books, whose work I’ve admired since I read the first one. We had a fun chat at Le Pain Quotidien before heading to The Mysterious Bookshop for the event.
I loved SJ’s questions and our interaction with the audience. To everyone who came, a thousand thanks, miles de gracias! Dragging yourself to a book reading at six on a Thursday evening is no small feat, and I really appreciate it.
And what made the night truly magical, on top of an already special evening, was reuniting with my friend Mercedes, whom I hadn’t seen in over thirty years and never expected to find there. Mercy is the very reason I am where I am today. She is the founder of the silent Quaker group in Havana, which I joined in the early nineties and where I met my first husband, Hugh.
Mercy is a very spiritual person, a soul of light who deserves her own blog post…or maybe her own book. I am encouraging her to write it herself!
We had dinner that night on the terrace of the voco Fiorello Hotel, where I was staying, and talked about everything under the sun. We a lot to catch up with! In The Novel Detective, two friends reunite after forty years and have dinner on a hotel terrace as well, except that scene takes place in Havana, not New York. But talk about a coincidence! Life imitates art…
I came back home soon afterward because I had classes and a meeting the following Monday. But what a beautiful, unforgettable trip it was. I turned sixty surrounded by books, old and new friends, and feeling that I had slipped inside one of my novels for a night.
