Courting Destiny

Sign Up For My Weekly Newsletter!

Rain, boxes, rusty: three words; an exercise in fiction–with addendums

By

I support the 2996 project but for personal reasons can’t be part of it.

Also support Shayna’s my musical highway project. This week the guest is Major Dad who can talk about a a friend who worked for Cantor/Fitzgerald. The founder is from my part of Long Island. Bob Speisman who is from my old Queens neighborhood died on a plane. Knew about a hundred people who worked in the Towers. Fortunately they all survived. There is more about 9/11 following the <more Will have a stupid but funny to me anecdote about an idiotic thing I did that week on Sunday night

1979–sex and drug alert

We sat in the Kiev for hours slowly finishing our split pea soup. At night the Kiev, on Second Ave near St Marks, was a place people came to after the after-hours and parties. Everybody we knew would end up there, or the Empire Diner, where sometimes Tom Waits would get up from his table and play the piano.

He ordered cheese blintzes knowing that I would pretend to hate them. Nobody made blintzes like Bubbe* Ceila had.

I pretended to hate so many foods there was just good soup, salads, fruits eggs, homemade peanut butter and whole wheat bread left.

“Here,” he said, “there’s something that I want to give you.”

I smiled:
“Wait until we get home.”

“But I want to….”

“Wait. You have absolutely no impulse control.” I sometimes thought that a great trait.

When we left the restaurant, it began to rain, suddenly and summer heavy. We put our arms around each other, he stopped under a grating, and began to kiss me as fiercely as the rain.

He had lavender eyes. I had never met a man with Elizabeth Taylor eyes before, and now I was married to one. Sometimes I thought that my fascination with his looks was superfical and shallow. Most of the time it was worth everything.

The winds picked up as we ran home engulfed in each others arms. Many of the “Missing: Etan Patz” flyers flew from the trees and street lamps.

By the time we got to the small loft on The Bowery near CBGB’s, the rain had stopped but our clothes were so soaked, it was as if we had taken a shower.

I don’t know how we got our clothes off each other. We just did, and as we stood over the kitchen sink, he entered me. I told him to stop but didn’t really mean it. He kissed my whole body, and whispered into my ear how unbelievably soft my skin was. I was ready again.

When we finally finished, could talk and were sharing a cigarette, I asked him what he wanted to give me. He took something out of his jeans and I saw the familiar blue box I had known often in another life. I knew immediately that whatever was in it, wasn’t from Tiffany’s.

When I opened the box, the ring looked like a three carat diamond and a platinium band.

“We’ve been married four years,” I laughed, “I don’t need an engagement ring now.”

“You deserve one. I took you from so much. Lenny, your family, I had no right….”

“Stop it. I was going to leave Lenny. I don’t need diamonds, I need you.”

“Your family….”

“Give them time. It’s only been five years. They hold grudges, but someday…”

Something was ruined. I took a shower. He went into the bedroom.

When I walked in, he had tied a scarf around his arm, and was filling a syringe.

“You stopped, I thought.”

“Annie, the only thing half as good is you.”

“Thats an incredible compliment,”

I knew that I should stop him, but how?

I got dressed and walked north and west to the club where the wine sucked, but I knew everybody, and the music was sometimes amazing. The juke box always was, and I could find somebody special to talk to, and/or flirt with.

I came home in a better mood, but he was lying on the bedroom floor. His Elizabeth Taylor eyes were open and looked shocked.

*************************

This summer of constant rain, half a lifetime later, I think of him too often. I have been married and divorced three times more. Four divorces, and one death, his. Five by 50. I might not have Elizabeth Taylor eyes, but I have something in common with her.

I walk up to the attic and look at all the steel boxes. Four are labeled “Jeremy.” I open the Tiffany box for the first time since that day. The ring is so rusty I am scared to hold it

*****************************************************************
*Bubbe is Yiddish for grandma

I am just beginning to write short fiction, and love it. It helps with my book. Though the story is fiction, many of the details….It both loosens my memories and writing, and helps me remember many wonderful and horrible events.

Doesn’t matter what is true and what is fiction, in a story clearly labeled fiction. Doesn’t matter if you approve of the characters or not. It’s fiction.
I have added some 9/11 stuff. Will have a more appropriate post on 9/11 itself.

I put in a page about how 9/11 affected New Yorkers who were living here then.

Sadly, it did affect us more. Can’t hear a manhole cover explode without that one second of panic. And in real life I never ever talk about 9/11. Nobody that I know does. Sometimes it does feel like a made for TV move I was an extra in. Sometimes it feels all too real.

While I have absolutely no fear of flying, I would tell people that when they left their bags unattended, they were taking a big risk. They would laugh at me. Damn I’m glad the TSA stepped in. There’s nothing funny about leaving unattended bags

There’s nothing funny about terrorist warnings and color coded alerts. Do I believe them? I try not to. But I have to say that email jokes from bloggers about color coded terrorist alerts is beyond sick, and never funny to a person who lived in Manhattan then

One article is about the horror that Ground Zero workers face. Many were true Blue.

Nothing this admin has done has been done with good will and grace.

Now they’re trying to get Repubs who strayed after Katrina back by blaming 9/11 on Bill. Why not? He’s been blamed for everything since 92. But he didn’t sit on an August, 2001 memo that could have changed everything.

Bill Clinton tried more than any other president in my lifetime to get this country on the right track. He was stopped at every juncture by idiot Republicans.

Until after 9/11 I never voted straight Democratic–well I did vote for Bloomberg the first time because I knew he could do what Mark Green couldn’t do—help get NY back on its feet. This past election I voted for Ferrar.

