Tuesday, August 10, 2010
THE APARTMENT IN DISARRAY
19 hits to my (collective) blog yesterday, on Monday, August 9th! Thanx for reading, everyone! Next...The Apt in Disarray...RING! "Do you have an apartment for rent?"
"Yes. I don't know!" Debbie sighed.
"Well, can you tell me anything about it? Are both bedrooms rented? How many people live there? Do you live there? Where will everyone sleep? Which room is still for rent? The five hundred dollar one or the seven hundred dollar one?"
All day long, at work and now at home, she wearily explained that she did not have the details, that the "contact name" (as some nitwit had requested) was Nicole, thta she did not have time to answer any questions, she worked in a "very busy office." She sure as hell did not want to rent to Ms. "Contact Name," or anyone else so obviously wrapped up in the business lifestyle that was New York. Let's take the office home, why don't we? Life was too short.
"Oh! I hate liking somebody!" Joyce moaned, emerging from the bathroom in a hopeless, old blue bathrobe.
"Should I call him? OK, Debbie, I know you're sick of hearing this. This is the last time. Let's take a hypothetical situation."
"Yes. Definitely call him. I know I'm paranoid when I like somebody, so he's probably paranoid, too."
"Really? But he's so good-looking. Don't you think he'd be turned off. Let's take this situation and pretend it's Scott. Scott hasn't called you in a few days. What would you do?"
A frown appeared on Debbie's usually bright face.
"That's why I hate liking somebody!" Joyce groaned.
"Did you have definite plans, Joyce?" Nicole asked.
"Yes."
"Did he say, Let's go out Tuesday Night?" Debbie probed.
"Yes. Well, he said he'd call me next week, sometime."
"He's insecure. Give him a call." Debbie pushed.
"But I already did. His father said he's at his cousins."
"Did you call his cousins?"
"Yes, and they're out. He's out with his cousins. Oh, I don't want to like anyone. Should I call him?"
"Joyce. I'm waiting for a very important phone call. Can't you wait until eleven?" Nicole insisted crossly.
"Yeah, Juan-slash-Phil," Debbie chirped.
0834D
"Yes. I don't know!" Debbie sighed.
"Well, can you tell me anything about it? Are both bedrooms rented? How many people live there? Do you live there? Where will everyone sleep? Which room is still for rent? The five hundred dollar one or the seven hundred dollar one?"
All day long, at work and now at home, she wearily explained that she did not have the details, that the "contact name" (as some nitwit had requested) was Nicole, thta she did not have time to answer any questions, she worked in a "very busy office." She sure as hell did not want to rent to Ms. "Contact Name," or anyone else so obviously wrapped up in the business lifestyle that was New York. Let's take the office home, why don't we? Life was too short.
"Oh! I hate liking somebody!" Joyce moaned, emerging from the bathroom in a hopeless, old blue bathrobe.
"Should I call him? OK, Debbie, I know you're sick of hearing this. This is the last time. Let's take a hypothetical situation."
"Yes. Definitely call him. I know I'm paranoid when I like somebody, so he's probably paranoid, too."
"Really? But he's so good-looking. Don't you think he'd be turned off. Let's take this situation and pretend it's Scott. Scott hasn't called you in a few days. What would you do?"
A frown appeared on Debbie's usually bright face.
"That's why I hate liking somebody!" Joyce groaned.
"Did you have definite plans, Joyce?" Nicole asked.
"Yes."
"Did he say, Let's go out Tuesday Night?" Debbie probed.
"Yes. Well, he said he'd call me next week, sometime."
"He's insecure. Give him a call." Debbie pushed.
"But I already did. His father said he's at his cousins."
"Did you call his cousins?"
"Yes, and they're out. He's out with his cousins. Oh, I don't want to like anyone. Should I call him?"
"Joyce. I'm waiting for a very important phone call. Can't you wait until eleven?" Nicole insisted crossly.
"Yeah, Juan-slash-Phil," Debbie chirped.
0834D
Monday, August 9, 2010
FIND ME SOMETHING TO WEAR
"Joyce! Find me something to wear! Please? Now!"
"Want me to make you some coffee?" Debbie offered and brought Maxine a cup ten minutes later.
