Wednesday, June 30, 2010
AN OASIS IN MANHATTAN
The phone rang. Debbie closed the window as Lori picked up the receiver.
"It was Ben," she said. "He wants to go out with us."
Debbie opened the window, letting back in the noises of the street. The uptown bus screeched to a stop, just below them.
"But it's Friday. I'd rather go out with him during the week," Lori continued.
"Well, it'll be fun," Debbie said.
"That's true. It is always just us. Another person would be more fun," Lori admitted.
They crossed First, Second and Third Avenue, buzzing Ben at his dorm room for the summer grad school session at New York University, where he was writing a play.
"Wouldn't you just give anything to live in this building?" Lori asked.
Ben was summoned by the 24-hour security guard. He arrived in the lobby, broad-shouldered in his plaid shirt and tight jeans. He ws better looking than Debbie recalled.
His nice face ws highlighted by round cheekbones, straight jet-black hair, and an easy-going smile. But he seemed very shy and the only things you could talk to him about were plays and books about the theater.
They walked up and down St. Mark's Place and ducked into a small brown cafe. "The Grass Roots," a white sign read. It was flecked with what appeared to be insects at first glance or possibly, grass roots.
The smell of cool damp wood brought immediate memories of a local college pub to Debbie's mind. She liked it instantly. And it was so cold. It had to be the coldest spot in New York. She wished she could stay here all night. Every day of this hot, stinking New York summer, too. This was the hottest, grossest summer she had ever had, and she was living in New York City.
The sweat oozed off her body every night, even as she lay on the apartment floor in a bare black tank tip and cool shorts, unable to move. Lori refused to turn on the air conditioner. She feigned asthma or some condition of no name so that she would have enough money to buy clothes. As if her mother would not give her money in case she ran out. But what could she say? How could she object to Lori? What if Lori really were suffering from a genuine condition of asthma?
So Ben had landed them in the coolest spot in New York and they sat at the bar, trying to make conversation. Lori jabbered on and on.
Isn't that nice? Debbie thought. So, she has a mouth and a brain after all. She would just sit there in the cold bar, drinking two dollar beers and let them talk while she thought about other more interesting things. She wished she could live here, in the cold bar all summer.
DENISE HICKEY
Summer of '87
St. Mark's Place
# 0659D
"It was Ben," she said. "He wants to go out with us."
Debbie opened the window, letting back in the noises of the street. The uptown bus screeched to a stop, just below them.
"But it's Friday. I'd rather go out with him during the week," Lori continued.
"Well, it'll be fun," Debbie said.
"That's true. It is always just us. Another person would be more fun," Lori admitted.
They crossed First, Second and Third Avenue, buzzing Ben at his dorm room for the summer grad school session at New York University, where he was writing a play.
"Wouldn't you just give anything to live in this building?" Lori asked.
Ben was summoned by the 24-hour security guard. He arrived in the lobby, broad-shouldered in his plaid shirt and tight jeans. He ws better looking than Debbie recalled.
His nice face ws highlighted by round cheekbones, straight jet-black hair, and an easy-going smile. But he seemed very shy and the only things you could talk to him about were plays and books about the theater.
They walked up and down St. Mark's Place and ducked into a small brown cafe. "The Grass Roots," a white sign read. It was flecked with what appeared to be insects at first glance or possibly, grass roots.
The smell of cool damp wood brought immediate memories of a local college pub to Debbie's mind. She liked it instantly. And it was so cold. It had to be the coldest spot in New York. She wished she could stay here all night. Every day of this hot, stinking New York summer, too. This was the hottest, grossest summer she had ever had, and she was living in New York City.
The sweat oozed off her body every night, even as she lay on the apartment floor in a bare black tank tip and cool shorts, unable to move. Lori refused to turn on the air conditioner. She feigned asthma or some condition of no name so that she would have enough money to buy clothes. As if her mother would not give her money in case she ran out. But what could she say? How could she object to Lori? What if Lori really were suffering from a genuine condition of asthma?
So Ben had landed them in the coolest spot in New York and they sat at the bar, trying to make conversation. Lori jabbered on and on.
Isn't that nice? Debbie thought. So, she has a mouth and a brain after all. She would just sit there in the cold bar, drinking two dollar beers and let them talk while she thought about other more interesting things. She wished she could live here, in the cold bar all summer.
DENISE HICKEY
Summer of '87
St. Mark's Place
# 0659D
MORE BUMS TO COME
All his worldly possessions were stuffed into a grocery cart.
Not a shirt on his back, not a penny to his name, just a shopping cart for a bed, Debbie thought to herself. He was so small and pathetic, sitting atop his little bed, stuffed with rags and overflowing.
Not a shirt on his back, not a penny to his name, just a shopping cart for a bed, Debbie thought to herself. He was so small and pathetic, sitting atop his little bed, stuffed with rags and overflowing.
THE FAMILY OF BUMS
(After a while, they did not bother to look anymore.)
Home was a cardboard box split open and spread out over the sidewalk of East Ninth Street. In the summer, it wasn't so bad. Sure it got hot, but all you had to do was lay out on your piece of the box and relax. People, they weren't too bad. It was your place, they knew it. They didn't intrude. Hell, they didn't even look at you. You'd get some newcomers, they give you a look. You see them coming first and you expect it. But they never looked straight at you. And after a couple of weeks, they did not even bother to look anymore.
The chicks, you holler things at 'em, they never look twice. They walk real fast and keep going.
Debbie walked up East Ninth Street. Today was a good day for ice cream at Steve's Ice Cream Parlor. She could sit on the bench and gaze out the big glass windows at all the people walking by. Once she had been sitting in Steve's Ice Cream Parlor, delighting in a triple chocolate cone, when she spotted a group of young men walking toward the windows. They stopped and pointed. Beside her was a student, munching his ice cream and reading a book. His comrades outside walked with purpose to the window. He didn't look up. One of them knocked on the glass. He jumped. He looked up and they all laughed silently outside the glass.
She approached the cardboard box. There was Uncle So-and-So, standing on his one leg. He was probably a Viet Nam vet with plenty of war stories to tell. There was the scrawny woman with the awful, scratchy voice she liked to imitate when she allowed herself the chance to be silly. Not with Lori, that was for sure.
There was a stranger with them today, a woman.
"Aunt Mabel come to visit from Harlem," she jokingly told Lori later.
THE VILLAGE, THE BUMS
Life in the Village, Summer of '87
The hottest, most disgusting summer ever
Power 95 Degrees - Every Day
Lori didn't like the air conditioner
"Spare a lil bit o' change, Miss?"
He sang every day as she walked past him, down Saint Mark's Place after work. Sitting on the curb against the black wrought iron fence, his head wrapped in a small white turban, his big brown eyes looking seriously up at her. It was subliminally sung, below his breath, an innocent song, incidentally conveying the message that he needed money.
One day she and Lori decided together to give him change the next time they walked by. They laughed about his innocent song one Saturday morning. They locked the apartment, turning the key in the triple lock, over and over again, and left.
"Spare any change - Miss?"
At the sound of the familiar lullaby, Debbie reached into her purse, rummaged for spare change and came up with a dime and some pennies. She quickly dropped them into his hand. His song interrupted, he looked up at her with big brown eyes. She gasped. He looked as if he were about to cry.
PACKAGES
Solitary gray blocks stood silent and strong against a cloudless blue sky. She stared up at the monument, wondering which place in the linear landscape, was her office.
