Thanx, everyone for reading my novel about my life in NYC in the late 1980s. It has been a dream of mine to write and publish my first (and perhaps only) novel since I left New York in October 1990. Thanx to the miracle of modern technology and self-publishing, I feel happy and proud to present it to you here on this platform. ("Stand clear of the closing doors. Step away from the platforn.")
I love you all and Happy New Year!
Denise...Denise Dances...2011 -- 21 years later!
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Denise Dances!
Denise...Denise Dances...2011 -- 21 Years Later!!!...* * * :)
Denise...Auntie Denise...Anti Denise???...* * * :)
I stood up. I've stood up for everything. I befriended and defended a widow. I stood up to the negligence of the public healthcare system. I did a favor for a friend in need at PHC. I stood up to the Wealthy and Corrupt. I'm taking a stand for Adults dx'd with Disabilities to live normal lives with healthy relationships outside of their apartment building with privacy, respect and SAFETY in a federally funded program. But the hardest thing to do...is to stand up to your own family.
Denise...Auntie Denise...Anti Denise???...* * * :)
I stood up. I've stood up for everything. I befriended and defended a widow. I stood up to the negligence of the public healthcare system. I did a favor for a friend in need at PHC. I stood up to the Wealthy and Corrupt. I'm taking a stand for Adults dx'd with Disabilities to live normal lives with healthy relationships outside of their apartment building with privacy, respect and SAFETY in a federally funded program. But the hardest thing to do...is to stand up to your own family.
EPILOGUE II
EPILOGUE II: WHERE I LIVED IN NYC
(1) TIMES SQUARE: 308 West 51st Street, 3rd Floor. Between Eighth and Ninth Avenues.
(2) EAST VILLAGE: Summer 1987.
200 East Ninth Street, 2nd Floor.
& First Avenue (about one block away from Alphabet City and Tompkins Square Park)
Note: I combined these first two settings into the fire-damaged prewar apartment building (1) and located it in the East Village (2), which was actually an "art deco" studio apartment above a 24-hour grocery store.
(3) UPPER EAST SIDE: Fall 1987- May 1988; 9 months.
200 East 94th Street, 14th Floor (but actually the 13th!) just below the penthouse rooftop patio and garden.
Third Avenue.
(4) WEST VILLAGE: Summer 1988.
400 Mercer Street; across from New York University; modern dance studio)
(5) ROCKAWAY BEACH (Far Rockaway): Fall 1988.
Belle Harbor, Queens (tip of Long Island), New York.
(6) FOREST HILLS, Queens
93-42 71st Drive.
Fall 1988-Fall 1990
2-story house between Forest Hills Gardens & Kew Gardens, off Metropolitan Avenue.
* The Surf Club was located on 415 East 91st Street, 10028. Still have an old matchbook cover! (Scrapbook) ("Get outta my dreams -- and into my car!")
* Third Avenue Bagels was located on 1642 Third Avenue, Corner of 92nd Street. Still have an old menu.(Scrapbook) (Is this Penthouse 14?)
Note: I condensed my sojourn into just two locations: for "Fool's Gold:" the East Village and the Upper East Side. After I moved from the Upper East Side, I actually did take my roommate's offer to move in with her parents on Rockaway Beach, taking the bus to work along Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn and taking it back home, via Queens and Gateway National Recreation Area.
Modus operandi: While living on the Upper East Side, I wrote almost every night after work in yellow legal sized notepads and pen. While living in Forest Hills, I would go into the office on the weekends to type my story on the WANG word processor and floppy diskettes. The original title was "All That Glitters," but a classmate at a publishing workshop here at the Groton Library suggested "Fool's Gold!"
"I think I'll keep her!"
(1) TIMES SQUARE: 308 West 51st Street, 3rd Floor. Between Eighth and Ninth Avenues.
(2) EAST VILLAGE: Summer 1987.
200 East Ninth Street, 2nd Floor.
& First Avenue (about one block away from Alphabet City and Tompkins Square Park)
Note: I combined these first two settings into the fire-damaged prewar apartment building (1) and located it in the East Village (2), which was actually an "art deco" studio apartment above a 24-hour grocery store.
(3) UPPER EAST SIDE: Fall 1987- May 1988; 9 months.
200 East 94th Street, 14th Floor (but actually the 13th!) just below the penthouse rooftop patio and garden.
Third Avenue.
(4) WEST VILLAGE: Summer 1988.
400 Mercer Street; across from New York University; modern dance studio)
(5) ROCKAWAY BEACH (Far Rockaway): Fall 1988.
Belle Harbor, Queens (tip of Long Island), New York.
(6) FOREST HILLS, Queens
93-42 71st Drive.
Fall 1988-Fall 1990
2-story house between Forest Hills Gardens & Kew Gardens, off Metropolitan Avenue.
* The Surf Club was located on 415 East 91st Street, 10028. Still have an old matchbook cover! (Scrapbook) ("Get outta my dreams -- and into my car!")
* Third Avenue Bagels was located on 1642 Third Avenue, Corner of 92nd Street. Still have an old menu.(Scrapbook) (Is this Penthouse 14?)
Note: I condensed my sojourn into just two locations: for "Fool's Gold:" the East Village and the Upper East Side. After I moved from the Upper East Side, I actually did take my roommate's offer to move in with her parents on Rockaway Beach, taking the bus to work along Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn and taking it back home, via Queens and Gateway National Recreation Area.
Modus operandi: While living on the Upper East Side, I wrote almost every night after work in yellow legal sized notepads and pen. While living in Forest Hills, I would go into the office on the weekends to type my story on the WANG word processor and floppy diskettes. The original title was "All That Glitters," but a classmate at a publishing workshop here at the Groton Library suggested "Fool's Gold!"
"I think I'll keep her!"
EPILOGUE I
WHERE I WORKED (June 1987 - October 1990)
McGraw-Hill, Inc.
1221 Avenue of the Americas
(Sixth Avenue, between 48th & 49th Streets)
Commodity & Electronic Services, 42nd Floor
Administrative Assistant
Sales Department
Oil & Gas price reports for traders on Wall Street
Electronic information services and paper reports.
Electronic & paper newsletters.
(Note: I first became employed as a full time in-house temporary secretary before landing in the top company for generating revenue in McGraw-Hill.)
McGraw-Hill, Inc.
1221 Avenue of the Americas
(Sixth Avenue, between 48th & 49th Streets)
Commodity & Electronic Services, 42nd Floor
Administrative Assistant
Sales Department
Oil & Gas price reports for traders on Wall Street
Electronic information services and paper reports.
Electronic & paper newsletters.
(Note: I first became employed as a full time in-house temporary secretary before landing in the top company for generating revenue in McGraw-Hill.)
Quoted Reviews
"It's from a very young mind." (BC, T'ai Chi class, 2002)
"Good visuals of Manhattan." (Ock, T'ai chi class, 2002)
"It's great! I like it!" (R.M., McGraw-Hill, NYC on "Forgotten") and "You literary genius!" "You're neurotic! You're a writer." and "I want to party with you." (1987)
"There are some things about you that are funny and wierd." and "Did Muffy really write this?" ("Olivia Longfellow," aka Linda, on "Forgotten") 1987
"You remind me of Truman Capote. He used to hang around with the rich and famous and write about them. You remind me of him so much." (Sharon, from the office, 1987)
"Write about s**!" (You know that went south.) BL, Arthur Murray Dance Studio, 2002.
