I - excerpt
When I get there she isn’t reading The New York Times or The Village Voice. She’s looking around and that makes me apprehensive. I’m not sure I’m ready for this. Of course I’d like to run right over and plant a big
fat one on her lips, that is, shock her into admission, but it’s complicated and for all my bravado, the truth is I’m actually shy. That’s why I never get past the thought that undulates inside my head like a mirage. It’s really fucking hopeless. The smell of burnt coffee pervades the place, overlapped by the buzz of operators and drivers like a poorly arranged symphony. I complain to Patsy, whose cigarette dangles from her mouth like an appendage, that five airport runs are cruel and unusual punishment. She shrugs, turns her head toward the perpetrator Ben Steiner who’s cracking Yiddish jokes. I push up my sleeves, determined to do the deed and navigate the wall of idle men who give me nasty looks. Ben disappears in the back.
“I’ve paid my dues,” I tell him when I get there. “I want some regulars, for a start.”
“You and the rest of these stiffs.”
“Seriously. These one shot deals shave years off my life, not to mention my income. I'm not like these cretins herding people like a bunch of cows. I’m a pro, Ben.”
“What do you want? A medal? A purple fucking heart for braving the traffic on the L.I.E.?” His laugh is derisive. I’d like to strangle him.
“I told you what I want. If you give it to me, you won’t be sorry. And if you don’t, well, no guarantees.”
“Sheez, you sound like the Mafia, Alex.” He turns away. “Hey Frankie,” he calls to the guy standing outside, leaning against the dusty file cabinets. “Give Joan of Arc here that bastard who tips you a C-note every time you take him to the cat house.” Frankie doesn’t look up from his porno rag as he blindly flips me a bird.
“See?” Ben exclaims. “I got no control over them.”
“Well, guess what. You got no control over me either.” I start to walk but this time he comes after me. Instead of carrying on in front of an audience he asks me back into his office. The plate glass window is covered with smudges. I see faint silhouettes on the street instead of the raunchy details. “Truth is, I like you, Alex. You’re intelligent, for one. A rare commodity around these parts. Tell you what. I’ll see what I can do.”
I stare at my pristine, white sneakers.
“You’re a good girl,” he adds, then realizes the err of his ways. “I mean—“I know, I know…” The usual male chauvinist crap. It’s the gender aspect. If only they knew who I really was. But that’s the past and it’s gone so you can’t show it. On my way out, I wrap my arm around Patsy’s tiny waist. “Thanks, baby, for sticking by me.”
“Didn’t do nuthin’, darlin',” she replies in a sonorous voice, a baritone heading for a bass.
“That’s more than I can say for anyone else around here. Hey, do me a favor? Call me when that schmuck over there makes up his mind, will ya’?” As I’m leaving, I flip Frankie a bird, grinning facetiously. Fuck you, I think, even though it’s redundant. When I surface on the street and look to my left I’m devastated to find her seat empty, the dog gone, the only remains a cup with a little dried froth around the rim and a lipstick-smeared napkin. Bright orange, brilliant, like the color of her hair, almost copper.
fat one on her lips, that is, shock her into admission, but it’s complicated and for all my bravado, the truth is I’m actually shy. That’s why I never get past the thought that undulates inside my head like a mirage. It’s really fucking hopeless. The smell of burnt coffee pervades the place, overlapped by the buzz of operators and drivers like a poorly arranged symphony. I complain to Patsy, whose cigarette dangles from her mouth like an appendage, that five airport runs are cruel and unusual punishment. She shrugs, turns her head toward the perpetrator Ben Steiner who’s cracking Yiddish jokes. I push up my sleeves, determined to do the deed and navigate the wall of idle men who give me nasty looks. Ben disappears in the back.
“I’ve paid my dues,” I tell him when I get there. “I want some regulars, for a start.”
“You and the rest of these stiffs.”
“Seriously. These one shot deals shave years off my life, not to mention my income. I'm not like these cretins herding people like a bunch of cows. I’m a pro, Ben.”
“What do you want? A medal? A purple fucking heart for braving the traffic on the L.I.E.?” His laugh is derisive. I’d like to strangle him.
“I told you what I want. If you give it to me, you won’t be sorry. And if you don’t, well, no guarantees.”
“Sheez, you sound like the Mafia, Alex.” He turns away. “Hey Frankie,” he calls to the guy standing outside, leaning against the dusty file cabinets. “Give Joan of Arc here that bastard who tips you a C-note every time you take him to the cat house.” Frankie doesn’t look up from his porno rag as he blindly flips me a bird.
“See?” Ben exclaims. “I got no control over them.”
“Well, guess what. You got no control over me either.” I start to walk but this time he comes after me. Instead of carrying on in front of an audience he asks me back into his office. The plate glass window is covered with smudges. I see faint silhouettes on the street instead of the raunchy details. “Truth is, I like you, Alex. You’re intelligent, for one. A rare commodity around these parts. Tell you what. I’ll see what I can do.”
I stare at my pristine, white sneakers.
“You’re a good girl,” he adds, then realizes the err of his ways. “I mean—“I know, I know…” The usual male chauvinist crap. It’s the gender aspect. If only they knew who I really was. But that’s the past and it’s gone so you can’t show it. On my way out, I wrap my arm around Patsy’s tiny waist. “Thanks, baby, for sticking by me.”
“Didn’t do nuthin’, darlin',” she replies in a sonorous voice, a baritone heading for a bass.
“That’s more than I can say for anyone else around here. Hey, do me a favor? Call me when that schmuck over there makes up his mind, will ya’?” As I’m leaving, I flip Frankie a bird, grinning facetiously. Fuck you, I think, even though it’s redundant. When I surface on the street and look to my left I’m devastated to find her seat empty, the dog gone, the only remains a cup with a little dried froth around the rim and a lipstick-smeared napkin. Bright orange, brilliant, like the color of her hair, almost copper.
