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.
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