"It's great. We loved it. It needs a lot of work." -- Doug ( and Jessica); Arthur Murray Dance Studio, 2002.
"Give me something to read." -- Doug, Arthur Murray (2002)
"Good visuals of Manhattan." (Ock, T'ai chi class, 2002)
"It's great! I like it!" (R.M., McGraw-Hill, NYC on "Forgotten") and "You literary genius!" "You're neurotic! You're a writer." and "I want to party with you." (1987)
"There are some things about you that are funny and wierd." and "Did Muffy really write this?" ("Olivia Longfellow," aka Linda, on "Forgotten") 1987
"You remind me of Truman Capote. He used to hang around with the rich and famous and write about them. You remind me of him so much." (Sharon, from the office, 1987)
"Write about s**!" (You know that went south.) BL, Arthur Murray Dance Studio, 2002.
"It's great. We loved it. It needs a lot of work." -- Doug ( and Jessica); Arthur Murray Dance Studio, 2002.
"Give me something to read." -- Doug, Arthur Murray (2002)
REVIEWS
"It's good!"
"The only thing I would like more of is visualization. What do their offices look like?"
"It read like a script. It had the director's directions. Which is very hard to do. It has everything a soap opera has...it is superb. It has potential."
"I can't grasp it. What is she all about? How does she really feel about Corporate Life? She is scattered. The camera is running around, into other people's offices. What is the reason for writing this?"
All I can do is ask,
Why?
"The only thing I would like more of is visualization. What do their offices look like?"
"It read like a script. It had the director's directions. Which is very hard to do. It has everything a soap opera has...it is superb. It has potential."
"I can't grasp it. What is she all about? How does she really feel about Corporate Life? She is scattered. The camera is running around, into other people's offices. What is the reason for writing this?"
All I can do is ask,
Why?
"But is it clear?"
"OH, Yes! It's very clear!"
"What is there to like about the girl? Why is she a main character? She's not an underdog or anything. No compassion: people are jerks."
"But this is a small sliver of the book. We don't know the whole story. We need more..."
"I work in an office and this is the way people feel. It's just like this. A lot of people can read it and feel that way."
"How does she feel about Corporate Life?"
"It doesn't make sense!"
"But it makes sense to somebody."
"She didn't even have a doctor. Yo get the sense that there is nothing for her in New York."
0981D
FROM: The Learning Annex
SO YOU WANT TO WRITE A SCREENPLAY
Instructor: Mary Bringle
NYC, Spring 1990
FROM: The Learning Annex
SO YOU WANT TO WRITE A SCREENPLAY
Instructor: Mary Bringle
NYC, Spring 1990
Work of Fiction
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
CONCLUSION: By Accident
She awoke suddenly. The drowsiness parted and bang! the big car pushed her car forward, and her neck jerked forward and back. Bang! Again. Bang! Again.
"You hear but you don't listen," Dillon had stated firmly at the tourism office where she worked for the summer.
She thought about this for a few moments, and, after smirking in recognition, she admitted, "Yes, I have to agree with you."
You're ten steps ahead when someone's talking to you, he had said.
"Are you deaf?" the priest was saying during Sunday morning mass. Saul of Tarsus was "knocked off his horse." God made him blind for three days. Then he listened to the Lord. Those who are deaf in spirit. The kid in the carriage, crying to get out. What is God trying to tell you?
The woman with the jewels whose lover had died...his horse returned but he did not. She realized all the jewels meant nothing.
And the dramatic priest ended his liturgy by praying, "Oh, Lord, we pray that we will hear you with our hearts and listen to you, and what you are trying to tell us."
"You hear but you don't listen," Dillon had stated firmly at the tourism office where she worked for the summer.
She thought about this for a few moments, and, after smirking in recognition, she admitted, "Yes, I have to agree with you."
You're ten steps ahead when someone's talking to you, he had said.
"Are you deaf?" the priest was saying during Sunday morning mass. Saul of Tarsus was "knocked off his horse." God made him blind for three days. Then he listened to the Lord. Those who are deaf in spirit. The kid in the carriage, crying to get out. What is God trying to tell you?
The woman with the jewels whose lover had died...his horse returned but he did not. She realized all the jewels meant nothing.
And the dramatic priest ended his liturgy by praying, "Oh, Lord, we pray that we will hear you with our hearts and listen to you, and what you are trying to tell us."
Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
You been out ridin' fences for so long now
Oh, you're a hard one
I know that you got your reasons
These things that are pleasin' you
Can hurt you somehow.
Don't you draw the Queen of Diamonds, boy
She'll beat you if she's able
You know the Queen of Hearts is always your best bet.
Now it seems to me, some fine things have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you can't get...
Desperado, oh, you ain't gettin' no younger
Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home.
And freedom, oh freedom!
Well, that's just some people talkin'
Your prison is walking through this world all alone.
Don't your feet get cold in the winter time?
The sky won't snow and the sun won't shine
It's hard to tell the night from the day...
You're losin' all your highs and lows
Ain't it funny how the feeling goes away?
Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
Come down from your fences,
Open the gate!
It may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you
You better let somebody love you, before it's too late...!
(DESPERADO)
(The Eagles)
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
"Tomorrow"
Tomorrow (Thursday), I will have the dramatic Conclusion: "By Accident" to "Fool's Gold," which my avid readers (39 yesterday) keep coming back for more!
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Up Next: CONCLUSION: By Accident
I realize it is Tuesday, and I want to thank all 17 readers who came back to me today (and counting). After a brisk walk at the Mall, one lap upstairs, one lap down (that's 40 minutes); lunch "en mi caro;" coffee purchased with pennies, and a couple hot new tops for those opening art receptions at the Hygienic -- they show off my curves; even tho' I did gain weight this past year -- I am back. Mall walking is a great way to lose weight. Even cheap. Bring lunch and eat in your car or purchase a cheap but nutritious lunch at the food court. Or just buy coffee. The mall has security from the WPD patrolling during regular business hours. I believe the Mall opens to walkers before the retailers do, for mall walking. It is a very safe environment in which to take a walk. Shop if you can. You don't have to buy the entire farm. I admit, there is a lot of "cognitive dissonance" which interferes with my concentration (or is it low blood sugar? or both?). But the Mall can be mastered to the benefit of all, the retailers and restaurants, your pocketbook, your health conditions and personal habits, and the "shape" of things to come! UP NEXT: The Conclusion to "Fool's Gold," By Accident. Tomorrow? Happy New Year! (Denise...Denise Dances...2011)
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Up Next: CONCLUSION to the Conclusion!
Are we there yet? Yes, Denise...ah, Debbie. We're almost there!
CONCLUSION: By Accident
"This is giving me the creeps," she said.
"This is standard. You should get treatment. If you don't, and an injury occurs, it won't stand in court." He explained what they were about to do to her. She lifted her arms to his shoulders. They carried her to the waiting stretcher.
"Can't you loosen this? I feel stiff," she pointed to her chin.
"Only a little," a female EMT said. "We have to do this. It's necessary. If you're injured, we want everything to stay in place."
"I feel like I can't breathe. I feel so helpless!" she wailed.
"That's what everyone says," the young EMT said.
