My cookie-cutter studio apartment on One Hundredth Street across from the bodega was starting to wear on me. So every Sunday I’d first scan, then very closely read, the New York Times listings for apartment rentals. As soon as the big, fat paper hit the newsstand, I’d buy a copy.
Then, early that morning, I’d start making house calls.
One snowy Sunday I found a listing for a “penthouse studio” on Riverside Drive. It was on the southwest corner of a gorgeous twenty-two-story prewar building overlooking a small park and the river. The rent was $225 a month. I rushed over to see this mini-penthouse that sounded way too good to be true. Minutes after I got there, two other potential tenants arrived. This was going to be a New York, New York, shoot-out and it was probably going to get ugly in a hurry.
The agent, a very fair-minded woman, said to me, “James, you were here first. But you’ve got to decide now.”
So here’s the catch with the penthouse studio. It had a wraparound terrace. It had a great view up and down the Hudson River. But there was no kitchen. And to get out on the terrace, you had to climb onto the toilet seat and go through a narrow bathroom window.
No problem that I could see.
I told the agent, “I’ll take it!”
My new studio had once been the master bedroom in the model Lauren Hutton’s apartment. It had windows facing the southwest, and the wall opposite those windows was all mirrors. When the sun was setting, the light was blinding. Seriously, coming from outside and opening the front door could give you a headache and make your eyes bleed. The sun coming down over the river was enough in itself, but then it hit all six mirror panes, so you had six reflected suns, plus the real sun. It was insane. I loved it! What a place to write and do other things.
Singer-songwriter Laura Nyro lived in the apartment next door. Laura had been only nineteen when she released her debut album, and she’d written a lot of famous songs since, like “Gonna Take a Miracle” and “Midnight Blue.”
Laura was nice to me, the almost perfect neighbor—except that a couple of nights a week, she would go out on her terrace, which connected to my terrace, to compose and sing songs. Sometimes she sang with a couple of friends—in particular, the one and only Patti LaBelle. Laura and Patti would conduct songfests at midnight, at one in the morning, at two in the morning. On the one hand, I’m thinking, This is very cool. On the other…In a couple hours, I’ve got to go to work. Much more important, before I went to work, I had to write some more pages of The Thomas Berryman Number.