Thanx, everyone for reading my novel about my life in NYC in the late 1980s. It has been a dream of mine to write and publish my first (and perhaps only) novel since I left New York in October 1990. Thanx to the miracle of modern technology and self-publishing, I feel happy and proud to present it to you here on this platform. ("Stand clear of the closing doors. Step away from the platforn.")
I love you all and Happy New Year!
Denise...Denise Dances...2011 -- 21 years later!
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Denise Dances!
Denise...Denise Dances...2011 -- 21 Years Later!!!...* * * :)
Denise...Auntie Denise...Anti Denise???...* * * :)
I stood up. I've stood up for everything. I befriended and defended a widow. I stood up to the negligence of the public healthcare system. I did a favor for a friend in need at PHC. I stood up to the Wealthy and Corrupt. I'm taking a stand for Adults dx'd with Disabilities to live normal lives with healthy relationships outside of their apartment building with privacy, respect and SAFETY in a federally funded program. But the hardest thing to do...is to stand up to your own family.
Denise...Auntie Denise...Anti Denise???...* * * :)
I stood up. I've stood up for everything. I befriended and defended a widow. I stood up to the negligence of the public healthcare system. I did a favor for a friend in need at PHC. I stood up to the Wealthy and Corrupt. I'm taking a stand for Adults dx'd with Disabilities to live normal lives with healthy relationships outside of their apartment building with privacy, respect and SAFETY in a federally funded program. But the hardest thing to do...is to stand up to your own family.
EPILOGUE II
EPILOGUE II: WHERE I LIVED IN NYC
(1) TIMES SQUARE: 308 West 51st Street, 3rd Floor. Between Eighth and Ninth Avenues.
(2) EAST VILLAGE: Summer 1987.
200 East Ninth Street, 2nd Floor.
& First Avenue (about one block away from Alphabet City and Tompkins Square Park)
Note: I combined these first two settings into the fire-damaged prewar apartment building (1) and located it in the East Village (2), which was actually an "art deco" studio apartment above a 24-hour grocery store.
(3) UPPER EAST SIDE: Fall 1987- May 1988; 9 months.
200 East 94th Street, 14th Floor (but actually the 13th!) just below the penthouse rooftop patio and garden.
Third Avenue.
(4) WEST VILLAGE: Summer 1988.
400 Mercer Street; across from New York University; modern dance studio)
(5) ROCKAWAY BEACH (Far Rockaway): Fall 1988.
Belle Harbor, Queens (tip of Long Island), New York.
(6) FOREST HILLS, Queens
93-42 71st Drive.
Fall 1988-Fall 1990
2-story house between Forest Hills Gardens & Kew Gardens, off Metropolitan Avenue.
* The Surf Club was located on 415 East 91st Street, 10028. Still have an old matchbook cover! (Scrapbook) ("Get outta my dreams -- and into my car!")
* Third Avenue Bagels was located on 1642 Third Avenue, Corner of 92nd Street. Still have an old menu.(Scrapbook) (Is this Penthouse 14?)
Note: I condensed my sojourn into just two locations: for "Fool's Gold:" the East Village and the Upper East Side. After I moved from the Upper East Side, I actually did take my roommate's offer to move in with her parents on Rockaway Beach, taking the bus to work along Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn and taking it back home, via Queens and Gateway National Recreation Area.
Modus operandi: While living on the Upper East Side, I wrote almost every night after work in yellow legal sized notepads and pen. While living in Forest Hills, I would go into the office on the weekends to type my story on the WANG word processor and floppy diskettes. The original title was "All That Glitters," but a classmate at a publishing workshop here at the Groton Library suggested "Fool's Gold!"
"I think I'll keep her!"
(1) TIMES SQUARE: 308 West 51st Street, 3rd Floor. Between Eighth and Ninth Avenues.
(2) EAST VILLAGE: Summer 1987.
200 East Ninth Street, 2nd Floor.
& First Avenue (about one block away from Alphabet City and Tompkins Square Park)
Note: I combined these first two settings into the fire-damaged prewar apartment building (1) and located it in the East Village (2), which was actually an "art deco" studio apartment above a 24-hour grocery store.
(3) UPPER EAST SIDE: Fall 1987- May 1988; 9 months.
200 East 94th Street, 14th Floor (but actually the 13th!) just below the penthouse rooftop patio and garden.
Third Avenue.
(4) WEST VILLAGE: Summer 1988.
400 Mercer Street; across from New York University; modern dance studio)
(5) ROCKAWAY BEACH (Far Rockaway): Fall 1988.
Belle Harbor, Queens (tip of Long Island), New York.
(6) FOREST HILLS, Queens
93-42 71st Drive.
Fall 1988-Fall 1990
2-story house between Forest Hills Gardens & Kew Gardens, off Metropolitan Avenue.
* The Surf Club was located on 415 East 91st Street, 10028. Still have an old matchbook cover! (Scrapbook) ("Get outta my dreams -- and into my car!")
* Third Avenue Bagels was located on 1642 Third Avenue, Corner of 92nd Street. Still have an old menu.(Scrapbook) (Is this Penthouse 14?)
Note: I condensed my sojourn into just two locations: for "Fool's Gold:" the East Village and the Upper East Side. After I moved from the Upper East Side, I actually did take my roommate's offer to move in with her parents on Rockaway Beach, taking the bus to work along Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn and taking it back home, via Queens and Gateway National Recreation Area.
Modus operandi: While living on the Upper East Side, I wrote almost every night after work in yellow legal sized notepads and pen. While living in Forest Hills, I would go into the office on the weekends to type my story on the WANG word processor and floppy diskettes. The original title was "All That Glitters," but a classmate at a publishing workshop here at the Groton Library suggested "Fool's Gold!"
"I think I'll keep her!"
EPILOGUE I
WHERE I WORKED (June 1987 - October 1990)
McGraw-Hill, Inc.
1221 Avenue of the Americas
(Sixth Avenue, between 48th & 49th Streets)
Commodity & Electronic Services, 42nd Floor
Administrative Assistant
Sales Department
Oil & Gas price reports for traders on Wall Street
Electronic information services and paper reports.
Electronic & paper newsletters.
(Note: I first became employed as a full time in-house temporary secretary before landing in the top company for generating revenue in McGraw-Hill.)
McGraw-Hill, Inc.
1221 Avenue of the Americas
(Sixth Avenue, between 48th & 49th Streets)
Commodity & Electronic Services, 42nd Floor
Administrative Assistant
Sales Department
Oil & Gas price reports for traders on Wall Street
Electronic information services and paper reports.
Electronic & paper newsletters.
(Note: I first became employed as a full time in-house temporary secretary before landing in the top company for generating revenue in McGraw-Hill.)
Quoted Reviews
"It's from a very young mind." (BC, T'ai Chi class, 2002)
"Good visuals of Manhattan." (Ock, T'ai chi class, 2002)
"It's great! I like it!" (R.M., McGraw-Hill, NYC on "Forgotten") and "You literary genius!" "You're neurotic! You're a writer." and "I want to party with you." (1987)
"There are some things about you that are funny and wierd." and "Did Muffy really write this?" ("Olivia Longfellow," aka Linda, on "Forgotten") 1987
"You remind me of Truman Capote. He used to hang around with the rich and famous and write about them. You remind me of him so much." (Sharon, from the office, 1987)
"Write about s**!" (You know that went south.) BL, Arthur Murray Dance Studio, 2002.
"It's great. We loved it. It needs a lot of work." -- Doug ( and Jessica); Arthur Murray Dance Studio, 2002.
"Give me something to read." -- Doug, Arthur Murray (2002)
"Good visuals of Manhattan." (Ock, T'ai chi class, 2002)
"It's great! I like it!" (R.M., McGraw-Hill, NYC on "Forgotten") and "You literary genius!" "You're neurotic! You're a writer." and "I want to party with you." (1987)
"There are some things about you that are funny and wierd." and "Did Muffy really write this?" ("Olivia Longfellow," aka Linda, on "Forgotten") 1987
"You remind me of Truman Capote. He used to hang around with the rich and famous and write about them. You remind me of him so much." (Sharon, from the office, 1987)
"Write about s**!" (You know that went south.) BL, Arthur Murray Dance Studio, 2002.
"It's great. We loved it. It needs a lot of work." -- Doug ( and Jessica); Arthur Murray Dance Studio, 2002.
"Give me something to read." -- Doug, Arthur Murray (2002)
REVIEWS
"It's good!"
"The only thing I would like more of is visualization. What do their offices look like?"
"It read like a script. It had the director's directions. Which is very hard to do. It has everything a soap opera has...it is superb. It has potential."
"I can't grasp it. What is she all about? How does she really feel about Corporate Life? She is scattered. The camera is running around, into other people's offices. What is the reason for writing this?"
All I can do is ask,
Why?
"The only thing I would like more of is visualization. What do their offices look like?"
"It read like a script. It had the director's directions. Which is very hard to do. It has everything a soap opera has...it is superb. It has potential."
"I can't grasp it. What is she all about? How does she really feel about Corporate Life? She is scattered. The camera is running around, into other people's offices. What is the reason for writing this?"
All I can do is ask,
Why?
"But is it clear?"
"OH, Yes! It's very clear!"
"What is there to like about the girl? Why is she a main character? She's not an underdog or anything. No compassion: people are jerks."
"But this is a small sliver of the book. We don't know the whole story. We need more..."
"I work in an office and this is the way people feel. It's just like this. A lot of people can read it and feel that way."
"How does she feel about Corporate Life?"
"It doesn't make sense!"
"But it makes sense to somebody."
"She didn't even have a doctor. Yo get the sense that there is nothing for her in New York."
0981D
FROM: The Learning Annex
SO YOU WANT TO WRITE A SCREENPLAY
Instructor: Mary Bringle
NYC, Spring 1990
FROM: The Learning Annex
SO YOU WANT TO WRITE A SCREENPLAY
Instructor: Mary Bringle
NYC, Spring 1990
Work of Fiction
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
CONCLUSION: By Accident
She awoke suddenly. The drowsiness parted and bang! the big car pushed her car forward, and her neck jerked forward and back. Bang! Again. Bang! Again.
"You hear but you don't listen," Dillon had stated firmly at the tourism office where she worked for the summer.
She thought about this for a few moments, and, after smirking in recognition, she admitted, "Yes, I have to agree with you."
You're ten steps ahead when someone's talking to you, he had said.
"Are you deaf?" the priest was saying during Sunday morning mass. Saul of Tarsus was "knocked off his horse." God made him blind for three days. Then he listened to the Lord. Those who are deaf in spirit. The kid in the carriage, crying to get out. What is God trying to tell you?
The woman with the jewels whose lover had died...his horse returned but he did not. She realized all the jewels meant nothing.
And the dramatic priest ended his liturgy by praying, "Oh, Lord, we pray that we will hear you with our hearts and listen to you, and what you are trying to tell us."
"You hear but you don't listen," Dillon had stated firmly at the tourism office where she worked for the summer.
She thought about this for a few moments, and, after smirking in recognition, she admitted, "Yes, I have to agree with you."
You're ten steps ahead when someone's talking to you, he had said.
"Are you deaf?" the priest was saying during Sunday morning mass. Saul of Tarsus was "knocked off his horse." God made him blind for three days. Then he listened to the Lord. Those who are deaf in spirit. The kid in the carriage, crying to get out. What is God trying to tell you?
The woman with the jewels whose lover had died...his horse returned but he did not. She realized all the jewels meant nothing.
And the dramatic priest ended his liturgy by praying, "Oh, Lord, we pray that we will hear you with our hearts and listen to you, and what you are trying to tell us."
Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
You been out ridin' fences for so long now
Oh, you're a hard one
I know that you got your reasons
These things that are pleasin' you
Can hurt you somehow.
Don't you draw the Queen of Diamonds, boy
She'll beat you if she's able
You know the Queen of Hearts is always your best bet.
Now it seems to me, some fine things have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you can't get...
Desperado, oh, you ain't gettin' no younger
Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home.
And freedom, oh freedom!
Well, that's just some people talkin'
Your prison is walking through this world all alone.
Don't your feet get cold in the winter time?
The sky won't snow and the sun won't shine
It's hard to tell the night from the day...
You're losin' all your highs and lows
Ain't it funny how the feeling goes away?
Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
Come down from your fences,
Open the gate!
It may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you
You better let somebody love you, before it's too late...!
(DESPERADO)
(The Eagles)
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
"Tomorrow"
Tomorrow (Thursday), I will have the dramatic Conclusion: "By Accident" to "Fool's Gold," which my avid readers (39 yesterday) keep coming back for more!
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Up Next: CONCLUSION: By Accident
I realize it is Tuesday, and I want to thank all 17 readers who came back to me today (and counting). After a brisk walk at the Mall, one lap upstairs, one lap down (that's 40 minutes); lunch "en mi caro;" coffee purchased with pennies, and a couple hot new tops for those opening art receptions at the Hygienic -- they show off my curves; even tho' I did gain weight this past year -- I am back. Mall walking is a great way to lose weight. Even cheap. Bring lunch and eat in your car or purchase a cheap but nutritious lunch at the food court. Or just buy coffee. The mall has security from the WPD patrolling during regular business hours. I believe the Mall opens to walkers before the retailers do, for mall walking. It is a very safe environment in which to take a walk. Shop if you can. You don't have to buy the entire farm. I admit, there is a lot of "cognitive dissonance" which interferes with my concentration (or is it low blood sugar? or both?). But the Mall can be mastered to the benefit of all, the retailers and restaurants, your pocketbook, your health conditions and personal habits, and the "shape" of things to come! UP NEXT: The Conclusion to "Fool's Gold," By Accident. Tomorrow? Happy New Year! (Denise...Denise Dances...2011)
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Up Next: CONCLUSION to the Conclusion!
Are we there yet? Yes, Denise...ah, Debbie. We're almost there!
CONCLUSION: By Accident
"This is giving me the creeps," she said.
"This is standard. You should get treatment. If you don't, and an injury occurs, it won't stand in court." He explained what they were about to do to her. She lifted her arms to his shoulders. They carried her to the waiting stretcher.
"Can't you loosen this? I feel stiff," she pointed to her chin.
"Only a little," a female EMT said. "We have to do this. It's necessary. If you're injured, we want everything to stay in place."
"I feel like I can't breathe. I feel so helpless!" she wailed.
"That's what everyone says," the young EMT said.
"Will someone come with me and talk to me?" she pleaded. "Sherri! Follow me to the hospital!" she begged.
"Debbie! They're waiting on you hand and foot!" she laughed. "Bet you never thought you'd attract such attention!"
Sherri held up a red hard hat, as she unloaded Debbie's car.
"Debbie! Is this yours?"
"Yes," she answered faintly from the stretcher, fondly recalling her temporary job as a secretary on a construction site.
Like dying and going to heaven, she surrendered her earthly existence. Losing control...her pocketbook...her calendar...her black knapsack with the novel she was writing inside of it...the red hard hat. A name, a number. Vital statistics. Today's date. The President. She had to give up the controls and trust everyone to take care of her things, to see to her comfort.
In the quickly moving van, she talked to the two EMT workers who sat in back with her, one male and one female. They were volunteers who each had real jobs. One had a wife.
"You're not even a woman to me," he said. "Just a person."
"No one's ever said that to me before," she said. "Where are we?"
All she could see was the silver ceiling of the ambulance. Finally, the moving vehicle became soothing, as she lay, unmoving, a mummy. She closed her eyes and kept talking.
"Of course, we'd ride in the back with you. We wouldn't leave you here alone," said a woman's kind voice.
She asked them about the earlier emergency on Route 2.
"We can find out," the male voice in the driver's seat said. Something beeped. "A fire at the casino."
A radio dispatcher fuzzily announced an emergency on Colonel Ledyard Highway.
"We're not going there," the driver said, to her relief.
At once, the vehicle stopped. "See, it only took twenty minutes."
"You're taking me out?"
As she slid out of the doors, the sky was a dark blue above her. The summer evening had turned to night.
"Of course. We're not going to leave you here alone."
"You get to go through the privileged entrance. Bet you never thought you'd do that," the male voice continued.
She stared at the old ceiling above her. "This is the plaster room. We're going to put you in a plaster cast."
"No. I never want to see you guys again! Can this come off now?"
"No. Not until the doctor sees you," a young nurse said firmly. She untied the wrappings around Debbie's waist. "I'm being nice."
"Thank you," Debbie said softly.
"Your sister's here," the young nurse informed her.
Other nurses came. "When was your last menstrual period?" "Three or four weeks ago." "Any chance you're pregnant?" "No...no chance at all..."