"Will someone come with me and talk to me?" she pleaded. "Sherri! Follow me to the hospital!" she begged.
"Debbie! They're waiting on you hand and foot!" she laughed. "Bet you never thought you'd attract such attention!"
Sherri held up a red hard hat, as she unloaded Debbie's car.
"Debbie! Is this yours?"
"Yes," she answered faintly from the stretcher, fondly recalling her temporary job as a secretary on a construction site.
Like dying and going to heaven, she surrendered her earthly existence. Losing control...her pocketbook...her calendar...her black knapsack with the novel she was writing inside of it...the red hard hat. A name, a number. Vital statistics. Today's date. The President. She had to give up the controls and trust everyone to take care of her things, to see to her comfort.
In the quickly moving van, she talked to the two EMT workers who sat in back with her, one male and one female. They were volunteers who each had real jobs. One had a wife.
"You're not even a woman to me," he said. "Just a person."
"No one's ever said that to me before," she said. "Where are we?"
All she could see was the silver ceiling of the ambulance. Finally, the moving vehicle became soothing, as she lay, unmoving, a mummy. She closed her eyes and kept talking.
"Of course, we'd ride in the back with you. We wouldn't leave you here alone," said a woman's kind voice.
She asked them about the earlier emergency on Route 2.
"We can find out," the male voice in the driver's seat said. Something beeped. "A fire at the casino."
A radio dispatcher fuzzily announced an emergency on Colonel Ledyard Highway.
"We're not going there," the driver said, to her relief.
At once, the vehicle stopped. "See, it only took twenty minutes."
"You're taking me out?"
As she slid out of the doors, the sky was a dark blue above her. The summer evening had turned to night.
"Of course. We're not going to leave you here alone."
"You get to go through the privileged entrance. Bet you never thought you'd do that," the male voice continued.
She stared at the old ceiling above her. "This is the plaster room. We're going to put you in a plaster cast."
"No. I never want to see you guys again! Can this come off now?"
"No. Not until the doctor sees you," a young nurse said firmly. She untied the wrappings around Debbie's waist. "I'm being nice."
"Thank you," Debbie said softly.
"Your sister's here," the young nurse informed her.
Other nurses came. "When was your last menstrual period?" "Three or four weeks ago." "Any chance you're pregnant?" "No...no chance at all..."
She lay on the stiff white stretcher. The ties had been loosened. She folded her hands on her chest. She closed her eyes and tried to tell herself: it will be over soon. It will be over soon. Just relax and close your eyes. The bandages will come off sometime soon. The nurse left. After squeezing the female EMT's hand a few times, she was left alone.
Was God himself here? She couldn't feel His presence. For a moment, she felt as Christ himself must have felt on the Cross. My God, my God, why has thou forsaken me? But he knew that His agony would soon end and that all of his suffering was intended for a higher purpose.
"This is standard. You should get treatment. If you don't, and an injury occurs, it won't stand in court." He explained what they were about to do to her. She lifted her arms to his shoulders. They carried her to the waiting stretcher.
"Can't you loosen this? I feel stiff," she pointed to her chin.
"Only a little," a female EMT said. "We have to do this. It's necessary. If you're injured, we want everything to stay in place."
"I feel like I can't breathe. I feel so helpless!" she wailed.
"That's what everyone says," the young EMT said.
"Will someone come with me and talk to me?" she pleaded. "Sherri! Follow me to the hospital!" she begged.
"Debbie! They're waiting on you hand and foot!" she laughed. "Bet you never thought you'd attract such attention!"
Sherri held up a red hard hat, as she unloaded Debbie's car.
"Debbie! Is this yours?"
"Yes," she answered faintly from the stretcher, fondly recalling her temporary job as a secretary on a construction site.
Like dying and going to heaven, she surrendered her earthly existence. Losing control...her pocketbook...her calendar...her black knapsack with the novel she was writing inside of it...the red hard hat. A name, a number. Vital statistics. Today's date. The President. She had to give up the controls and trust everyone to take care of her things, to see to her comfort.
In the quickly moving van, she talked to the two EMT workers who sat in back with her, one male and one female. They were volunteers who each had real jobs. One had a wife.
"You're not even a woman to me," he said. "Just a person."
"No one's ever said that to me before," she said. "Where are we?"
All she could see was the silver ceiling of the ambulance. Finally, the moving vehicle became soothing, as she lay, unmoving, a mummy. She closed her eyes and kept talking.
"Of course, we'd ride in the back with you. We wouldn't leave you here alone," said a woman's kind voice.
She asked them about the earlier emergency on Route 2.
"We can find out," the male voice in the driver's seat said. Something beeped. "A fire at the casino."
A radio dispatcher fuzzily announced an emergency on Colonel Ledyard Highway.
"We're not going there," the driver said, to her relief.
At once, the vehicle stopped. "See, it only took twenty minutes."
"You're taking me out?"
As she slid out of the doors, the sky was a dark blue above her. The summer evening had turned to night.
"Of course. We're not going to leave you here alone."
"You get to go through the privileged entrance. Bet you never thought you'd do that," the male voice continued.
She stared at the old ceiling above her. "This is the plaster room. We're going to put you in a plaster cast."
"No. I never want to see you guys again! Can this come off now?"
"No. Not until the doctor sees you," a young nurse said firmly. She untied the wrappings around Debbie's waist. "I'm being nice."
"Thank you," Debbie said softly.
"Your sister's here," the young nurse informed her.
Other nurses came. "When was your last menstrual period?" "Three or four weeks ago." "Any chance you're pregnant?" "No...no chance at all..."
She lay on the stiff white stretcher. The ties had been loosened. She folded her hands on her chest. She closed her eyes and tried to tell herself: it will be over soon. It will be over soon. Just relax and close your eyes. The bandages will come off sometime soon. The nurse left. After squeezing the female EMT's hand a few times, she was left alone.
Was God himself here? She couldn't feel His presence. For a moment, she felt as Christ himself must have felt on the Cross. My God, my God, why has thou forsaken me? But he knew that His agony would soon end and that all of his suffering was intended for a higher purpose.
And it was the third hour, and they crucified Him.
And with Him, they crucify two thieves; the one on his right hand,
and the other on his left.
And when the sixth hour was come,
there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour.
And, at the ninth hour, Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying
Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?
Which, being interpreted,
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
(Gospel of Mark 15: 25, 27, 33-34.)
Her mother came. Debbie wanted her to stay. She was unusually calm. Normally, she didn't want anyone around her. Living at home with her parents, she was surrounded by people all of the time. Her mother said she had gotten a headache around the time her accident had occurred.
"We were five minutes away..." she heard Sherri whisper to her mother in the parking lot. Sherri had been calling the tourism office where Debbie worked all day, communicating between her and Family Services, where she was supposed to go tonight for her first appointment with a psychiatrist. "You've been angry for too long," Sherri was concerned about Debbie's ever present anger and she wanted to help her sister. But Debbie didn't want to go. She didn't want to say bad things about her family to a stranger. Her mother drove her quietly home.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
BY ACCIDENT, Part II
Debbie saw Sherri's singal light and halted, waiting for a distant oncoming car to pass. A sudden rushing of wind came up behind her. She felt the speed of the approaching car. And the amplified screech of brakes, which she was to recall later. She imagined a big green sedan containing a bunch of greasy guys. And she waited, in that split second, to be hit. BANG! The rushing car pushed her forward with supersonic loud noise. She scrunched her shoulders and went with it. Zing-ing-ing-ing! Like a gentle spring rain, the tingling filled her neck, her back.
