A New York Story: Chapter 2

“Ohhhhh, God...” Lisa moaned as she clumsily lifted her head off the pillow. She'd slept pretty soundly but was suddenly awakened by an intense wave of nausea. Last night, after much deliberation, she and Michael decided to try out a Thai restaurant a couple of blocks from the hotel. He'd actually been the one to suggest it. They'd both felt rather adventurous, though deep down a part of her hoped she wouldn't regret it. She ended up ordering duck with some sort of spicy peanut sauce … at least that's what she thought it was. She thought it tasted a bit strange, but then again, she'd never eaten anything like this before. Maybe it was supposed to taste that way.

Afterwards, they'd taken a stroll through Central Park while it was still light. As the light began to wane and result in a gorgeous, golden sunset, Michael suggested taking a horse-drawn carriage ride through the city streets. It was a lovely night and she couldn't think of a better way to end their impromptu sight-seeing tour.

The pungent taste in her mouth, an unwelcome reminder of that odd dinner meal, rudely invaded her thoughts and made the wave of nausea even worse. She quickly sat up, willing the dizziness that hit her to subside so that she wouldn't fall off the bed and knock herself out.

She felt her feet guide her ungracefully over to the bathroom where she was horrified to find the door shut. Oh, God, did she have to puke. She really, really didn't want to do it on the floor.

She knocked urgently. “Michael? You in there??” She meant for her voice to be loud and urgent, but it came out as weak and wretched.

For a few seconds, nothing. Then... “Lisa, I'm sorry. You need the loo?” Michael replied, sounding a bit apologetic.

She leaned against the door, further willing herself not to give in to the desire to vomit. “Michael, I'm really ill, I have to puke. Please come out soon?”

She heard the faucet run briefly and then shut off. Then footsteps, and finally the doorknob twisting. She stepped back as the door opened and Michael stepped out, fully dressed and holding his toothbrush. His smile was quickly replaced by a startled frown.

“What happened to you?” he said simply, appearing deeply concerned as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I don't know, maybe something I ate last night. Can we talk later so I don't vomit all over your lovely clothes?” she whimpered.

Michael nodded quickly. “Oh yes, I'm sorry. Go...”

She barely heard the last of what he said as she raced into the bathroom and flung the door shut. The minty smell, most likely from Michael's toothpaste or mouthwash, somehow made the nausea worse. Nothing held back the contents of her stomach as she collapsed in front of the toilet and threw up violently.

It was over as quickly as it'd started and, satisfied that she'd made a (hopefully) complete farewell to that unfortunate meal, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. As she headed for the door she heaved a sigh of relief, but a feeling of general queasiness hadn't left her. Maybe this wasn't over just yet.

She exited the bathroom and was met by Michael's sympathetic gaze. “You alright now?” he asked softly.

She headed for the bed and he joined her, sitting next to her. “I don't know. I think so,” she said tentatively.”I think it was what I had for dinner. It just didn't sit right with me. Maybe I've got a touch of food poisoning?”

The look Michael was giving her made it seem that he thought this was all his fault. He remained silent and looked away.

Lisa reached up and stroked his hair. “Michael, please, it's not your fault. You didn't know this was going to happen. I didn't know this was going to happen. I was just as willing to try that restaurant as you were.” Well, maybe not just as much...

He turned back to her and a little smile peeked at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, I'm being silly,” he nodded. “I just hate to see you feeling ill, love.” He gave her a gentle hug, as if he was afraid holding her tighter would make her feel worse. “Feeling better now?”

She nodded. “A bit, but I think it's best if I don't join you for the chat show. I'm still feeling queasy and I don't want to take any chances.”

Michael nodded. “That sounds reasonable. And you can still watch,” he said, gesturing to the small television in the room.

Lisa smiled. “I wish I could support you in person, but I'll be there in spirit. Now, you said the channel is ABC?”

“Yes, that's right.” He glanced at his watch. “Well, I'd better be off. Terry told me he arranged for a car to take us to the studio at 6:30, so it should be here any minute. You sure you'll be okay, love?”

She nodded and her lips edged up into a smirk. “I'll try, but I won't make any promises.”