She lay on the stiff white stretcher. The ties had been loosened. She folded her hands on her chest. She closed her eyes and tried to tell herself: it will be over soon. It will be over soon. Just relax and close your eyes. The bandages will come off sometime soon. The nurse left. After squeezing the female EMT's hand a few times, she was left alone.
Was God himself here? She couldn't feel His presence. For a moment, she felt as Christ himself must have felt on the Cross. My God, my God, why has thou forsaken me? But he knew that His agony would soon end and that all of his suffering was intended for a higher purpose.
"This is standard. You should get treatment. If you don't, and an injury occurs, it won't stand in court." He explained what they were about to do to her. She lifted her arms to his shoulders. They carried her to the waiting stretcher.
"Can't you loosen this? I feel stiff," she pointed to her chin.
"Only a little," a female EMT said. "We have to do this. It's necessary. If you're injured, we want everything to stay in place."
"I feel like I can't breathe. I feel so helpless!" she wailed.
"That's what everyone says," the young EMT said.
"Will someone come with me and talk to me?" she pleaded. "Sherri! Follow me to the hospital!" she begged.
"Debbie! They're waiting on you hand and foot!" she laughed. "Bet you never thought you'd attract such attention!"
Sherri held up a red hard hat, as she unloaded Debbie's car.
"Debbie! Is this yours?"
"Yes," she answered faintly from the stretcher, fondly recalling her temporary job as a secretary on a construction site.
Like dying and going to heaven, she surrendered her earthly existence. Losing control...her pocketbook...her calendar...her black knapsack with the novel she was writing inside of it...the red hard hat. A name, a number. Vital statistics. Today's date. The President. She had to give up the controls and trust everyone to take care of her things, to see to her comfort.
In the quickly moving van, she talked to the two EMT workers who sat in back with her, one male and one female. They were volunteers who each had real jobs. One had a wife.
"You're not even a woman to me," he said. "Just a person."
"No one's ever said that to me before," she said. "Where are we?"
All she could see was the silver ceiling of the ambulance. Finally, the moving vehicle became soothing, as she lay, unmoving, a mummy. She closed her eyes and kept talking.
"Of course, we'd ride in the back with you. We wouldn't leave you here alone," said a woman's kind voice.
She asked them about the earlier emergency on Route 2.
"We can find out," the male voice in the driver's seat said. Something beeped. "A fire at the casino."
A radio dispatcher fuzzily announced an emergency on Colonel Ledyard Highway.
"We're not going there," the driver said, to her relief.
At once, the vehicle stopped. "See, it only took twenty minutes."
"You're taking me out?"
As she slid out of the doors, the sky was a dark blue above her. The summer evening had turned to night.
"Of course. We're not going to leave you here alone."
"You get to go through the privileged entrance. Bet you never thought you'd do that," the male voice continued.
She stared at the old ceiling above her. "This is the plaster room. We're going to put you in a plaster cast."
"No. I never want to see you guys again! Can this come off now?"
"No. Not until the doctor sees you," a young nurse said firmly. She untied the wrappings around Debbie's waist. "I'm being nice."
"Thank you," Debbie said softly.
"Your sister's here," the young nurse informed her.
Other nurses came. "When was your last menstrual period?" "Three or four weeks ago." "Any chance you're pregnant?" "No...no chance at all..."
She lay on the stiff white stretcher. The ties had been loosened. She folded her hands on her chest. She closed her eyes and tried to tell herself: it will be over soon. It will be over soon. Just relax and close your eyes. The bandages will come off sometime soon. The nurse left. After squeezing the female EMT's hand a few times, she was left alone.
Was God himself here? She couldn't feel His presence. For a moment, she felt as Christ himself must have felt on the Cross. My God, my God, why has thou forsaken me? But he knew that His agony would soon end and that all of his suffering was intended for a higher purpose.
And it was the third hour, and they crucified Him.
And with Him, they crucify two thieves; the one on his right hand,
and the other on his left.
And when the sixth hour was come,
there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour.
And, at the ninth hour, Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying
Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?
Which, being interpreted,
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
(Gospel of Mark 15: 25, 27, 33-34.)
Her mother came. Debbie wanted her to stay. She was unusually calm. Normally, she didn't want anyone around her. Living at home with her parents, she was surrounded by people all of the time. Her mother said she had gotten a headache around the time her accident had occurred.
"We were five minutes away..." she heard Sherri whisper to her mother in the parking lot. Sherri had been calling the tourism office where Debbie worked all day, communicating between her and Family Services, where she was supposed to go tonight for her first appointment with a psychiatrist. "You've been angry for too long," Sherri was concerned about Debbie's ever present anger and she wanted to help her sister. But Debbie didn't want to go. She didn't want to say bad things about her family to a stranger. Her mother drove her quietly home.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
BY ACCIDENT, Part II
Debbie saw Sherri's singal light and halted, waiting for a distant oncoming car to pass. A sudden rushing of wind came up behind her. She felt the speed of the approaching car. And the amplified screech of brakes, which she was to recall later. She imagined a big green sedan containing a bunch of greasy guys. And she waited, in that split second, to be hit. BANG! The rushing car pushed her forward with supersonic loud noise. She scrunched her shoulders and went with it. Zing-ing-ing-ing! Like a gentle spring rain, the tingling filled her neck, her back.
Eyes wide, she looked out of her window at the big car, at the woman. She could have been her grandmother. A small girl accompanied her.
"Thanks for stopping," she said quietly.
"Oh, I wouldn't just leave you!" The woman squeezed her hand.
"I'm going to call the police," Sherri said and ran down the street.
"Want me to call the police?" a young man approached her, walking across the street.
"My sister is. Thanks."
"Are you all right? Want a drink of water?" a large, gentle woman with a blond pageboy hairstyle asked Debbie. She returned with a blue plastic cup of nice, cold water.
"Are you alright, too? I'm sorry I forgot to ask," she approached the woman.
A young woman with long frizzy hair crossed the street, asking if Debbie were all right. She had heard the noise.
Sirens wailed faintly and suddenly, police cars were parked alongside her on the side road. A young EMT with sandy hair and blue eyes asked her if she wanted treatment.
An officer with friendly blue eyes asked the same question. Their blue eyes reflected the water of the nearby cove. Another police officer asked Debbie if she were all right. She looked at them all with wide eyes. But she refused to talk to the woman. She wanted to ask her, "Why did you do this to me?" As she stepped outside of her car, realizing she'd locked the door, Debbie began to unload it. The back seat was pushed forward.
There lay her cup of chocolate ice cream, once resting on her dashboard, in the back seat. Her sunglasses were flung on the odometer screen. The rear view mirror had become unglued and rested on the floor. How had it not hit her in the head?
She walked to the back of the car. The rear windshield was intact, but the taillights and the whole rear end were crunched.
"Are you OK to drive?"
"She's not driving it," the officers laughed as they rolled it forward. Off the side road. Onto some grass.
"I didn't notice your signal light," the woman had said.
Now she revised it. "I saw her start to slow down and I couldn't stop in time and I hit her with this big old thing," she moaned. Debbie refused to look at her, but continued to unload her car.
"I think you should get back in the car," an officer told her. She didn't really feel like sitting inside it.
"Look straight ahead," the handsome EMT said. "How many fingers am I holding up? What's today's date? What's your name? Social Security number? Gosh, you're doing better than I am. Who's the President?"
"Um...um..I can't remember!"
"Clinton!" Sherri laughed.
"Oh, Clinton."
"Where is the President vacationing?"
"I don't know."
"That was a trick question," the EMT joked. "Hold up your arms." And he began to fasten a foam vest around her.
MORE TO COME! (Are we there.......yet???...* * * :)
Eyes wide, she looked out of her window at the big car, at the woman. She could have been her grandmother. A small girl accompanied her.
"Thanks for stopping," she said quietly.
"Oh, I wouldn't just leave you!" The woman squeezed her hand.
"I'm going to call the police," Sherri said and ran down the street.
"Want me to call the police?" a young man approached her, walking across the street.
"My sister is. Thanks."
"Are you all right? Want a drink of water?" a large, gentle woman with a blond pageboy hairstyle asked Debbie. She returned with a blue plastic cup of nice, cold water.
"Are you alright, too? I'm sorry I forgot to ask," she approached the woman.
A young woman with long frizzy hair crossed the street, asking if Debbie were all right. She had heard the noise.
Sirens wailed faintly and suddenly, police cars were parked alongside her on the side road. A young EMT with sandy hair and blue eyes asked her if she wanted treatment.
An officer with friendly blue eyes asked the same question. Their blue eyes reflected the water of the nearby cove. Another police officer asked Debbie if she were all right. She looked at them all with wide eyes. But she refused to talk to the woman. She wanted to ask her, "Why did you do this to me?" As she stepped outside of her car, realizing she'd locked the door, Debbie began to unload it. The back seat was pushed forward.
There lay her cup of chocolate ice cream, once resting on her dashboard, in the back seat. Her sunglasses were flung on the odometer screen. The rear view mirror had become unglued and rested on the floor. How had it not hit her in the head?
She walked to the back of the car. The rear windshield was intact, but the taillights and the whole rear end were crunched.
"Are you OK to drive?"
"She's not driving it," the officers laughed as they rolled it forward. Off the side road. Onto some grass.
"I didn't notice your signal light," the woman had said.
Now she revised it. "I saw her start to slow down and I couldn't stop in time and I hit her with this big old thing," she moaned. Debbie refused to look at her, but continued to unload her car.
"I think you should get back in the car," an officer told her. She didn't really feel like sitting inside it.
"Look straight ahead," the handsome EMT said. "How many fingers am I holding up? What's today's date? What's your name? Social Security number? Gosh, you're doing better than I am. Who's the President?"
"Um...um..I can't remember!"
"Clinton!" Sherri laughed.
"Oh, Clinton."
"Where is the President vacationing?"
"I don't know."
"That was a trick question," the EMT joked. "Hold up your arms." And he began to fasten a foam vest around her.
MORE TO COME! (Are we there.......yet???...* * * :)
Conclusion: BY ACCIDENT
It may be raining but there's a rainbow above you,
You better let somebody love you
Before it's too late...
"Desperado," the Eagles song turned into Foreigner's melodramatic "Blue Morning, Blue Day," as she entered her sister's dirt driveway. Instantly, she was out the door and she accompanied her sister inside the big old New England farmhouse.
"Look what we did to the house today," her sister led her through the keeping room.
"Oh," Debbie gasped, "look at that." She pointed to a corner with a new stained glass window and remnants of a black wrought iron gate. "It reminds me of New York."
And, "Oh, creative," as she looked at the upturned desk beside a chair.
"The table's set," Sherri said.
Outside in the summer evening, blue plates were set beside blue glasses. Yellow and lavendar flowers graced the white picnic table. the umbrella stood strangely closed. Couldn't we open it, she wanted to ask.
"Ooooh, it's so relaxing here."
Tall, tall flowers, lavendar and white phlox grew in the no maintenance garden. "We mow it every year," Red would joke.
They ate chunks of cucumber and tomatoes and warm red potatoes seasoned with fresh herbs. Debbie could tell they were fresh because, she grew them at their parents' home in the back yard. The steak was ready and she pulled bits of it with her knife while big Black Cat gnawed at his share on the ground, his furry back hunched over.
"He's an oink-oink," Sherri said.
And then, she recalled her high school prom. Mike Brooks had asked her to be his date. Mom had said, "No. You're not going." Sherri went to the prom anyway. Then, Mike Brooks had left her to dance with her best friend, and shortly after that, they started dating.
"In church, the next day, Father McGillicuddy said how important it is to forgive your neighbor. And Marilyn was my neighbor!"
Debbie laughed.
"And I cried!" Sherri clenched her fists to her sides and bared her teeth.
Debbie laughed again. "And now, you could probably both laugh. And it seemed so unforgivable then."
"If we don't hurry now, we won't have time to get ice cream." And Sherri began tearing the clothes off the clothes line. Debbie carried the straw tray piled with dishes to the house. Tropical Carribbean zydeco music serenaded them from the CD player.
It's so peaceful here, she wanted to say. Why don't we skip the ice cream?
Sherri backed her black Volvo out of the driveway and Debbie followed her in her brown Pinto. In front of them at the stop sign, a fire engine wailed. A policeman stood in the middle of the road, waving them through the blinking red stop light. Traffic lined the country road on both sides. The fire engine turned right, toward the direction of the casino. Sherri turned into the Red Rooster parking lot and Debbie followed, just before an oncoming car approached. They selected ice cream flavors. When Debbie started licking the cone, Sherri said, "No. We don't have time," and requested cups.
When the road was clear, Debbie followed her, smoothly out of the parking lot. On the highway, she lost her. A large truck loomed in front of her. On the exit ramp, Debbie caught up with Sherri.
The clouds were pale pink, the sky a deep blue on this late summer evening. Connecticut was so beautiful, it seemed surreal. Debbie listened to a song about "time and space between me and you," which she usually thought depressing, "A Prayer for the Dying." The cars were going faster and faster, it seemed, as time raced into the future with the building of the new casino.
Epilogue: WONDERFUL TONIGHT, Part II
Noooo, I wouldn't be that mean! A high pitched voice answered the phone after the first ring and she asked for Mike.
"This is he," the high, raspy voice answered.
"This is Debbie. I got your letter in the mail, I wrote back, and I just got my letter back in the mail today. The reporter in me just had to find out what was going on. I just couldn't wait around, wondering what happened. I just had to call."
"Debbie...that laugh sounds familiar...did you go to school in Essex?"
* * *
"Oh. Well, well, well...this is a treat. The cost of living is lower here. It's much easier to make ends meet. A bunch of guys get a house near the beach. There's the boardwalk. There's not much here but the military."
"Your voice sounds so different than I remember," she said.
"And the reporter in you had to find out," he repeated.
"I would be one if I could," she sighed. "You have a Southern accent. Slight southern accent," she added and he laughed softly.
"I've been here a long time. Well, well, well..."
Where did he get that from? She didn't remember him saying that in Lowell, that lovely night, four years ago, as he had held her in his arms in the cold of an April night, in the parking lot of Chevy's Belair Cafe, down by the river.
"Well, you can write to me..."
"I like to write. I just can't figure out the mail system. I sent you that card in November. You wrote me in July and I wrote back to you right away. I just got my letter back in the mail today."
He didn't seem overly perturbed. He didn't question the United States mail system.
"You can write to me...I have to get going. My little girl needs her bicycle fixed. You know how kids can keep you busy. This call is going to cost you a bundle."
Kids? "Wait. There's something I have to ask you. Are you married?"
"Well..."
"I mean, it's one thing, writing to someone you think is single, but..."
"Well, well, well. Talk about seven years bad luck."
"You have to tell me."
"Seven years. Two children."
Seven? But she had known him only four years ago. She hung on, in silent shock.
"Debbie," he said, after a moment's pause. "Keep your spirits up. You sound like a great girl."
"Thanks," she whispered and hung up.
All she could think of was that country song.
"This is he," the high, raspy voice answered.
"This is Debbie. I got your letter in the mail, I wrote back, and I just got my letter back in the mail today. The reporter in me just had to find out what was going on. I just couldn't wait around, wondering what happened. I just had to call."
"Debbie...that laugh sounds familiar...did you go to school in Essex?"
* * *
"Oh. Well, well, well...this is a treat. The cost of living is lower here. It's much easier to make ends meet. A bunch of guys get a house near the beach. There's the boardwalk. There's not much here but the military."
"Your voice sounds so different than I remember," she said.
"And the reporter in you had to find out," he repeated.
"I would be one if I could," she sighed. "You have a Southern accent. Slight southern accent," she added and he laughed softly.
"I've been here a long time. Well, well, well..."
Where did he get that from? She didn't remember him saying that in Lowell, that lovely night, four years ago, as he had held her in his arms in the cold of an April night, in the parking lot of Chevy's Belair Cafe, down by the river.
"Well, you can write to me..."
"I like to write. I just can't figure out the mail system. I sent you that card in November. You wrote me in July and I wrote back to you right away. I just got my letter back in the mail today."
He didn't seem overly perturbed. He didn't question the United States mail system.
"You can write to me...I have to get going. My little girl needs her bicycle fixed. You know how kids can keep you busy. This call is going to cost you a bundle."
Kids? "Wait. There's something I have to ask you. Are you married?"
"Well..."
"I mean, it's one thing, writing to someone you think is single, but..."
"Well, well, well. Talk about seven years bad luck."
"You have to tell me."
"Seven years. Two children."
Seven? But she had known him only four years ago. She hung on, in silent shock.
"Debbie," he said, after a moment's pause. "Keep your spirits up. You sound like a great girl."