Eyes wide, she looked out of her window at the big car, at the woman. She could have been her grandmother. A small girl accompanied her.
"Thanks for stopping," she said quietly.
"Oh, I wouldn't just leave you!" The woman squeezed her hand.
"I'm going to call the police," Sherri said and ran down the street.
"Want me to call the police?" a young man approached her, walking across the street.
"My sister is. Thanks."
"Are you all right? Want a drink of water?" a large, gentle woman with a blond pageboy hairstyle asked Debbie. She returned with a blue plastic cup of nice, cold water.
"Are you alright, too? I'm sorry I forgot to ask," she approached the woman.
A young woman with long frizzy hair crossed the street, asking if Debbie were all right. She had heard the noise.
Sirens wailed faintly and suddenly, police cars were parked alongside her on the side road. A young EMT with sandy hair and blue eyes asked her if she wanted treatment.
An officer with friendly blue eyes asked the same question. Their blue eyes reflected the water of the nearby cove. Another police officer asked Debbie if she were all right. She looked at them all with wide eyes. But she refused to talk to the woman. She wanted to ask her, "Why did you do this to me?" As she stepped outside of her car, realizing she'd locked the door, Debbie began to unload it. The back seat was pushed forward.
There lay her cup of chocolate ice cream, once resting on her dashboard, in the back seat. Her sunglasses were flung on the odometer screen. The rear view mirror had become unglued and rested on the floor. How had it not hit her in the head?
She walked to the back of the car. The rear windshield was intact, but the taillights and the whole rear end were crunched.
"Are you OK to drive?"
"She's not driving it," the officers laughed as they rolled it forward. Off the side road. Onto some grass.
"I didn't notice your signal light," the woman had said.
Now she revised it. "I saw her start to slow down and I couldn't stop in time and I hit her with this big old thing," she moaned. Debbie refused to look at her, but continued to unload her car.
"I think you should get back in the car," an officer told her. She didn't really feel like sitting inside it.
"Look straight ahead," the handsome EMT said. "How many fingers am I holding up? What's today's date? What's your name? Social Security number? Gosh, you're doing better than I am. Who's the President?"
"Um...um..I can't remember!"
"Clinton!" Sherri laughed.
"Oh, Clinton."
"Where is the President vacationing?"
"I don't know."
"That was a trick question," the EMT joked. "Hold up your arms." And he began to fasten a foam vest around her.
MORE TO COME! (Are we there.......yet???...* * * :)
Eyes wide, she looked out of her window at the big car, at the woman. She could have been her grandmother. A small girl accompanied her.
"Thanks for stopping," she said quietly.
"Oh, I wouldn't just leave you!" The woman squeezed her hand.
"I'm going to call the police," Sherri said and ran down the street.
"Want me to call the police?" a young man approached her, walking across the street.
"My sister is. Thanks."
"Are you all right? Want a drink of water?" a large, gentle woman with a blond pageboy hairstyle asked Debbie. She returned with a blue plastic cup of nice, cold water.
"Are you alright, too? I'm sorry I forgot to ask," she approached the woman.
A young woman with long frizzy hair crossed the street, asking if Debbie were all right. She had heard the noise.
Sirens wailed faintly and suddenly, police cars were parked alongside her on the side road. A young EMT with sandy hair and blue eyes asked her if she wanted treatment.
An officer with friendly blue eyes asked the same question. Their blue eyes reflected the water of the nearby cove. Another police officer asked Debbie if she were all right. She looked at them all with wide eyes. But she refused to talk to the woman. She wanted to ask her, "Why did you do this to me?" As she stepped outside of her car, realizing she'd locked the door, Debbie began to unload it. The back seat was pushed forward.
There lay her cup of chocolate ice cream, once resting on her dashboard, in the back seat. Her sunglasses were flung on the odometer screen. The rear view mirror had become unglued and rested on the floor. How had it not hit her in the head?
She walked to the back of the car. The rear windshield was intact, but the taillights and the whole rear end were crunched.
"Are you OK to drive?"
"She's not driving it," the officers laughed as they rolled it forward. Off the side road. Onto some grass.
"I didn't notice your signal light," the woman had said.
Now she revised it. "I saw her start to slow down and I couldn't stop in time and I hit her with this big old thing," she moaned. Debbie refused to look at her, but continued to unload her car.
"I think you should get back in the car," an officer told her. She didn't really feel like sitting inside it.
"Look straight ahead," the handsome EMT said. "How many fingers am I holding up? What's today's date? What's your name? Social Security number? Gosh, you're doing better than I am. Who's the President?"
"Um...um..I can't remember!"
"Clinton!" Sherri laughed.
"Oh, Clinton."
"Where is the President vacationing?"
"I don't know."
"That was a trick question," the EMT joked. "Hold up your arms." And he began to fasten a foam vest around her.
MORE TO COME! (Are we there.......yet???...* * * :)
Conclusion: BY ACCIDENT
It may be raining but there's a rainbow above you,
You better let somebody love you
Before it's too late...
"Desperado," the Eagles song turned into Foreigner's melodramatic "Blue Morning, Blue Day," as she entered her sister's dirt driveway. Instantly, she was out the door and she accompanied her sister inside the big old New England farmhouse.
"Look what we did to the house today," her sister led her through the keeping room.
"Oh," Debbie gasped, "look at that." She pointed to a corner with a new stained glass window and remnants of a black wrought iron gate. "It reminds me of New York."
And, "Oh, creative," as she looked at the upturned desk beside a chair.
"The table's set," Sherri said.
Outside in the summer evening, blue plates were set beside blue glasses. Yellow and lavendar flowers graced the white picnic table. the umbrella stood strangely closed. Couldn't we open it, she wanted to ask.
"Ooooh, it's so relaxing here."
Tall, tall flowers, lavendar and white phlox grew in the no maintenance garden. "We mow it every year," Red would joke.
They ate chunks of cucumber and tomatoes and warm red potatoes seasoned with fresh herbs. Debbie could tell they were fresh because, she grew them at their parents' home in the back yard. The steak was ready and she pulled bits of it with her knife while big Black Cat gnawed at his share on the ground, his furry back hunched over.
"He's an oink-oink," Sherri said.
And then, she recalled her high school prom. Mike Brooks had asked her to be his date. Mom had said, "No. You're not going." Sherri went to the prom anyway. Then, Mike Brooks had left her to dance with her best friend, and shortly after that, they started dating.
"In church, the next day, Father McGillicuddy said how important it is to forgive your neighbor. And Marilyn was my neighbor!"
Debbie laughed.
"And I cried!" Sherri clenched her fists to her sides and bared her teeth.
Debbie laughed again. "And now, you could probably both laugh. And it seemed so unforgivable then."
"If we don't hurry now, we won't have time to get ice cream." And Sherri began tearing the clothes off the clothes line. Debbie carried the straw tray piled with dishes to the house. Tropical Carribbean zydeco music serenaded them from the CD player.
It's so peaceful here, she wanted to say. Why don't we skip the ice cream?