It’s past time to get dirty rotten Repubs out of office. Vote straight Democratic. We need to know what really happened, and why a bushie could say to a brownie “great job,” when it was so obvious…..

I hate politics but the Repubs, not us have made this into a blame game, and it’s past time to put the blame where it belongs. And the radical right shouldn’t be running this country. It is a country where all citizens of all races, religions, and ethnic groups should feel equal

I didn’t mean to go into anti Repub tirade. 9/11 is my Achilles Heel. How can it not be? I was here then and not going to rehash my story as I’m not looking for a sympathy. I will never fully heal if I remain in New York, because a small group of 9/11 families keeps it front and center in the news all year round. They’re still fighting over placement of names in the memorial.

Sometimes it feels as if they own this city, and the rest of us are supposed to bow to their whims, their healing. Well, they have had five years—none of them will ever hurt financially. They have been given everything. Would have been so easy easy to have had group counseling for everybody who needed it.

That’s all I ever wanted. A chance to meet people who lost family members around the time of 9/11 but not in it, because it felt as if I didn’t deserve to grieve for my own mother

I am mostly healed now. But I know that I can’t live in a city where the 9/11 families are front and center in the news all year round. Am linking to two pages. One is something that I wrote but lack the nerve to put in as a post, and one are articles from The New York Times

Am not looking for sympathy or pity comments. Everything that I wrote can be easily fact checked—plus much more that I didn’t put in. The articles say much–and show how much money the “lowest” workers families were given. Money can’t buy these particular families anything, and it doesn’t bring back a person, but the rest of America and the world, including any possible terrorists, should know that while New York has never looked better, it’s a shell.

I called FEMA and every federal, city and state agency I could think of offering to set up a pilot program that would help all New Yorkers. Never heard back from any. Don’t blame the city at all. RudyG, who I personally don’t like and Bloomberg did everything they possibly could.

But they forgot to factor in the people who lived here then and had their psyches harmed perhaps permanently. Always thought if such programs had been implemented, they would have known more about how to handle Katrina in a positive way.

Please remember the 9/11 families are not the only “victims.”

But what do I know?
**************************************************************

Am taking a four week blogging break beginning Tuesday 9/12. Have lined up many great bloggerswriters and will occasionally fill in with short fiction.

Comments

  3. Pia, I love this side of you. Please write more.

    “Something was ruined.”

    That line is brilliant. Three little words, but brilliant.

  5. Compelling story, vividly drawn characters, with a very strong point of view.

    Do you think you could hsve sketched the woman as powerfully in the third person? How differently would it have felt to you, as her author, if you were to write her that way?

  6. Cooper, I believe that it closed in the 90’s but reopened, not the same tough

    It was a Polish 24 hour diner

    Jason, thanks. It’s not a drug that ever appealed to me–too many people I knew did die of complication

    Bone, thanks. You picked the one line I was worried about

    Tony G–I think so also—thanks

    A thanks–I think the third person or even the past tense can weaken a story

    I did try to write it in the third person. Felt as if I had to fill in too many details, and it didn’t work

    The first person present tense lets the story flow–though I did this in the past tense, it had a feeling of present tense perhaps because I went back in time so completly

  7. Captivating story, Pia. Brings out the wurst in me.

    I remember going to see Gina Harlow & The Cutthroats at CBGB’s, probably in 1980. It was a cold winter night. My girlfriend du jour and I walked in and sat down to listen to the now long gone garage punk band. It was a relatively small place if I remember right. The girl in front of us was fondling her breasts over her cashmere sweater. Suddenly she raised it up to her shoulders, exposing herself to the crowd. She continued to rub herself. It went on so long, it actually got boring to watch.

    Gina Davis, the lead singer, kept propping her foot up on a front speaker. The stage lights glistened on her flesh. Quite obviously, she wore no underwear.

    That’s pretty much what I remember about CBGB’s and that band. I don’t recall any of the music or whether it sounded good or bad. I never returned there. My favorite haunt back then was Max’s Kansas City.

    I exposed a lot to that girl I dated in those days gone by. Earlier in the evening, we went to see Caligula. It wasn’t the R-rated version.

    I guess I was a bad boy back then.

  9. Nice tale, well told.
    But a small oy. It was a Polish 24 hour diner *sigh* Kiev was Ukranian, the Orchidia Polish, B and H cheap.

  11. MD–spent too much time at too many clubs including Max’s. My college best friend’s first job after college was as a waitress there, and have more history with it

    QB thanks–am focusing on my book for the next month and am having guest bloggers but will make some appearances with more fiction

    Heretick–Hi! Thanks

    You’re right–I’m Polish or Russian, depending on what year Bylrussia was owned by what country Kiev is of course named for Kiev in the Ukraine–exact same food

    Jacob as always thanks

  12. Part of the trick of fiction is that it’s not convincing unless half of it comes from real-lfe experiences and drawn from real people. If you can’t make it sound convincing, it isn’t.

    So putting part of yourself in is always necessary.

    In any event, Bill had 2 opportunities to capture bin Ladin but refused to do more than send missiles into foreign countries from off-shore, in one case destroying a factory full of innocent workers.

    The documentary being shot isn’t even complete yet, so I’ll reserve judgement on it until it’s complete.

    I try to keep a level head about it all. Every one of them makes mistakes and blunders — alot of times, very bad ones.

  13. Far better to tell truth in fiction than tell fiction under guise of truth.

    As I recall hearing it, Bush had his share of oppertunity to take down bin Laden as well. I’ll have to recheck.

  19. Elizabeth Taylor eyes? I thought it was Bette Davis eyes. This is news to me.:)

    Still on for guest posting this week although for some reason I’m having trouble accessing my site today, along with a few other sites like even Google. Hopefully it will all blow over soon:(