She walked down the long carpeted corridor into the office. Back from Thanksgiving vacation, at last. She thought Monday would never come.
"And if you don't send those packages up here to the forty-eighth floor, I am going to kill you," the office manager spoke the immortal words.
"Those packages have been in the mailroom for three weeks and if you don't deliver them here, right now, I am going to kill you." She placed significant emphasis on the last few words.
"Death threats over the phone," Debbie giggled. Scott and the other managers were back from London and everything was back to normal again.
Crystal took one look at Elyse, sighed, shook her head and disappeared into her office.
"Did It tell you where he was going?" Elyse asked.
"It? No." Debbie laughed and turned to face her computer. "Oh. He went to a meeting. He'll be back at two."
Marie stood sentinel at the end of the hall.
"Yes, Mother, I'm coming," and Elyse disappeared around the corner.
0909D
She walked down the long carpeted corridor into the office. Back from Thanksgiving vacation, at last. She thought Monday would never come.
"And if you don't send those packages up here to the forty-eighth floor, I am going to kill you," the office manager spoke the immortal words.
"Those packages have been in the mailroom for three weeks and if you don't deliver them here, right now, I am going to kill you." She placed significant emphasis on the last few words.
"Death threats over the phone," Debbie giggled. Scott and the other managers were back from London and everything was back to normal again.
Crystal took one look at Elyse, sighed, shook her head and disappeared into her office.
"Did It tell you where he was going?" Elyse asked.
"It? No." Debbie laughed and turned to face her computer. "Oh. He went to a meeting. He'll be back at two."
Marie stood sentinel at the end of the hall.
"Yes, Mother, I'm coming," and Elyse disappeared around the corner.
0909D
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
CORPORATE FRUSTRATION
She sighed. Lunch hour at last. She tapped the button on the word processor one last time, straightened some papers and left. Once in the long corridor, she clenched her fists in rage. Why? she thought. Why didn't he like her? How could they? How could he ignore her? And, with these thoughts in mind, she flung her wrists furiously to her sides, and she pointed her chin high into the air. She stomped down the hall in the atrociously high black heels and swung her head around to her left, to glimpse Scott through the copyroom, across the adjacent hallway, walking parallel to her. Embarrassed suddenly at her enraged stance, she tilted her head and started to smile. She raced toward the door at the end of the hall, knowing who she would meet in the lobby. She opened one door, as Scott opened the other and there, walking toward each other, at the elevator button, they met.
"Hi," they softly said to each other. All her anger left her.
He smiled down on her, his gaze softening to reflect the expression in her eyes, as if their true feelings for each other, shrouded in winter fog all these months, became defined and now the clouds gave way to a clear reflecting pool, if only for a few moments.
He pressed the elevator button, for her, for them.
"Oh, it's so busy," she breathed. She did not know what else to say.
"Well, at least you're not bored."
"Oh, I could use some boredome," she sighed as they stepped into the elevator.
"It has its advantages," he said matter-of-factly, in his soothing deep voice.
"I think we'll be moving out," she informed him.
"To another part of the country?"
"Nooo. A few blocks," she answered in surprise.
"Still the same roomates?"
"Yeah. Her sisters. It's crazy."
"Does that guy still call her?"
"Yeah, every night. Collect."
"Collect." He chuckled.
"We think he's killing off his friends. It's crazy." She repeated.
She was trembling but t wasn't the FBI or a psycho killer she was afraid of. It was Scott.
She stared up at him, her blue eyes round and huge.
"We're moving because we're scared. We don't know what he'll do." She looked way up at him, petite even in her three-inch heels. He studied her face, the blond bangs falling over her blue eyes. His own face was young, handsome in the flattering lights of the elevator.
They stepped out of the elevator onto the glossy brown marble floor of the vast lobby.
"We don't know if he'll kill her or he'll kill me. And it's a long fall from the fourteenth floor." She announced.
"Ye--Yeeeah," Scott shuddered.
"Well, see ya," and she left him standing there.
He stood and watched her as she passed through the revolving glass doors into the sunlit day.
DENISE HICKEY
ALL THAT GLITTERS ?
Doc. 0656D
"Hi," they softly said to each other. All her anger left her.
He smiled down on her, his gaze softening to reflect the expression in her eyes, as if their true feelings for each other, shrouded in winter fog all these months, became defined and now the clouds gave way to a clear reflecting pool, if only for a few moments.
He pressed the elevator button, for her, for them.
"Oh, it's so busy," she breathed. She did not know what else to say.
"Well, at least you're not bored."
"Oh, I could use some boredome," she sighed as they stepped into the elevator.
"It has its advantages," he said matter-of-factly, in his soothing deep voice.
"I think we'll be moving out," she informed him.
"To another part of the country?"
"Nooo. A few blocks," she answered in surprise.
"Still the same roomates?"
"Yeah. Her sisters. It's crazy."
"Does that guy still call her?"
"Yeah, every night. Collect."
"Collect." He chuckled.
"We think he's killing off his friends. It's crazy." She repeated.
She was trembling but t wasn't the FBI or a psycho killer she was afraid of. It was Scott.
She stared up at him, her blue eyes round and huge.
"We're moving because we're scared. We don't know what he'll do." She looked way up at him, petite even in her three-inch heels. He studied her face, the blond bangs falling over her blue eyes. His own face was young, handsome in the flattering lights of the elevator.
They stepped out of the elevator onto the glossy brown marble floor of the vast lobby.
"We don't know if he'll kill her or he'll kill me. And it's a long fall from the fourteenth floor." She announced.
"Ye--Yeeeah," Scott shuddered.
"Well, see ya," and she left him standing there.
He stood and watched her as she passed through the revolving glass doors into the sunlit day.
DENISE HICKEY
ALL THAT GLITTERS ?
Doc. 0656D
THE MORNING AFTER
The Morning After (...The Surf Club)
She lifted her head from her feather pillow and lowered its lead weight into the soft down. Her dry throat ached with an unquenchable thirst but she did not dare to get up and go quench it. Cautiously, she lifted her head up again and slowly dragged herself off the four-inch high slab of foam she had been using as a mattress since she came to New York. She bunched up her polyester blanket and slowly made the long journey to the living room couch.
Lethargically, she settled into the soft contours of the beige leather, letting her feet dangle over the arm of the sofabed. She close dher eyes.
When she opened them again, she glimpsed the blue sky through the tall curved windows of the penthouse living room. She watched as seagulls looped through the air, a jet plane rose into the clouds, satellites drifted past, debris was caught up in the wind high above the neighboring roof terrace, and still she watched as a little red heart-shaped balloon floated past, drifting along lackadaisically on its own current of wind.
0843D
2/88
ALEJANDRO: Pt VI
"Stop staring." Maxine scolded Debbie.
"Was I staring? I didn't realize it!" Debbie exclaimed in shock. She looked up at him again.
"He's good-looking. That is my type."
"He has unusual features. Foreign," Debbie admitted.
He leaned against the bar. He kept his back to the table, where the girls sat. His gaze reflected another place and time, than the nautical theme of the Surf Club, Debbie's favorite Upper East Side bar, where they now sat.
He leaned toward his friends, then threw his shoulders back in a Western type of swagger; not a formal stance. Debbie did not realize that her upswept hair and deep blue eyes combined to form a picture of innocent longing, which appealed to the stranger.
He leaned forward without meeting anyone's eyes and crunched his cigarette into the ash tray that lay inches away from Debbie's hand.
