Wednesday, June 30, 2010
AN OASIS IN MANHATTAN
The phone rang. Debbie closed the window as Lori picked up the receiver.
"It was Ben," she said. "He wants to go out with us."
Debbie opened the window, letting back in the noises of the street. The uptown bus screeched to a stop, just below them.
"But it's Friday. I'd rather go out with him during the week," Lori continued.
"Well, it'll be fun," Debbie said.
"That's true. It is always just us. Another person would be more fun," Lori admitted.
They crossed First, Second and Third Avenue, buzzing Ben at his dorm room for the summer grad school session at New York University, where he was writing a play.
"Wouldn't you just give anything to live in this building?" Lori asked.
Ben was summoned by the 24-hour security guard. He arrived in the lobby, broad-shouldered in his plaid shirt and tight jeans. He ws better looking than Debbie recalled.
His nice face ws highlighted by round cheekbones, straight jet-black hair, and an easy-going smile. But he seemed very shy and the only things you could talk to him about were plays and books about the theater.
They walked up and down St. Mark's Place and ducked into a small brown cafe. "The Grass Roots," a white sign read. It was flecked with what appeared to be insects at first glance or possibly, grass roots.
The smell of cool damp wood brought immediate memories of a local college pub to Debbie's mind. She liked it instantly. And it was so cold. It had to be the coldest spot in New York. She wished she could stay here all night. Every day of this hot, stinking New York summer, too. This was the hottest, grossest summer she had ever had, and she was living in New York City.
The sweat oozed off her body every night, even as she lay on the apartment floor in a bare black tank tip and cool shorts, unable to move. Lori refused to turn on the air conditioner. She feigned asthma or some condition of no name so that she would have enough money to buy clothes. As if her mother would not give her money in case she ran out. But what could she say? How could she object to Lori? What if Lori really were suffering from a genuine condition of asthma?
So Ben had landed them in the coolest spot in New York and they sat at the bar, trying to make conversation. Lori jabbered on and on.
Isn't that nice? Debbie thought. So, she has a mouth and a brain after all. She would just sit there in the cold bar, drinking two dollar beers and let them talk while she thought about other more interesting things. She wished she could live here, in the cold bar all summer.
DENISE HICKEY
Summer of '87
St. Mark's Place
# 0659D
"It was Ben," she said. "He wants to go out with us."
Debbie opened the window, letting back in the noises of the street. The uptown bus screeched to a stop, just below them.
"But it's Friday. I'd rather go out with him during the week," Lori continued.
"Well, it'll be fun," Debbie said.
"That's true. It is always just us. Another person would be more fun," Lori admitted.
They crossed First, Second and Third Avenue, buzzing Ben at his dorm room for the summer grad school session at New York University, where he was writing a play.
"Wouldn't you just give anything to live in this building?" Lori asked.
Ben was summoned by the 24-hour security guard. He arrived in the lobby, broad-shouldered in his plaid shirt and tight jeans. He ws better looking than Debbie recalled.
His nice face ws highlighted by round cheekbones, straight jet-black hair, and an easy-going smile. But he seemed very shy and the only things you could talk to him about were plays and books about the theater.
They walked up and down St. Mark's Place and ducked into a small brown cafe. "The Grass Roots," a white sign read. It was flecked with what appeared to be insects at first glance or possibly, grass roots.
The smell of cool damp wood brought immediate memories of a local college pub to Debbie's mind. She liked it instantly. And it was so cold. It had to be the coldest spot in New York. She wished she could stay here all night. Every day of this hot, stinking New York summer, too. This was the hottest, grossest summer she had ever had, and she was living in New York City.
The sweat oozed off her body every night, even as she lay on the apartment floor in a bare black tank tip and cool shorts, unable to move. Lori refused to turn on the air conditioner. She feigned asthma or some condition of no name so that she would have enough money to buy clothes. As if her mother would not give her money in case she ran out. But what could she say? How could she object to Lori? What if Lori really were suffering from a genuine condition of asthma?
So Ben had landed them in the coolest spot in New York and they sat at the bar, trying to make conversation. Lori jabbered on and on.
Isn't that nice? Debbie thought. So, she has a mouth and a brain after all. She would just sit there in the cold bar, drinking two dollar beers and let them talk while she thought about other more interesting things. She wished she could live here, in the cold bar all summer.
DENISE HICKEY
Summer of '87
St. Mark's Place
# 0659D
MORE BUMS TO COME
All his worldly possessions were stuffed into a grocery cart.