"I've only had two hours sleep. I'm in no mood to go to Connecticut." She barely touched Debbie's offering before she was out the door. "I'm half here and so is my brain. Chow, Francesco!" The door slammed.
Ring!
"Is Nicole there? This is a collect call from Phil."
"Nicole! Juan-slash-Phil is on the phone." Debbie said.
Nicole slammed the bathroom door in hibernation, taking the banana phone with her.
"Yes. No. Please, Juan, please, you've got to believe me. Pleeeaze."
"Why? I told you I was at the store. Debbie didn't know. I just got back. Ten minutes ago. Debbie! Juan wants to talk to you."
"Hello?"
"Debbie! Where was Nicole two and a half hours ago?"
"I don't know. I thought she was going to visit you."
"She didn't say where she was going?" Juan interrogated her closely.
"No. She didn't say."
"How long was she gone? About how long, would you say?"
"I don't know. I don't remember." Debbie faltered, fear creeping into her voice.
"Get Nicole back on the phone," Juan ordered in exasperated frustration.
"Who? Who are you going to kill? WHO?" Nicole demanded.
"He said: I'm going to kill that stupid bitch."
"Oh, brother. Probably me," Debbie sighed. She was getting rther used to receiving death threats over the phone.
Ring!
"Nicole, it's H," Joyce commanded.
"Oh, I don't need this right now. If I can't say goodbye to Juan, he doesn't want to know me," Nicole sighed.
"Oh, no! Ohhhhh, NO!" Nicole suddenly screamed. She gasped. Chills gripped Debbie. Did someone die?
"My new leather coat! It cost five thousand dollars! Maxine wore it and rolled it up into a ball. I can't believe it! I'm going to put a lock on my closet," Nicole promised.
"Why do you wear all my things? I search for them for hours. Can't you ask before you take them? I don't even know they're gone. Joyce? Did you wear my Hermes scarf home?"
"No!" Joyce replied in guilty annoyance.
"Then why does it disappear when you go home and suddenly turn up for no reason?"
"I don't know. Why are you yelling at me?"
"I know you took them. And you can buy me another one. They're two hundred dollars at the Hermes store."
"I didn't! I didn't take them!" Joyce denied.
"But you have before! Why do you lie about it? I know you're lying, Joyce. You take my clothes, you wear them home, and they stay there. Why do you do it, Joyce?!"
"I DON'T TAKE YOUR CLOTHES HOME! Why do you keep yelling at me?" Joyce whined, losing control momentarily in her guilt.
"Because I know you. I know you take them home and you lie. Then you do it again! Why?"
"I won't do it! I won't," Joyce falsely promised.
"Time to do the laundry," Debbie said. She had just finished gathering articles for her weekly Wednesday washing. She hoped she hadn't forgotten anything. She checked hidden corners, her small closet, the crowded bathroom for remainders.
"Well, I'm going," she said, and she rounded up her soap powder, change purse full of quarters, and headed out.
The wash cycle was in full force when she realized that she was wearing the very jeans she had wanted to wash, shrinking them so they would fit. They were the only pair she had. What would she wear while doing the wash? Maybe she would just wear them baggy until next Wednesday. She was just too tired. She waited for the elevator to ding and the "spaceship" beeped the 13 floors to her penthouse floor apartment.
"I don't have enough quarters to dry! Just to wash!" She sang out cheerily.
Nicole laughed.
"I can't even afford to do my laundry!" she nodded at Joyce, who always inquired about her budget. No sooner were her words out, that she spied an entire bag of dirty socks and underwear in the corner of her room.
"I give up!" said, collapsing on her bed and laughing uncontrollably.
"Want me to make you some coffee?" Debbie offered and brought Maxine a cup ten minutes later.
"I've only had two hours sleep. I'm in no mood to go to Connecticut." She barely touched Debbie's offering before she was out the door. "I'm half here and so is my brain. Chow, Francesco!" The door slammed.
Ring!
"Is Nicole there? This is a collect call from Phil."
"Nicole! Juan-slash-Phil is on the phone." Debbie said.
Nicole slammed the bathroom door in hibernation, taking the banana phone with her.