She lowered her eyes, made slightly uncomfortable with the proximity of his gesture.
DENISE HICKEY
# 0657D
Spring of 1988
The Upper East Side
"Was I staring? I didn't realize it!" Debbie exclaimed in shock. She looked up at him again.
"He's good-looking. That is my type."
"He has unusual features. Foreign," Debbie admitted.
He leaned against the bar. He kept his back to the table, where the girls sat. His gaze reflected another place and time, than the nautical theme of the Surf Club, Debbie's favorite Upper East Side bar, where they now sat.
He leaned toward his friends, then threw his shoulders back in a Western type of swagger; not a formal stance. Debbie did not realize that her upswept hair and deep blue eyes combined to form a picture of innocent longing, which appealed to the stranger.
He leaned forward without meeting anyone's eyes and crunched his cigarette into the ash tray that lay inches away from Debbie's hand.
She lowered her eyes, made slightly uncomfortable with the proximity of his gesture.
DENISE HICKEY
# 0657D
Spring of 1988
The Upper East Side
ALEJANDRO: Pt V
"That's him," she said. "Ali Handro."
"Where?"
"Right behind you. Near the bar where I'm looking, straight ahead," she said to Nicole.
"He's very good-looking," Nicole smiled knowingly.
"He's...unusual," Debbie paused pensively.
"Want me to tell him I know him?" Nicole winked.
"All right," Debbie agreed. Her eyes lit up in mischievous merriment.
"You don't remember me? Really? I was here last week." Nicole gasped in mock astonishment. "Really, you don't?"
Alejandro paused.
"Alejandro, right?"
"Yes. I cannot believe that I do not remember your face."
Nicole stifled a giggle as she widened her deep blue eyes in disbelief, her yellow hair gleaming.
"He's upset because he doesn't remember me!" Nicole howled with glee, tilting her blond head back and leaning against the bar.
"I wonder if he remembers me," Debbie thought aloud. She excused herself to go to the ladies' room.
She edged her way to the bar and thrust her wrist into the crowd, placing the stem of her champagne glass onto the shiny wood surface. Her wrist was caught in mid-flight.
"Do you want another of those?" It was Alejandro.
"Um," she looked at its watery red contents. She paused uncertainly, then looked into Alejandro's face.
"Yeah."
"I didn't know if you remembered me," she said.
"Oh, yes, now I remember. You were standing by the door. I was by the coat check. You were drinking. Oh! So much drinking. And you were very upset."
"You helped me so much!"
"Did you try it?"
"No, but it helped, what you said. I just needed to hear it."
"Such personal things you were telling me."
"You insisted on hearing it. You would have heard it no matter what."
Alejandro looked surprised at this revelation.
"I'm here with my roomate," she unwittingly revealed and pointed.
"Your roomate. I cannot believe that is your roomate."
"Your roomate," he said again. "What she like? She tells me she recognizes me."
"She's a very nice person. Very nice." And she looked over at her roomate, very glamourous indeed tonight with her fitted jacket and the oversize gold belt buckle that announced to the world, simply and elegantly, "Chanel."
"I think I would like to take her out. I want to apologize for not recalling our last meeting here."
"Sure. Maybe you should," Debbie prompted.
"I do not know if I should take her out or if I should ask you."
"It's up to you," Debbie supplied the answer flirtatiously.
"Ah, now I can see the Irish in you," Alejandro laughed softly, charmed by her smiling eyes, squinting with Irish merriment.
"Is it really?" she asked. Her eyes danced.
"Do you like him?" Nicole asked.
"There's something about him. His voice is so...soothing." But that was not what she meant to say. Seductive was the word.
"He's very good-looking. But I don't trust him. Be careful," Nicole warned wisely. But she smiled.
"Where?"
"Right behind you. Near the bar where I'm looking, straight ahead," she said to Nicole.
"He's very good-looking," Nicole smiled knowingly.
"He's...unusual," Debbie paused pensively.
"Want me to tell him I know him?" Nicole winked.
"All right," Debbie agreed. Her eyes lit up in mischievous merriment.
"You don't remember me? Really? I was here last week." Nicole gasped in mock astonishment. "Really, you don't?"
Alejandro paused.
"Alejandro, right?"
"Yes. I cannot believe that I do not remember your face."
Nicole stifled a giggle as she widened her deep blue eyes in disbelief, her yellow hair gleaming.
"He's upset because he doesn't remember me!" Nicole howled with glee, tilting her blond head back and leaning against the bar.
"I wonder if he remembers me," Debbie thought aloud. She excused herself to go to the ladies' room.
She edged her way to the bar and thrust her wrist into the crowd, placing the stem of her champagne glass onto the shiny wood surface. Her wrist was caught in mid-flight.
"Do you want another of those?" It was Alejandro.
"Um," she looked at its watery red contents. She paused uncertainly, then looked into Alejandro's face.
"Yeah."
"I didn't know if you remembered me," she said.
"Oh, yes, now I remember. You were standing by the door. I was by the coat check. You were drinking. Oh! So much drinking. And you were very upset."
"You helped me so much!"
"Did you try it?"
"No, but it helped, what you said. I just needed to hear it."
"Such personal things you were telling me."
"You insisted on hearing it. You would have heard it no matter what."
Alejandro looked surprised at this revelation.
"I'm here with my roomate," she unwittingly revealed and pointed.
"Your roomate. I cannot believe that is your roomate."
"Your roomate," he said again. "What she like? She tells me she recognizes me."
"She's a very nice person. Very nice." And she looked over at her roomate, very glamourous indeed tonight with her fitted jacket and the oversize gold belt buckle that announced to the world, simply and elegantly, "Chanel."
"I think I would like to take her out. I want to apologize for not recalling our last meeting here."
"Sure. Maybe you should," Debbie prompted.
"I do not know if I should take her out or if I should ask you."
"It's up to you," Debbie supplied the answer flirtatiously.
"Ah, now I can see the Irish in you," Alejandro laughed softly, charmed by her smiling eyes, squinting with Irish merriment.
"Is it really?" she asked. Her eyes danced.
"Do you like him?" Nicole asked.
"There's something about him. His voice is so...soothing." But that was not what she meant to say. Seductive was the word.
"He's very good-looking. But I don't trust him. Be careful," Nicole warned wisely. But she smiled.
ALEJANDRO: Pt III
"Tell him about what the boss has done so that he will know. Then you will be rid of your boss. She is manipulating both of you. Say, 'do you like me?' Do not let him know that you like him. Put him on the spot so that you will have him where you want him. It is very hard to do, but if he says no, you will sleep at night."
"You are speculating. When you were younger, you would pick the petals of a flower, he loves me, he loves me not...You rule with your heart and not your head." Ali Handro concluded.
DH/0698D
ALEJANDRO: Part IV
"I'm in love with you," Alejandro told Nicole. "There was someone before. He was very cold, selfish. But he was intelligent. Maybe you know who I mean. Perhaps there was no one. Such a person, if he does not get his way, can ruin someone's life, make the person miserable. There are some who must have complete control. That is not love. That is selfishness. It is hate."
He had phoned from his car outside Astoria Gardens. He had once worked for the CIA. He seemed to know things he could not have known.
"You are speculating. When you were younger, you would pick the petals of a flower, he loves me, he loves me not...You rule with your heart and not your head." Ali Handro concluded.
