Eva’s Journal, New York Walking Around Manhattan With Eva Eva Hamilton-Clarke
One day in New York - an excerpt from the Travel Tales of Eva Hamilton-Clarke
Day 3
This morning began in the Flatiron district for more furniture shopping. It was the first day that Princess Yasmina wasn’t busy with her charity work, so she was full of energy. Our first stop: , of course. After browsing four floors of antique beds, fine linens and unique chandeliers, we broke for a little fresh air down University Place. We had a fabulous, intimate lunch at . I love their giant flower arrangements and their outdoor terrace looks out onto the great antique shops on 10th St. I ordered the spinach and ricotta ravioli, my favorite dish there. Well, after the veal chop I suppose. Elizabeth and the Princess were blown away by the delicious beef carpaccio and fresh fish. That is, until another guest backed into a plate of meatballs that went from the waiter’s hand to Elizabeth’s white jacket. Thank God is on the corner. They can get anything out. Tomorrow Elizabeth would have her jacket back looking good as new. While she was at the “stainmasters,” I popped into .. The Princess stopped in for lingerie.
We continued our afternoon stroll along the tree-lined sidewalks 10th St. to the West Village. We each bought a new lipstick at on Christopher St. Then we made our way across 7th Ave. and up Bleecker. It started to rain and Elizabeth didn’t have her jacket to use as a shelter! We went into and , picking out different dresses, accessories and (every girl’s secret vice) shoes. The rain wouldn’t stop us. In one shop and out the next. Elizabeth’s hair went from pin straight to rainstorm ringlets. She ducked into RK salon to get a blow-dry while Princess Yasmina and I had to continue on to Magnolia Bakery and . Certain things take priority. Unfortunately, Elizabeth’s experience was anything but pleasant. Apparently, the stylist told her he “wasn’t used to working on ethnic hair” and that he would “try his best.” Elizabeth, who never accepts anything but the best, left immediately. That’s when she called me and I sent her straight to Rosie at on Mott St. Sometimes, understated can be better than an obvious trendy spot. Professionalism goes much further than a diva attitude. Especially in the West Village.
While Elizabeth was getting her hair-blown out (by someone who did more than “try their best”) Princess Yasmina and I walked up to the Meatpacking district. As we were approaching , Princess Yasmina noticed the window of and her eyes lit up. This was the kind of understated yet sophisticated style that was missing from her wardrobe and she wanted in. Who was I to argue? We left Stella several bags heavier, but that was just enough to whet her appetite. She had the bug—it was like she saw her future style ahead in neon lights: “Princess Yasmina, London Stylemaker.” Next we hit , , and Lucy Barnes.
Not one of the Meatpacking boutiques went unturned. Now we were ready to go up to the . Elizabeth rejoined us, and we went back to our favorite gallery, where Elizabeth and I had been particularly impressed by the owner. Although the Princess was looking to buy, she wasn’t particularly taken with anything she saw on the walls. The owner took us to the back where the work of his latest artist was awaiting its debut. The work was stunning: intense and intelligent, clearly influenced by the portraiture of Modigliani and the surrealism of Magritte. The Princess was in love, I could tell. The gallery owner could too. He invited us to the artist’s opening, just two days away. Just then, we heard the gallery door open and footsteps coming toward the back. A young, rather striking man entered and the owner introduced us—it was the artist himself. He couldn’t take his eyes off Princess Yasmina and she seemed very warm toward him as well...hmmm. But there was no time for this flirtation as it was getting late and we had to get back—I almost forgot that I was dining alone with Prince Faysal tonight.
We said our good-byes and then dashed into the Princess’s limousine to get back uptown before the 5 o’clock rush hour hit. The Princess had an appointment she would not miss. It was with her Ben, her personal shopper at Manolo Blahnik. Inside Manolo, the Princess was attended to with impeccable, HRH service; Ben brought out probably fifty different pairs of shoes—all the season’s hottest, yet-to-be-seen styles. Her favorites were the alligator shoes, which she had ordered in several different colors. As her hands were busy flying over tissue-paper covered shoes, I noticed she was wearing a gorgeous, champagne diamond band. I told her how much I loved it and she immediately took it off her finger and gave it to me! She told me she wanted me to have it, as a gift from friend to a friend. I tried to give it back, but she insisted. A gift is a gift, she kept saying, you can’t take it back.
Back at the Carlyle, I said goodbye to the Princess and Elizabeth—suggested for dinner. The menu is mostly fish, the signature dish changes every night. I recommended the yellowtail tuna appetizer. Then I hurried back to my pied a terre to change and meet the Prince.
We met at the Grand Havana Room for a drink. He was dressed suavely and was the perfect gentleman. The views from the 35th floor were spectacular. But there’s something about him that puts me off. He’s a little stiff and he smoked cigars, which I hate. He suggested dinner at Asiate in the Time Warner center and we whisked off in his town car. We were seated by the window and the view of Central Park is truly breathtaking. The food was superb; Pan-Asian influenced dishes, elegantly presented. The fish floating on cappuccino foam was delicate and lovely. Afterwards, I suggested listening to jazz next door at at Lincoln Center. The views are spectacular and you never know who you’ll bump into. This place is a must whenever one is in town.
The conversation was dry. The Prince was really more like a corporado, discussing world politics and economics, but not much else. At the end of the evening, he dropped me off at my pied a terre. He took my hand and brushed the inside of my wrist with his lips and softly kissed it. I felt his eyes lingered on me just long enough for me to make a hasty retreat. I had a wonderful time, but the Prince and I have just met—and he’s not really my type. He’s good on paper, but he’s just too conservative without much complexity. I assured him he would see me tomorrow and watched with relief as his town car drove away.