"Thanks," she whispered and hung up.
All she could think of was that country song.
Cause and effect!
Chain of events!
All of this chaos
Makes perfect sense!
Welcome to Earth, third rock from the Sun!
Welcome to Earth, third rock from the Sun!
Up Next: Epilogue and Conclusion
Uh-ohhhhh...don't tell me you're gonna make me wait until New Year's Eve!
EPILOGUE: Wonderful Tonight
April 1990
She clutched his hand to her heart. She squeezed it tightly in both of her hands, as if to break his fingers, as she was now breaking his heart.
"Even if I don't see you again..." she had said.
He looked up in despair and gulped back the tears that welled suddenly in his watery blue eyes. He stood high above her, taller even than his friends who stood beside him near the dance floor.
She clutched his hand to her chest and closed her eyes. She must have said a little prayer.
Even if I don't see you...she imagined, far away in the future, on a cold May or June morning, the sailor towering over her in a white uniform and the striking white chief's hat, as she clutched his fingers and closed her eyes.
"Hello, can I have Mike's correct address?" she requested in her most deeply professional voice that she could muster.
"Yes, wait a minute." The young girl laughed softly. Seconds later, she answered the question.
"Would you also like his phone number?" The accent was unmistakeably Massachusetts, the voice deeper now, with four years of maturity. Not to mention a much friendlier manner.
"Sure. Thank you very much."
A bonus now thrown into the picture, she dialed his number. 804. Virginia. How would she explain that to her parents? Well, it would just have to wait. She had to act now after they had just left for dinner.
A high pitched voice answered the phone after the first ring, and she asked for Mike.
She clutched his hand to her heart. She squeezed it tightly in both of her hands, as if to break his fingers, as she was now breaking his heart.
"Even if I don't see you again..." she had said.
He looked up in despair and gulped back the tears that welled suddenly in his watery blue eyes. He stood high above her, taller even than his friends who stood beside him near the dance floor.
She clutched his hand to her chest and closed her eyes. She must have said a little prayer.
Even if I don't see you...she imagined, far away in the future, on a cold May or June morning, the sailor towering over her in a white uniform and the striking white chief's hat, as she clutched his fingers and closed her eyes.
"Hello, can I have Mike's correct address?" she requested in her most deeply professional voice that she could muster.
"Yes, wait a minute." The young girl laughed softly. Seconds later, she answered the question.
"Would you also like his phone number?" The accent was unmistakeably Massachusetts, the voice deeper now, with four years of maturity. Not to mention a much friendlier manner.
"Sure. Thank you very much."
A bonus now thrown into the picture, she dialed his number. 804. Virginia. How would she explain that to her parents? Well, it would just have to wait. She had to act now after they had just left for dinner.
A high pitched voice answered the phone after the first ring, and she asked for Mike.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
See Ya Next Week!
I'm sorry but you are just going to have to wait until next week for the dramatic conclusion to "Fool's Gold," a story for the late 80s, "By Accident." After that, I will have Reviews from the past in quotes. After that, I promise to present to you some other stuff from my past, poetry from corporate life in 80s NYC and poetry from my college days at ECSU in Willimantic, CT. As well, I will proudly present to you "The Single Mom of Cactus County" which details my trip to Arizona in the early 90s. (Are we there yet???...* * * :)
Monday, December 13, 2010
AND FINALLY....!
And finally, the dramatic conclusion to FOOL'S GOLD, a story for the late 80s. In just a couple of weeks,...Just in time for Christmas! -- "By Accident."
At this moment, I would like to take the time and ask all of my readers to STAY SAFE this holiday season. DO NOT drink & drive. Have a designated driver or stay home, or stay over! DO NOT text and drive. DO NOT talk on cell phone and drive, even hands free. And...DO NOT "sex-t" and drive either! (What you do at home isn't my business!) How about fighting? No, no fighting in the car and behind the wheel either! (Are we there....yet???...* * * :)
Take care, everyone! Merry Christmas!
Denise
803
At this moment, I would like to take the time and ask all of my readers to STAY SAFE this holiday season. DO NOT drink & drive. Have a designated driver or stay home, or stay over! DO NOT text and drive. DO NOT talk on cell phone and drive, even hands free. And...DO NOT "sex-t" and drive either! (What you do at home isn't my business!) How about fighting? No, no fighting in the car and behind the wheel either! (Are we there....yet???...* * * :)
Take care, everyone! Merry Christmas!
Denise
803
UP NEXT
UP NEXT: Wonderful Tonight: EPILOGUE. Next week you will find out what happened to Debbie's long lost sailor. Sometimes, all it takes is a well placed phone call...to find out THE TRUTH.
THE RED ROOSTER
Should I brake for ice cream? The old ice cream place was vacant. Weeds had sprung up in the cracked tar of the parking lot.
Whirly Birds, no, Sea Swirl. No, now it was Mayo's Roadhouse. Ugh. "Whirlybirds," she had said once, making her date, Owen laugh. He then made her laugh hysterically what with all of his sarcasm and antics.
She clicked on her left signal light. She watched the green arrow {do we have a Superhero comic series here?} {sic} blink on her dashboard as car after car raced past her, in the oncoming lane of Rural Route 2. Her car always swayed with the vibrations of irate drivers whizzing past her on Connecticut's sprawling roads.
"We oughta do this more often." Teenagers sat at a picnic table near the Roadhouse ice cream place. She combed her hair and got out of her car. She ate the cold, white ice cream, sitting alone in her car. Touches of red spotted the soft serve vanilla. She hoped her red lipstick would not wear off.
She stared at the deserted picnic tables under the dark shade of trees. Green trees, shade. Empty picnic tables. Teenagers, out on a Saturday night. Loneliness.
She backed up the car, hoping it wouldn't make too much noise. How she hated to back up in this parking lot. Screech. Scrape. Oh, no. She pressed the brakes but they went all the way down. Loose. Nothing happened, but then she pumped the brakes and got them back. Skidding along the rocky, sandy parking lot; she edged to Route 2. She turned the wheel, screeching, creaking, scraping. She hoped that nobody noticed. Not the teenage hotshots with their expensive cars.
Screeching like a dry cough, her car rode up Route 2. She turned right, into a dirt driveway, followed it, and turned around. A woman in a truck drove into her driveway. She wanted to ask her for help. She kept driving along the driveway and ventured to the road. Car after car passed, probably on their way to the casino. Her car groaned and creaked until she turned right at Bess Eaton Donuts. A Hispanic man called to her.
"I'm a mechanic. I can help you," he said. She noted his greasy, black hair, his bulging eyes.
She drove her car back and forth in the parking lots of Bess Eaton and the Red Rooster mart.
"It's the brakes," he said. "I can fix it for you. A hundred seventy five dollars."
"I don't have it," she said.
"See? The black stuff on the wheel. If you keep driving on that, it could catch on fire," he informed her.
"I'm not driving on it," she told him.
"I'm willing to fix it for you. Ninety dollars," he said.
"I don't have any cash on me," she said truthfully.
"Let's go see the boss. See what he has to say," he suggested. He sat in a white car with an older Hispanic man. The man ws skinny, with bulging eyes and thinning gray hair.
"What garage do you belong to?" she asked. "When I call my parents, they're going to want to know."
The men hesitated. "Seventy five dollars," the first one said.
"I don't have any money at all. I only have ten dollars. I have money at home. I would have to call someone," she said.
"How much do you have? Forty five dollars," he offered.
"We're going to have to get going pretty soon," the other man said.
"I have Triple A," she said.
"They'll charge you $250 just to tow it," the other man said. What? I thought it was free.
"Do you have a car radio? Anything to trade?"
"All I have are speakers."
The first man quietly started his car. "It should be OK to drive. How far do you live?" And they were gone, in the white car that said SJ or SP 769. Back to New Haven. He was on vacation this week. He had helped a few other people who broke down on this road.
She walked to the pay phone in front of the Red Rooster. A mild mannered woman looked at her. She wore black oval shaped glasses and a gray, curled uner hairdo.
"I just wanted to see if you needed a ride," she said. "My son's an auto mechanic, but I"m afraid there is no place that would be open," she said.
"Yeah. I just called Triple A. Those strange men wanted to help me. They were coming from the casino," Debbie answered.
"I don't pretend to know what goes on there," she said quietly.
"Nothing good can come of it," Debbie agreed.
"It's a den of iniquity," she said. "They say there are people gambling and it's the Mafia's money in there..." she shuddered. She acted as if she could not bear to discuss it any further.
"Money is the root of all evil," Debbie quoted.
"Love of money," she corrected her.
"Yes," Debbie laughed. "People don't want to listen to me."
A red-haired young man with a nose like a chicken beak walked out of the store. A girl dressed in a purple and blue flounced dress walked to her car, her dress blowing in the breeze, above her stockinged legs and black shoes.
Debbie looked at a jeep with three young guys seated in it. Someone with a crew cut sat in back. He waved goodbye to her when the driver came out of the Red Rooster. She smiled and waved back.
The woman started to walk away to her car, but slowly. She was not in a hurry. She paused when Debbie would say something. Finally, they nodded goodbye. Debbie thanked her for waiting with her.
"And they wouldn't fix it here," the young man from Evan's Garage said of the casino guys.
The pay phone had finally rung. "Debbie," he had sai. "I'll be over in fifteen minutes to pick you up."
She went inside the Red Rooster. She bought a couple of postcards and the newspaper. Then she called her parents.
Few lights glistened on the banks of the Thames River. It was not the George Washington Bridge or the 59th Street Bridge that they traversed in this flashing tow truck. It was the Goldstar Bridge. "New London City Line," she read the sign which marked the dividing line in the middle of the water.
They continued to follow the Thames River as they rode along Route 32 to Montville. A boat actually glided up the river. Waterford, she thought. Water. She looked to the edge of the turnpike, where once a bed of trolley tracks stood. What a fine place it must have been, she thought of her home town. The Norwich-New London Trolley. Public transporation. Meadows. Hardly any buildings. No highways.
A police car and truck flashed their lights urgently. She looked to see the unlucky vehicle. There, alongside Route 32 in the shadows, sat a lone biker on his motorcycle.
On they rode past her familiar gas station. One of the guys turned as he pumped gas.
"Speak of the devils," the guy from Evan's Garage said. Harleys and other motorcycles roared at Dot's Cafe.
Whirly Birds, no, Sea Swirl. No, now it was Mayo's Roadhouse. Ugh. "Whirlybirds," she had said once, making her date, Owen laugh. He then made her laugh hysterically what with all of his sarcasm and antics.
She clicked on her left signal light. She watched the green arrow {do we have a Superhero comic series here?} {sic} blink on her dashboard as car after car raced past her, in the oncoming lane of Rural Route 2. Her car always swayed with the vibrations of irate drivers whizzing past her on Connecticut's sprawling roads.
"We oughta do this more often." Teenagers sat at a picnic table near the Roadhouse ice cream place. She combed her hair and got out of her car. She ate the cold, white ice cream, sitting alone in her car. Touches of red spotted the soft serve vanilla. She hoped her red lipstick would not wear off.
She stared at the deserted picnic tables under the dark shade of trees. Green trees, shade. Empty picnic tables. Teenagers, out on a Saturday night. Loneliness.
She backed up the car, hoping it wouldn't make too much noise. How she hated to back up in this parking lot. Screech. Scrape. Oh, no. She pressed the brakes but they went all the way down. Loose. Nothing happened, but then she pumped the brakes and got them back. Skidding along the rocky, sandy parking lot; she edged to Route 2. She turned the wheel, screeching, creaking, scraping. She hoped that nobody noticed. Not the teenage hotshots with their expensive cars.
Screeching like a dry cough, her car rode up Route 2. She turned right, into a dirt driveway, followed it, and turned around. A woman in a truck drove into her driveway. She wanted to ask her for help. She kept driving along the driveway and ventured to the road. Car after car passed, probably on their way to the casino. Her car groaned and creaked until she turned right at Bess Eaton Donuts. A Hispanic man called to her.
"I'm a mechanic. I can help you," he said. She noted his greasy, black hair, his bulging eyes.
She drove her car back and forth in the parking lots of Bess Eaton and the Red Rooster mart.
"It's the brakes," he said. "I can fix it for you. A hundred seventy five dollars."
"I don't have it," she said.
"See? The black stuff on the wheel. If you keep driving on that, it could catch on fire," he informed her.
"I'm not driving on it," she told him.
"I'm willing to fix it for you. Ninety dollars," he said.
"I don't have any cash on me," she said truthfully.
"Let's go see the boss. See what he has to say," he suggested. He sat in a white car with an older Hispanic man. The man ws skinny, with bulging eyes and thinning gray hair.
"What garage do you belong to?" she asked. "When I call my parents, they're going to want to know."
The men hesitated. "Seventy five dollars," the first one said.
"I don't have any money at all. I only have ten dollars. I have money at home. I would have to call someone," she said.
"How much do you have? Forty five dollars," he offered.
"We're going to have to get going pretty soon," the other man said.
"I have Triple A," she said.
"They'll charge you $250 just to tow it," the other man said. What? I thought it was free.
"Do you have a car radio? Anything to trade?"
"All I have are speakers."
The first man quietly started his car. "It should be OK to drive. How far do you live?" And they were gone, in the white car that said SJ or SP 769. Back to New Haven. He was on vacation this week. He had helped a few other people who broke down on this road.
She walked to the pay phone in front of the Red Rooster. A mild mannered woman looked at her. She wore black oval shaped glasses and a gray, curled uner hairdo.
"I just wanted to see if you needed a ride," she said. "My son's an auto mechanic, but I"m afraid there is no place that would be open," she said.
"Yeah. I just called Triple A. Those strange men wanted to help me. They were coming from the casino," Debbie answered.
"I don't pretend to know what goes on there," she said quietly.
"Nothing good can come of it," Debbie agreed.
"It's a den of iniquity," she said. "They say there are people gambling and it's the Mafia's money in there..." she shuddered. She acted as if she could not bear to discuss it any further.
"Money is the root of all evil," Debbie quoted.
"Love of money," she corrected her.
"Yes," Debbie laughed. "People don't want to listen to me."
A red-haired young man with a nose like a chicken beak walked out of the store. A girl dressed in a purple and blue flounced dress walked to her car, her dress blowing in the breeze, above her stockinged legs and black shoes.
Debbie looked at a jeep with three young guys seated in it. Someone with a crew cut sat in back. He waved goodbye to her when the driver came out of the Red Rooster. She smiled and waved back.
The woman started to walk away to her car, but slowly. She was not in a hurry. She paused when Debbie would say something. Finally, they nodded goodbye. Debbie thanked her for waiting with her.
"And they wouldn't fix it here," the young man from Evan's Garage said of the casino guys.
The pay phone had finally rung. "Debbie," he had sai. "I'll be over in fifteen minutes to pick you up."
She went inside the Red Rooster. She bought a couple of postcards and the newspaper. Then she called her parents.
Few lights glistened on the banks of the Thames River. It was not the George Washington Bridge or the 59th Street Bridge that they traversed in this flashing tow truck. It was the Goldstar Bridge. "New London City Line," she read the sign which marked the dividing line in the middle of the water.
They continued to follow the Thames River as they rode along Route 32 to Montville. A boat actually glided up the river. Waterford, she thought. Water. She looked to the edge of the turnpike, where once a bed of trolley tracks stood. What a fine place it must have been, she thought of her home town. The Norwich-New London Trolley. Public transporation. Meadows. Hardly any buildings. No highways.
A police car and truck flashed their lights urgently. She looked to see the unlucky vehicle. There, alongside Route 32 in the shadows, sat a lone biker on his motorcycle.
On they rode past her familiar gas station. One of the guys turned as he pumped gas.
"Speak of the devils," the guy from Evan's Garage said. Harleys and other motorcycles roared at Dot's Cafe.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
See Ya Tuesday!
Keep on coming back, Faithful Readers! My book is almost done! With just a few more chapters, THE RED ROOSTER....WONDERFUL TONIGHT: Epilogue (What ever DID happen to her long-lost sailor?)...and the dramatic Conclusion: BY ACCIDENT! (With more lyrics from those favorite songs of mine -- ah, hers! ("Are we there yet?) Coming back Tuesday, live from the Groton Library. Say hi to the rams, baaaaah! Naaaaaah! (PHOTOS, too!)
Monday, December 6, 2010
Up Up Next: PHOTOP
There will be more photos...! of the corporate comrades and glamourous roommates of -- Muffy! (Ah, Debbie.)
Up Next: THE RED ROOSTER
Life on the farm ain't what it used to be. Debbie returns to small town life in Southeastern Connecticut. What opportunity awaits her in her small hometown? And why does the pace of life seem as fast back at home as it was in New York City? (Answer: The more things change, the more they remain the same!) -- To you, Lynne!