DH/0698D
ALEJANDRO: Part IV
"I'm in love with you," Alejandro told Nicole. "There was someone before. He was very cold, selfish. But he was intelligent. Maybe you know who I mean. Perhaps there was no one. Such a person, if he does not get his way, can ruin someone's life, make the person miserable. There are some who must have complete control. That is not love. That is selfishness. It is hate."
He had phoned from his car outside Astoria Gardens. He had once worked for the CIA. He seemed to know things he could not have known.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
ALEJANDRO: Part II
She clenched the half empty beer bottle in her hand and gripped the steel railing of the bar. She wanted to smash every champagne glass across the table and tear through the office, screaming: "That bitch set me up!"
Her face stiffened with suppressed rage. The more she studied the glasses, the more she wanted to break every single one of them and the more she thought about it, the more incensed she became. There were no people. And there was no music. There were only the millions of empty champagne glasses this night at the Surf Club, and the office where she would rip apart every letter, contract, agreement, proposal; knock them off the shelves and send them scattering at Elyse's feet.
That tiny gold purse she held - she wanted to fling it, full of glass bottles and jars, against the wall.
"You look very mad at something or someone." The voice was behind her.
"I am," she hissed.
"Well, tell me what it is and I will tell you what you should do."
"I don't wanna talk about it."
"Perhaps I will buy you a couple of drinks and you wil tell me about it."
The face was unusual, the eyes light, the nose pug, the lips full and curved as were the other features, with well-groomed hair brushed back from the face, not unlike the mane of the Cowardly Lion.
"Are you upset with a woman or a man?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know if it is a woman or a man? Then, there is a problem."
"No, I'm upset with both."
"Which one are you more upset with, the woman or the man?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know who you are more upset with?"
"Not him, not him. Her. She set us up. It's someone at work wh I really like and she knows..."
"Are you sure she knows that you like him? How does she know?"
"She sits right in front of me. Her desk is right here and mine's across from her." She gestured with her hands.
"She set you up with him?"
"No, she fixed him up with someone else because she knows I like him."
"Does he know you like him? Have you told him that you like him?"
"I think he does. No, I haven't told him."
"Ahh...here is what you must do. Tell him you like him. It is OK for a man to tell a woman, but a woman cannot tell a man! It should not be that way," he exclaimed with a grand gesture of his hand.
"Oh, I know!"
"Ask him out for a few drinks after work. Do not tell him in the office. Say, 'do you like me?'
She giggled. "Maybe I should."
Her face stiffened with suppressed rage. The more she studied the glasses, the more she wanted to break every single one of them and the more she thought about it, the more incensed she became. There were no people. And there was no music. There were only the millions of empty champagne glasses this night at the Surf Club, and the office where she would rip apart every letter, contract, agreement, proposal; knock them off the shelves and send them scattering at Elyse's feet.
That tiny gold purse she held - she wanted to fling it, full of glass bottles and jars, against the wall.
"You look very mad at something or someone." The voice was behind her.
"I am," she hissed.
"Well, tell me what it is and I will tell you what you should do."
"I don't wanna talk about it."
"Perhaps I will buy you a couple of drinks and you wil tell me about it."
The face was unusual, the eyes light, the nose pug, the lips full and curved as were the other features, with well-groomed hair brushed back from the face, not unlike the mane of the Cowardly Lion.
"Are you upset with a woman or a man?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know if it is a woman or a man? Then, there is a problem."
"No, I'm upset with both."
"Which one are you more upset with, the woman or the man?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know who you are more upset with?"
"Not him, not him. Her. She set us up. It's someone at work wh I really like and she knows..."
"Are you sure she knows that you like him? How does she know?"
"She sits right in front of me. Her desk is right here and mine's across from her." She gestured with her hands.
"She set you up with him?"
"No, she fixed him up with someone else because she knows I like him."
"Does he know you like him? Have you told him that you like him?"
"I think he does. No, I haven't told him."
"Ahh...here is what you must do. Tell him you like him. It is OK for a man to tell a woman, but a woman cannot tell a man! It should not be that way," he exclaimed with a grand gesture of his hand.
"Oh, I know!"
"Ask him out for a few drinks after work. Do not tell him in the office. Say, 'do you like me?'
She giggled. "Maybe I should."
ALEJANDRO: Part I
("You rule with your heart and not your head.")
She sank slowly into the fragrant foam of her nightly bath and heard the soft crunch in her ears as her hair touched the cushion the bubbles formed. The foam rose as she sank, lower and lower, bubbles rising all around her. And still, the water streamed from the faucet, the bath threatening to overflow at any minute.
She turned the faucet hotter. A bath had to first burn in order to finally soothe. How she needed this bath and yet, the anger she felt was not quelled. Numb with rage, she succumbed to her inertia. The hot stinging bath was no match for her burning anger. Paralysis overtook her, sent her reeling down deeper until she was completely immersed in rage, as her body, in the hot water. She sank deeper, so deeply, until she could not see straight at all.
She stood from her bath, unable to breathe. She grabbed the plug from the water and before the tub could completely drain, she turned on cold water from the shower and gasped.
Stepping out of the ankle deep murky water onto a warm dry towel, she opened her eyes; still steaming from the cruel blow dealt her at work.
She was going out tonight.
RESERVED
She sat at the table marked "RESERVED." The exclusive sign should have been pinned to her chest, over the fitted elegant black dress she wore. She looked around the bar. Nicole sat with "H". Maxine walked over, smiling, dressed casually in black jeans and a brown pullover sweater. She held the hand of her new friend. Olivia stood before her. She leaned against the railing that roped the reserved tables with umbrellas, separating the arena from the bar. She gazed earnestly into her lover's eyes. He was just a stranger at the Surf Club a week ago. Her dark eyes sparkled intensely. Her reddish brown hair shone richly, had been brushed seductively back from her face. She was beautiful.
0843D
0843D
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
THE BUSINESS LUNCH
"Are you dating anyone in the office?" her boss asked.
"No," she said, lowering her eyes. "No." The mushroom burgers arrived, adorned with lettuce and tomatoes on a platter of french fries.
"I, um, I never thought I would want to get involved with anyone at work. But there are some really nice people in the office," Debbie continued.
"Yes, and women are bosses and men are managers and we all work on the same floor. The vice president is only 34 years old."
"Oh, I know. I couldn't believe that. In all the other departments, the women are the secretaries and all the men are their bosses."
"That's part of the reason why I feel our department is so successful."
"I'm really happy with the people in our department. I mean, they're not all really great, all of the time, but..."
"At this, Crystal rolled her eyes questionably.
"My sister used to get involved with people at work all the time. It worked out well for her," Debbie went on to say.
"Oh, she did? My sister dated someone in her company for five years before anyone found out. When they finally decided to go public, she left the company."
"But you don't think it wouldn't be hard to keep it under wraps, do you? You don't really think everyone wouldn't know?" Debbie disarmingly confronted her boss. She innocently took on the role of teacher lecturing student, mother warning daughter.
"My sister wasn't on the same floor. When you both work on the same floor, it can be very difficult. I'm dating someone in the office and I'm very defensive about it."
Debbie looked up from her hamburger. She put it down. She couldn't finish it. She looked at her boss, her wide eyes huge with despair, her small lips drawn down in a sad pout. The coveted German chocolate cake with chocolate icing, whipped cream and sliced almonds. She couldn't eat it.
"Who?" she wanted to say.
But she wouldn 't dare. She could not bear to hear his name. It wasn't Rob. They went out to lunch every day but calls from Jen were growing more frequent.
