A woman jogs by the Four Seasons Hotel, and it’s clear that she’s spent every bit as much time on her outfit as if she was going out for a fancy dinner party. Oh, she’s wearing her tight, white tank top and Lycra shorts and has her hair pulled back in a youthful ponytail. Behind her designer sunglasses and plugged into her iPod, she bounces past all the bustling cafes, hoping that people might think she’s a beautiful actress in town for the Festival.
At the lunch counter at Pusateri’s, a man in a pink shirt tries to pay for a muffin and a coffee. He has an effeminate, slightly incompetent manner. Befuddled, with his two hands cupped together, he holds out a pile of subway tokens and spare change from all sorts of different countries, “ I have no idea what a Canadian dime looks like, you take what you need,” he says to the girl working. He’s theatrical, acting like he’s always had to rely on the kindness of strangers to get by in this world.
From the table behind him comes an irritated, sarcastic voice, “Roger, it looks like a quarter!” Also in a pink shirt and around his age, sits a woman who looks like she could be his sister. I imagine that she’s been looking after her brother since their mother died back in 1994, and that they’re notorious eccentrics who live in a big, old house full of accidental antiques and cats. The woman looks at me, “We’re not from around here, okay?”
As usual, I ask the girl behind the counter what celebrities she’s seen. There is some confusion about whether Oprah has been in or not, but she is certain that Megan Fox has been there. She’s too polite to tell me what she thinks of her, but the hesitation and reluctance in her eyes makes her feelings clear.
Behind her, a blonde girl who has been listening to our conversation, puts a cheesecake away. She looks over at me, “ Megan Fox has been coming in every day buying sandwiches.” The girl has a scowl on her face as she says this. She says that she’s short and skinny, and then imitates her by slumping around. The East Indian girl, who earlier wouldn’t say anything, stifles a giggle. The blonde adds that most of the budget for The Transformers must have been spent on fixing Megan Fox’s bad skin. It’s clear that the she doesn’t think Fox pretty at all, and resents that she’s the dream girl of boys she goes to high school with.
The Hazelton Hotel on Yorkville erects a thickly woven hedge around its patio during the Festival. This protects the privacy of the people in there, and creates an aura of mystery. Anybody could be there! Walking by, you hear muffled and slightly disembodied voices that every once in awhile, break into the inaccessible laughter of glamor.
An older man is packing up his Tarot Card table on the street corner adjacent to the hotel. I ask him if he’s read any celebrity fortunes recently, and he looks up at me, smiling brightly, “Oh, no! Hell, I haven’t even seen one!”