“Oh, wonderful, try and make me feel guilty now, won't you!” he exclaimed.

Lisa laughed and then held her stomach as she felt an uncomfortable twinge. Michael had briefly joined her in laughter and stopped abruptly as he seemed to notice. He looked at her sadly and then bent to give her a soft kiss on the lips.

“Don't die on me, you hear me?”

“That I can promise,” she returned, smiling tenderly. “And say 'hello' to all the guys from me, yeah?”

“I will,” Michael smiled, grabbing his hat from the dressing table. He headed for the door and, giving her one final nod, he left.

Remembering the bottle of 'pink stuff' medicine she brought for emergencies, Lisa walked over to the training case on top of the chest of drawers, removed it and took a swig of it. She heaved a deep breath and slowly let it out. She regretted the fact that she couldn't join Michael, but it was for the best. She wanted to be the picture of health for the rest of their time in New York City.

At least she'd get to watch him on the program. Speaking of which, what channel was ABC? She found a copy of a TV listings guide with some other informative papers on top of the chest of drawers and flipped through it.

Ah, channel 7. She smiled and walked over to the television set, turning it on and flipping the knob over to the correct channel. She sat through some rather boring commercials and local community information, her brain impatiently chanting 'come on, 7 o'clock, where are you?' over and over.

Michael was waiting at the curb in front of the hotel only about two minutes when a limousine pulled up and stopped abruptly. The back passenger window rolled down and Terry Jones' anxious face appeared. He held up a hand, gesturing for Michael to hurry up and get in.

Michael hurriedly skipped up to the car, about to reach for the door when it flew open in a flourish. Startled, he jumped back. “Christ, Terry. Trying to give me a heart attack, are you?”

“Get in,” Jonesy demanded, clearly not amused. “We've only got 10 minutes to get there.” He rolled up his sleeve and pointed to his watch, as if that was supposed to make his case.

Michael regarded him oddly, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I thought it was only a few blocks away. Is your watch running fast?”

Jonesy rolled his eyes and then seemed to visibly relax in a hurry. He gestured excitedly to the accouterments, particularly of the alcoholic kind, included in the limo. “You wouldn't believe all the drink they've got in here. Look … whiskey, vodka … oh, and look at the size of the glasses.” He smiled and picked up a very large wine glass, the bowl of which seemed to rival the size of any soup bowl Michael had seen.

Michael snorted, amused. “Yeah, typical. Sacrificing quality for quantity. Isn't that the way.”

Jonesy appeared confused. “What? How do you know this stuff isn't any good?” He began to open one of the bottles of whiskey. “I mean, the way things seem so expensive here, it's got to be halfway decent at least. Hmm...” He tilted the bottle up to his lips and was about to take a drink when Michael snatched it out of his hand.

“Hey! Not before our television appearance, hm?” he admonished Jonesy who'd fallen back onto the seat.

“Oi! I was just going to have a little sip!”

“Yeah, and I'm Woody Allen,” Michael said, placing the whiskey bottle back where Jonesy got it.

“You're no fun, you know that?”

Michael smirked. “There are those who would suggest otherwise.”

“Speaking of which, where is your wife?” Jonesy suddenly asked, becoming more serious. “I thought you said she wanted to come along to the studio and watch us.”

“She was, but she's fallen ill and decided to stay back.”

Jonesy looked at Mike, concerned. “Is she alright?”

Michael nodded. “Yeah, probably just a little stomach thing. “We had Thai food for dinner last night and she thinks something didn't agree with her.”

Jonesy scrunched up his face, as if in disgust. “Oh, Mike. How could you?”

Michael's eyes narrowed. “Me? Why do you think it was me?”

“Knowing you, you probably talked her into it. Maybe conspired with the chef to put a little something into her dish? Something that comes in a container with a picture of a dead rat on it?” The grin Jonesy was apparently trying to hide came out in full force and he chuckled.

Mike rolled his eyes. “Oh, God.” He glared at Terry. “You know, that's not funny.”

“Really, Mike. You haven't been married one entire year yet and you're trying to poison her?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Jonesy was laughing now. “It's a good thing she isn't joining us at the studio. I don't want to be privy to whatever else you've got planned … a little something in her drink, perhaps?”

