Samantha gets cold after she eats lettuce. Jimmy doesn't believe her. He laughs when she tells him such things and thinks she's as cute as all get out. Yesterday she ate salad for lunch and afterward her teeth were chattering like a wind up jaw; her hands were numbing. She's recently noticed this happens when she eats lettuce, but Jimmy thinks she's a riot.

As she sits waiting for the flight to take off she is vexed and can't stop fidgeting. She unbuckles and buckles the metal seat belt and pulls the strap to cinch it tighter. She grabs the airline magazine and flips through the pages as passengers file by lugging suitcases and carry on bags. She can't concentrate. She shivers noticeably. She wrings her hands nervously and blows hot air into them.

“Tell me more,” Jimmy says with a big grin, his black googly eyes stare at Samantha with a teenage fondness. She gives him a dirty look and pushes his face away. Sometimes she can't stand him. It makes her mad, the way Jimmy reads her. Sometimes she wonders what she would need to do for him to take her seriously. What is so funny and cute about getting cold after you eat lettuce?

Jimmy and Samantha are an odd couple. They met in a smoky nightclub after Samantha had drunk about ten Manhattans on her 23^rd birthday. A Manhattan is not a typical drink for a girl her age, which Jimmy noticed being almost thirty years her senior. Girls her age drink Sex on the Beach and Long Island Iced Teas to get a buzz on, Purple Hooters and Alabama Slammers. Samantha needed about ten Manhattans to turn her blind. Drinking them made her feel cosmopolitan somehow and they made her blind enough to dance with Jimmy.

He admired her stamina that night, the fact that she didn't slur or stumble, the quickness in which she moved her high-heeled feet, and the rhythm in her hips and ass. He loved her little red get up, slipping his hands around her curving waist as she twirled and contoured like a piece on a pottery wheel. With all his years of experience he looked like a real goof when he danced, his arms flailed around semi-disco, pointed index fingers piercing the air, tilting hips to and fro, but Samantha thought he was kind of cute in a Woody Allen sort of way. After dancing they went back to the bar and Jimmy ordered her another Manhattan, she drank it down.

“What are you doing tonight?” she had asked.

“Whatever you're doing.”

They went back to his place and she mused over his Sinatra and Dean Martin collection. They tried to make it, but he couldn't get it up. Poor guy, Samantha said he shouldn't feel bad about it, a guy his age, but she could tell he was embarrassed. He said it was because he was drunk.  Samantha thinks about that sometimes, how vulnerable he was there with her. Now, he takes an occasional Viagra and everything is copasetic. Obviously their relationship is not based on sex. Samantha doesn't really know what it's based on.

Jimmy lectures at Syracuse, he's a tenured professor. He could retire if he wanted to, but he loves teaching. He teaches environmental courses and gets all fired up about pollution and the ozone layer, drilling for oil, endangered species, and global warming; he was a real activist in his day. He's still a member of Green Peace.

Samantha doesn't know what he sees in her. She thinks she was a much needed dose of youthfulness in his life after his wife of thirty years passed away. Samantha was a waitress trying to save enough money to go to Syracuse. She's interested in cultural anthropology and likes reading about rituals and myths. She always thought it was her tight little ass that interested Jimmy, but Jimmy genuinely cares for her. He calls her “his little anthropologist.” After they had been dating for three months, he said she could move in with him. She quit her job and Jimmy pulled some strings; she starts Syracuse in the fall. He offered to pay her tuition and although Samantha is not a woman that takes hand outs, it's an offer she doesn't think she should refuse.

She doesn't love him though, she knows that. How could she? The old fart is nice, treats her decent, gets her good and drunk, and he buys her anything she wants. Who is she to screw things up where love is concerned? Nobody at her age knows what love is anyway and Jimmy knows that. He plays along, wondering how long it will take before she gets sick of him and leaves.

This trip was a surprise from Jimmy for their 4-month anniversary. She was elated. She had always dreamed of going to Manhattan, but she never had the cash or circumstances didn't pan out. It was really happening. The engines started and her heart was beating hard. She'd only flown one other time in her life and she was nervous. The airline attendants moved through the cabin, checking out seat belts and luggage compartments.

“Arm doors and cross check,” said a voice over the intercom. The no smoking and seat belt signs were a glow. Everyone was now safely buckled in their seats. Jimmy, noticing her nervousness, addressed a flight attendant.