All last week, they were asking for each other. Would you please transfer me to Scott? Would you please transfer me to Scott or his secretary? No, that's OK, I'll call him later. Scott, standing just a little too close to Crystal in the hall. She had forgotten about that.
"Is it April already? You were hired in November? That means you've been here for almost six months."
"Yes, that sure went by fast."
"You will be up for review and seeing that I'm your manager, I will be doing your review next month. A telemarketer gets not only straight salary, but commission as well. I would like to see you in that position."
"I did telemarketing for the Hartford Courant. Well, it was just taking incoming calls. I really liked the contact over the phone."
"Do you know what we do?"
"Well, I know that we publish newsletters and that we have two electronic services that come over a screen. I guess I need to learn more about it," Debbie admitted.
"Are you easily distracted?" Crystal asked quietly.
"Yes," she admitted.
"What do you think your strong points are?"
"Oh. Getting along with people. And writing. Definitely writing. I can get along with ALL kinds of people."
"I'm going to do your review next month. But I feel there are a lot of rough edges. I would like to see you become much more aggressive."
"That's what my father always told me," Debbie said thoughtfully.
"So, do your parents think of you as a New Yorker now?"
"Oh, yeah. I joke around with them about running from the muggers," she laughed.
"What part of Connecticut are you from?"
"New London. It's really nice out there."
"Don't you begin to relax at a certain point after you leave the city?"
"Oh, yes. It's so relaxing at home. I can't ever relax at work."
"I never relax at work. It's OK, you can eat while I talk. You need to be much more calm abuot everything. Once I cross the New Jersey bridge, I relax completely. My shoulders start to loosen up. It's a completely different world. As soon as I get home, I put on my sweatpants."
You wear sweatpants? Debbie wanted to say. "Back home, the people are so different. They may be more sophisticated here, but there are so many phonies." She stared at the glass walls of the upscale New York cafe in the white marble lobby of the concourse. "The guys in the bars." (Crystal smiled at this.) "I've never met so many phonies in my life."
"But don't you think that's a part of getting older? I have a small circle of friends and I let very few people in." She suddenly looked like a little girl, vulnerable and round-eyed. Her lovely blue eyes were fringed by dark curling lashes; smoky blue shadow stroked deftly on her lids. Her ash blond hair fell in layers, framing her pretty face, the dark roots all but hidden, flattering none-the-less to the high cheekbones, pale skin and perfect lips usually pursed in the business-like manner which so suited her boss.
Now her lips parted in unguarded surprise. She hunched in her chair for the first time in her life, thought Debbie. She watched in surprise, her worldly boss, stare back at her in girlish apprehension.
It was as if she were part of a mirror reflecting Debbie herself as she now sat opposite her.
"That's good," Debbie said slowly.
"No," she said, lowering her eyes. "No." The mushroom burgers arrived, adorned with lettuce and tomatoes on a platter of french fries.
"I, um, I never thought I would want to get involved with anyone at work. But there are some really nice people in the office," Debbie continued.
"Yes, and women are bosses and men are managers and we all work on the same floor. The vice president is only 34 years old."
"Oh, I know. I couldn't believe that. In all the other departments, the women are the secretaries and all the men are their bosses."
"That's part of the reason why I feel our department is so successful."
"I'm really happy with the people in our department. I mean, they're not all really great, all of the time, but..."
"At this, Crystal rolled her eyes questionably.
"My sister used to get involved with people at work all the time. It worked out well for her," Debbie went on to say.
"Oh, she did? My sister dated someone in her company for five years before anyone found out. When they finally decided to go public, she left the company."
"But you don't think it wouldn't be hard to keep it under wraps, do you? You don't really think everyone wouldn't know?" Debbie disarmingly confronted her boss. She innocently took on the role of teacher lecturing student, mother warning daughter.
"My sister wasn't on the same floor. When you both work on the same floor, it can be very difficult. I'm dating someone in the office and I'm very defensive about it."
Debbie looked up from her hamburger. She put it down. She couldn't finish it. She looked at her boss, her wide eyes huge with despair, her small lips drawn down in a sad pout. The coveted German chocolate cake with chocolate icing, whipped cream and sliced almonds. She couldn't eat it.
"Who?" she wanted to say.
But she wouldn 't dare. She could not bear to hear his name. It wasn't Rob. They went out to lunch every day but calls from Jen were growing more frequent.
All last week, they were asking for each other. Would you please transfer me to Scott? Would you please transfer me to Scott or his secretary? No, that's OK, I'll call him later. Scott, standing just a little too close to Crystal in the hall. She had forgotten about that.
"Is it April already? You were hired in November? That means you've been here for almost six months."
"Yes, that sure went by fast."
"You will be up for review and seeing that I'm your manager, I will be doing your review next month. A telemarketer gets not only straight salary, but commission as well. I would like to see you in that position."
"I did telemarketing for the Hartford Courant. Well, it was just taking incoming calls. I really liked the contact over the phone."
"Do you know what we do?"
"Well, I know that we publish newsletters and that we have two electronic services that come over a screen. I guess I need to learn more about it," Debbie admitted.
"Are you easily distracted?" Crystal asked quietly.
"Yes," she admitted.
"What do you think your strong points are?"
"Oh. Getting along with people. And writing. Definitely writing. I can get along with ALL kinds of people."
"I'm going to do your review next month. But I feel there are a lot of rough edges. I would like to see you become much more aggressive."
"That's what my father always told me," Debbie said thoughtfully.
"So, do your parents think of you as a New Yorker now?"
"Oh, yeah. I joke around with them about running from the muggers," she laughed.
"What part of Connecticut are you from?"
"New London. It's really nice out there."
"Don't you begin to relax at a certain point after you leave the city?"
"Oh, yes. It's so relaxing at home. I can't ever relax at work."
"I never relax at work. It's OK, you can eat while I talk. You need to be much more calm abuot everything. Once I cross the New Jersey bridge, I relax completely. My shoulders start to loosen up. It's a completely different world. As soon as I get home, I put on my sweatpants."
You wear sweatpants? Debbie wanted to say. "Back home, the people are so different. They may be more sophisticated here, but there are so many phonies." She stared at the glass walls of the upscale New York cafe in the white marble lobby of the concourse. "The guys in the bars." (Crystal smiled at this.) "I've never met so many phonies in my life."
"But don't you think that's a part of getting older? I have a small circle of friends and I let very few people in." She suddenly looked like a little girl, vulnerable and round-eyed. Her lovely blue eyes were fringed by dark curling lashes; smoky blue shadow stroked deftly on her lids. Her ash blond hair fell in layers, framing her pretty face, the dark roots all but hidden, flattering none-the-less to the high cheekbones, pale skin and perfect lips usually pursed in the business-like manner which so suited her boss.
Now her lips parted in unguarded surprise. She hunched in her chair for the first time in her life, thought Debbie. She watched in surprise, her worldly boss, stare back at her in girlish apprehension.
It was as if she were part of a mirror reflecting Debbie herself as she now sat opposite her.
"That's good," Debbie said slowly.
Monday, June 21, 2010
ENTER HEARTBREAK
She leaned over her desk. She stood over a pile of forms, letters, requests, and mail. A young man carrying a briefcase was coming down the hall. She looked up at him, then she looked down at her desk. He looked too young to be carrying the leather briefcase, which only served to draw more attention to his youth and inexperience. He was just out of college. He had a vulnerable look on his innocent face that told her this was his first job. Shoot, she knew he would go for her instantly.
"Can I help you with something?" she leaned forward.