FLYING
She was afraid that her baggage would not get checked and that it wouldn't turn up in LA. Her favorite white dress was in that blue suitcase which would have to survive the flight to Kansas City, the transfer of planes to LA. She had been afraid of missing the seven o'clock AM flight altogether and indeed, would have if the doorman had not repeatedly beeped the intercom buzzer system. She pressed the "talk" button.
"Hello. Hello? Hello!" she frantically searched for her keys, grabbed them, and ran barefooted into the elevator, down to the lobby. A white car waited in front of the fourteen story apartment building.
"I'll be down in five minutes! I overslept!" she told the doorman.
The buzzer had finally wakened her out of a sound sleep.
"Oh, yeah, I'm going to California!" The thought sprang to mind and she leaped out of bed.
The airplane taxied down the runway, gathered speed and rose into the air. She watched as her earthly existence turned sideways. The world outside the window appeared calm, serene, swathed in blue grey mist, a picture of an aerial view of Manhattan, tilted on its side. They climbed higher.
Debbie felt a rush of excitement, caused by living on the edge, watching her world as she left it, lopsided and shaken up: the violence, the loud noises, the speed of looming garbage trucks and approaching taxis, the poor, the dirt, the street hustlers. Every horrible thing that had happened to her in the years since she had moved here. Her world riveted into a vertical slant as she rose into the clouds, rose above her earthly worries. Her problems were left on the tiny crowded island and she was up here, floating perfectly above them.
She would not worry about last night's decision too much. She remembered Scott's consoling words a few months ago when this whole situation started.
"Don't worry about it too much. I'm sure everything will turn out all right."
Maybe it was better. She would call Nicole as soon as she got to the airport in Kansas City. She looked to her left. Puffs of the purest white clouds floated before her, through the little windows, blanketed by a blue, blue sky.
"Nothin' but blue skies..." she thought of the slap-happy song. Wheee! At the age of 28, she was flying for the second time in her life and she felt all the excitement of a little kid. The first time, she had been almost too terrified to open her eyes.
Is this what heaven is like, she thought lackadaisically, surveying the clouds. No annoying horns, no shouting or street noises, just the soothing rush of the engine as the jet plane soared barely above the clouds. Not a bit of turbulence rocked them as they glided into Kansas City.
"Hello. Nicole?"
"Muffy? Hold on one second."
"Muffy..." Nicole paused.
"Are you having second thoughts?"
"Know what? Do you want to move in with my parents on Long Island? My mother said we could live there for free. No bills..." Nicole proposed.
No bills. "Nicole, I can't afford the city. I'm scared for the first time. I haven't been able to pay my bills."
"I tried calling you last night. No one answered." Nicole sounded slightly annoyed.
The phone hadn't rung. She had tossed and turned all night, not knowing where she would live once she returned from California. She had just talked herself out of a possible new home. She phoned her old college roommate, Kate and they called it off. She could not afford to commute from Connecticut and Kate could not afford to depend on her for the rent. Had she done the right thing?
This was her Out. A chance to get out of this crazy city. She wanted out. And here she had just agreed to be Nicole's roommate again in a different apartment. She hoped Nicole's former psychotic boyfriend would not call anymore. She could not take this suspended existence any longer.
She had wanted to call somebody last night. Her mother, an old friend back home. But she did not want to upset them. She had finally curled up in a ball and said a little prayer, remembering Scott's words. Knowing, hoping everything would be all right tomorrow morning.
"Well, do you want to?"
"Tell your mother no! But thanks a million!" Debbie hung up the phone and prepared to board the next flight to LA, where her suitcase with the white dress in it would be waiting.
DH/0699D
"Hello. Hello? Hello!" she frantically searched for her keys, grabbed them, and ran barefooted into the elevator, down to the lobby. A white car waited in front of the fourteen story apartment building.
"I'll be down in five minutes! I overslept!" she told the doorman.
The buzzer had finally wakened her out of a sound sleep.
"Oh, yeah, I'm going to California!" The thought sprang to mind and she leaped out of bed.
The airplane taxied down the runway, gathered speed and rose into the air. She watched as her earthly existence turned sideways. The world outside the window appeared calm, serene, swathed in blue grey mist, a picture of an aerial view of Manhattan, tilted on its side. They climbed higher.
Debbie felt a rush of excitement, caused by living on the edge, watching her world as she left it, lopsided and shaken up: the violence, the loud noises, the speed of looming garbage trucks and approaching taxis, the poor, the dirt, the street hustlers. Every horrible thing that had happened to her in the years since she had moved here. Her world riveted into a vertical slant as she rose into the clouds, rose above her earthly worries. Her problems were left on the tiny crowded island and she was up here, floating perfectly above them.
She would not worry about last night's decision too much. She remembered Scott's consoling words a few months ago when this whole situation started.
"Don't worry about it too much. I'm sure everything will turn out all right."
Maybe it was better. She would call Nicole as soon as she got to the airport in Kansas City. She looked to her left. Puffs of the purest white clouds floated before her, through the little windows, blanketed by a blue, blue sky.
"Nothin' but blue skies..." she thought of the slap-happy song. Wheee! At the age of 28, she was flying for the second time in her life and she felt all the excitement of a little kid. The first time, she had been almost too terrified to open her eyes.
Is this what heaven is like, she thought lackadaisically, surveying the clouds. No annoying horns, no shouting or street noises, just the soothing rush of the engine as the jet plane soared barely above the clouds. Not a bit of turbulence rocked them as they glided into Kansas City.
"Hello. Nicole?"
"Muffy? Hold on one second."
"Muffy..." Nicole paused.
"Are you having second thoughts?"
"Know what? Do you want to move in with my parents on Long Island? My mother said we could live there for free. No bills..." Nicole proposed.
No bills. "Nicole, I can't afford the city. I'm scared for the first time. I haven't been able to pay my bills."
"I tried calling you last night. No one answered." Nicole sounded slightly annoyed.
The phone hadn't rung. She had tossed and turned all night, not knowing where she would live once she returned from California. She had just talked herself out of a possible new home. She phoned her old college roommate, Kate and they called it off. She could not afford to commute from Connecticut and Kate could not afford to depend on her for the rent. Had she done the right thing?
This was her Out. A chance to get out of this crazy city. She wanted out. And here she had just agreed to be Nicole's roommate again in a different apartment. She hoped Nicole's former psychotic boyfriend would not call anymore. She could not take this suspended existence any longer.
She had wanted to call somebody last night. Her mother, an old friend back home. But she did not want to upset them. She had finally curled up in a ball and said a little prayer, remembering Scott's words. Knowing, hoping everything would be all right tomorrow morning.
"Well, do you want to?"
"Tell your mother no! But thanks a million!" Debbie hung up the phone and prepared to board the next flight to LA, where her suitcase with the white dress in it would be waiting.
DH/0699D
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Up Next: FLYING
33 hits on Tuesday before the Storm! I just want to say thanks, everyone. Have a happy holiday season. Drive safely, you know, no drinking and driving, no texting (or sexting, ha-ha! that latest in virtual reality); and no talking on your cell phone, hands free or not! It could actually be fatal. Be safe and take care of the ones you love, as well. I will see you back here, probably next week, and probably from here, the New London Library. It is about ten steps away from where I live, and if I walk during the day, I am sure to be safe. With the way my life has been, New London could actually be the safest place in the world for me. (If you know what I mean.) Take care and I will see you back here sometime next week, with the final concluding chapters of "Fool's Gold."
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Up Next: FLYING
Sometimes, Debbie learns, it is safer to be up in the air, than down on the ground. Especially if you've lived my -- ah, I mean, her -- life! There are only a few more chapters left in "Fool's Gold" and I thank you for patiently following me, ah, her, since last summer. "Fool's Gold" will continue with other stuff from my past, poems mocking the corporate life in late 80s Manhattan and poetry from my college years at ECSU. There is "The Single Mom of Cactus County," which details my trip to Arizona in the early nineties. After this is when my Blog, "Denise Dances" takes over. And now you will know the rest of the story. At least, the rest of the story so far. There's got to be a movie or something in this. Broadway? There's got to be...there's got to be. Anything for a good story!
Monday, November 29, 2010
THE LAST DAY: Part II
Yes...this is THE LAST DAY in its entirety. Today. In the marble lobby, Debbie pressed the buttons of the touchtone phone.
"Nicole," she started to cry, "Amanda asked me to leave tomorrow."
"Maybe you should. Don't worry, I'll help you out. I'll help you," Nicole soothed her.
"Amanda, my mind is made up. I'm going to leave today," Debbie said Friday morning.
Amanda looked angry. For the remainder of the morning, she snapped at Debbie, pushing papers toward her and shoving books at her.
"Today is your last day?" Mike said faintly.
Debbie sorted through three floppy diskettes Mary had given her. Each had a sales proposal letter on it. And, each diskette had the wrong title on it. She waded through all these contradictions, until finally, Mary had three printed proposal letters on her desk. The phone had interrupted her continuously and of course, the calls had all been personal calls for Mary. She could hear her on the phone with her best friend, one of them.
"I'm so happy for you!" she said. And so, all of her calls bounced to Debbie's line.
"Why don't you pack? Crystal isn't here," Elyse said. Elsye was not the office maanger anymore, but she took it upon herself to give orders, anyway. Debbie could not bear to tell her so. For months, years, her constant bellowing and barking orders had wore on Debbie's jangled nerves. Now that she had decided to leave, Amanda had mysteriously been able to oust Elyse from her perch of power, suddenly.
Mary stood in front of Debbie's desk. "OK, we need to order these. Do you have any idea why there are no more of these left? And what about this?"
"OK, I'll look in the stockroom. I'm getting a stomach ache," Debbie said breathlessly. She walked angrily away from Mary. When she returned, Mary had a whole new supply of questions and brochures to be ordered.
"What about the Promotion Department? I have always felt that this was their job," Debbie finally asserted.
"Matt is leaving. He doesn't care," Mary said.
You think I do? I'm leaving, too! Debbie wanted to say.
Under a brand new fire of interrogations, Debbie snapped.
"Look," she said. She stood up.
"I can't even do my work. You keep asking me questions..." She walked around her desk. "I'm just trying to do my job. I can't even do my job. You're driving me crazy! Just let me do my job!"
She looked at Mary. Mary looked ready to cry.
"But...we have a temp," Mary said weakly.
Debbie was by the door. "Oh! I'm going to end up in a mental hospital!" she sighed. And with those ominous words in the air, she left.
Outside the fifty story building that shot straight up, all vertical lines, into the sky, she walked on the sidewalk. On this clear morning, she envisioned a small animal, being kicked around on the callous gray sidewalks of Rockefeller Center. An animal that had been kicked around for far too long. She rode the elevator back up to the fortieth floor. In the ladies room, she found Amanda.
"Did you hear...?" she said.
"No, but they told me about it! That's unprofessional!" Amanda's eyes were widened with anger and shock.
Debbie did not think she had ever seen Amanda this mad or surprised. Suddenly, something in Debbie changed. She started to smirk slightly.
"I never said I was professional," she said slyly. She leaned against the bathroom sink.
"I had no one to answer the phones for 20 minutes. I didn't even know you were gone! Lolita had all the phones!"
Debbie looked at Amanda. It was all she could do.
"Amanda, I can't..." she said.
"You should have left when Bruce told you that you could!"
"I wanted to do the right thing," Debbie insisted. All she had wanted to do was the right thing. To quit quietly. Not to make any waves. To get out. To take all the paid vacations that were due her, and to "get out now" - to listen to that ominous voice that she had been "hearing" all summer.
"Debbie, how am I going to pay you? I can't pay you for today..."
"I don't expect to be paid for hours I don't work."
"What about the conference room? Carlotta booked it for the whole day. Where is the temp going to make the information kits? Why is the temp zeroxing all these? They should have been sent to Quick Copy!"
All those months of Amanda's subtle digs and obnoxious one-liners swirled within her. She looked Amanda in the eye.
"I'm tired," Debbie said, "of you and Mary telling me how to do my job." she said this calmly, slowly and matter-of-factly, her blue eyes unflinchingly regarding Amanda.
Amanda's eyes grew huge with rage and astonishment. She opened her mouth and flung her long frizzy hair around her and left the ladies room in horror. For once, the debater was rendered speechless, appalled.
Debbie followed her down the long corridor.
"You never promoted me! You let me suffer! You know, I wanted to leave this place staying friends with yuo, but...I don't know!" she fired away at Amanda.
"Yeah, I don't know." Amanda sneered.
Debbie walked boldly into Mike's office, where he was trying to pry the office keys from her keychain. He looked sadly down at her keychain with the gold lettering that stated, "Keys to Success."
"Nicole," she started to cry, "Amanda asked me to leave tomorrow."
"Maybe you should. Don't worry, I'll help you out. I'll help you," Nicole soothed her.
"Amanda, my mind is made up. I'm going to leave today," Debbie said Friday morning.
Amanda looked angry. For the remainder of the morning, she snapped at Debbie, pushing papers toward her and shoving books at her.
"Today is your last day?" Mike said faintly.
Debbie sorted through three floppy diskettes Mary had given her. Each had a sales proposal letter on it. And, each diskette had the wrong title on it. She waded through all these contradictions, until finally, Mary had three printed proposal letters on her desk. The phone had interrupted her continuously and of course, the calls had all been personal calls for Mary. She could hear her on the phone with her best friend, one of them.
"I'm so happy for you!" she said. And so, all of her calls bounced to Debbie's line.
"Why don't you pack? Crystal isn't here," Elyse said. Elsye was not the office maanger anymore, but she took it upon herself to give orders, anyway. Debbie could not bear to tell her so. For months, years, her constant bellowing and barking orders had wore on Debbie's jangled nerves. Now that she had decided to leave, Amanda had mysteriously been able to oust Elyse from her perch of power, suddenly.
Mary stood in front of Debbie's desk. "OK, we need to order these. Do you have any idea why there are no more of these left? And what about this?"
"OK, I'll look in the stockroom. I'm getting a stomach ache," Debbie said breathlessly. She walked angrily away from Mary. When she returned, Mary had a whole new supply of questions and brochures to be ordered.
"What about the Promotion Department? I have always felt that this was their job," Debbie finally asserted.
"Matt is leaving. He doesn't care," Mary said.
You think I do? I'm leaving, too! Debbie wanted to say.
Under a brand new fire of interrogations, Debbie snapped.
"Look," she said. She stood up.
"I can't even do my work. You keep asking me questions..." She walked around her desk. "I'm just trying to do my job. I can't even do my job. You're driving me crazy! Just let me do my job!"
She looked at Mary. Mary looked ready to cry.
"But...we have a temp," Mary said weakly.
Debbie was by the door. "Oh! I'm going to end up in a mental hospital!" she sighed. And with those ominous words in the air, she left.
Outside the fifty story building that shot straight up, all vertical lines, into the sky, she walked on the sidewalk. On this clear morning, she envisioned a small animal, being kicked around on the callous gray sidewalks of Rockefeller Center. An animal that had been kicked around for far too long. She rode the elevator back up to the fortieth floor. In the ladies room, she found Amanda.
"Did you hear...?" she said.
"No, but they told me about it! That's unprofessional!" Amanda's eyes were widened with anger and shock.
Debbie did not think she had ever seen Amanda this mad or surprised. Suddenly, something in Debbie changed. She started to smirk slightly.
"I never said I was professional," she said slyly. She leaned against the bathroom sink.
"I had no one to answer the phones for 20 minutes. I didn't even know you were gone! Lolita had all the phones!"
Debbie looked at Amanda. It was all she could do.
"Amanda, I can't..." she said.
"You should have left when Bruce told you that you could!"
"I wanted to do the right thing," Debbie insisted. All she had wanted to do was the right thing. To quit quietly. Not to make any waves. To get out. To take all the paid vacations that were due her, and to "get out now" - to listen to that ominous voice that she had been "hearing" all summer.
"Debbie, how am I going to pay you? I can't pay you for today..."
"I don't expect to be paid for hours I don't work."
"What about the conference room? Carlotta booked it for the whole day. Where is the temp going to make the information kits? Why is the temp zeroxing all these? They should have been sent to Quick Copy!"
All those months of Amanda's subtle digs and obnoxious one-liners swirled within her. She looked Amanda in the eye.
"I'm tired," Debbie said, "of you and Mary telling me how to do my job." she said this calmly, slowly and matter-of-factly, her blue eyes unflinchingly regarding Amanda.
