Good may this message find you!
I was (am) just sitting on our (new) kitchen floor with a half an herb-rubbed chicken and some really good bread reading Seymour Britchky’s “New, Revised Guides to the Restaurants of New York” (ed. 1976). Page 34:
“A delicious headcheese, mostly tongue, in a firm and cool jelly that is heavily peppered and herbed, is served with minced onions and garnishes of olives, small tomatoes and radishes.”
Sounds good, right? I know.
How are you?
I would chance a call now but who knows, it is three am in Syria? Four? Anyway. News:
1) New Job continues apace. To great effect! I am happy—truly happy—tucked away in my little advertising embankment, drafting radio script tra da da and press release this and that, smattered in pitch wadda wadda and one very exciting Online Brochure. I stand ready and am armed to the teeth, breaking very rarely for a visit to our subterranean salad bar or, say, the ladies powder where there is no hand-soap but a truly disgusting number of creams and moisturizers, so that’s something.
2) New Apartment very nearly unpacked. Oven and shower working, both, and bed neatly positioned on a level hardwood plane. It is a ten-minute walk to work. My complaints are at an all-time minimum! Kozi seems happy about the changes but says this is a lot of change. I say I know. He says: when are we going to get married? I say I don’t know. Change! And change again.
3) Love life: Yours not mine. Hmmm…… what of you and H?
Anon, xoxo LL
To your question: Last time I saw H I did not see him as he had rather adroitly thrown away my contact lenses. He left me blind. Stone cold blind. Blind and fumbling and praying. Really? They’re gone? How could they be gone? He said “I thought those were just used drinking glasses so I washed them.” Oh!
But I’m a smart La. The devil made me smart. So I rushed over to the sink and literally examined the drain catch for any signs of my beloved contacts, of vision itself. Gone. Nothing. Clean and bone dry. I was at a loss. H, in his eternally abrupt ‘play it as it lays’ playbook, threw a hand in the air and shouted “Bon Chance!” and was out the door, the sprightly one. I retired to bed once more, exhausted already by the weight of flying blind on the subway lines. But this heart keeps beating and the throat insists upon breath! Blast this business.
I readied myself for the world as best I could. It was a rendering. And, while he offered to pay for a taxi, I so loath financial exchanges, the hugger-mugger of reimbursement, that I simply took my chances on the lines. Nearly wound up in Harlem before turning around to master the southerly route. In time my key was to my lock once more and the world was returned to its correct place and could be viewed in crisp relief.
Be careful. You know?
Hello and Greetings from Baggage Carousel 2 at LaGuardia. Iranian and Syrian missions both accomplished.
To be sure: I am aware of what you say. I have received your message and parsed, carefully parsed, the lines. H is a rather spry fellow and does not lack for admirers. Not one bit. I do know this. I have no expectations here.
And yet I do really love to be around him and find his humor and wit a salve in this blustery world! He’s a fun one and we laugh.
And yet just before I left he got into a real spot with me b/c he asked if I would curtail my job so I wouldn’t have to travel so much and could see more of him. I said I couldn’t imagine doing something like that unless he was really in my life. So how much are you in my life, dear H? And he said I’d like to see you and so I had to ask, as a woman, a beleaguered and bedraggled woman of the world, well, are you seeing anyone else? And he said, well, yes. I said ok. He said, it’s more like I’m sleeping with a few different women. Sometimes.
I, ever trying in this world, ever with hands poised on the hips, the handyman’s stance, ever looking on for more logic and sense where we know there is none, I said ok. But if you want to be with me, to really be with me, you’ll have to quit all that. He said ok.
I said did you sleep with anyone else, say, this past week when we’ve been hanging out so much together?
We had this conversation seated on the leather sofas of H’s ultimate bachelorhood and there was nothing in the fridge and there were business cards and menus everywhere so I do have my eyes open and I see the world for what it is.
Thus, I tried to get up and get my coat and scarf. I had had enough. I was gone! Jackal to the wind and ready once more for the night and for the men of the world, both. He would have none of it. I note here that H is a strong man with muscle at his beck and call.
So he said “Give me a chance. I want to get to know you more and spend more time with you. I’ll stop sleeping with the other women.”
The man loves women. Loves everything about us. Inspects us as a car thief prowls the streets, seeking tender entryways and passages, the portals that will allow for theft and joy ride. I am doing what I can. The windows are rolled up and the Club is in place. But I have been parked on a dark corner and there are shadowy types lurking, their crowbars to hand. How much longer? How much longer?
Anon, my sweet. I seek only the day we will all live more closely together. Bon chance!
News of your firm stance on this American soil brings me comfort.
I write as the devil will allow and per the job, per the work, per passing days. I am still young, but just.
In the company of others and otherwise, I am alone and uneasy. I think of you.