"I'm Mike, this is my sister Cindy, and I'm supposed to have an interview this afternoon," he spoke very fast and repeatedly pointed at something on her desk as he spoke.
"Actually, I'm new myself and I do not know what is going on," Debbie consoled him.
"That's OK. I'll come back later. No, don't worry about it." And he and his sister were gone.
"Debbie, I need you to do a reference check on the new salesperson. And I also need you to straighten his office, make sure his desk has a new blotter. See to it that there is a fresh supply of pens, a desk calendar, pencil holder. If you would." Crystal added politely.
"OK, I'll make sure," Debbie nodded. She stood up immediately and went into the empty new office.
"Debbie?" Crystal called.
"Yes?"
"I'll need the reference report completed as soon as possible. I'll need it typed by this afternoon."
"OK, I'll do it."
"Oh, he is the best kid," the new salesperson's mother said over the phone. "He has the right approach for each person. Especially in a difficult situation, he knows how to react, what to do or say to win the person over. Will YOU be working with him?"
"Well, yes, but I don't know if I'll be working with him directly," Debbie answered Mike's mother cheerfully. She tried to sound as professional and objective as possible. She did not have much time and so much else was due right now...There was a contradiction in the information on his resume and in the telephone conversation. His mother claimed he worked in the family business for only three months and he claimed five. Might as well help him out, Debbie thought. He's young and just starting out, and it's only a couple of months difference. She verified his answers.
"His Dad's company!" The VP laughed from his corner office as he read the reference check Debbie had researched, written and typed.
This kid is smart! She smiled as she read his confident cover letter and illustration. Two tennis rackets were pictured. "The ***** Advantage," the title stated. An innovative, persuasive summary followed below. She was amused and impressed.
Mike sat at his new desk. Debbie stood in the doorway.
"Debbie, Mike," Rob said.
Mike eagerly stood to shake her hand. He had the look of a small boy who is eyeing ice cream.
"It's nice to meet you! I didn't get the chance to introduce myself, I've been so busy!" Debbie said.
He smiled.
"Yeah, well, I was upstairs. They took me to breakfast," he said.
"What? I've never had breakfast on the fiftieth floor!" she said.
"Don't you hate that? A new kid comes in.."
"Corporate jealousy," she smiled.
He burst into loud laughter.
"Isn't this your official start date, too?" Rob asked.
"Yes, it is. I feel like I've been here all my life," Debbie said with familiarity.
Mike opened a milk carton. "I'm a Milk Man myself," he said.
"I am, too," Debbie smiled. He had such a good personality.
He smiled at her all day long. He buzzed by her desk, he grabbed the copy key, and made it zoom through the air to her directly.
"Can I grab your copy key?" he asked.
He smiled, he flirted, he teased. She could not help but smile back.
This guy is out to break my heart, she thought.
But she could not help but smile back.
"Can I help you with something?" she leaned forward.
"I'm Mike, this is my sister Cindy, and I'm supposed to have an interview this afternoon," he spoke very fast and repeatedly pointed at something on her desk as he spoke.
"Actually, I'm new myself and I do not know what is going on," Debbie consoled him.
"That's OK. I'll come back later. No, don't worry about it." And he and his sister were gone.
"Debbie, I need you to do a reference check on the new salesperson. And I also need you to straighten his office, make sure his desk has a new blotter. See to it that there is a fresh supply of pens, a desk calendar, pencil holder. If you would." Crystal added politely.
"OK, I'll make sure," Debbie nodded. She stood up immediately and went into the empty new office.
"Debbie?" Crystal called.
"Yes?"
"I'll need the reference report completed as soon as possible. I'll need it typed by this afternoon."
"OK, I'll do it."
"Oh, he is the best kid," the new salesperson's mother said over the phone. "He has the right approach for each person. Especially in a difficult situation, he knows how to react, what to do or say to win the person over. Will YOU be working with him?"
"Well, yes, but I don't know if I'll be working with him directly," Debbie answered Mike's mother cheerfully. She tried to sound as professional and objective as possible. She did not have much time and so much else was due right now...There was a contradiction in the information on his resume and in the telephone conversation. His mother claimed he worked in the family business for only three months and he claimed five. Might as well help him out, Debbie thought. He's young and just starting out, and it's only a couple of months difference. She verified his answers.
"His Dad's company!" The VP laughed from his corner office as he read the reference check Debbie had researched, written and typed.
This kid is smart! She smiled as she read his confident cover letter and illustration. Two tennis rackets were pictured. "The ***** Advantage," the title stated. An innovative, persuasive summary followed below. She was amused and impressed.
Mike sat at his new desk. Debbie stood in the doorway.
"Debbie, Mike," Rob said.
Mike eagerly stood to shake her hand. He had the look of a small boy who is eyeing ice cream.
"It's nice to meet you! I didn't get the chance to introduce myself, I've been so busy!" Debbie said.
He smiled.
"Yeah, well, I was upstairs. They took me to breakfast," he said.
"What? I've never had breakfast on the fiftieth floor!" she said.
"Don't you hate that? A new kid comes in.."
"Corporate jealousy," she smiled.
He burst into loud laughter.
"Isn't this your official start date, too?" Rob asked.
"Yes, it is. I feel like I've been here all my life," Debbie said with familiarity.
Mike opened a milk carton. "I'm a Milk Man myself," he said.
"I am, too," Debbie smiled. He had such a good personality.
He smiled at her all day long. He buzzed by her desk, he grabbed the copy key, and made it zoom through the air to her directly.
"Can I grab your copy key?" he asked.
He smiled, he flirted, he teased. She could not help but smile back.
This guy is out to break my heart, she thought.
But she could not help but smile back.
HER FIRST JOB
Her first job in New York City took her to the forty-eighth floor of a modern mid-town highrise. Content, she settled behind her clean, new desk for a quiet afternoon of typing cover letters to send, slong with her resume, to other companies. Nervously, she glanced up to be sure no one was rounding the corner. She took a deep breath and began to relax. Her very own desk, neat and modern with ample draws in which to hide her portfolios and resumes, as well as purse, sneakers, sugar packets, coffee stirrers, straws and make-up. Plenty of supplies, too. She took a personal inventory: white-out (high on the priority list), stapler, pens, yellow markers, sophisticated letterhead stationery and envelopes. What more could one want? Oh, yes and a touchtone telephone to dial anywhere in the country, anywhere in the world, on the mega-corporation's necessary Watt's line. She assumed they had one. Ring! The touchtone telephone burst into her thoughts.
"Debbie?"
"Yes?"
"Could you come over to my desk? I have something for you to do."
"See all these control documents? Look up the company names in the file cabinet. When you're finished, I have some filing for you to do," Elyse said.
She reluctantly lugged the stack of hanging file folders back to her desk. She sighed as she surveyed the snot green "pendaflex" folders. Ring!
"Debbie, can you come back over to my desk?" Translation into Corporate Communication: "You will come over to my desk, won't you? Do you like your job? Do you want to keep your job?" Debbie stifled a giggle.
"Hi, I'm Amanda. I have another stack for you. I'd be glad to bring it over to your desk."
At that precise moment, she is stopped cold in the wake of hanging green file folders, control documents and unfamiliar overseas addresses. Unaware of it, she is staring at a very young, very cute corporate co-worker. She has never seen someone this, well, young, she guesses it is, in all her travels from the first floor personnel office to the sixtieth floor executive suite and what were you saying, Amanda?