Amanda's eyes grew huge with rage and astonishment. She opened her mouth and flung her long frizzy hair around her and left the ladies room in horror. For once, the debater was rendered speechless, appalled.
Debbie followed her down the long corridor.
"You never promoted me! You let me suffer! You know, I wanted to leave this place staying friends with yuo, but...I don't know!" she fired away at Amanda.
"Yeah, I don't know." Amanda sneered.
Debbie walked boldly into Mike's office, where he was trying to pry the office keys from her keychain. He looked sadly down at her keychain with the gold lettering that stated, "Keys to Success."
THE LAST DAY
As promised...THE LAST DAY. "Leave for your lunch hour at twelve and be back at one on the dot. Bruce and Lolita are taking me out to lunch for my birthday," her best friend, Amanda told her.
At quarter past one, Amanda had not left yet. Debbie sat perfunctorily at her desk, poised to answer the ringing phones that would deluge her suddenly and then stop, only to start again. Finally, the handsome Bruce, Debbie's boss' boss, left for lunch, passing her desk, Lolita and Amanda in tow. Debbie would have Lolita's phones for an hour. At 3:30, no one had returned.
Debbie looked up from her watch. Amanda strolled slowly past her desk. Debbie frowned, hoping Amanda would not notice the fury that shone in her eyes. "Your face tell a story," Amanda had once told her. She noticed a slight smirk on Amanda's freckled face but she said nothing. She dialed Lolita's extension.
"Lolita, I need to go downstairs. I have to buy a present for Amanda. I didn't have enough time on my lunch hour," she said, emphasizing the word "hour."
The elevator took her forty floors down to the brown marble lobby. She pulled open the glass door of the card and gift shop. She thought of the gifts Amanda had given her, going away presents. In two weeks, she would be leaving New York, forever. One present was a small magnetic creature with the words, "Debbie's Kitchen." "Maybe you'll have your own kitchen someday," Amanda smiled.
"Yeah, maybe," Debbie wondered.
The other gift was a round plaque with two small bears holding a wooden heart. The inscribed heart read,
At quarter past one, Amanda had not left yet. Debbie sat perfunctorily at her desk, poised to answer the ringing phones that would deluge her suddenly and then stop, only to start again. Finally, the handsome Bruce, Debbie's boss' boss, left for lunch, passing her desk, Lolita and Amanda in tow. Debbie would have Lolita's phones for an hour. At 3:30, no one had returned.
Debbie looked up from her watch. Amanda strolled slowly past her desk. Debbie frowned, hoping Amanda would not notice the fury that shone in her eyes. "Your face tell a story," Amanda had once told her. She noticed a slight smirk on Amanda's freckled face but she said nothing. She dialed Lolita's extension.
"Lolita, I need to go downstairs. I have to buy a present for Amanda. I didn't have enough time on my lunch hour," she said, emphasizing the word "hour."
The elevator took her forty floors down to the brown marble lobby. She pulled open the glass door of the card and gift shop. She thought of the gifts Amanda had given her, going away presents. In two weeks, she would be leaving New York, forever. One present was a small magnetic creature with the words, "Debbie's Kitchen." "Maybe you'll have your own kitchen someday," Amanda smiled.
"Yeah, maybe," Debbie wondered.
The other gift was a round plaque with two small bears holding a wooden heart. The inscribed heart read,
Some people come into our lives and quickly go;
Some stay for a while
and leave footprints on our hearts
and we are never the same.
She had opened the tissued things at her desk before nine o'clock Monday morning. She thought she might cry. Why did Amanda do this so early in the morning? She had to walk away from her desk for five minutes, before all the phones started ringing. She would be stuck with them all day.
Inside the gift store, she gazed at the jewelry boxes and figurines behind glass. She finally settled on "The Bears' Picinic," a round glass object with a family of bears inside it, settling down to a blanketed afternoon feast, a delicate whimsical tune playing as she wound it. Amanda would love this.
Once, on a Saturday at Amanda's fiancee's house on Long Island, Debbie had wound every jewelry box in the house and listened to their dainty conflicting tunes. She had laughed giddily as Amanda said, "I'm going to kill her."
Now, she wound the thing, put it in a glossy gift bag, and carried it upstairs, its tune muffled by the tissue. She wound it again and delivered it to Amanda's office.
"Happy Birthday," she said hurriedly and ran to Lolita's desk in the corner, to pick up her messages.
"Debbie," Crystal, her boss announced, "my phone rang three times. How come there are no messages for me?"
"Um, I don't know," she faltered.
"Why don't you go back and see if Lolita has a message for me on her desk?" her boss regarded her coolly, her blue eyes expressionless.
"Hey, I was on the phone. Unless I can grow hands out of my ass, I can't pick up every phone that rings," Lolita said, in between calls.
Debbie looked at Bruce.
"I hate this place," she said.
"What?! You're leaving next week! The light at the end of the tunnel, Debbie! Someone can say to you, you're fat and ugly and you can say, hey -- I don't care, I'm leaving!" Bruce chided her.
There was a light at the end of the tunnel, finally, but she could not see it. She walked over to Lenore's desk.
"I hate this place. Can't she answer her own f-g phone for once in her life?!" Debbie shouted.
Lenore giggled. "Sshh. My boss...he's right in there," she said, chuckling. Debbie could always make Lenore laugh, even when she wasn't trying.
"The phones, the phones, the phones. The phones, the phones, the PHONES," Debbie would say in mock annoyance, reminiscent of the tone of Edgar Allen Poe's "The Bells." This always sent Lenore into hysterics.
Amanda stepped out of her office as Debbie strode by.
"Debbie, come here," she said.
"Debbie. Debbie!" Mary shouted from her office.
"She's in here," Amanda said.
"Debbie!"
"Debbie, I want you to ask Crystal if you can leave tomorrow," Amanda said, clutching her gift bag.
"What!"
"You're going to start a mutiny. People are going to start walking out after you, if you keep it up with 'this place sucks,'" Amanda told her. "If Bart knew..."
"All right. I'll think about it. Won't Crystal mind?"
"At this point, I think she'd be glad," Amanda said.
Finally, it was 4:30. Amanda hugged Debbie, thanking her for the present.
"I'll think about it," Debbie promised.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
See You on Monday
There were 26 hits to my Blog this past Monday. I hope you all enjoyed Thanxgiving and if you are still with us -- it is probably because you listened to me when I told you all how to STAY SAFE! On Monday, I will be back at the Groton Library to bring you THE LAST DAY. Weekly updates and posts will come from the Groton Library where there is more time allowed on the computer and a lot more space! (Oh, and don't forget the rams! and Dairy Queen!)
Saturday, November 20, 2010
UP UP NEXT: Flying
Sometimes, it is safer to "stay safe" by leaving the ground below and by leaving your earthly existence -- "up in the air!"
Monday, November 15, 2010
UP NEXT: The Last Day
Not only have the days of our lives come to an end at PENTHOUSE FOURTEEN, but something else is about to end, as well.
MOVING BLUES II
"I don't know what to do. We have to be out of there."
"Do you have William-Jay's number?"
"Yes. But it won't do any good."
"He probably beat someone up last night! You paid him two hundred dollars and he never showed up!" Debbie was hysterical with the realization. If someone paid her two hundred dollars, maybe she wouldn't show up either.
"He said he has a hernia. I don't know what to do."
"We should adopt him. He needs a home and a family."
Sirens, screeching down Third Avenue, flooded through the five windows of the living room of Penthouse Fourteen.
"Who called?! Someone had to call!" The New York City police officer was fuming.
The peach marble lobby, usually vacant on a Friday afternoon, was crowded with Upper East Side guests.
William-Jay looked at Maxine. Maxine stared back at the two officers of law, befuddled at the mishap called Penthouse Fourteen.
"Do you know her?" the cop demanded.
The hefty Spanish woman, her mustache quivering above her thin lips, said no.
"Does she live here?"
"She hasn't paid the rent in three months!"
"I did so. I mailed the check last Tuesday!" Maxine's fair complexion brightened to a candy apple red. Her sultry blue eyes narrowed.
"Is this her stuff? Then why did you call? Do you want me to arrest her for moving her own stuff?"
"I thought she was running off without paying the rent!" the dark woman trembled.
"The doorman said we could use the freight elevator!" Maxine shouted, for the eleventh time. "We're having the apartment painted," she deftly replied.
"You don't even know her? This is her stuff? Then why did you call? There could have been a real tragedy, somewhere else in the city. We should arrest YOU!" the officer seized upon the idea.
The Spanish he-woman glared at William-Jay, all six feet of twenty year old boy, his baseball cap screwed lopsided on his head, its visor pointing defiantly at her. His small elegant mustache adorned his sassy mouth.
"Can we move in with you?" the officer propositioned the lovely Maxine.
"If I had my combat boots on, I would've dogged her," William-Jay said in retrospect.
0908D
(Who is William-Jay? Oh. He was our butler!)
"Do you have William-Jay's number?"
"Yes. But it won't do any good."
"He probably beat someone up last night! You paid him two hundred dollars and he never showed up!" Debbie was hysterical with the realization. If someone paid her two hundred dollars, maybe she wouldn't show up either.
"He said he has a hernia. I don't know what to do."
"We should adopt him. He needs a home and a family."
Sirens, screeching down Third Avenue, flooded through the five windows of the living room of Penthouse Fourteen.
"Who called?! Someone had to call!" The New York City police officer was fuming.
The peach marble lobby, usually vacant on a Friday afternoon, was crowded with Upper East Side guests.
William-Jay looked at Maxine. Maxine stared back at the two officers of law, befuddled at the mishap called Penthouse Fourteen.
"Do you know her?" the cop demanded.
The hefty Spanish woman, her mustache quivering above her thin lips, said no.
"Does she live here?"
"She hasn't paid the rent in three months!"
"I did so. I mailed the check last Tuesday!" Maxine's fair complexion brightened to a candy apple red. Her sultry blue eyes narrowed.
"Is this her stuff? Then why did you call? Do you want me to arrest her for moving her own stuff?"
"I thought she was running off without paying the rent!" the dark woman trembled.
"The doorman said we could use the freight elevator!" Maxine shouted, for the eleventh time. "We're having the apartment painted," she deftly replied.
"You don't even know her? This is her stuff? Then why did you call? There could have been a real tragedy, somewhere else in the city. We should arrest YOU!" the officer seized upon the idea.
The Spanish he-woman glared at William-Jay, all six feet of twenty year old boy, his baseball cap screwed lopsided on his head, its visor pointing defiantly at her. His small elegant mustache adorned his sassy mouth.
"Can we move in with you?" the officer propositioned the lovely Maxine.
"If I had my combat boots on, I would've dogged her," William-Jay said in retrospect.
0908D
(Who is William-Jay? Oh. He was our butler!)
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Up Next: THE MOVING BLUES: II
THE MOVING BLUES: II The girls must leave Penthouse 14, ASAP! Nicole has had enough. All good things must come to an end, including Debbie's three-year l'aventure in New York! Where will she go next? Will she try another city? Or will she move back home to rural Southeastern Connecticut? What awaits Debbie in her next destination? Are we there yet???
THE MOVING BLUES
"I don't know what to do," Nicole was saying over the phone from her private office at Mercator Corporation Headquarters, a private firm that had top secret dealings with Russia. Some of her fellow staffers had even gone to Russia to meet with President Gorbachev himself.
"You mean, he didn't show up?"
"No. We paid him two hundred dollars to move our stuff out. He was supposed to be at the apartment at eleven."
"He's probably sleeping on a park bench somewhere," Debbie giggled uproariously from the confines of her front and center desk.
"And you know what? Maxine is crazy! She's still sleeping. I had to talk to her through Olivia. I don't know if I can live with her much longer."
"She feels sorry for 'him.' He's a killer!" Debbie laughed hysterically.
"I TOLD her not to answer the phone. She LIED to me. Then she said she heard Joyce mention it."
"If she can't lie, she shouldn't. I have no respect for lying. He's a killer! She had to pick up the phone because she felt sorry for him because he's behind bars. He's a KILLER!" Debbie giggled.
"I don't know what to do. We have to be out of there."
MORE ON THE BIG MOVE OUT OF Penthouse Fourteen later! "All good things must come to an end," it seems.
"You mean, he didn't show up?"
"No. We paid him two hundred dollars to move our stuff out. He was supposed to be at the apartment at eleven."
"He's probably sleeping on a park bench somewhere," Debbie giggled uproariously from the confines of her front and center desk.
"And you know what? Maxine is crazy! She's still sleeping. I had to talk to her through Olivia. I don't know if I can live with her much longer."
"She feels sorry for 'him.' He's a killer!" Debbie laughed hysterically.
"I TOLD her not to answer the phone. She LIED to me. Then she said she heard Joyce mention it."
"If she can't lie, she shouldn't. I have no respect for lying. He's a killer! She had to pick up the phone because she felt sorry for him because he's behind bars. He's a KILLER!" Debbie giggled.
"I don't know what to do. We have to be out of there."
MORE ON THE BIG MOVE OUT OF Penthouse Fourteen later! "All good things must come to an end," it seems.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Up Next: THE LAST DAY
As the end to "Fool's Gold" hovers near, the call home to Debbie continues with THE LAST DAY. The last day of what?
FATHER'S DAY III
"Sherri and I are in a fight. She left me here!" She screamed into the phone.
"I don't know! We were fighting all day, and they were holding hands..." Debbie answered her mother deliriously.
"Well, Debbie, I don't know how to get to Newport," he mother replied calmly. "Why don't you wait for Sherri. She's probably looking for you."
Her mother's calm voice ignited her.
"You better come get me or I will never speak to this family again! And you can pay for my train ticket or I'm not ever coming back!" she threatened.
And she hung up on her mother.
It started to rain and she wandered into the inviting restaurant across the street. "Cobblestones," the sign read.
She no sooner sat upon the high stool at the bar and the waiter approached her. He was of a good build, with strong shoulders, the kind that appealed to Debbie, and a big chest. He had curlyish dark hair and glasses. His eyes lit up when he saw her and her eyes widened at the sight of him. He had that sophisticated prep look that she liked.
"I got in a fight with my sister and she left me here by myself," she sputtered drunkenly.
"Well, you do have a few options," he said matter-of-factly.
But she put her hand to her forehead and shook her head, no.
"Pepsi," she told him.
"Would you like another one?" he came back. She looked at him.
"OK," she said in surprise.
She lined her quarters up on the bar. How much money would a cab cost? She didn't have any money. Her sister had left her here without any money!
The handsome stranger wandered over and gave her a matchbook. "Here's a good cab service," he said.
"Cozy Cab," it said on the back of the Cobblestones matchbook.
"What's your name?" she said.
"Frank."
"I'm Debbie. Thanks," she said, and she reached over the bar and they shook hands.
Father's Day 1989
Denise Hickey
DOC 0710D
What really happened here, so long ago? What issue does Debbie have with her sister, the affable and consummate multi-tasker, Sherri? Who should Debbie really have slapped in the face? Why had Debbie been forced to tag along with her sister, chasing guys in Newport...on Father's Day weekend???...* * * :) OIC.
"I don't know! We were fighting all day, and they were holding hands..." Debbie answered her mother deliriously.
"Well, Debbie, I don't know how to get to Newport," he mother replied calmly. "Why don't you wait for Sherri. She's probably looking for you."
Her mother's calm voice ignited her.
"You better come get me or I will never speak to this family again! And you can pay for my train ticket or I'm not ever coming back!" she threatened.
And she hung up on her mother.
It started to rain and she wandered into the inviting restaurant across the street. "Cobblestones," the sign read.
She no sooner sat upon the high stool at the bar and the waiter approached her. He was of a good build, with strong shoulders, the kind that appealed to Debbie, and a big chest. He had curlyish dark hair and glasses. His eyes lit up when he saw her and her eyes widened at the sight of him. He had that sophisticated prep look that she liked.
"I got in a fight with my sister and she left me here by myself," she sputtered drunkenly.
"Well, you do have a few options," he said matter-of-factly.
But she put her hand to her forehead and shook her head, no.
"Pepsi," she told him.
"Would you like another one?" he came back. She looked at him.
"OK," she said in surprise.
She lined her quarters up on the bar. How much money would a cab cost? She didn't have any money. Her sister had left her here without any money!
The handsome stranger wandered over and gave her a matchbook. "Here's a good cab service," he said.
"Cozy Cab," it said on the back of the Cobblestones matchbook.
"What's your name?" she said.
"Frank."
"I'm Debbie. Thanks," she said, and she reached over the bar and they shook hands.