"Yes. No. Please, Juan, please, you've got to believe me. Pleeeaze."
"Why? I told you I was at the store. Debbie didn't know. I just got back. Ten minutes ago. Debbie! Juan wants to talk to you."
"Hello?"
"Debbie! Where was Nicole two and a half hours ago?"
"I don't know. I thought she was going to visit you."
"She didn't say where she was going?" Juan interrogated her closely.
"No. She didn't say."
"How long was she gone? About how long, would you say?"
"I don't know. I don't remember." Debbie faltered, fear creeping into her voice.
"Get Nicole back on the phone," Juan ordered in exasperated frustration.
"Who? Who are you going to kill? WHO?" Nicole demanded.
"He said: I'm going to kill that stupid bitch."
"Oh, brother. Probably me," Debbie sighed. She was getting rther used to receiving death threats over the phone.
Ring!
"Nicole, it's H," Joyce commanded.
"Oh, I don't need this right now. If I can't say goodbye to Juan, he doesn't want to know me," Nicole sighed.
"Oh, no! Ohhhhh, NO!" Nicole suddenly screamed. She gasped. Chills gripped Debbie. Did someone die?
"My new leather coat! It cost five thousand dollars! Maxine wore it and rolled it up into a ball. I can't believe it! I'm going to put a lock on my closet," Nicole promised.
"Why do you wear all my things? I search for them for hours. Can't you ask before you take them? I don't even know they're gone. Joyce? Did you wear my Hermes scarf home?"
"No!" Joyce replied in guilty annoyance.
"Then why does it disappear when you go home and suddenly turn up for no reason?"
"I don't know. Why are you yelling at me?"
"I know you took them. And you can buy me another one. They're two hundred dollars at the Hermes store."
"I didn't! I didn't take them!" Joyce denied.
"But you have before! Why do you lie about it? I know you're lying, Joyce. You take my clothes, you wear them home, and they stay there. Why do you do it, Joyce?!"
"I DON'T TAKE YOUR CLOTHES HOME! Why do you keep yelling at me?" Joyce whined, losing control momentarily in her guilt.
"Because I know you. I know you take them home and you lie. Then you do it again! Why?"
"I won't do it! I won't," Joyce falsely promised.
"Time to do the laundry," Debbie said. She had just finished gathering articles for her weekly Wednesday washing. She hoped she hadn't forgotten anything. She checked hidden corners, her small closet, the crowded bathroom for remainders.
"Well, I'm going," she said, and she rounded up her soap powder, change purse full of quarters, and headed out.
The wash cycle was in full force when she realized that she was wearing the very jeans she had wanted to wash, shrinking them so they would fit. They were the only pair she had. What would she wear while doing the wash? Maybe she would just wear them baggy until next Wednesday. She was just too tired. She waited for the elevator to ding and the "spaceship" beeped the 13 floors to her penthouse floor apartment.
"I don't have enough quarters to dry! Just to wash!" She sang out cheerily.
Nicole laughed.
"I can't even afford to do my laundry!" she nodded at Joyce, who always inquired about her budget. No sooner were her words out, that she spied an entire bag of dirty socks and underwear in the corner of her room.
"I give up!" said, collapsing on her bed and laughing uncontrollably.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
FAST RIDE
It was as if they were getting into a fast car and they were going for a fast ride. Only the cab just kept getting stuck at red lights or stopping for a bold pedestrian each time they got going at a faster pace. There they were, zipping along the avenues at a steady clip and suddenly they were jolted back into harsh reality, the red traffic light dangling above the windshield. It was exhausting. Where it made the others dizzy, in Debbie it caused general giddiness and she began to giggle with the heady sensation of it all. The others could only follow in her ridiculous laughter. Maxine began to smile prettily. Nicole let out a roar and started to shriek. She could not laugh without screaming.
"Good evening, this is Doctor Ruth," the radio announced in a familiar German accent. And soon she was in a deep discussion about that part of the anatomy.
"Oh, brother," and Debbie began to shake with giggles all over again.
Maxine tried to change the subject. The cab driver appeared oblivious.