“Miss, can we get a blanket over here, please?” A flight attendant came over with a blanket and Jimmy draped it over Samantha's lap.

“This should compensate for the salad you ate today,” he said and winked.

Jimmy handed her the latest issue of The New Yorker. She concentrated on the fact that they'd be there soon. She read the poetry and the cartoons, both she didn't understand. Jimmy had been to Manhattan plenty of times, he loved the city and Samantha knew he'd be showing her all the best spots.

The flight was relatively short. Jimmy kept her busy talking about the places they would visit: the MOMA, the Guggenheim, the Museum of Natural History, and a promised carriage ride through Central Park. He talked of the pastrami sandwiches from the Carnegie Deli and how she couldn't miss out on a hot dog from a street vendor. Of course, he would also be taking her to dinner at the celebrated Rainbow Room with its rotating bar high up on the 65^th floor in Rockefeller Plaza. If they could get tickets, they might see a show.

They landed at JFK and all was a buzz. Jimmy grabbed their luggage and hailed a cab, real New York style. That's the kind of thing she really likes about Jimmy, he's a grown up, he knows how to do things like hail a cab, he has experience.

He scooped Samantha into the cab and off they sped out of Jamaica and over the bridge in about forty-five minutes. The skyscrapers stood guard against the seemingly fortress of a city. The cab driver Dercio from Mozambique listened to the BBC really loud. His eyes were black like Jimmy's, but not googly, very serious. He was obviously younger than Jimmy, but his eyes looked older. He watched them in the rear view mirror and marveled at the age difference.

Into the city they descended, Samantha's eyes were full with every twist and turn. 42^nd Street, then down the Avenue of the Americas to 49^th, zigzagging through traffic, she whipped back and forth across the ripped leather seat as Jimmy looked on and laughed. They stopped on Broadway in the heart of Times Square. The city was full of lights and screaming advertisements and video screens. Samantha was in awe. People from all walks of life bustled by. It was just as she had imagined, just like every New York movie street scene she had ever seen.

Their hotel was beautiful, of course, all the bells and whistles. The room was a bit small, but Jimmy had said it was typical Manhattan. They were on the 27^th floor looking over a parking garage, but Samantha didn't care. She loved it. She knew he was paying an arm and a leg for it.

“Well, you're probably tired and want to go to bed, huh?” he teased.

“No, I'm not!”

He picked her up and swung her around, “That's what I thought,” he said, laying a big one on her lips.

“Let's go shall we?”

They made their way down to the lobby arm in arm, her stomach was in her throat. She'd never been anywhere with a crystal chandelier. She was all in shakes. She felt like she was meeting someone real important for the first time. She wanted to make a good impression. They walked into the breath of Manhattan, streets full of life and movement and smells. The air was a bit humid and she began to perspire. They strolled down a dirty sidewalk full of trash bags piled high. She could feel the wetness from Jimmy's underarm as he held her close.

They popped inside a swanky cocktail lounge that had a pink neon martini glass in the window and took a seat at the bar. Jimmy pulled the stool out for Samantha. The bar was dark with lots of candles lit in crystals holders. The place flickered. A couple of women at the end of the bar stared at Samantha and Jimmy and whispered. She smiled at them and kissed Jimmy on the cheek. She was used to jealous old bitches.

“Barkeep, two Manhattans please,” Jimmy said.

“No,” she said, grabbing Jimmy's arm.

“I think tonight I'll try something different…Sex on the Beach please,” she said to the barkeep.

“I don't have to dream about Manhattan anymore,” she told Jimmy with a smile.

Jimmy looked a little confused. “That's the only reason you drank them?”

“Yeah, I don't even like them they taste like shit. I hate bourbon, but I read about sympathetic magic and I thought I'd give it a try.”

“Sympathetic magic?” he asked.

“Yeah, like some Native Americans, used to do it or something, if they wanted it to rain they would do a rain dance, or sprinkle some water on the ground. It was uh…uh…” she snapped her fingers.

“Simulation?” he asked.

“Yeah, that's it.”

“Very clever,” he said and he drank down his entire Manhattan.

“So, I guess it works,” she said happily.

“Can I get another, please?” he asked the barkeep and looked at Samantha as if under a spell.