Michael fixed him with a withering glare that made him stop laughing and cough awkwardly.

“Er... sorry. I suppose I'm just a bit nervous about this television appearance. Trying to release the tension, you know?” Jonesy said, looking away uncomfortably.

“Yeah. Alright. I suppose I'm a bit nervous as well,” Michael said softly, nodding.

They sat in silence until they arrived at the studio. They both exited the limo and traversed the pavement leading up to the imposing brick building with large windows. The receptionist up front instructed them on where they should go and they made their way down an airy corridor.

At the end was a large room that led out onto the set of AM America. Michael smiled upon finding Graham, Eric and Terry Gilliam already there. “Hey, guys,” he said softly.

“So, you two finally made it!” Eric grinned. “What took you so long?”

“See, I told you we needed to be swift about it!” Jonesy addressed Mike smugly.

Michael rolled his eyes.  “Have they gone over anything important with you lot?”

Eric shook his head. “Not really. All they said was that you and I were going to do the first hour, then Gilliam, Jonesy and Graham were going to join in after that.”

Michael nodded and then regarded the other three curiously. “So what are you going to do until then?”

Gilliam shrugged. “We just thought we'd hang out here. I was able to convince Stephanie's assistant to give me some paper. I'll just draw some funny pictures, cartoons, things like that. Depending on how badly you guys do, we might need something to liven up the rest of the show.” He smirked.

“Whatever gets you through the night, Gilliam,” Eric said dryly.

Graham, who'd been puffing away on his pipe, suddenly removed it and spoke up. “Hey Mikey, didn't you say Lisa might be along?”

“She couldn't, Gray. She woke up feeling ill this morning.” Michael sensed another stupid joke coming on, so he quickly added, “But she'll be fine. Just a little bug.”

“I'm telling you, he tried to poison her,” Jonesy informed them right on cue.

Eric scrunched up his face in disgust just as Jonesy had done earlier in the limo. “Ohhhh, Mike, really!” he exclaimed in mock disapproval. “What've you done to her this time?”

“Oh, fuck off, Idle,” Mike said, giving Eric a little shove. He turned back to Jonesy, scowling tiredly. “And really, fuck you, Terry. Once is funny. Twice makes you a stupid, festering twat --”

“Michael Palin? Eric Idle? We're ready for you guys,” announced a young man who suddenly poked his head out of the door leading to the set. Not far behind him was Stephanie, the slender, red-headed host of the show.

Michael immediately shut his mouth, coughed and blushed furiously. “Oh, yes, um... sorry,” he said quickly. He grabbed his hat, then decided against wearing it and stuck it on the table where Gilliam was already doodling away on his paper.

“See you later, loves,” Eric called out in his Timmy Williams voice, waving to the Terries and Graham before joining Michael on the set.
 

Lisa's patience – or slight lack thereof – had paid off as seven o'clock in the morning finally arrived and the opening credits for this 'AM America' program finally appeared on the television screen. It then cut to a dimly-lit newsroom type set, casting shadows on the occupants of the room. Once the credits and formulaic theme music finally ended, the set lit up, showing Michael and Eric sitting at the desk along with a skinny redhead.

Lisa smiled. She'd heard that the television camera could make a person look heavier, but Michael – and Eric, actually – looked exactly the same to her; actually, quite better than she'd expected. He seemed a bit nervous as the program started up and this redhead, who went by the name of Stephanie, introduced him and Eric. But he also seemed a bit awkward and shy, which Lisa found very endearing.

Stephanie made polite chit-chat with them at first. “Yes, may I just say something?” Michael suddenly asked her. “I just wanted to say 'Hello' to my lovely wife, Lisa, who couldn't accompany me to the studio because she's taken ill.”

“Oh! Is she – is she alright?” Stephanie asked. Lisa couldn't tell if it was genuine concern or if she was just playing it up for the camera. She hoped it was the former, even though she knew television personalities could be quite phony.

“Oh, no, she'll be alright. It's just a little stomach thing,” Michael reassured her. “She's fine.” He turned straight to the camera. “Hello, love, I hope you're feeling better. I'll be back shortly and perhaps we can have a bite to eat if you're up to it...”