The threesome had been in motion all day long, transferring from train to train, first at Bowling Green, making their way slowly but surely from Manhattan to Queens. Then they had to get on a bus which took them to Rockaway Beach on the foremost tip of Long Island. There, at Nicole and Maxine's parents' house, they picked up the car which brought them to the party in Westhampton. It was a Sunday afternoon affair and they had to take the trains back in time to check in early and show up at the office at 9:00 sharp Monday morning. And now this.
Doctor Ruth chattered on as the cab came to a jolt, stopped, started again, raced, slowed, stopped. The starting and stopping was not unlike one of their frequent Friday nights out on the town.
"I don't want to go out tonight. I'm so tired," Maxine would groan.
"Guess what?" She would scream five minutes later. "We can get into Au Bar's!"
"But we have to be ready in half an hour and meet Dr. Klein at the door or we won't get in!" She would suddenly realize. "Hurry up!"
"It's on Madison. No, Park. Park and 58th. Um, let's try Park and 54th. Can we go around again?" She would instruct the unfortunate cab driver.
"Oh, I hate this," Joyce would groan. "I knew this would happen. Watch us end up back at the Surf Club again."
"Good evening, this is Doctor Ruth," the radio announced in a familiar German accent. And soon she was in a deep discussion about that part of the anatomy.
"Oh, brother," and Debbie began to shake with giggles all over again.
Maxine tried to change the subject. The cab driver appeared oblivious.
The threesome had been in motion all day long, transferring from train to train, first at Bowling Green, making their way slowly but surely from Manhattan to Queens. Then they had to get on a bus which took them to Rockaway Beach on the foremost tip of Long Island. There, at Nicole and Maxine's parents' house, they picked up the car which brought them to the party in Westhampton. It was a Sunday afternoon affair and they had to take the trains back in time to check in early and show up at the office at 9:00 sharp Monday morning. And now this.
Doctor Ruth chattered on as the cab came to a jolt, stopped, started again, raced, slowed, stopped. The starting and stopping was not unlike one of their frequent Friday nights out on the town.
"I don't want to go out tonight. I'm so tired," Maxine would groan.
"Guess what?" She would scream five minutes later. "We can get into Au Bar's!"
"But we have to be ready in half an hour and meet Dr. Klein at the door or we won't get in!" She would suddenly realize. "Hurry up!"
"It's on Madison. No, Park. Park and 58th. Um, let's try Park and 54th. Can we go around again?" She would instruct the unfortunate cab driver.
"Oh, I hate this," Joyce would groan. "I knew this would happen. Watch us end up back at the Surf Club again."
Monday, August 2, 2010
Next up: FAST RIDE
Wanna know what happens next? FOLLOW Debbie! Click on the FOLLOW widget button gadget thing. It's to your left.
THE FBI: STRIKE ONE
"So, what do you think?"
"What do I think about what?" Debbie asked. She perched on the radiator next to the windowsill. Thirteen floors down, she looked onto Third Avenue as it shot through Harlem, straight as an arrow. She sat in tight black jeans, in the plush white living room with Nicole as they interviewed a prospective roommate.
"Do you plan on taking off?" he asked her.
"Leaving?! No! I love it here. I"ve got my job, I really like it...I'm here to stay!" she ended her outburst with enthusiasm.
She thought of the office, the fabulous view of midtown and the Hudson River; of the polite, friendly people, of Scott.
"So, Nicole, you're into cars. Is that how I can win you over?" he said, fingering a tiny red camaro, one of the many vehicles which graced the window ledge.
"Yes, I like them," Nicole agreed.
"Or was it an old boyfriend?"
Debbie rose.
"I have laundry to do," she said. She left.
She allowed the sophisticated young man who worked on Wall Street the opportunity to flirt with her roommate. She returned, rejoining them in the living room.
The young man had a fresh copy of the Village Voice in his briefcase. His pinstriped shirt was tucked neatly into suspendered trousers.
"This is a wierd city," he said gravely. He looked as if he could not believe it.
"Oh! You don't know!" Debbie giggled innocently.
Nicole went on to describe their varied candidates for possible roommates.