Sherri backed her black Volvo out of the driveway and Debbie followed her in her brown Pinto. In front of them at the stop sign, a fire engine wailed. A policeman stood in the middle of the road, waving them through the blinking red stop light. Traffic lined the country road on both sides. The fire engine turned right, toward the direction of the casino. Sherri turned into the Red Rooster parking lot and Debbie followed, just before an oncoming car approached. They selected ice cream flavors. When Debbie started licking the cone, Sherri said, "No. We don't have time," and requested cups.
When the road was clear, Debbie followed her, smoothly out of the parking lot. On the highway, she lost her. A large truck loomed in front of her. On the exit ramp, Debbie caught up with Sherri.
The clouds were pale pink, the sky a deep blue on this late summer evening. Connecticut was so beautiful, it seemed surreal. Debbie listened to a song about "time and space between me and you," which she usually thought depressing, "A Prayer for the Dying." The cars were going faster and faster, it seemed, as time raced into the future with the building of the new casino.
Epilogue: WONDERFUL TONIGHT, Part II
Noooo, I wouldn't be that mean! A high pitched voice answered the phone after the first ring and she asked for Mike.
"This is he," the high, raspy voice answered.
"This is Debbie. I got your letter in the mail, I wrote back, and I just got my letter back in the mail today. The reporter in me just had to find out what was going on. I just couldn't wait around, wondering what happened. I just had to call."
"Debbie...that laugh sounds familiar...did you go to school in Essex?"
* * *
"Oh. Well, well, well...this is a treat. The cost of living is lower here. It's much easier to make ends meet. A bunch of guys get a house near the beach. There's the boardwalk. There's not much here but the military."
"Your voice sounds so different than I remember," she said.
"And the reporter in you had to find out," he repeated.
"I would be one if I could," she sighed. "You have a Southern accent. Slight southern accent," she added and he laughed softly.
"I've been here a long time. Well, well, well..."
Where did he get that from? She didn't remember him saying that in Lowell, that lovely night, four years ago, as he had held her in his arms in the cold of an April night, in the parking lot of Chevy's Belair Cafe, down by the river.
"Well, you can write to me..."
"I like to write. I just can't figure out the mail system. I sent you that card in November. You wrote me in July and I wrote back to you right away. I just got my letter back in the mail today."
He didn't seem overly perturbed. He didn't question the United States mail system.
"You can write to me...I have to get going. My little girl needs her bicycle fixed. You know how kids can keep you busy. This call is going to cost you a bundle."
Kids? "Wait. There's something I have to ask you. Are you married?"
"Well..."
"I mean, it's one thing, writing to someone you think is single, but..."
"Well, well, well. Talk about seven years bad luck."
"You have to tell me."
"Seven years. Two children."
Seven? But she had known him only four years ago. She hung on, in silent shock.
"Debbie," he said, after a moment's pause. "Keep your spirits up. You sound like a great girl."
"Thanks," she whispered and hung up.
All she could think of was that country song.
"This is he," the high, raspy voice answered.
"This is Debbie. I got your letter in the mail, I wrote back, and I just got my letter back in the mail today. The reporter in me just had to find out what was going on. I just couldn't wait around, wondering what happened. I just had to call."
"Debbie...that laugh sounds familiar...did you go to school in Essex?"
* * *
"Oh. Well, well, well...this is a treat. The cost of living is lower here. It's much easier to make ends meet. A bunch of guys get a house near the beach. There's the boardwalk. There's not much here but the military."
"Your voice sounds so different than I remember," she said.
"And the reporter in you had to find out," he repeated.
"I would be one if I could," she sighed. "You have a Southern accent. Slight southern accent," she added and he laughed softly.
"I've been here a long time. Well, well, well..."
Where did he get that from? She didn't remember him saying that in Lowell, that lovely night, four years ago, as he had held her in his arms in the cold of an April night, in the parking lot of Chevy's Belair Cafe, down by the river.
"Well, you can write to me..."
"I like to write. I just can't figure out the mail system. I sent you that card in November. You wrote me in July and I wrote back to you right away. I just got my letter back in the mail today."
He didn't seem overly perturbed. He didn't question the United States mail system.
"You can write to me...I have to get going. My little girl needs her bicycle fixed. You know how kids can keep you busy. This call is going to cost you a bundle."
Kids? "Wait. There's something I have to ask you. Are you married?"
"Well..."
"I mean, it's one thing, writing to someone you think is single, but..."
"Well, well, well. Talk about seven years bad luck."
"You have to tell me."
"Seven years. Two children."
Seven? But she had known him only four years ago. She hung on, in silent shock.
"Debbie," he said, after a moment's pause. "Keep your spirits up. You sound like a great girl."
"Thanks," she whispered and hung up.
All she could think of was that country song.
Cause and effect!
Chain of events!
All of this chaos
Makes perfect sense!
Welcome to Earth, third rock from the Sun!
Welcome to Earth, third rock from the Sun!
Up Next: Epilogue and Conclusion
Uh-ohhhhh...don't tell me you're gonna make me wait until New Year's Eve!
EPILOGUE: Wonderful Tonight
April 1990
She clutched his hand to her heart. She squeezed it tightly in both of her hands, as if to break his fingers, as she was now breaking his heart.
"Even if I don't see you again..." she had said.
He looked up in despair and gulped back the tears that welled suddenly in his watery blue eyes. He stood high above her, taller even than his friends who stood beside him near the dance floor.
She clutched his hand to her chest and closed her eyes. She must have said a little prayer.
Even if I don't see you...she imagined, far away in the future, on a cold May or June morning, the sailor towering over her in a white uniform and the striking white chief's hat, as she clutched his fingers and closed her eyes.
"Hello, can I have Mike's correct address?" she requested in her most deeply professional voice that she could muster.
"Yes, wait a minute." The young girl laughed softly. Seconds later, she answered the question.
"Would you also like his phone number?" The accent was unmistakeably Massachusetts, the voice deeper now, with four years of maturity. Not to mention a much friendlier manner.
"Sure. Thank you very much."
A bonus now thrown into the picture, she dialed his number. 804. Virginia. How would she explain that to her parents? Well, it would just have to wait. She had to act now after they had just left for dinner.
A high pitched voice answered the phone after the first ring, and she asked for Mike.
She clutched his hand to her heart. She squeezed it tightly in both of her hands, as if to break his fingers, as she was now breaking his heart.
"Even if I don't see you again..." she had said.
He looked up in despair and gulped back the tears that welled suddenly in his watery blue eyes. He stood high above her, taller even than his friends who stood beside him near the dance floor.
She clutched his hand to her chest and closed her eyes. She must have said a little prayer.
Even if I don't see you...she imagined, far away in the future, on a cold May or June morning, the sailor towering over her in a white uniform and the striking white chief's hat, as she clutched his fingers and closed her eyes.
"Hello, can I have Mike's correct address?" she requested in her most deeply professional voice that she could muster.
"Yes, wait a minute." The young girl laughed softly. Seconds later, she answered the question.
"Would you also like his phone number?" The accent was unmistakeably Massachusetts, the voice deeper now, with four years of maturity. Not to mention a much friendlier manner.
"Sure. Thank you very much."
A bonus now thrown into the picture, she dialed his number. 804. Virginia. How would she explain that to her parents? Well, it would just have to wait. She had to act now after they had just left for dinner.