Two fellow executives take note of her corporate navy blue skirt and white blouse and exchange glances. But she doesn't notice. Corporate life as she knows it fades from view as she tilts her head ever so slightly to one side. She raises her widened blue eys toward her new corporate counterpart.
"Hi, I'm Scott McFadden," he smiles, tossing his sandy locks from his eyes and extending his hand. There is an important sound to his voice, she realizes subconsciously.
"Ohhh." she says slowly. "I'm Debbie. It's nice to meet you!" She continues in polite amazement, giving him a small smile.
"Oh, I didn't realize," Amanda laughs nervously, excusing herself for not making the introduction.
But Debbie and this new person are oblivious to any glances or comments made by anyone around them, at this moment, as their hands fall slowly back to their sides.
"Debbie?"
"Yes?"
"Could you come over to my desk? I have something for you to do."
"See all these control documents? Look up the company names in the file cabinet. When you're finished, I have some filing for you to do," Elyse said.
She reluctantly lugged the stack of hanging file folders back to her desk. She sighed as she surveyed the snot green "pendaflex" folders. Ring!
"Debbie, can you come back over to my desk?" Translation into Corporate Communication: "You will come over to my desk, won't you? Do you like your job? Do you want to keep your job?" Debbie stifled a giggle.
"Hi, I'm Amanda. I have another stack for you. I'd be glad to bring it over to your desk."
At that precise moment, she is stopped cold in the wake of hanging green file folders, control documents and unfamiliar overseas addresses. Unaware of it, she is staring at a very young, very cute corporate co-worker. She has never seen someone this, well, young, she guesses it is, in all her travels from the first floor personnel office to the sixtieth floor executive suite and what were you saying, Amanda?
Two fellow executives take note of her corporate navy blue skirt and white blouse and exchange glances. But she doesn't notice. Corporate life as she knows it fades from view as she tilts her head ever so slightly to one side. She raises her widened blue eys toward her new corporate counterpart.
"Hi, I'm Scott McFadden," he smiles, tossing his sandy locks from his eyes and extending his hand. There is an important sound to his voice, she realizes subconsciously.
"Ohhh." she says slowly. "I'm Debbie. It's nice to meet you!" She continues in polite amazement, giving him a small smile.
"Oh, I didn't realize," Amanda laughs nervously, excusing herself for not making the introduction.
But Debbie and this new person are oblivious to any glances or comments made by anyone around them, at this moment, as their hands fall slowly back to their sides.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
THE JOB INTERVIEW
THE JOB INTERVIEW "We are looking for a person who is not afraid of a challenge," the rather matronly woman was saying in a tone that echoed so closely the millions of want ads that suggested only qualified applicants need apply. "We have seven editors who need a mother. Our phones ring off the hook. And we don't want some bubblehead sitting there answering our phones," Elyse said.
"Oh, you mean, I would have to be like, their right arm or something?" Debbie asked politely.
"Yes, exactly. You will be responsible for their mail. One might like it brought to his desk. Another may come and pick it up himself. You will be responsible for training these editors. Where you put their mail is up to you."
"You mean, I will just automatically know? If I were the person you choose to hire, I mean?"
"Yes. You may decide to put their mail here." The woman plunked a large hand on the desk. "Unless you want to hand deliver it to all seven editors." She shrugged.
"Oh, you mean, I would have to be like, their right arm or something?" Debbie asked politely.
"Yes, exactly. You will be responsible for their mail. One might like it brought to his desk. Another may come and pick it up himself. You will be responsible for training these editors. Where you put their mail is up to you."
"You mean, I will just automatically know? If I were the person you choose to hire, I mean?"
"Yes. You may decide to put their mail here." The woman plunked a large hand on the desk. "Unless you want to hand deliver it to all seven editors." She shrugged.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER TWO Juan waited nervously for the elevator. That could be a problem, knowing the time it took for one of these elevators to reach the penthouse floor. Why did Nicole have to be so stupid, insisting on the best apartment in the building? She was spoiled. He would see what could be done about that. The soft bell finally signalled the arrival of an elevator. Fresh chlorine from the health club pool permeated the lobby. He strode impatiently across the peach marble floor, past the concierge at the front desk, past the black and white sign that stood on a silver post. "All guests must be announced," he read, as one of the 24-hour doormen held open the door.
The penthouse had been her idea. It was located in a prominent neighborhood uptown, it had a view of Central Park, and being the top corner unit, it was the best apartment in the building. And why not? Nothing but the best. It had been difficult to get the two bedroom suite with a view of the George Washington Bridge. She had to prove a yearly income of $100,000. Not exactly an easy task when one did not work for a living. But it hadn't proved that difficult. She had her mother co-sign the lease and against all Juan's objections, she had secured the most sought after luxury apartment in Manhattan with the best view the Upper East Side had ever seen.
The mirrors were his idea. Juan's forte lay in creating illusions. True, they cosst $3000, not including delivery and installation, but they added so much to the wrap-around living room, making it appear larger, the expanse of view - towers, buildings, park and sky - doubled.
It gave her inspiration, it gave her peace of mind, but it did not bring her friends. Who cared? She loved being alone, anyway. She already had one enemy, the doctor across the hall. "What do you do?" he inquired of his new neighbor. "Nothing," she said.
The penthouse had been her idea. It was located in a prominent neighborhood uptown, it had a view of Central Park, and being the top corner unit, it was the best apartment in the building. And why not? Nothing but the best. It had been difficult to get the two bedroom suite with a view of the George Washington Bridge. She had to prove a yearly income of $100,000. Not exactly an easy task when one did not work for a living. But it hadn't proved that difficult. She had her mother co-sign the lease and against all Juan's objections, she had secured the most sought after luxury apartment in Manhattan with the best view the Upper East Side had ever seen.
The mirrors were his idea. Juan's forte lay in creating illusions. True, they cosst $3000, not including delivery and installation, but they added so much to the wrap-around living room, making it appear larger, the expanse of view - towers, buildings, park and sky - doubled.
It gave her inspiration, it gave her peace of mind, but it did not bring her friends. Who cared? She loved being alone, anyway. She already had one enemy, the doctor across the hall. "What do you do?" he inquired of his new neighbor. "Nothing," she said.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
CH. ONE, Page Three
CH. ONE, Page Three
After turning their key into the third lock, they left their future home. The apartment itself was actually quite cute with polished hardwood floors and white walls, an oasis in the midst of chaos. Hanging plants and a variety of cacti thrived in the sunlight, which made its way through the black wrought iron bars into the tall narrow windows. Black shredded wallpaper framed the windowsill where white paint could not reach.
Debbie gazed out the back window where three walls of the building met to form an inner courtyard. Except there was no courtyard but a very steep drop which pulled her gaze further and further downward until it ended in a deep triangular space. She looked across the non-existent courtyard to the other two walls which joined this apartment to form the triangle.
Gaping windows faced the triangle on every side. Across the space, she could see curtained windows where a couple of other apartments had been salvaged, not unlike two stars twinkling on the blackest of black nights. {3 March 1962, 2:46pm. Leo rising, sun in Pisces, moon in Aquarius.} {sic}
After turning their key into the third lock, they left their future home. The apartment itself was actually quite cute with polished hardwood floors and white walls, an oasis in the midst of chaos. Hanging plants and a variety of cacti thrived in the sunlight, which made its way through the black wrought iron bars into the tall narrow windows. Black shredded wallpaper framed the windowsill where white paint could not reach.