Not a shirt on his back, not a penny to his name, just a shopping cart for a bed, Debbie thought to herself. He was so small and pathetic, sitting atop his little bed, stuffed with rags and overflowing.
Not a shirt on his back, not a penny to his name, just a shopping cart for a bed, Debbie thought to herself. He was so small and pathetic, sitting atop his little bed, stuffed with rags and overflowing.
THE FAMILY OF BUMS
(After a while, they did not bother to look anymore.)
Home was a cardboard box split open and spread out over the sidewalk of East Ninth Street. In the summer, it wasn't so bad. Sure it got hot, but all you had to do was lay out on your piece of the box and relax. People, they weren't too bad. It was your place, they knew it. They didn't intrude. Hell, they didn't even look at you. You'd get some newcomers, they give you a look. You see them coming first and you expect it. But they never looked straight at you. And after a couple of weeks, they did not even bother to look anymore.
The chicks, you holler things at 'em, they never look twice. They walk real fast and keep going.
Debbie walked up East Ninth Street. Today was a good day for ice cream at Steve's Ice Cream Parlor. She could sit on the bench and gaze out the big glass windows at all the people walking by. Once she had been sitting in Steve's Ice Cream Parlor, delighting in a triple chocolate cone, when she spotted a group of young men walking toward the windows. They stopped and pointed. Beside her was a student, munching his ice cream and reading a book. His comrades outside walked with purpose to the window. He didn't look up. One of them knocked on the glass. He jumped. He looked up and they all laughed silently outside the glass.
She approached the cardboard box. There was Uncle So-and-So, standing on his one leg. He was probably a Viet Nam vet with plenty of war stories to tell. There was the scrawny woman with the awful, scratchy voice she liked to imitate when she allowed herself the chance to be silly. Not with Lori, that was for sure.
There was a stranger with them today, a woman.
"Aunt Mabel come to visit from Harlem," she jokingly told Lori later.
THE VILLAGE, THE BUMS
Life in the Village, Summer of '87
The hottest, most disgusting summer ever
Power 95 Degrees - Every Day
Lori didn't like the air conditioner
"Spare a lil bit o' change, Miss?"
He sang every day as she walked past him, down Saint Mark's Place after work. Sitting on the curb against the black wrought iron fence, his head wrapped in a small white turban, his big brown eyes looking seriously up at her. It was subliminally sung, below his breath, an innocent song, incidentally conveying the message that he needed money.
One day she and Lori decided together to give him change the next time they walked by. They laughed about his innocent song one Saturday morning. They locked the apartment, turning the key in the triple lock, over and over again, and left.
"Spare any change - Miss?"
At the sound of the familiar lullaby, Debbie reached into her purse, rummaged for spare change and came up with a dime and some pennies. She quickly dropped them into his hand. His song interrupted, he looked up at her with big brown eyes. She gasped. He looked as if he were about to cry.
PACKAGES
Solitary gray blocks stood silent and strong against a cloudless blue sky. She stared up at the monument, wondering which place in the linear landscape, was her office.
She walked down the long carpeted corridor into the office. Back from Thanksgiving vacation, at last. She thought Monday would never come.
"And if you don't send those packages up here to the forty-eighth floor, I am going to kill you," the office manager spoke the immortal words.
"Those packages have been in the mailroom for three weeks and if you don't deliver them here, right now, I am going to kill you." She placed significant emphasis on the last few words.
"Death threats over the phone," Debbie giggled. Scott and the other managers were back from London and everything was back to normal again.
Crystal took one look at Elyse, sighed, shook her head and disappeared into her office.
"Did It tell you where he was going?" Elyse asked.
"It? No." Debbie laughed and turned to face her computer. "Oh. He went to a meeting. He'll be back at two."
Marie stood sentinel at the end of the hall.
"Yes, Mother, I'm coming," and Elyse disappeared around the corner.
0909D
She walked down the long carpeted corridor into the office. Back from Thanksgiving vacation, at last. She thought Monday would never come.
"And if you don't send those packages up here to the forty-eighth floor, I am going to kill you," the office manager spoke the immortal words.
"Those packages have been in the mailroom for three weeks and if you don't deliver them here, right now, I am going to kill you." She placed significant emphasis on the last few words.
"Death threats over the phone," Debbie giggled. Scott and the other managers were back from London and everything was back to normal again.
Crystal took one look at Elyse, sighed, shook her head and disappeared into her office.