A high pitched voice answered the phone after the first ring, and she asked for Mike.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
See Ya Next Week!
I'm sorry but you are just going to have to wait until next week for the dramatic conclusion to "Fool's Gold," a story for the late 80s, "By Accident." After that, I will have Reviews from the past in quotes. After that, I promise to present to you some other stuff from my past, poetry from corporate life in 80s NYC and poetry from my college days at ECSU in Willimantic, CT. As well, I will proudly present to you "The Single Mom of Cactus County" which details my trip to Arizona in the early 90s. (Are we there yet???...* * * :)
Monday, December 13, 2010
AND FINALLY....!
And finally, the dramatic conclusion to FOOL'S GOLD, a story for the late 80s. In just a couple of weeks,...Just in time for Christmas! -- "By Accident."
At this moment, I would like to take the time and ask all of my readers to STAY SAFE this holiday season. DO NOT drink & drive. Have a designated driver or stay home, or stay over! DO NOT text and drive. DO NOT talk on cell phone and drive, even hands free. And...DO NOT "sex-t" and drive either! (What you do at home isn't my business!) How about fighting? No, no fighting in the car and behind the wheel either! (Are we there....yet???...* * * :)
Take care, everyone! Merry Christmas!
Denise
803
At this moment, I would like to take the time and ask all of my readers to STAY SAFE this holiday season. DO NOT drink & drive. Have a designated driver or stay home, or stay over! DO NOT text and drive. DO NOT talk on cell phone and drive, even hands free. And...DO NOT "sex-t" and drive either! (What you do at home isn't my business!) How about fighting? No, no fighting in the car and behind the wheel either! (Are we there....yet???...* * * :)
Take care, everyone! Merry Christmas!
Denise
803
UP NEXT
UP NEXT: Wonderful Tonight: EPILOGUE. Next week you will find out what happened to Debbie's long lost sailor. Sometimes, all it takes is a well placed phone call...to find out THE TRUTH.
THE RED ROOSTER
Should I brake for ice cream? The old ice cream place was vacant. Weeds had sprung up in the cracked tar of the parking lot.
Whirly Birds, no, Sea Swirl. No, now it was Mayo's Roadhouse. Ugh. "Whirlybirds," she had said once, making her date, Owen laugh. He then made her laugh hysterically what with all of his sarcasm and antics.
She clicked on her left signal light. She watched the green arrow {do we have a Superhero comic series here?} {sic} blink on her dashboard as car after car raced past her, in the oncoming lane of Rural Route 2. Her car always swayed with the vibrations of irate drivers whizzing past her on Connecticut's sprawling roads.
"We oughta do this more often." Teenagers sat at a picnic table near the Roadhouse ice cream place. She combed her hair and got out of her car. She ate the cold, white ice cream, sitting alone in her car. Touches of red spotted the soft serve vanilla. She hoped her red lipstick would not wear off.
She stared at the deserted picnic tables under the dark shade of trees. Green trees, shade. Empty picnic tables. Teenagers, out on a Saturday night. Loneliness.
She backed up the car, hoping it wouldn't make too much noise. How she hated to back up in this parking lot. Screech. Scrape. Oh, no. She pressed the brakes but they went all the way down. Loose. Nothing happened, but then she pumped the brakes and got them back. Skidding along the rocky, sandy parking lot; she edged to Route 2. She turned the wheel, screeching, creaking, scraping. She hoped that nobody noticed. Not the teenage hotshots with their expensive cars.
Screeching like a dry cough, her car rode up Route 2. She turned right, into a dirt driveway, followed it, and turned around. A woman in a truck drove into her driveway. She wanted to ask her for help. She kept driving along the driveway and ventured to the road. Car after car passed, probably on their way to the casino. Her car groaned and creaked until she turned right at Bess Eaton Donuts. A Hispanic man called to her.
"I'm a mechanic. I can help you," he said. She noted his greasy, black hair, his bulging eyes.
She drove her car back and forth in the parking lots of Bess Eaton and the Red Rooster mart.
"It's the brakes," he said. "I can fix it for you. A hundred seventy five dollars."
"I don't have it," she said.
"See? The black stuff on the wheel. If you keep driving on that, it could catch on fire," he informed her.
"I'm not driving on it," she told him.
"I'm willing to fix it for you. Ninety dollars," he said.
"I don't have any cash on me," she said truthfully.
"Let's go see the boss. See what he has to say," he suggested. He sat in a white car with an older Hispanic man. The man ws skinny, with bulging eyes and thinning gray hair.
"What garage do you belong to?" she asked. "When I call my parents, they're going to want to know."
The men hesitated. "Seventy five dollars," the first one said.
"I don't have any money at all. I only have ten dollars. I have money at home. I would have to call someone," she said.
"How much do you have? Forty five dollars," he offered.
"We're going to have to get going pretty soon," the other man said.
"I have Triple A," she said.
"They'll charge you $250 just to tow it," the other man said. What? I thought it was free.
"Do you have a car radio? Anything to trade?"
"All I have are speakers."
The first man quietly started his car. "It should be OK to drive. How far do you live?" And they were gone, in the white car that said SJ or SP 769. Back to New Haven. He was on vacation this week. He had helped a few other people who broke down on this road.
She walked to the pay phone in front of the Red Rooster. A mild mannered woman looked at her. She wore black oval shaped glasses and a gray, curled uner hairdo.
"I just wanted to see if you needed a ride," she said. "My son's an auto mechanic, but I"m afraid there is no place that would be open," she said.
"Yeah. I just called Triple A. Those strange men wanted to help me. They were coming from the casino," Debbie answered.
"I don't pretend to know what goes on there," she said quietly.
"Nothing good can come of it," Debbie agreed.
"It's a den of iniquity," she said. "They say there are people gambling and it's the Mafia's money in there..." she shuddered. She acted as if she could not bear to discuss it any further.
"Money is the root of all evil," Debbie quoted.
"Love of money," she corrected her.
"Yes," Debbie laughed. "People don't want to listen to me."
A red-haired young man with a nose like a chicken beak walked out of the store. A girl dressed in a purple and blue flounced dress walked to her car, her dress blowing in the breeze, above her stockinged legs and black shoes.
Debbie looked at a jeep with three young guys seated in it. Someone with a crew cut sat in back. He waved goodbye to her when the driver came out of the Red Rooster. She smiled and waved back.
The woman started to walk away to her car, but slowly. She was not in a hurry. She paused when Debbie would say something. Finally, they nodded goodbye. Debbie thanked her for waiting with her.
"And they wouldn't fix it here," the young man from Evan's Garage said of the casino guys.
The pay phone had finally rung. "Debbie," he had sai. "I'll be over in fifteen minutes to pick you up."
She went inside the Red Rooster. She bought a couple of postcards and the newspaper. Then she called her parents.
Few lights glistened on the banks of the Thames River. It was not the George Washington Bridge or the 59th Street Bridge that they traversed in this flashing tow truck. It was the Goldstar Bridge. "New London City Line," she read the sign which marked the dividing line in the middle of the water.
They continued to follow the Thames River as they rode along Route 32 to Montville. A boat actually glided up the river. Waterford, she thought. Water. She looked to the edge of the turnpike, where once a bed of trolley tracks stood. What a fine place it must have been, she thought of her home town. The Norwich-New London Trolley. Public transporation. Meadows. Hardly any buildings. No highways.
