Monday, December 13, 2010
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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