Father's Day 1989
Denise Hickey
DOC 0710D
What really happened here, so long ago? What issue does Debbie have with her sister, the affable and consummate multi-tasker, Sherri? Who should Debbie really have slapped in the face? Why had Debbie been forced to tag along with her sister, chasing guys in Newport...on Father's Day weekend???...* * * :) OIC.
FATHER'S DAY: Part III
Computer kicked me off! Rainy day in New London. See ya tonight...or maybe tomorrow.
Thanx for coming back for more, Readers! Until next time,
Denise
Thanx for coming back for more, Readers! Until next time,
Denise
FATHER'S DAY: Part II
YOU ALWAYS HURT THE ONE YOU LOVE. She screamed something about being a third wheel; and having to be an aggressive bitch. Hateful words spewed forth, of their own accord.
"Do you know what it's like to be alone all your life? Do you?" she screamed hoarsely at her sister. Years of frustration and rage fell away, one by one, in those few seconds.
She shrieked at her sister.
"You have to be an aggressive bitch! Nice girls can sit home alone! I can't believe you're my sister," she said in front of all those girls.
The crowd watched. A couple of blond sweatshirted girls stood, open-mouthed, staring at her. Sherri was open-mouthed, as well. She winced in pain at the words her shy sister now hurled. Debbie walked over to the pier, away from them.
"Why don't you just stay home? I was supposed to have a date tonight. A dinner date!" Sherri shouted.
"A dinner date? WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME? I would have stayed home. I couldn't stand you all day long."
"Since you moved to New York, you think you're too good for anybody!" Her sister shouted. Well, maybe she was.
"You're always talking about all your dates!" Debbie yelled back.
"Well, you always tell me about Steve and Mike," Sherri confessed. So that was it. Her guards were finally coming down. She no longer had the perfect comeback for Debbie's every remark.
"If he wanted to ask you out, he would," she taunted her older sister for the fiftieth time.
"Well, maybe he will!" Debbie screamed, further incensed by the familiar taunt. She slapped her sister's face so hard her hand stung. And her sister walked away in horror and stood by her date.
"Take me home!" Debbie screamed. But she would not leave the pier to go near her sister.
The realistic fear that her sister would refuse her a ride home plagued her distraught mind. They walked, what appeared to be a mile apart, down the street. Debbie was afraid to go near her sister. Sherri rounded a corner and was gone.
Oh, no, she's leaving without me, Debbie thought. What would she do?! She didn't have a car, she didn't have any friends around here. There was no subway system, cab service or buses that could take her home. The ultimate revenge: her sister had left her here! The awful reality of this night struck her as she had struck her own sister.
Who did she know who would come and get her? Mike? But he lived at the other end of Connecticut. No, she would try her mother first. She dug for the quarter or was it a dime to make the collect call.
"Well, you better get a map and find your way here!" she ordered her mother. All she wanted was to be able to call someone from anywhere, at any time and to know that person would come get her.
"Do you know what it's like to be alone all your life? Do you?" she screamed hoarsely at her sister. Years of frustration and rage fell away, one by one, in those few seconds.
She shrieked at her sister.
"You have to be an aggressive bitch! Nice girls can sit home alone! I can't believe you're my sister," she said in front of all those girls.
The crowd watched. A couple of blond sweatshirted girls stood, open-mouthed, staring at her. Sherri was open-mouthed, as well. She winced in pain at the words her shy sister now hurled. Debbie walked over to the pier, away from them.
"Why don't you just stay home? I was supposed to have a date tonight. A dinner date!" Sherri shouted.
"A dinner date? WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME? I would have stayed home. I couldn't stand you all day long."
"Since you moved to New York, you think you're too good for anybody!" Her sister shouted. Well, maybe she was.
"You're always talking about all your dates!" Debbie yelled back.
"Well, you always tell me about Steve and Mike," Sherri confessed. So that was it. Her guards were finally coming down. She no longer had the perfect comeback for Debbie's every remark.
"If he wanted to ask you out, he would," she taunted her older sister for the fiftieth time.
"Well, maybe he will!" Debbie screamed, further incensed by the familiar taunt. She slapped her sister's face so hard her hand stung. And her sister walked away in horror and stood by her date.
"Take me home!" Debbie screamed. But she would not leave the pier to go near her sister.
The realistic fear that her sister would refuse her a ride home plagued her distraught mind. They walked, what appeared to be a mile apart, down the street. Debbie was afraid to go near her sister. Sherri rounded a corner and was gone.
Oh, no, she's leaving without me, Debbie thought. What would she do?! She didn't have a car, she didn't have any friends around here. There was no subway system, cab service or buses that could take her home. The ultimate revenge: her sister had left her here! The awful reality of this night struck her as she had struck her own sister.
Who did she know who would come and get her? Mike? But he lived at the other end of Connecticut. No, she would try her mother first. She dug for the quarter or was it a dime to make the collect call.
"Well, you better get a map and find your way here!" she ordered her mother. All she wanted was to be able to call someone from anywhere, at any time and to know that person would come get her.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
FATHER'S DAY
She looked from one pretty face to another. Girls with cupid lips and straight blond hair sat at tables next to their boyfriends, sweatshirted and careless. The band twanged on but the foot of floor space was nobody's excuse for a dance floor. She wandered downstairs, past the band, through the outdoor patio and back upstairs. Where was everybody?
She turned and saw her sister at the bar. She walked over and watched her sister lean over the bar, toward her new friend. She had agreed to meet him here with his friends tonight. Debbie had reluctantly agreed to accompany her sister.
"Can't he ask you for a date? You shouldn't be meeting him at a bar," she told her younger sister.
"I don't see what's wrong with it," said Nicole, another sister who was twenty years old, going on thirty, and returning to twenty, all at once.
It was Nicole's zebra-striped dress that Debbie was now wearing.
"Don't ruin it," Nicole warned. "Why are you being so careful?" she then asked, observing Debbie's hesitation to sit down.
She paced the floor, unable to sit on the couch for fear Nicole would see the tightness of the dress as it pulled across her hips. The attire in Newport was casual but Debbie insisted on wearing a dress.
"When in Rome, do as the Romans do," Sherri quipped.
They stood in line. Sherri had asked Debbie to pick up some lotion. Now she was putting it on her legs.
"Don't do that here. That's gross," Debbie reprimanded.
"It saves time. Driving is a waste of time when you could take the subway to work instead and read. Live a little."
This last infuriated Debbie. She wanted to punch her sister out, right here in the grocery store. No wonder I had no esteem when I lived at home, Debbie thought. It was a good thing Sherri went to get the car, leaving Debbie to smolder in line by herself. Ugh. She couldn't stand her.
"We're late. We were supposed to be there at six o'clock."
"What difference does it make if we're fifteen minutes late? It will get him going." Debbie said.
"Last time, he didn't think I was going to show up."
"You're meeting him at a bar in Rhode Island. It's like you're going after him. We're all the way in Connecticut."
Now she stared at her sister's face. Sherri smiled slowly and seductively at her "date." She leaned toward him. The three of them left the bar. His two friends had disappeared in the crowd. When, at last, the two sisters had met them at the outdoor deck, exactly one hour late, his friends, upon seeing her dress, had appeared crestfallen. Right away, Debbie knew there was nothing to talk about. She found the effort to force conversation among strangers infinitely tiring after being everything to everyone all week long at the office. They had a short discussion about hot drinking spots and hot drinks.
Sherri and her date suddenly swung their arms together, hand in hand.
Was it the vodka? It could be blamed on a full moon? Or, was it PMS? Job burnout? In the next second, something inside Debbie snapped.
...Uh-oh! But you're going to have to wait. Again! What was really going on here? In Debbie's pretty little head? Something between the sisters? What dynamic is really at work here? If you are able to read between the lines, you will see the real cause of Debbie's internal strife. Until next time, Denise.
She turned and saw her sister at the bar. She walked over and watched her sister lean over the bar, toward her new friend. She had agreed to meet him here with his friends tonight. Debbie had reluctantly agreed to accompany her sister.
"Can't he ask you for a date? You shouldn't be meeting him at a bar," she told her younger sister.
"I don't see what's wrong with it," said Nicole, another sister who was twenty years old, going on thirty, and returning to twenty, all at once.
It was Nicole's zebra-striped dress that Debbie was now wearing.
"Don't ruin it," Nicole warned. "Why are you being so careful?" she then asked, observing Debbie's hesitation to sit down.
She paced the floor, unable to sit on the couch for fear Nicole would see the tightness of the dress as it pulled across her hips. The attire in Newport was casual but Debbie insisted on wearing a dress.
"When in Rome, do as the Romans do," Sherri quipped.
They stood in line. Sherri had asked Debbie to pick up some lotion. Now she was putting it on her legs.
"Don't do that here. That's gross," Debbie reprimanded.
"It saves time. Driving is a waste of time when you could take the subway to work instead and read. Live a little."
This last infuriated Debbie. She wanted to punch her sister out, right here in the grocery store. No wonder I had no esteem when I lived at home, Debbie thought. It was a good thing Sherri went to get the car, leaving Debbie to smolder in line by herself. Ugh. She couldn't stand her.
"We're late. We were supposed to be there at six o'clock."
"What difference does it make if we're fifteen minutes late? It will get him going." Debbie said.
"Last time, he didn't think I was going to show up."
"You're meeting him at a bar in Rhode Island. It's like you're going after him. We're all the way in Connecticut."
Now she stared at her sister's face. Sherri smiled slowly and seductively at her "date." She leaned toward him. The three of them left the bar. His two friends had disappeared in the crowd. When, at last, the two sisters had met them at the outdoor deck, exactly one hour late, his friends, upon seeing her dress, had appeared crestfallen. Right away, Debbie knew there was nothing to talk about. She found the effort to force conversation among strangers infinitely tiring after being everything to everyone all week long at the office. They had a short discussion about hot drinking spots and hot drinks.
Sherri and her date suddenly swung their arms together, hand in hand.
Was it the vodka? It could be blamed on a full moon? Or, was it PMS? Job burnout? In the next second, something inside Debbie snapped.
...Uh-oh! But you're going to have to wait. Again! What was really going on here? In Debbie's pretty little head? Something between the sisters? What dynamic is really at work here? If you are able to read between the lines, you will see the real cause of Debbie's internal strife. Until next time, Denise.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Coming Tomorrow: FATHER'S DAY
More from Debbie's racy past with a visit home once again, in FATHER'S DAY. (I feel I'm about to be judged, but I think you are all quite familiar with me -- uh, Debbie -- by now.
UP NEXT: Father's Day
If my niece Julia could write a book, I think it would be called "Grown-ups Behaving Badly." Please note: Uh, Debbie is not exempt from this label. Hey. I know my reputation proceeds me. But I am moving up in this world. Slowly but surely. Take the high speed ferry back from Block Island. Check out the City of New London skyline. Do you see that stoic building rising above the treetops? Prominence. (Keep it on the downlow.)
THE CONCLUSION
MOST IMPORTANT DAY: Conclusion. After the homestyle chicken and soup, fries and macaroni and salad and coffee, Debbie and her little sister, Kimberly piled into their cousin's car. Their young cousin Richard showed them his new house. A sparkling Harley Davidson stood in the living room, on the white rug, fresh off the ramp that led through the door.
Debbie pranced across the street to her Aunt and Uncle's house that she had not seen inso long, sporting her father's black leather jacket. It had been custom tailored for her father in his racing days. Rich treasured the souvenir of the fifites, guarding it day and night. They passed around a photo of her mother and father on a motorcycle when they first met.
They laughed and reminisced and took pictures. They sat on the porch swing and then it was time to go back. Debbie posed with the black leather jacket, her back to the camera, looking over her shoulder, then to the side. All she could think of was the song "Bad to the Bone" by George Thoroughgood.
"Debbie, you are a fruit loop," her prim but beautiful sister Nicole said.
"Memere would have wanted it this way," Aunt Jeanette said. And then, "Lookit that Harley patch right on the ass!" Her aunt laughed heartily.
The following morning remained misty and peaceful.
"That's kind of loud for a funeral," her father said, looking at Nicole's bright red dress.
"Memere's favorite color was red," Aunt Jeanette nodded.
"Thank you," Nicole smirked at her father.
Debbie and her sisters walked behind her parents down the aisle of the church where they were married thirty years before. Small, white fans graced the high, domed ceiling. Beautiful paintings adorned the interior of the entire church.
The music was full of hope as the organ droned quietly in the background of a beautiful, airy voice. Debbie felt carried away on the high notes of the songs, which reached the heights of the dome and soared over the farmhouses and shops of the small New England town. But when she left, her soft sobbing filled the church.
There was an odd comfort in this old ritual, in the symmetry of the black uniforms of the pall bearers, the black car, the procession itself. Was she wierd for thinking this?
Did other people think this way? She watched as her cousin Brigette dressed in white today, hugged her friend for a long time in the green grass. Her father put his hand on her petite mother's shoulder as they left.
The gifts Debbie had given her grandmother over time had come back to her. She felt a sinking of her heart at the sight of the furry white cat in his heart-printed pajamas, the music box she had given her for Christmas, mailing it just in time from New York. But then she saw the white Easter rabbit, clutching a bright red tulip, a reminder of the promise of rebirth.
She placed them on the rocking chair at home and felt her dear Memere's spirit, soft but strong, fill the room. The love she had given to her grandmother had been returned to her.
DH/1060D
Debbie pranced across the street to her Aunt and Uncle's house that she had not seen inso long, sporting her father's black leather jacket. It had been custom tailored for her father in his racing days. Rich treasured the souvenir of the fifites, guarding it day and night. They passed around a photo of her mother and father on a motorcycle when they first met.
They laughed and reminisced and took pictures. They sat on the porch swing and then it was time to go back. Debbie posed with the black leather jacket, her back to the camera, looking over her shoulder, then to the side. All she could think of was the song "Bad to the Bone" by George Thoroughgood.
"Debbie, you are a fruit loop," her prim but beautiful sister Nicole said.
"Memere would have wanted it this way," Aunt Jeanette said. And then, "Lookit that Harley patch right on the ass!" Her aunt laughed heartily.
The following morning remained misty and peaceful.
"That's kind of loud for a funeral," her father said, looking at Nicole's bright red dress.
"Memere's favorite color was red," Aunt Jeanette nodded.
"Thank you," Nicole smirked at her father.
Debbie and her sisters walked behind her parents down the aisle of the church where they were married thirty years before. Small, white fans graced the high, domed ceiling. Beautiful paintings adorned the interior of the entire church.
The music was full of hope as the organ droned quietly in the background of a beautiful, airy voice. Debbie felt carried away on the high notes of the songs, which reached the heights of the dome and soared over the farmhouses and shops of the small New England town. But when she left, her soft sobbing filled the church.
There was an odd comfort in this old ritual, in the symmetry of the black uniforms of the pall bearers, the black car, the procession itself. Was she wierd for thinking this?
Did other people think this way? She watched as her cousin Brigette dressed in white today, hugged her friend for a long time in the green grass. Her father put his hand on her petite mother's shoulder as they left.
The gifts Debbie had given her grandmother over time had come back to her. She felt a sinking of her heart at the sight of the furry white cat in his heart-printed pajamas, the music box she had given her for Christmas, mailing it just in time from New York. But then she saw the white Easter rabbit, clutching a bright red tulip, a reminder of the promise of rebirth.
She placed them on the rocking chair at home and felt her dear Memere's spirit, soft but strong, fill the room. The love she had given to her grandmother had been returned to her.
DH/1060D
Thursday
Debbie returns Thursday with the Conclusion of her journey home in THE MOST IMPORTANT DAY OF HER LIFE. Up Next: Father's Day. (Isn't it always???...* * * :)
Monday, November 1, 2010
Will Be Back Soon
Hi! "Fool's Gold" returns soon with the conclusion of "Most Important Day," Debbie's call home back to rural Southern New England. UP NEXT: Father's Day continues the call home to Debbie. Will she leave NYC? When does she leave? Does she leave NYC for good? Will she ever return to NYC? Just for visits? Or what? What does the future hold for Debbie? Be back by Thursday.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
She's Baaaack!
MOST IMPORTANT DAY: III She avoided her parents eyes and walked into the building. But her lips were trembling.
She saw the sad face of her cousin Darlene. She walked over to her Aunt Jeanette.
"Debbie! Glad to see ya!"
"It's good to see you even though..."
"I know." Aunt Jeanette's eyes were full of tears.
"Uncle William!" Debbie exclaimed.
"It's good to see you, my niece!" He smiled through his tears. He came over and hugged her.
"It's good to see you, too," she giggled.
Was that her cousin Brigette, whom she had not seen in so long?
"You look...good," Debbie said, even though Brigette's face was red with crying. Her blond hair was pulled back in a French braid and pinned up. She looked as Canadian French as they all were.