Debbie gazed out the back window where three walls of the building met to form an inner courtyard. Except there was no courtyard but a very steep drop which pulled her gaze further and further downward until it ended in a deep triangular space. She looked across the non-existent courtyard to the other two walls which joined this apartment to form the triangle.
Gaping windows faced the triangle on every side. Across the space, she could see curtained windows where a couple of other apartments had been salvaged, not unlike two stars twinkling on the blackest of black nights. {3 March 1962, 2:46pm. Leo rising, sun in Pisces, moon in Aquarius.} {sic}
CH. ONE, Page Two
PAGE TWO
Debbie leaned against the door, shutting out the noises of the city. They found themselves locked into a world of cool, musty silence. A round mirror hung on the opposite wall, against a backdrop of peeling, yellowed wallpaper. There they stood reflected in the midst of charred ruin. The ornate high ceiling of a once exquisite lobby was blackened so that remnants of the design barely remained. A florescent light hung lopsided, suspended from a frayed cord which snaked its way into the cracked ceiling. In the dark recesses of the vacant lobby lay several locked doors.
A defunct elevator shaft stood to their left. Debbie felt compelled to press the button, but the somber brown door would never budge again. She studied the list of names accompanying buzzers which no longer rang.
"You have to call from the payphone across the street," Lori had explained.
Cautiously, they climbed the dusty stairwells, past a doorway showcasing the ashes of a former apartment, past boarded up windows, the nails pried loose. The few wood beams that remained propped up what ceiling there was left. The very clothes remained unscathed by fire in the closets of former occupants. They passed sturdy doors, securely locked.
On the third landing, a lamp was plugged in, its extension cord dangling precariously across the stairs and winding beyond the next corner into darkness.
Through the silent musty hallways they climbed, not knowing what lay beyond each landing, each step, looking behind them as they rounded each corner; with what little courage they had left, daring to look ahead; spiraling to the sixth floor.
Debbie took a deep breath. Her legs ached.
"Whatta you think?" Lori turned to Debbie.
Debbie leaned against the door, shutting out the noises of the city. They found themselves locked into a world of cool, musty silence. A round mirror hung on the opposite wall, against a backdrop of peeling, yellowed wallpaper. There they stood reflected in the midst of charred ruin. The ornate high ceiling of a once exquisite lobby was blackened so that remnants of the design barely remained. A florescent light hung lopsided, suspended from a frayed cord which snaked its way into the cracked ceiling. In the dark recesses of the vacant lobby lay several locked doors.
A defunct elevator shaft stood to their left. Debbie felt compelled to press the button, but the somber brown door would never budge again. She studied the list of names accompanying buzzers which no longer rang.
"You have to call from the payphone across the street," Lori had explained.
Cautiously, they climbed the dusty stairwells, past a doorway showcasing the ashes of a former apartment, past boarded up windows, the nails pried loose. The few wood beams that remained propped up what ceiling there was left. The very clothes remained unscathed by fire in the closets of former occupants. They passed sturdy doors, securely locked.
On the third landing, a lamp was plugged in, its extension cord dangling precariously across the stairs and winding beyond the next corner into darkness.
Through the silent musty hallways they climbed, not knowing what lay beyond each landing, each step, looking behind them as they rounded each corner; with what little courage they had left, daring to look ahead; spiraling to the sixth floor.
Debbie took a deep breath. Her legs ached.
"Whatta you think?" Lori turned to Debbie.
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER ONE
It was on a blustery day in late April when she found it. Located in an up-and-coming neighborhood with new highrise apartments going up almost daily, it joined countless other tower suites in becoming new members of the most elite club of all, the Manhattan Skyline.
Juan was paranoid, as usual. Of course, it was the end of the line, as far as one could go before entering No-Man's Land. One could see Spanish Harlem itself from the tall windows which wrapped around the living room of their plush corner penthouse. His binoculars followed the curve of the windowsill, back across the treetops of Central Park, beyond the Upper West Side to the Palisades and finally left, to glimpse the highlights of midtown, high above the bustle and the crowd, an escape from commotion.
He supposed it would be inaccessible enough to suit his purposes. And he could always slip the doorman a fifty to deter uninvited guests.
Across town, not far away, Lori LaCosta and Debbie O'Donnell stood surveying the burnt exterior of the pre-war building that was to be their new home for the next three months. Boarded up windows overlooked charred marble balconies. Some windows lay empty, with nothing but soot to show for a more romantic era. To say that the locale hardly met their expectations of a post-college apartment would be pushing it. The chance to live rent-free until they found a job and a permanent home, here in the Big Apple!
"Just three months," Lori's sister had said. "Three months you can apartment-sit for me when I go on sabbatical. After that, I'll be back with Jim and you've got to be out."
Lori had informed Debbie of the tragic fire which had ripped through the building nearly a year ago. A coke dealer downstairs had gotten into trouble. Now his troubles were over forever, with one strike of a match. All the other tenants had escaped the pyromaniac's wrath, but their apartments had not. Only a handful had been salvaged. Nicki had come home from art class to see her security building in flames. She and her boyfriend Jim had worked hard to salvage the sixth floor studio that drained both of their savings month after month, their home. Now they could live here for free.
Crouching among the ashes in the basement of 606 Avenue A, the junkie peered through the hanging slats as the slender pair of legs, dainty in red patent leather pumps, walked by, followed by another pair of more shapely legs, padding past in small gold penny loafers. The two girls approached the cracked stone slab steps and opened the glass door upon which an urgent sign was posted: "PLEASE CLOSE DOOR TIGHTLY BEHIND YOU!"
OVERVIEW
OVERVIEW
Denise Hickey
Instructor: Mary Bringle
"So: You Want to Write a Novel?"
He was Vice President of the most innovative company to ever rise out of the Corporate Jungle of New York. She was a young, attractive woman whose all consuming desire for power and money knew no boundaries. Devastatingly attractive, with a violent energy that he could barely control, he was willing to sacrifice anything in his quest. A bright young man from an Ivy League College, his ambitions far exceeded anyone's expectations. Fresh out of college in a small farm town, she arrived on the scene. All she wanted was to meet and marry the man of her dreams. A world of young, attractive men and women with a greed for success, this is like taking a fast ride, in a fast car, through the corporate jungle that is New York.
0982D
Denise Hickey
Instructor: Mary Bringle
"So: You Want to Write a Novel?"
He was Vice President of the most innovative company to ever rise out of the Corporate Jungle of New York. She was a young, attractive woman whose all consuming desire for power and money knew no boundaries. Devastatingly attractive, with a violent energy that he could barely control, he was willing to sacrifice anything in his quest. A bright young man from an Ivy League College, his ambitions far exceeded anyone's expectations. Fresh out of college in a small farm town, she arrived on the scene. All she wanted was to meet and marry the man of her dreams. A world of young, attractive men and women with a greed for success, this is like taking a fast ride, in a fast car, through the corporate jungle that is New York.
0982D
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
INTRO
INTRO
Dangerously beautiful, she had the looks any cover girl would die for. She pursued great wealth across the globe, through a winding tunnel of the hottest nightclubs and the most elite dates on teh New York social scene, never dreaming she would become ensnared in the biggest scandal to ever hit the country.
Young and fresh out of college from a small farm town, she arrived in New York. All she wanted was to meet and marry the man of her dreams. But she had a talent that couldn't be ignored.
MORE TOMORROW! Take care, readers! See you at the beeeeeaaach! (Lynne? Coming? You have parking! :)
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