A police car and truck flashed their lights urgently. She looked to see the unlucky vehicle. There, alongside Route 32 in the shadows, sat a lone biker on his motorcycle.
On they rode past her familiar gas station. One of the guys turned as he pumped gas.
"Speak of the devils," the guy from Evan's Garage said. Harleys and other motorcycles roared at Dot's Cafe.
Whirly Birds, no, Sea Swirl. No, now it was Mayo's Roadhouse. Ugh. "Whirlybirds," she had said once, making her date, Owen laugh. He then made her laugh hysterically what with all of his sarcasm and antics.
She clicked on her left signal light. She watched the green arrow {do we have a Superhero comic series here?} {sic} blink on her dashboard as car after car raced past her, in the oncoming lane of Rural Route 2. Her car always swayed with the vibrations of irate drivers whizzing past her on Connecticut's sprawling roads.
"We oughta do this more often." Teenagers sat at a picnic table near the Roadhouse ice cream place. She combed her hair and got out of her car. She ate the cold, white ice cream, sitting alone in her car. Touches of red spotted the soft serve vanilla. She hoped her red lipstick would not wear off.
She stared at the deserted picnic tables under the dark shade of trees. Green trees, shade. Empty picnic tables. Teenagers, out on a Saturday night. Loneliness.
She backed up the car, hoping it wouldn't make too much noise. How she hated to back up in this parking lot. Screech. Scrape. Oh, no. She pressed the brakes but they went all the way down. Loose. Nothing happened, but then she pumped the brakes and got them back. Skidding along the rocky, sandy parking lot; she edged to Route 2. She turned the wheel, screeching, creaking, scraping. She hoped that nobody noticed. Not the teenage hotshots with their expensive cars.
Screeching like a dry cough, her car rode up Route 2. She turned right, into a dirt driveway, followed it, and turned around. A woman in a truck drove into her driveway. She wanted to ask her for help. She kept driving along the driveway and ventured to the road. Car after car passed, probably on their way to the casino. Her car groaned and creaked until she turned right at Bess Eaton Donuts. A Hispanic man called to her.
"I'm a mechanic. I can help you," he said. She noted his greasy, black hair, his bulging eyes.
She drove her car back and forth in the parking lots of Bess Eaton and the Red Rooster mart.
"It's the brakes," he said. "I can fix it for you. A hundred seventy five dollars."
"I don't have it," she said.
"See? The black stuff on the wheel. If you keep driving on that, it could catch on fire," he informed her.
"I'm not driving on it," she told him.
"I'm willing to fix it for you. Ninety dollars," he said.
"I don't have any cash on me," she said truthfully.
"Let's go see the boss. See what he has to say," he suggested. He sat in a white car with an older Hispanic man. The man ws skinny, with bulging eyes and thinning gray hair.
"What garage do you belong to?" she asked. "When I call my parents, they're going to want to know."
The men hesitated. "Seventy five dollars," the first one said.
"I don't have any money at all. I only have ten dollars. I have money at home. I would have to call someone," she said.
"How much do you have? Forty five dollars," he offered.
"We're going to have to get going pretty soon," the other man said.
"I have Triple A," she said.
"They'll charge you $250 just to tow it," the other man said. What? I thought it was free.
"Do you have a car radio? Anything to trade?"
"All I have are speakers."
The first man quietly started his car. "It should be OK to drive. How far do you live?" And they were gone, in the white car that said SJ or SP 769. Back to New Haven. He was on vacation this week. He had helped a few other people who broke down on this road.
She walked to the pay phone in front of the Red Rooster. A mild mannered woman looked at her. She wore black oval shaped glasses and a gray, curled uner hairdo.
"I just wanted to see if you needed a ride," she said. "My son's an auto mechanic, but I"m afraid there is no place that would be open," she said.
"Yeah. I just called Triple A. Those strange men wanted to help me. They were coming from the casino," Debbie answered.
"I don't pretend to know what goes on there," she said quietly.
"Nothing good can come of it," Debbie agreed.
"It's a den of iniquity," she said. "They say there are people gambling and it's the Mafia's money in there..." she shuddered. She acted as if she could not bear to discuss it any further.
"Money is the root of all evil," Debbie quoted.
"Love of money," she corrected her.
"Yes," Debbie laughed. "People don't want to listen to me."
A red-haired young man with a nose like a chicken beak walked out of the store. A girl dressed in a purple and blue flounced dress walked to her car, her dress blowing in the breeze, above her stockinged legs and black shoes.
Debbie looked at a jeep with three young guys seated in it. Someone with a crew cut sat in back. He waved goodbye to her when the driver came out of the Red Rooster. She smiled and waved back.
The woman started to walk away to her car, but slowly. She was not in a hurry. She paused when Debbie would say something. Finally, they nodded goodbye. Debbie thanked her for waiting with her.
"And they wouldn't fix it here," the young man from Evan's Garage said of the casino guys.
The pay phone had finally rung. "Debbie," he had sai. "I'll be over in fifteen minutes to pick you up."
She went inside the Red Rooster. She bought a couple of postcards and the newspaper. Then she called her parents.
Few lights glistened on the banks of the Thames River. It was not the George Washington Bridge or the 59th Street Bridge that they traversed in this flashing tow truck. It was the Goldstar Bridge. "New London City Line," she read the sign which marked the dividing line in the middle of the water.
They continued to follow the Thames River as they rode along Route 32 to Montville. A boat actually glided up the river. Waterford, she thought. Water. She looked to the edge of the turnpike, where once a bed of trolley tracks stood. What a fine place it must have been, she thought of her home town. The Norwich-New London Trolley. Public transporation. Meadows. Hardly any buildings. No highways.
A police car and truck flashed their lights urgently. She looked to see the unlucky vehicle. There, alongside Route 32 in the shadows, sat a lone biker on his motorcycle.
On they rode past her familiar gas station. One of the guys turned as he pumped gas.
"Speak of the devils," the guy from Evan's Garage said. Harleys and other motorcycles roared at Dot's Cafe.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
See Ya Tuesday!
Keep on coming back, Faithful Readers! My book is almost done! With just a few more chapters, THE RED ROOSTER....WONDERFUL TONIGHT: Epilogue (What ever DID happen to her long-lost sailor?)...and the dramatic Conclusion: BY ACCIDENT! (With more lyrics from those favorite songs of mine -- ah, hers! ("Are we there yet?) Coming back Tuesday, live from the Groton Library. Say hi to the rams, baaaaah! Naaaaaah! (PHOTOS, too!)
Monday, December 6, 2010
Up Up Next: PHOTOP
There will be more photos...! of the corporate comrades and glamourous roommates of -- Muffy! (Ah, Debbie.)
Up Next: THE RED ROOSTER
Life on the farm ain't what it used to be. Debbie returns to small town life in Southeastern Connecticut. What opportunity awaits her in her small hometown? And why does the pace of life seem as fast back at home as it was in New York City? (Answer: The more things change, the more they remain the same!) -- To you, Lynne!
FLYING
She was afraid that her baggage would not get checked and that it wouldn't turn up in LA. Her favorite white dress was in that blue suitcase which would have to survive the flight to Kansas City, the transfer of planes to LA. She had been afraid of missing the seven o'clock AM flight altogether and indeed, would have if the doorman had not repeatedly beeped the intercom buzzer system. She pressed the "talk" button.