Lisa chuckled fondly in reaction to his sweet rambling.

“... I just want you to know that I love you, in sickness and in health.” He smiled and winked at the camera.

She barely heard Stephanie's “Aww...” as her eyes filled with tears and she sniffled to wish them away. She knew she was the luckiest woman alive to be married to Michael.

The rest of the show proved to be very amusing. Eric, dressed in a blue shirt, pinstriped overalls and a matching hat, made her laugh by wearing Stephanie's cardigan at various times and holding up signs with funny sayings like “Norman Mailer, ring your mother.” After returning from a commercial break, he and Michael were shown playing chess and eating snacks while a sign behind them proclaimed “No smoking or eating in the studio.” Jonesy appeared with his hair all rumpled up and wearing a funny fake mustache, and Gilliam would randomly pull funny faces or hold up signs with funny cartoons.

Finally when the program was drawing to a close, Stephanie made an announcement thereof, resulting in groans of disapproval from the Pythons. They each started getting up and ransacking the set. Lisa started giggling uncontrollably, half expecting her stomach to writhe in pain but she didn't care. She'd felt so bad about not being able to attend but the show they put on really cheered her up.

She calmed down at last and sighed. Her stomach hadn't protested at all. She was finally starting to feel better. Yawning, she realized how tired she was and still a bit weak. Deciding a little nap wouldn't hurt, she lay back on the bed and in no time had drifted off into a deep sleep.

Michael barely noticed the startled expression on Terry's face as he practically leaped from the limousine onto the pavement in front of the hotel at lightning speed. As he neared the doors, he stopped only to check his watch for what was probably the tenth time in the last five minutes.

It was almost a quarter past noon. He sighed. He hadn't expected everything to run so late. After AM America he'd planned to return and check on Lisa, but he and the other Pythons were whisked away by an eager fellow from some magazine, wishing to do an impromptu photo shoot with them. He'd first photographed them outside on the New York City streets, basically candid poses. Later they'd gone up to his studio to do a more unconventional shoot, one which both amused Michael and made him feel a bit awkward.

Later on, the television studio treated them all to brunch at the Plaza hotel, where he and the others had discussed plans related to the Grail opening. He barely remembered much apart from the important details like dates and times. Lisa had been at the forefront of his thoughts the whole time. He felt guilty leaving her alone for so long, especially in that condition. She'd said she'd felt better, but he could tell she was still quite under the weather. At one point he excused himself and found a pay telephone outside, attempting to phone her hotel room. She hadn't picked up, though, and he'd first assumed she was in the bathroom. Which, of course, reminded him of her condition and made him feel even guiltier.

He hurried inside the lobby and over to the elevators, fervently pushing the button for the fourth floor. After deciding two seconds was too long to wait, he headed for the stairs. He raced up, taking them two at a time. He'd passed one or two people on the way who probably regarded him bewilderingly. He didn't care. Lisa was either sick with worry or pissed off.

He was out of breath by the time he reached their floor. Moving quickly down the corridor, he slowed as he finally approached their room. Removing his hat, he pushed his long bangs back from his face and wiped his brow. “Please forgive me, darling,” he muttered under his breath as he raised his fist to knock on the door.

No answer.

He reached into his pocket, producing the room key. He slowly twisted the knob and entered the room, wincing inwardly to prepare himself for Lisa's reaction. He walked further into the room and noticed her lying across the bed. He smiled ...

… And then did a double take as he discovered she was fast asleep.

How long had she been like this? Of course, he really had no way of knowing. She could have been fine and awake nearly the whole time, but had just settled down for a catnap. At least he hoped that was it and that she hadn't grown sicker.

He bent and touched her shoulder. “Lisa?” She didn't react. He smiled and tried again, this time nudging her a bit more. “Lisa ...” he said in a gentle sing-song way.

Finally she stirred. “Mm?” she said sleepily. She shook her head slightly and opened her eyes. She'd started to smile and then her eyes widened. “Michael?? Oh my God, what time is it?” her voice rose, almost to panic.

Seating himself next to her, Michael frowned. She must have been out quite a while. Poor thing. He gave her a sympathetic smile and gazed at her, still a bit worried. “Are you feeling alright now?”