Her sisters went into the smaller room. But she did not want to go, not yet. She went into the bathroom, where Sherri was blowing her nose.
"I just want it to be over," she started to cry.
"It's better when you go up and see her. She looks strong." Sherri consoled her and walked away.
Debbie stood outside the funeral home. She began to talk about New York, her job, although she did not know this man beside her. {Foreshadowing of Future Things...} {sic} And then, Liz came. Liz smiled in recognition of her friend's long-winded discussions about the trials of New York.
"I don't want to go in there. Do you?" she said to Liz.
"Yes," Liz insisted.
"I better go in before my father says, Why are you standing there?" Debbie mimicked her father's firm, authoritative tone.
They walked together to the flower-filled room; the bleeding hearts, pink carnations and white mums. There she rested, among the flowers, in a pink lace dress. They kneeled before her, studying the flowers.
"She looks...strong," Debbie held out her fist in a fighting gesture. The strength that was never apparent in the life of her delicate, petite Memere, now revealed itself. Every illness that came her way, she had conquered with her faith and determination. Now, it was time.
The priest came and said a few words to a roomful of softly closed eyes. The crowded room now grew quiet, except for the purring of the air conditioner. Debbie drifted in and out of his sermon.
"...The most important day of her life is not her birthday, or her wedding day, but today."
No, it's not. The most important day of my life will be the day I get married, Debbie thought to herself.
"...Today marks the beginning of a promise. The promise of eternal life..."
Debbie did not agree with him, but thought the sermon was beautiful none-the-less.
"I wanted you to go to lunch but it's just immediate family," she told Liz with tears in her eyes.
"I understand," Liz said. "I owe you a letter."
"Oh, you do, don't you?" Debbie tried to joke half-heartedly.
"Are they going to take her picture?"
Debbie's eyes widened. "N...No."
"Well, with all those elaborate flowers."
"Some people do that. I don't think they do here, I don't think they'd like that. Its OK for some people, but not me. It's just not my cup of tea." Debbie concluded, ending on a jovial note.
Liz smiled. "I mean, after everyone is gone."
What an odd custom. Why show a body after someone is gone?
MORE TOMORROW...Or I may make you wait until Monday!
She saw the sad face of her cousin Darlene. She walked over to her Aunt Jeanette.
"Debbie! Glad to see ya!"
"It's good to see you even though..."
"I know." Aunt Jeanette's eyes were full of tears.
"Uncle William!" Debbie exclaimed.
"It's good to see you, my niece!" He smiled through his tears. He came over and hugged her.
"It's good to see you, too," she giggled.
Was that her cousin Brigette, whom she had not seen in so long?
"You look...good," Debbie said, even though Brigette's face was red with crying. Her blond hair was pulled back in a French braid and pinned up. She looked as Canadian French as they all were.
Her sisters went into the smaller room. But she did not want to go, not yet. She went into the bathroom, where Sherri was blowing her nose.
"I just want it to be over," she started to cry.
"It's better when you go up and see her. She looks strong." Sherri consoled her and walked away.
Debbie stood outside the funeral home. She began to talk about New York, her job, although she did not know this man beside her. {Foreshadowing of Future Things...} {sic} And then, Liz came. Liz smiled in recognition of her friend's long-winded discussions about the trials of New York.
"I don't want to go in there. Do you?" she said to Liz.
"Yes," Liz insisted.
"I better go in before my father says, Why are you standing there?" Debbie mimicked her father's firm, authoritative tone.
They walked together to the flower-filled room; the bleeding hearts, pink carnations and white mums. There she rested, among the flowers, in a pink lace dress. They kneeled before her, studying the flowers.
"She looks...strong," Debbie held out her fist in a fighting gesture. The strength that was never apparent in the life of her delicate, petite Memere, now revealed itself. Every illness that came her way, she had conquered with her faith and determination. Now, it was time.
The priest came and said a few words to a roomful of softly closed eyes. The crowded room now grew quiet, except for the purring of the air conditioner. Debbie drifted in and out of his sermon.
"...The most important day of her life is not her birthday, or her wedding day, but today."
No, it's not. The most important day of my life will be the day I get married, Debbie thought to herself.
"...Today marks the beginning of a promise. The promise of eternal life..."
Debbie did not agree with him, but thought the sermon was beautiful none-the-less.
"I wanted you to go to lunch but it's just immediate family," she told Liz with tears in her eyes.
"I understand," Liz said. "I owe you a letter."
"Oh, you do, don't you?" Debbie tried to joke half-heartedly.
"Are they going to take her picture?"
Debbie's eyes widened. "N...No."
"Well, with all those elaborate flowers."
"Some people do that. I don't think they do here, I don't think they'd like that. Its OK for some people, but not me. It's just not my cup of tea." Debbie concluded, ending on a jovial note.
Liz smiled. "I mean, after everyone is gone."
What an odd custom. Why show a body after someone is gone?
MORE TOMORROW...Or I may make you wait until Monday!
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
CALL IT COINCIDENCE
I saw a strange omen just now, as I was sitting outside the New London Library. I don't dare to say what it is, but suffice it to say, History repeats itself...just as I write this. And all I have to say is, You haven't included me in the good times. Don't expect me to be there in your bad times.
NOT MUCH LONGER
Stay tuned for more as "Denise Takes on Her Family" tomorrow. As the rural reaches of New England's past of the volatile Debbie unravels, what will the present bring us? What does tomorrow hold? In the story? No, in real life. But, wait...aren't they the same thing?
Denise Takes on Her Fa-mi-leeee!
(It's about time.) They had avoided the 6:00 rush and the 7:00 stampede was only slight. They had gotten seats!
Debbie told Liz how her horoscope suggested she would be coming home this weekend, but she did not believe it, at the time. She wondered if Liz believed her.
Liz is coming up. I'm not going anywhere! she had said.
"I'm going to the cafe car. Want anything?"
Liz said no. She had her eyes closed sleepily, but it looked like she had been crying.
They got off the Boston bound train. The fresh air of the small New England port greeted them. She walked sadly alongside Liz, along the boat filled harbor, lugging her suitcase. They walked to Liz' car but Debbie's parents were right there!
"Ooh," she groaned as she climbed into her parents' car.
"When did you find out?" her father had asked her on the phone.
"About three o'clock."
"Where were you?"
"I tried to call an old friend. I called the office to get his number," Debbie explained on the phone while the car waited outside.
"Who told you? When did you call the office?"
"Daddy! The car is waiting outside to take me to Penn Station!"
"Where are you?"
"In Manhattan. Packing! I'll see you at ten o'clock."
"So I called Stash and he said, I'm coming down now!" she continued. Her parents looked at each other but did not say anything.
"I don't want to go," she said to her friend Amanda on the phone.
"But you have to," Amanda said. How like Amanda to say that. Amanda had lost her father four years ago, so she knew.
"Mom, I don't want to go."
"Neither do I. All those people I haven't seen in so long," her mother said. "Uncle William is crying. Darlene is hysterical."
And then came the phone calls. Her sisters, Nicole and Sherri and Kimberly, the youngest, their friends and her friends, who offered to attend the funeral.
"I would never expect this from a friend," Debbie said to Liz.
"Well, I remember how I felt when it was my father. Familiar faces helped."
Would I do the same for a friend? Debbie did not know the answer.
Nicole's boyfriend sat at the table.
"Did you meet Sean?" she asked.
"I think so," Debbie said.
"No," Sean said.
"Didn't we? Well, we're meeting now. Nice to meet you. Sorry it's under such unfortunate circumstances." She kept her voice under control. She paged through the newspaper. Her mother tried to sew a button on her father's shirt. When the needle did not catch the thread, she started to cry.
"Stupid thing," she said.
Debbie rode in the back seat of her sister's car. Sherri and Nicole sat in front. Kimberly, the youngest, had gone with their parents.
"They need to talk," Nicole said.
"Let's play Anita Baker," Sherri said.
"No. It's depressing. How about Jody Watley? Does anyone mind?"
The trees along the highway were green in the haze. Debbie's hair caught the breeze from both open windows.
"She was so happy when we saw her. She had just gotten a perm and it looked good. She was about to cry," Sherri said. "I went to see her all the time. Now, there's a gap."
They got out of the car. Green trees and misty meadows surrounded them. A rolling hill dropped gently down to a calm lake. An empty swingset stood on the bank. A raft floated quietly in the dark water. Debbie's stomach ached at this sight of pastoral beauty. The green earth, to which her grandmother's body would soon return.
Debbie told Liz how her horoscope suggested she would be coming home this weekend, but she did not believe it, at the time. She wondered if Liz believed her.
Liz is coming up. I'm not going anywhere! she had said.
"I'm going to the cafe car. Want anything?"
Liz said no. She had her eyes closed sleepily, but it looked like she had been crying.
They got off the Boston bound train. The fresh air of the small New England port greeted them. She walked sadly alongside Liz, along the boat filled harbor, lugging her suitcase. They walked to Liz' car but Debbie's parents were right there!
"Ooh," she groaned as she climbed into her parents' car.
"When did you find out?" her father had asked her on the phone.
"About three o'clock."
"Where were you?"
"I tried to call an old friend. I called the office to get his number," Debbie explained on the phone while the car waited outside.
"Who told you? When did you call the office?"
"Daddy! The car is waiting outside to take me to Penn Station!"
"Where are you?"
"In Manhattan. Packing! I'll see you at ten o'clock."
"So I called Stash and he said, I'm coming down now!" she continued. Her parents looked at each other but did not say anything.
"I don't want to go," she said to her friend Amanda on the phone.
"But you have to," Amanda said. How like Amanda to say that. Amanda had lost her father four years ago, so she knew.
"Mom, I don't want to go."
"Neither do I. All those people I haven't seen in so long," her mother said. "Uncle William is crying. Darlene is hysterical."
And then came the phone calls. Her sisters, Nicole and Sherri and Kimberly, the youngest, their friends and her friends, who offered to attend the funeral.
"I would never expect this from a friend," Debbie said to Liz.
"Well, I remember how I felt when it was my father. Familiar faces helped."
Would I do the same for a friend? Debbie did not know the answer.
Nicole's boyfriend sat at the table.
"Did you meet Sean?" she asked.
"I think so," Debbie said.
"No," Sean said.
"Didn't we? Well, we're meeting now. Nice to meet you. Sorry it's under such unfortunate circumstances." She kept her voice under control. She paged through the newspaper. Her mother tried to sew a button on her father's shirt. When the needle did not catch the thread, she started to cry.
"Stupid thing," she said.
Debbie rode in the back seat of her sister's car. Sherri and Nicole sat in front. Kimberly, the youngest, had gone with their parents.
"They need to talk," Nicole said.
"Let's play Anita Baker," Sherri said.
"No. It's depressing. How about Jody Watley? Does anyone mind?"
The trees along the highway were green in the haze. Debbie's hair caught the breeze from both open windows.
"She was so happy when we saw her. She had just gotten a perm and it looked good. She was about to cry," Sherri said. "I went to see her all the time. Now, there's a gap."
They got out of the car. Green trees and misty meadows surrounded them. A rolling hill dropped gently down to a calm lake. An empty swingset stood on the bank. A raft floated quietly in the dark water. Debbie's stomach ached at this sight of pastoral beauty. The green earth, to which her grandmother's body would soon return.
The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul:
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness
for His name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death,
I will fear no evil:
for thou art with me,
Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me
in the presence of mine enemies:
Thou annointest my head with oil;
my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy
Shall follow me all the days of my life:
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
(Psalm 23)
The Psalm instantly touched her. Can death be beautiful? she thought. Nobody would believe her, so she did not say it.
(The more things change; the more they remain the same!!!...* * * :)
Monday, October 25, 2010
There's More....!
Stay tuned as Debbie takes on her family in rural Connecticut and Rhode Island for the weekend back home to attend her maternal grandmother's funeral.
MOST IMPORTANT DAY Part II
19 hits on Friday! Thanx for coming back, everyone! "Sherri? What happened?"
"What did they tell you?"
"They said something about your grandmother. What happened?"
"She died. Last night," her sister finally told her.
"I visited her as much as I could. I couldn't stand to see her suffer."
"She looked good on Tuesday. She was so happy." Sherri said.
"I hated seeing her in a convalescent home. I hated watching her suffer. I'm glad I visited her."
"Do whatever you have to. Cry, if you need to." her boss told her.
Don't tell me when I can cry, Debbie wanted to say.
She looked at the box of Kleenexes.
"I have to go to the funeral. It's on Monday."
"Don't think about work. You get three days off. Now, what do you need to do? Gloria will call for a car to take you home. Can you find out the train schedule?" Her boss spoke rationally.
"Couldn't the car take me to Connecticut? Too expensive?" She looked her boss in the eye.
"Yes. You can put your train ticket on my card," her boss offered.
"Wait. My friend, Liz. She's downstairs in a restaurant. Which train should I take?"
"Now, you have to pack. How long will that take? Then, there is the traffic. Do you think it would be wise to make the 6:00?"
"I'll have to take the 7:00. They're unreserved. I don't need your card."
"Do you have money?"
"Yes. Thanks," she looked her boss squarely in the eyes.
"I'm gonna run out of here," she said.
"Hey!" Mike called out to her, but she passed him.
She ran into the restaurant.
"My grandmother died!" Her voice gave way as she told Liz and Dave. "Sorry to involve you in my tragedy."
"That's OK," they smiled in understanding. Their calmness was soothing.
"A car is coming to pick us up. We have to get on the 7:00 train. I have to make a phone call. I'll meet you back here."
The blond girl on the phone bragged about her partying.
"I have an emergency," Debbie said.
The girl hung up in annoyance.
"Gotta go. She's got an emergency," she said and walked off.
"The car will be here any minute. You're supposed to come down with the card?" Debbie, in her hurry, tried to be polite to the secretary.
"Meet me at the elevator bank," Gloria said.
She arrived in the elevator.
"I'm sorry! Are you alright?" she said.
"Yeah. I expected it."
"Well, she gave a lot of love and she lived a long and happy life," Gloria said, putting her arm around Debbie, although they had only met yesterday.
No....nooo! You don't even know her! Debbie wanted to say. But Gloria was only trying to comfort her.
"It's alright. She was 83." Debbie shrugged her arm off. Gloria was taken aback slightly.
"I'm just glad she's not suffering. My pain is over," she explained.
"I don't have parents so I don't have to go through that," Gloria confessed.
You don't? Debbie looked at her. "Life is full of pain," she said.
Gloria presented the card to the driver. Debbie went to find Liz and Dave.
"Tell everyone I'm alright. Not to worry about me. Don't tell anybody if they don't ask!" Debbie instructed Gloria.
Now she knew what it felt like, what to say. She had not known what to say to her friend Liz when her father had died last March.
"I can't believe it. You were looking forward to visiting me for so long," she said to Liz.
"It's OK. I can come another time," Liz said calmly. "I'll go to my mother's tonight."
"She'll be glad to see you."
She was so thankful when Liz respected her silence and then would chat with her when the mood came over her, in the car to her apartment, where she packed, on the train home, which she had always taken alone in the three years since she had moved to New York. To make it big someday, as a writer. Not to be a secretary forever.
"They charge twenty five cents for these postcards," Liz said from her seat behind Debbie.
"Those cheap bastards! They should pay us!" Debbie giggled, as she looked at the picture of the Astor Riviera Cafe, as she thought of the rude waiters in their tuxedos. Two guys looked up from their seats...
(Well, well, the more things change, the more they remain the same! Right, L?)
"What did they tell you?"
"They said something about your grandmother. What happened?"
"She died. Last night," her sister finally told her.
"I visited her as much as I could. I couldn't stand to see her suffer."
"She looked good on Tuesday. She was so happy." Sherri said.
"I hated seeing her in a convalescent home. I hated watching her suffer. I'm glad I visited her."
"Do whatever you have to. Cry, if you need to." her boss told her.
Don't tell me when I can cry, Debbie wanted to say.
She looked at the box of Kleenexes.
"I have to go to the funeral. It's on Monday."
"Don't think about work. You get three days off. Now, what do you need to do? Gloria will call for a car to take you home. Can you find out the train schedule?" Her boss spoke rationally.
"Couldn't the car take me to Connecticut? Too expensive?" She looked her boss in the eye.
"Yes. You can put your train ticket on my card," her boss offered.
"Wait. My friend, Liz. She's downstairs in a restaurant. Which train should I take?"
"Now, you have to pack. How long will that take? Then, there is the traffic. Do you think it would be wise to make the 6:00?"
"I'll have to take the 7:00. They're unreserved. I don't need your card."
"Do you have money?"