"A man called me the other day. First, he said he was a dentist. Then, he told me he was really a dancer. Then he said he was a maid. Then, he asked if I minded gays, and I said, No, as long as they're nice. He wanted to know if he could clean our house for us while we beat him!" She smiled a huge beautiful smile and her face reddened.
Debbie smiled and shook her head. She had recalled the incident to her sister over the phone at work. Dead silence traveled through the phone lines from Connecticut to New York.
"Are you there?" she said.
Her sister was laughing so hard that she could not speak, and so, no sound came out.
"Sherri? Hello," she asked and her sister had finally burst out laughing, in hysterics.
Mr. Kidder-Peabody did not smile.
"I'd like to hang out with you for a while," he said. "Maybe, come back and meet with you again. I don't know that many people since I was living in Philadelphia, and I just broke up with my old girlfriend. She knew this whole group of people..."
"What time is it? Would you mind if I ordered something? By the time I get home, it will be eleven. I have to catch the 9:00 train." He eyed the Chinese take-out menu that Debbie was waving around.
"Sure, you can eat with us!" she chirped.
But he made no move to look at the menu.
"So, what do you think, Debbie?" he asked again. "Do you plan on staying here? You're not going to run off?"
"No," she said. Why would she do that?
"Well, I hope you find the right roommates. You seem like a couple of really nice girls," he said, and was gone.
"We are," Debbie said, nodding and smiling.
DENISE HICKEY
Winter 1988
# 0660D
"What do I think about what?" Debbie asked. She perched on the radiator next to the windowsill. Thirteen floors down, she looked onto Third Avenue as it shot through Harlem, straight as an arrow. She sat in tight black jeans, in the plush white living room with Nicole as they interviewed a prospective roommate.
"Do you plan on taking off?" he asked her.
"Leaving?! No! I love it here. I"ve got my job, I really like it...I'm here to stay!" she ended her outburst with enthusiasm.
She thought of the office, the fabulous view of midtown and the Hudson River; of the polite, friendly people, of Scott.
"So, Nicole, you're into cars. Is that how I can win you over?" he said, fingering a tiny red camaro, one of the many vehicles which graced the window ledge.
"Yes, I like them," Nicole agreed.
"Or was it an old boyfriend?"
Debbie rose.
"I have laundry to do," she said. She left.
She allowed the sophisticated young man who worked on Wall Street the opportunity to flirt with her roommate. She returned, rejoining them in the living room.
The young man had a fresh copy of the Village Voice in his briefcase. His pinstriped shirt was tucked neatly into suspendered trousers.
"This is a wierd city," he said gravely. He looked as if he could not believe it.
"Oh! You don't know!" Debbie giggled innocently.
Nicole went on to describe their varied candidates for possible roommates.
"A man called me the other day. First, he said he was a dentist. Then, he told me he was really a dancer. Then he said he was a maid. Then, he asked if I minded gays, and I said, No, as long as they're nice. He wanted to know if he could clean our house for us while we beat him!" She smiled a huge beautiful smile and her face reddened.
Debbie smiled and shook her head. She had recalled the incident to her sister over the phone at work. Dead silence traveled through the phone lines from Connecticut to New York.
"Are you there?" she said.
Her sister was laughing so hard that she could not speak, and so, no sound came out.
"Sherri? Hello," she asked and her sister had finally burst out laughing, in hysterics.
Mr. Kidder-Peabody did not smile.
"I'd like to hang out with you for a while," he said. "Maybe, come back and meet with you again. I don't know that many people since I was living in Philadelphia, and I just broke up with my old girlfriend. She knew this whole group of people..."
"What time is it? Would you mind if I ordered something? By the time I get home, it will be eleven. I have to catch the 9:00 train." He eyed the Chinese take-out menu that Debbie was waving around.
"Sure, you can eat with us!" she chirped.
But he made no move to look at the menu.
"So, what do you think, Debbie?" he asked again. "Do you plan on staying here? You're not going to run off?"
"No," she said. Why would she do that?
"Well, I hope you find the right roommates. You seem like a couple of really nice girls," he said, and was gone.
"We are," Debbie said, nodding and smiling.
DENISE HICKEY
Winter 1988
# 0660D
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)