Lisa looked like she had to think about that for a second. “Oh. Um... yes, feeling much better.” She gave him a faint, lopsided grin. “But you didn't answer my question: what time is it?”

Michael briefly gazed downward and chuckled, a bit embarrassed. “About half past noon.” He looked back up at Lisa and chuckled a bit more, noticing her jaw drop. “How long have you been asleep, Sleeping Beauty?” he teased, giving her an affectionate kiss on the lips.

Lisa blushed and giggled herself. “Oh goodness, um... I can't even recall. Since early this morning. I suppose I really needed the rest after being sick like that.”

Now Michael's eyes widened. “Early this morning?? You mean you didn't even get to see my American television debut?” He regarded her in disappointment, giving her a mock pout.

She laughed. “You would never let me live it down if that happened, would you?”

“No, I wouldn't,” Michael joked back, giving her a wink. “So, did you like it?”

“I loved it. You chaps did a marvelous job. I felt so sad that I couldn't join you down there and that I'd taken ill like that, but you really cheered me up. You, Graham, Eric, the Terries... you really made me laugh with your off-the-wall antics on that program.” She giggled and then gazed at him seriously. Michael could see tears in the corners of her eyes. “And that little message to me on-air... Michael, you are such a darling, and every day I am so thankful to be with you.” Her voice began to falter and she cleared her throat.

Deep down, Michael was crying tears of joy though on the surface he allowed himself a tender smile as he gazed at her. A little grin started peeking out of his dimples. “So, you liked it then, eh?”

Lisa laughed and grabbed him, embracing him tightly and giving him a deep kiss. “You know that's a yes, don't you?”

Michael could feel his skin flush all the way down to his toes as he nodded. He looked back up at Lisa and noticed her playful expression had turned serious again, maybe even a little accusatory.

“So, you've only got back now? You were on that program at seven and it's gone past noon. What on earth did you do all this time?” She'd folded her arms across her chest, although the expression she gave him was akin to amusement.

“Oh, tons. After AM America, I was going to come back here and check on you, but a photographer whisked us all away for a photo shoot.”

“Really...”

Michael nodded. “Mm. He wanted to do a big spread for Vogue magazine. He took some outdoor shots and then we went to his studio.”

“What kind of shoot did you do? Something silly?” she grinned.

“Er...” Michael blushed furiously. “Well... 'Suppose it depends on how you look at it. I wore my hat, my socks, and …. that's it.”

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “Well, whose idea was that, then?” She sounded amused, not horrified, causing Michael to sigh inwardly in relief.

“It wasn't mine, I can assure you,” he grinned. “Gray and Terry immediately suggested it. There wasn't any full-frontal nudity to speak of; we each had our naughty bits hidden by the chap in front of us. So don't worry, your silly husband and his tadger aren't going to be splashed all over Playboy.” He gave her a self-deprecating grin.

Her reaction wasn't the one he was expecting. She stuck her lower lip out in a pout. “Really?? I'm so disappointed. Whose idea was it to make you cover your naughty bits?? I'll kill them!!”

Michael's face cracked open in a grin and he began to laugh. He grabbed Lisa and knocked her down onto the bed, kissing her deeply.

Lisa giggled. “But really, I'm glad you did. I'd like to remain the only woman who knows them personally.” She winked at him.

“And so you shall!” Michael grinned wickedly, tracing her jawline with his finger before giving her another kiss.

Lisa gazed into his eyes and smiled. “So! What else did you do?”

“After the photo shoot, we were given brunch down at the Plaza hotel. Lots of food – a bit overindulgence in my opinion – and some orange juice with champagne. We discussed our plans for the 'Grail' opening Sunday morning. We're supposed to be at the cinema at eleven to give out coconuts to the crowds showing up.”

Lisa nodded.

“And we also discussed the opening party that's going on Monday afternoon.”

Lisa's ears seemed to perk up a bit at that. “Party?” she repeated.

“Yes, four o'clock at the Commodore Hotel. As I understand, it's going to be quite a glamorous affair. Some big entertainers, news personalities, and rock stars. Actually, it's being held in the hotel's massage parlor – the 'Relaxation Plus' if I got the name right.”