"Did It tell you where he was going?" Elyse asked.
"It? No." Debbie laughed and turned to face her computer. "Oh. He went to a meeting. He'll be back at two."
Marie stood sentinel at the end of the hall.
"Yes, Mother, I'm coming," and Elyse disappeared around the corner.
0909D
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
CORPORATE FRUSTRATION
She sighed. Lunch hour at last. She tapped the button on the word processor one last time, straightened some papers and left. Once in the long corridor, she clenched her fists in rage. Why? she thought. Why didn't he like her? How could they? How could he ignore her? And, with these thoughts in mind, she flung her wrists furiously to her sides, and she pointed her chin high into the air. She stomped down the hall in the atrociously high black heels and swung her head around to her left, to glimpse Scott through the copyroom, across the adjacent hallway, walking parallel to her. Embarrassed suddenly at her enraged stance, she tilted her head and started to smile. She raced toward the door at the end of the hall, knowing who she would meet in the lobby. She opened one door, as Scott opened the other and there, walking toward each other, at the elevator button, they met.
"Hi," they softly said to each other. All her anger left her.
He smiled down on her, his gaze softening to reflect the expression in her eyes, as if their true feelings for each other, shrouded in winter fog all these months, became defined and now the clouds gave way to a clear reflecting pool, if only for a few moments.
He pressed the elevator button, for her, for them.
"Oh, it's so busy," she breathed. She did not know what else to say.
"Well, at least you're not bored."
"Oh, I could use some boredome," she sighed as they stepped into the elevator.
"It has its advantages," he said matter-of-factly, in his soothing deep voice.
"I think we'll be moving out," she informed him.
"To another part of the country?"
"Nooo. A few blocks," she answered in surprise.
"Still the same roomates?"
"Yeah. Her sisters. It's crazy."
"Does that guy still call her?"
"Yeah, every night. Collect."
"Collect." He chuckled.
"We think he's killing off his friends. It's crazy." She repeated.
She was trembling but t wasn't the FBI or a psycho killer she was afraid of. It was Scott.
She stared up at him, her blue eyes round and huge.
"We're moving because we're scared. We don't know what he'll do." She looked way up at him, petite even in her three-inch heels. He studied her face, the blond bangs falling over her blue eyes. His own face was young, handsome in the flattering lights of the elevator.
They stepped out of the elevator onto the glossy brown marble floor of the vast lobby.
"We don't know if he'll kill her or he'll kill me. And it's a long fall from the fourteenth floor." She announced.
"Ye--Yeeeah," Scott shuddered.
"Well, see ya," and she left him standing there.
He stood and watched her as she passed through the revolving glass doors into the sunlit day.
DENISE HICKEY
ALL THAT GLITTERS ?
Doc. 0656D
"Hi," they softly said to each other. All her anger left her.
He smiled down on her, his gaze softening to reflect the expression in her eyes, as if their true feelings for each other, shrouded in winter fog all these months, became defined and now the clouds gave way to a clear reflecting pool, if only for a few moments.
He pressed the elevator button, for her, for them.
"Oh, it's so busy," she breathed. She did not know what else to say.
"Well, at least you're not bored."
"Oh, I could use some boredome," she sighed as they stepped into the elevator.
"It has its advantages," he said matter-of-factly, in his soothing deep voice.
"I think we'll be moving out," she informed him.
"To another part of the country?"
"Nooo. A few blocks," she answered in surprise.
"Still the same roomates?"
"Yeah. Her sisters. It's crazy."
"Does that guy still call her?"
"Yeah, every night. Collect."
"Collect." He chuckled.
"We think he's killing off his friends. It's crazy." She repeated.
She was trembling but t wasn't the FBI or a psycho killer she was afraid of. It was Scott.
She stared up at him, her blue eyes round and huge.
"We're moving because we're scared. We don't know what he'll do." She looked way up at him, petite even in her three-inch heels. He studied her face, the blond bangs falling over her blue eyes. His own face was young, handsome in the flattering lights of the elevator.
They stepped out of the elevator onto the glossy brown marble floor of the vast lobby.
"We don't know if he'll kill her or he'll kill me. And it's a long fall from the fourteenth floor." She announced.
"Ye--Yeeeah," Scott shuddered.
"Well, see ya," and she left him standing there.
He stood and watched her as she passed through the revolving glass doors into the sunlit day.
DENISE HICKEY
ALL THAT GLITTERS ?
Doc. 0656D
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