"Yes. Thanks," she looked her boss squarely in the eyes.
"I'm gonna run out of here," she said.
"Hey!" Mike called out to her, but she passed him.
She ran into the restaurant.
"My grandmother died!" Her voice gave way as she told Liz and Dave. "Sorry to involve you in my tragedy."
"That's OK," they smiled in understanding. Their calmness was soothing.
"A car is coming to pick us up. We have to get on the 7:00 train. I have to make a phone call. I'll meet you back here."
The blond girl on the phone bragged about her partying.
"I have an emergency," Debbie said.
The girl hung up in annoyance.
"Gotta go. She's got an emergency," she said and walked off.
"The car will be here any minute. You're supposed to come down with the card?" Debbie, in her hurry, tried to be polite to the secretary.
"Meet me at the elevator bank," Gloria said.
She arrived in the elevator.
"I'm sorry! Are you alright?" she said.
"Yeah. I expected it."
"Well, she gave a lot of love and she lived a long and happy life," Gloria said, putting her arm around Debbie, although they had only met yesterday.
No....nooo! You don't even know her! Debbie wanted to say. But Gloria was only trying to comfort her.
"It's alright. She was 83." Debbie shrugged her arm off. Gloria was taken aback slightly.
"I'm just glad she's not suffering. My pain is over," she explained.
"I don't have parents so I don't have to go through that," Gloria confessed.
You don't? Debbie looked at her. "Life is full of pain," she said.
Gloria presented the card to the driver. Debbie went to find Liz and Dave.
"Tell everyone I'm alright. Not to worry about me. Don't tell anybody if they don't ask!" Debbie instructed Gloria.
Now she knew what it felt like, what to say. She had not known what to say to her friend Liz when her father had died last March.
"I can't believe it. You were looking forward to visiting me for so long," she said to Liz.
"It's OK. I can come another time," Liz said calmly. "I'll go to my mother's tonight."
"She'll be glad to see you."
She was so thankful when Liz respected her silence and then would chat with her when the mood came over her, in the car to her apartment, where she packed, on the train home, which she had always taken alone in the three years since she had moved to New York. To make it big someday, as a writer. Not to be a secretary forever.
"They charge twenty five cents for these postcards," Liz said from her seat behind Debbie.
"Those cheap bastards! They should pay us!" Debbie giggled, as she looked at the picture of the Astor Riviera Cafe, as she thought of the rude waiters in their tuxedos. Two guys looked up from their seats...
(Well, well, the more things change, the more they remain the same! Right, L?)
Friday, October 22, 2010
Up Next: MOST IMPORTANT DAY: Part II
Stay tuned for Debbie's roots in the nostalgic past of the small New England mill towns, encompassing Lowell, MA; Manville, RI and Southeastern Connecticut.
I'm going to make you wait...
Once again, I'm going to make you wait...until next Monday or Tuesday before I fill in the missing pieces of what has happened at home in small town, rural Connecticut, which keeps calling out to Debbie. What awaits her there? Stay tuned and find out. Find out, as well, what happened to her long lost sailor.
THE MOST IMPORTANT DAY OF HER LIFE
(It's not what you think.) True, our loved ones won't be with us forever. But now, it's finally time to step outside MY lens, my friend! Or capsize, with all the lies, that I'VE been living in!!!... * * * :)...(How about the one where they'd have you believe you're not good enough??? and to think that most people place your value on how much your bank account is worth!!! ) They paused in the entrance of the Astor Riviera Cafe. The waiter in black tux and tie pointed to a table and two chairs by the window.
"How rude," Debbie groaned.
Liz laughed.
"This lifestyle...I don't know," Debbie sighed. She could not think of anything to say in the oppressive heat and so, her sentences were trailing off this morning.
"Are you still serving breakfast?" she asked the waiter.
"Yes," he said.
"Oh, nevermind, I'll have the fish sandwich," she said.
Liz ordered eggs and home fries. The waiter disappeared before Debbie could even ask for a serving of fries. When he poured her a second cup of coffee, she instantly forgave him.
"Do you have a bathroom? We ate here," Liz said.
"No," the man in tuxedo mumbled.
Liz asked their waiter and he pointed.
"I'm glad somebody knows where the bathroom is!" Debbie said loudly as they passed Mr. Tuxedo. She laughed giddily.
"I have to call Stash!" Debbie suddenly said. "I haven't talked to him in months."
"Do they have a phone book?"
"Phone book? He's at work," Debbie said.
"Well, we could look up the company," Liz said.
Debbie dialed information. "Fifty cents! Oh, well, tough." She dug in her purse. Liz laughed.
Five cents, please.
She hung up the phone in disgust. She paged through the white pages while Liz examined the yellow pages of the hefty New York Telephone book. Then they switched.
"He's not under investment banks," Debbie said. "I thought he would be. He works on Wall Street!"
"He's not in the white pages," Liz said.
"Why would he be?" Debbie said.
"See? Merrill Lynch is in the white pages." She pointed sarcastically, but with a good-natured laugh.
"Alright! Let's just go down there!"
"Why don't you call work?" Liz suggested.
"No! It's my day off. We'll find it."
Debbie could have sworn they had gotten on the downtown subway train. But, no. It now stopped at Union Square. They waited in the dank heat at the Fourteenth Street station.
"Rector Street!" she said. "It's around here somewhere."
They forged through the dense heat of Wall Street, past the historic churches and landmarks, weaving through the lunchtime crowd.
"Do you know where Suspenders is? It's a bar." Debbie approached a man selling hot dogs and soda from a cart.
"Suspenders? I don't know," he mumbled.
Neither did the men standing at the corner or the young couple arguing on the sidewalk or the doorman of an office building or anyone else. When Debbie and Liz strolled back up Rector Street, they passed the couple again, who were now kissing slowly.
"Look who made up," Debbie said.
"Why don't you find a phone and call the office?" Liz said.
"No! I've had it. I know it's somewhere around here."
"Look for someone who looks like he's been drinking. They look like they know where it is," Liz said.
Debbie approached two friendly young traders or brokers or whatever they were. "Hi! Can you tell me where Suspenders is?"
"Yeah. It's on Broadway. Go straight," the blond young man said, looking at them through his dark sunglasses. His dark-haired friend looked at them appreciatively.
"They were cute! Friendly, too! Geez, we should've asked them to join us!" Debbie sighed.
And there it was.
They sat at the bar, sipping cool Corona beer. Debbie stole a bunch of limes from the box of fruit at the bar.
"I'd rather have cherries!" she said. Liz pointed across the bar to an indoor telephone booth.
"Hello? Gloria? Could you do me a personal favor? In my desk draw - no, it's locked!"
"Yes, it is," said the temporary secretary who was taking Debbie's place at the office today.
"In my rolodex..."
"Debbie, we're so glad you called. Crystal wants to talk to you."
Her boss? What file was she looking for now? "She does? Um, is there a number in there for Stash P..."
"Debbie? Are you coming into the office today?" her boss asked.
"No."
"You're not? I was hoping you were. Where are you?" her boss asked her.
"Wall Street! At a bar. Looking forward to running around the city."
"Well, your mother called. She sounded very upset."
"Are you sure she was upset? I don't want everybody worrying for nothing."
"Your sisters were calling, too."
"Oh, no! Something's up. Is it my father?"
"No, it's not your father."
"Do you know if it's my father?" she probed her boss.
"No, I think it's your grandmother. Can you call your mother and call me back? If you need to get home, I can arrange a car service." her boss promised.
There was no answer at home. She told the operator softly that she would try again. Still, no answer.
"Hello, Stash? I know I haven't talked to you in a long time..."
"Where are you!"
"At Suspenders."
"I'm right here. I'm coming down!" he shouted.
Liz smiled from the bar and started to say something.
"Liz. Something's up at home. It's either my father or my grandmother," she said breathlessly.
"Stash's coming. I can't get a hold of my mother," she added.
"But I have to mmet Dave at 2:30," Liz said. "Maybe tonight..."
"He'll be here in a couple minutes."
She waved to him from across the bar. And it was like all those months had never passed, as if they had never stopped calling each other, as they talked like they had known each other all their lives, as it always was with Stash."
"Your boyfriend is in Pinebush? I lived in Pinebush!" he exclaimed to Liz. Debbie leaned backwards so they could talk.
"Just one!" Debbie held up her glass.
"The Irish in you," Stash said. He had a sparkle in his eye. She did not know if it were reserved just for her, or if that were just the way he was. He leaned close to her as they conversed.
"I lost weight," he said.
"You look good," Debbie said.
"So do you."
"I lost weight."
"You were never fat since I've known you!" Stash shouted.
"Yeah, but..."
"The only place you lost weight is between the ears, maybe," he smiled.
"No! Wait till you see my writing," she pouted at him, and smiled.
"I wish I could hang out tonight. I have a party to go to. On my motorcycle."
"Is it a Harley?" Debbie asked.
"Yeah," he said in surprise.
He did not seem like he rode a Harley, although his eyes were vibrant, his hair dark and neatly trimmed, his every gesture alive.
"I've gotta go back," Stash said.
"It's two. We have to meet Dave," Liz looked at her watch.
"I like meeting people, but I also like to keep in touch," Debbie called after him.
"Can we just call a cab? I can't deal with finding these subways. I'll pay," Debbie sighed in the heat, which they had temporarily escaped from, in the oasis of Suspenders.
"Sure. I'll split it with you."
Debbie waited nervously in the lobby while Liz announced herself to the receptionist. She did not remove her sunglasses.
"I need a phone," she said. But she could not retrieve her messages at home. The beep on her answering machine was too long. And still, there was no answer at her mother's house in Connecticut.
"I have to go to the office," she said. They walked around the corner to the subway station. It seemed forever as Liz and Dave conversed about their jobs, which Debbie did not hear.
She walked through the revolving doors, across the floor of the marble lobby, to the bank of elevators. Her legs felt weak and heavy. She was wearing shorts and a V neck tee shirt but she did not care. She barged into her boss' office. No one else was around.
Her boss looked up, with a slight smile.
"I'm nervous," Debbie said breathlessly. "I need an office." She grabbed her rolodex.
"How rude," Debbie groaned.
Liz laughed.
"This lifestyle...I don't know," Debbie sighed. She could not think of anything to say in the oppressive heat and so, her sentences were trailing off this morning.
"Are you still serving breakfast?" she asked the waiter.
"Yes," he said.
"Oh, nevermind, I'll have the fish sandwich," she said.
Liz ordered eggs and home fries. The waiter disappeared before Debbie could even ask for a serving of fries. When he poured her a second cup of coffee, she instantly forgave him.
"Do you have a bathroom? We ate here," Liz said.
"No," the man in tuxedo mumbled.
Liz asked their waiter and he pointed.
"I'm glad somebody knows where the bathroom is!" Debbie said loudly as they passed Mr. Tuxedo. She laughed giddily.
"I have to call Stash!" Debbie suddenly said. "I haven't talked to him in months."
"Do they have a phone book?"
"Phone book? He's at work," Debbie said.
"Well, we could look up the company," Liz said.
Debbie dialed information. "Fifty cents! Oh, well, tough." She dug in her purse. Liz laughed.
Five cents, please.
She hung up the phone in disgust. She paged through the white pages while Liz examined the yellow pages of the hefty New York Telephone book. Then they switched.
"He's not under investment banks," Debbie said. "I thought he would be. He works on Wall Street!"
"He's not in the white pages," Liz said.
"Why would he be?" Debbie said.
"See? Merrill Lynch is in the white pages." She pointed sarcastically, but with a good-natured laugh.
"Alright! Let's just go down there!"
"Why don't you call work?" Liz suggested.
"No! It's my day off. We'll find it."
Debbie could have sworn they had gotten on the downtown subway train. But, no. It now stopped at Union Square. They waited in the dank heat at the Fourteenth Street station.
"Rector Street!" she said. "It's around here somewhere."
They forged through the dense heat of Wall Street, past the historic churches and landmarks, weaving through the lunchtime crowd.
"Do you know where Suspenders is? It's a bar." Debbie approached a man selling hot dogs and soda from a cart.
"Suspenders? I don't know," he mumbled.
Neither did the men standing at the corner or the young couple arguing on the sidewalk or the doorman of an office building or anyone else. When Debbie and Liz strolled back up Rector Street, they passed the couple again, who were now kissing slowly.
"Look who made up," Debbie said.
"Why don't you find a phone and call the office?" Liz said.
"No! I've had it. I know it's somewhere around here."
"Look for someone who looks like he's been drinking. They look like they know where it is," Liz said.
Debbie approached two friendly young traders or brokers or whatever they were. "Hi! Can you tell me where Suspenders is?"
"Yeah. It's on Broadway. Go straight," the blond young man said, looking at them through his dark sunglasses. His dark-haired friend looked at them appreciatively.
"They were cute! Friendly, too! Geez, we should've asked them to join us!" Debbie sighed.
And there it was.
They sat at the bar, sipping cool Corona beer. Debbie stole a bunch of limes from the box of fruit at the bar.
"I'd rather have cherries!" she said. Liz pointed across the bar to an indoor telephone booth.
"Hello? Gloria? Could you do me a personal favor? In my desk draw - no, it's locked!"
"Yes, it is," said the temporary secretary who was taking Debbie's place at the office today.
"In my rolodex..."
"Debbie, we're so glad you called. Crystal wants to talk to you."
Her boss? What file was she looking for now? "She does? Um, is there a number in there for Stash P..."
"Debbie? Are you coming into the office today?" her boss asked.
"No."
"You're not? I was hoping you were. Where are you?" her boss asked her.
"Wall Street! At a bar. Looking forward to running around the city."
"Well, your mother called. She sounded very upset."
"Are you sure she was upset? I don't want everybody worrying for nothing."
"Your sisters were calling, too."
"Oh, no! Something's up. Is it my father?"
"No, it's not your father."
"Do you know if it's my father?" she probed her boss.
"No, I think it's your grandmother. Can you call your mother and call me back? If you need to get home, I can arrange a car service." her boss promised.
There was no answer at home. She told the operator softly that she would try again. Still, no answer.
"Hello, Stash? I know I haven't talked to you in a long time..."
"Where are you!"
"At Suspenders."
"I'm right here. I'm coming down!" he shouted.
Liz smiled from the bar and started to say something.
"Liz. Something's up at home. It's either my father or my grandmother," she said breathlessly.
"Stash's coming. I can't get a hold of my mother," she added.
"But I have to mmet Dave at 2:30," Liz said. "Maybe tonight..."
"He'll be here in a couple minutes."
She waved to him from across the bar. And it was like all those months had never passed, as if they had never stopped calling each other, as they talked like they had known each other all their lives, as it always was with Stash."
"Your boyfriend is in Pinebush? I lived in Pinebush!" he exclaimed to Liz. Debbie leaned backwards so they could talk.
"Just one!" Debbie held up her glass.
"The Irish in you," Stash said. He had a sparkle in his eye. She did not know if it were reserved just for her, or if that were just the way he was. He leaned close to her as they conversed.
"I lost weight," he said.
"You look good," Debbie said.
"So do you."
"I lost weight."
"You were never fat since I've known you!" Stash shouted.
"Yeah, but..."
"The only place you lost weight is between the ears, maybe," he smiled.
"No! Wait till you see my writing," she pouted at him, and smiled.
"I wish I could hang out tonight. I have a party to go to. On my motorcycle."
"Is it a Harley?" Debbie asked.
"Yeah," he said in surprise.
He did not seem like he rode a Harley, although his eyes were vibrant, his hair dark and neatly trimmed, his every gesture alive.
"I've gotta go back," Stash said.
"It's two. We have to meet Dave," Liz looked at her watch.
"I like meeting people, but I also like to keep in touch," Debbie called after him.
"Can we just call a cab? I can't deal with finding these subways. I'll pay," Debbie sighed in the heat, which they had temporarily escaped from, in the oasis of Suspenders.
"Sure. I'll split it with you."
Debbie waited nervously in the lobby while Liz announced herself to the receptionist. She did not remove her sunglasses.
"I need a phone," she said. But she could not retrieve her messages at home. The beep on her answering machine was too long. And still, there was no answer at her mother's house in Connecticut.
"I have to go to the office," she said. They walked around the corner to the subway station. It seemed forever as Liz and Dave conversed about their jobs, which Debbie did not hear.
She walked through the revolving doors, across the floor of the marble lobby, to the bank of elevators. Her legs felt weak and heavy. She was wearing shorts and a V neck tee shirt but she did not care. She barged into her boss' office. No one else was around.
Her boss looked up, with a slight smile.
"I'm nervous," Debbie said breathlessly. "I need an office." She grabbed her rolodex.
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