“Ooh, really? Sounds quite posh!” Her smile then faltered a bit. “... And perhaps a bit overwhelming?”

Michael gazed at her sympathetically. Lisa was still a bit on the shy side and hadn't really met anyone famous. Well, there was the Moody Blues concert she'd talked him into attending about eight months ago at which they'd briefly chatted with the band while getting autographs. But, apart from that, the world of 'celebrity' was still very new to her. Michael, on the other hand, was quite used to it. Yes, meeting some big personalities for the very first time could still be a bit overwhelming to him so he sympathized with her there, but he'd hoped that his more robust experience with celebrities could help ease her shyness. He would be there to back her up, so to speak.

He smiled. “Don't worry, love. Everything will be alright. Just stay with me and I'll make all the introductions. And you know how I can carry on a conversation … I just hope I don't blow it and bore anyone to death.”

“Oh, stop that!” She gave him a playful swat across the chest. “You never bore me!”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “You sure that after nearly a year of marriage you're not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“You think I'd carry on a joke that long??” Lisa retorted incredulously. “Really, Michael, I deserve more credit than that!”

The lopsided grin slipped and he began to laugh. “I know, darling. I'm just taking the piss out of you.” He winked and then gave her a kiss on the top of her head.

“I know. And I was doing it right back to you.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Really, I'm looking forward to it. It sounds like loads of fun.”

“It will be. I'll make sure you have a marvelous time. You up for a massage?” he grinned.

“Hmm, dunno. I reckon I'll decide once I see what sort of facility they have.”

“Oh! Yes, of course. But I meant from me. Tonight.”

Her smile grew. “I can't say no to that. My back is a bit sore and I think a massage would do wonders. Specially from you.”

Michael's face flushed a bit. “Alright then. Well, tonight is still quite a few hours away. You had anything to eat in a while?” Lisa's stomach growled loud enough to answer his question. “Suppose not, eh? I couldn't eat another bite, but there's a lovely little cafe at the end of the block we can visit. That way you can get some food in you. How does that strike you?”

“Sounds great.” Her stomach growled again and she groaned. “Let's get down there straight away. I'm so hungry I think I could eat that chair.” She gestured to an ugly brown, molded plastic chair next to the small round table near the window.

Michael frowned and wrinkled his nose. “That doesn't look very appetizing.” He bent and picked her up, walking gingerly toward the door. “Come on, let's get you some real food so you don't damage that poor stomach of yours.”

Settling into bed next to Michael, Lisa sighed happily. The cafe they visited turned out to be a tea room of sorts as well, and had quite good food. Still not wanting to push it after her stomach distress early in the morning, she opted for something bland: a large scone dotted with currants and a cup of chamomile tea. Michael had insisted he was too full to eat anything, but he couldn't resist trying a little bit of the scone along with his cup of coffee. They made note of the cafe and promised to return again before they headed back to England.

Afterwards they did a bit more sight-seeing, this time visiting the Statue of Liberty. It was a beautiful spring day, and the fresh air felt great after she'd spent nearly the whole morning in bed, cooped up in the stuffy hotel room.

They'd had a lovely dinner at a little Italian restaurant nearby and after retiring to the hotel room, Michael fulfilled his promise and gave her a wonderful massage. At some point the massage had turned into some heavy duty making out. Lisa couldn't complain one bit; she enjoyed being intimate with Michael. It didn't last nearly as long as she'd hoped, though, as he managed to fall asleep after a while. Lisa wasn't sure if it was due to his quite evident arousal, the three-quarters of a bottle of wine he'd finished off at dinner, or both. She hoped it was the former. Michael's drinking sometimes concerned her a bit, but it wasn't anywhere near the amount she'd seen Graham drink and he at least seemed to be in control of it.

She gazed at him fondly and then bent to move his hair back from his cheek and give him a soft kiss. His nose seemed to twitch in response and his lips curved upward in a faint smile that made her heart melt.

She finally eased her head down onto her pillow and sighed happily. Her thoughts then turned to this party going on in less than two days. She hoped they could handle the excitement. She decided not to let it nag away at her and allowed herself to drift off easily into slumber.