"Hello. Hello? Hello!" she frantically searched for her keys, grabbed them, and ran barefooted into the elevator, down to the lobby. A white car waited in front of the fourteen story apartment building.
"I'll be down in five minutes! I overslept!" she told the doorman.
The buzzer had finally wakened her out of a sound sleep.
"Oh, yeah, I'm going to California!" The thought sprang to mind and she leaped out of bed.
The airplane taxied down the runway, gathered speed and rose into the air. She watched as her earthly existence turned sideways. The world outside the window appeared calm, serene, swathed in blue grey mist, a picture of an aerial view of Manhattan, tilted on its side. They climbed higher.
Debbie felt a rush of excitement, caused by living on the edge, watching her world as she left it, lopsided and shaken up: the violence, the loud noises, the speed of looming garbage trucks and approaching taxis, the poor, the dirt, the street hustlers. Every horrible thing that had happened to her in the years since she had moved here. Her world riveted into a vertical slant as she rose into the clouds, rose above her earthly worries. Her problems were left on the tiny crowded island and she was up here, floating perfectly above them.
She would not worry about last night's decision too much. She remembered Scott's consoling words a few months ago when this whole situation started.
"Don't worry about it too much. I'm sure everything will turn out all right."
Maybe it was better. She would call Nicole as soon as she got to the airport in Kansas City. She looked to her left. Puffs of the purest white clouds floated before her, through the little windows, blanketed by a blue, blue sky.
"Nothin' but blue skies..." she thought of the slap-happy song. Wheee! At the age of 28, she was flying for the second time in her life and she felt all the excitement of a little kid. The first time, she had been almost too terrified to open her eyes.
Is this what heaven is like, she thought lackadaisically, surveying the clouds. No annoying horns, no shouting or street noises, just the soothing rush of the engine as the jet plane soared barely above the clouds. Not a bit of turbulence rocked them as they glided into Kansas City.
"Hello. Nicole?"
"Muffy? Hold on one second."
"Muffy..." Nicole paused.
"Are you having second thoughts?"
"Know what? Do you want to move in with my parents on Long Island? My mother said we could live there for free. No bills..." Nicole proposed.
No bills. "Nicole, I can't afford the city. I'm scared for the first time. I haven't been able to pay my bills."
"I tried calling you last night. No one answered." Nicole sounded slightly annoyed.
The phone hadn't rung. She had tossed and turned all night, not knowing where she would live once she returned from California. She had just talked herself out of a possible new home. She phoned her old college roommate, Kate and they called it off. She could not afford to commute from Connecticut and Kate could not afford to depend on her for the rent. Had she done the right thing?
This was her Out. A chance to get out of this crazy city. She wanted out. And here she had just agreed to be Nicole's roommate again in a different apartment. She hoped Nicole's former psychotic boyfriend would not call anymore. She could not take this suspended existence any longer.
She had wanted to call somebody last night. Her mother, an old friend back home. But she did not want to upset them. She had finally curled up in a ball and said a little prayer, remembering Scott's words. Knowing, hoping everything would be all right tomorrow morning.
"Well, do you want to?"
"Tell your mother no! But thanks a million!" Debbie hung up the phone and prepared to board the next flight to LA, where her suitcase with the white dress in it would be waiting.
DH/0699D
"Hello. Hello? Hello!" she frantically searched for her keys, grabbed them, and ran barefooted into the elevator, down to the lobby. A white car waited in front of the fourteen story apartment building.
"I'll be down in five minutes! I overslept!" she told the doorman.
The buzzer had finally wakened her out of a sound sleep.
"Oh, yeah, I'm going to California!" The thought sprang to mind and she leaped out of bed.
The airplane taxied down the runway, gathered speed and rose into the air. She watched as her earthly existence turned sideways. The world outside the window appeared calm, serene, swathed in blue grey mist, a picture of an aerial view of Manhattan, tilted on its side. They climbed higher.
Debbie felt a rush of excitement, caused by living on the edge, watching her world as she left it, lopsided and shaken up: the violence, the loud noises, the speed of looming garbage trucks and approaching taxis, the poor, the dirt, the street hustlers. Every horrible thing that had happened to her in the years since she had moved here. Her world riveted into a vertical slant as she rose into the clouds, rose above her earthly worries. Her problems were left on the tiny crowded island and she was up here, floating perfectly above them.
She would not worry about last night's decision too much. She remembered Scott's consoling words a few months ago when this whole situation started.
"Don't worry about it too much. I'm sure everything will turn out all right."
Maybe it was better. She would call Nicole as soon as she got to the airport in Kansas City. She looked to her left. Puffs of the purest white clouds floated before her, through the little windows, blanketed by a blue, blue sky.
"Nothin' but blue skies..." she thought of the slap-happy song. Wheee! At the age of 28, she was flying for the second time in her life and she felt all the excitement of a little kid. The first time, she had been almost too terrified to open her eyes.
Is this what heaven is like, she thought lackadaisically, surveying the clouds. No annoying horns, no shouting or street noises, just the soothing rush of the engine as the jet plane soared barely above the clouds. Not a bit of turbulence rocked them as they glided into Kansas City.
"Hello. Nicole?"
"Muffy? Hold on one second."
"Muffy..." Nicole paused.
"Are you having second thoughts?"
"Know what? Do you want to move in with my parents on Long Island? My mother said we could live there for free. No bills..." Nicole proposed.
No bills. "Nicole, I can't afford the city. I'm scared for the first time. I haven't been able to pay my bills."
"I tried calling you last night. No one answered." Nicole sounded slightly annoyed.
The phone hadn't rung. She had tossed and turned all night, not knowing where she would live once she returned from California. She had just talked herself out of a possible new home. She phoned her old college roommate, Kate and they called it off. She could not afford to commute from Connecticut and Kate could not afford to depend on her for the rent. Had she done the right thing?
This was her Out. A chance to get out of this crazy city. She wanted out. And here she had just agreed to be Nicole's roommate again in a different apartment. She hoped Nicole's former psychotic boyfriend would not call anymore. She could not take this suspended existence any longer.
She had wanted to call somebody last night. Her mother, an old friend back home. But she did not want to upset them. She had finally curled up in a ball and said a little prayer, remembering Scott's words. Knowing, hoping everything would be all right tomorrow morning.
"Well, do you want to?"
"Tell your mother no! But thanks a million!" Debbie hung up the phone and prepared to board the next flight to LA, where her suitcase with the white dress in it would be waiting.
DH/0699D
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Up Next: FLYING
33 hits on Tuesday before the Storm! I just want to say thanks, everyone. Have a happy holiday season. Drive safely, you know, no drinking and driving, no texting (or sexting, ha-ha! that latest in virtual reality); and no talking on your cell phone, hands free or not! It could actually be fatal. Be safe and take care of the ones you love, as well. I will see you back here, probably next week, and probably from here, the New London Library. It is about ten steps away from where I live, and if I walk during the day, I am sure to be safe. With the way my life has been, New London could actually be the safest place in the world for me. (If you know what I mean.) Take care and I will see you back here sometime next week, with the final concluding chapters of "Fool's Gold."
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