Dreamers on the Rise

I picked up the note on the kitchen table. 

     To my roomie, aka Ben “The Stud-Man of Wilsonville” Shaw:

          I’m guessing today, Sunday, for you, is a day of rest (not because you are particularly religious, but I’m sure thirty-six hours of hedonistic sex with a luscious girl in her early twenties, with melons, ripe and delicious,  has left your plums withered, you being almost twice her age and all).  But, I digress (in a fruity sort of way).  Tomorrow, here is your schedule.  I will remind you that your roommate (you know, the other good looking young girl, also with some pretty good looking apples I might add–but as far as you’re concerned, they’re on a branch fifty feet up with nary a ladder in sight–but, again, I digress) has tomorrow off (bogus teachers workshop–notice how they’re always on a Friday or a Monday).

5:00 (yes, A.M.! Atom splitter)–Get your sorry, lard-ass out of bed.  Five-mile run.  Come home, very quick shower (no fooling around in there–reference page 118 of girl talk manual–or first three minutes of American Beauty)–free, unless you count the soap and water used.

         

6:00 Take your roommate to The Criminal Café for breakfast.  You’re back on the program, by the way.  Awaiting you, an egg white omelet with tofu and wheat germ.  Maybe $10.

7:00 We go to the West Side Market and stock up on veggies and fruit for the week.  While over that way, we go to the Book Store on West 25^th to see if they have a used copy of Endless Love by Scott Spencer because David stole the copy we had at the store and when he finally brought it back all the good pages were ripped out.  Count on at least $50. $55 if they have the book.

10:00 Call in sick.  Excuse?  Just tell David your car was sunk by a U-boat.  See how long it takes for him to realize it’s a fraudulent alibi.

    

10:05 Stop at Shoptalk Lingerie and pick up mesh stockings, garter belt,  French maid outfit, and that butterfly toy with the remote control all my girlfriends are talking about (!) for your roommate (yeah! Right!  In your dreams Humbert!)–just seeing if you’re paying attention!  And just to keep you current on the all-important cutting edge lingo, they are no longer referred to as vibrators.  They are now called BOBs.  Battery operated Boyfriends.  But, again, I digress.  Such a state of arousal you get yourself into!

10:10 Stop at Thee Diamond’s Mens’ Club to see if I passed my audition (Humbert!  Humbert!  Wake up!–instead, we’ll go to Fourbucks Coffee and see if we can get two coffees for under $20).  Talk for 50 minutes and plan out the next ten years.   Also, discuss in detail supposed innocent childhood game rumored to be called Bang the Buddy. Roughly $9.

11:00 I’m hungry!  No hake for me, thank you.  I’m thinking the Mexican Village.  Veracruzanos.  Because I’m only 16, and have 5% body fat, I’ll have three.  Because you’re hovering on the four oh, and will soon find out you are some exercise guru’s fat, bastard brother, I recommend a Spinach salad and a bran muffin.  Take copy of current Maxim magazine (it’s at the bottom of your magazine pile, beneath the Atlantic Monthly, Smithsonian,  and National Geographic–nice try) and hope we see Monica Potter there so we can get her autograph–she’s on the cover (not sure if you looked above the neck).$20.

1:00 PM–It’s afternoon!  We go see Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon for the fifth time!  I’ll have the large buttered popcorn.  If you’re nice to me, I’ll let you lick my fingers.  Afterwards, we have a fake sword fight with wrapping paper tubes and see if we can run up the side of buildings.   If you win the fight, I’ve arranged for you to have a threesome with Michelle Yeoh and Zhang Ziyi.  If you lose the sword fight, you have to wear your hair and talk through your teeth like Chow Yun Fat for the rest of your life.   Figure $15, unless you hurt yourself during the sword fight and I have to take you to the EmergiCare.

3:30 John Dufresne is going to be at Joseph-Beth Booksellers for a book signing, on Shaker Square,  and my roommate insists on treating me to a signed copy of Love Warps the Mind a Little.  A subject he has cornered the market on (my roommate, not John–it would be pure speculation on my part regarding John; with you, Buttfly, factoid for sure).  While there, we ride the rapid downtown and back so we can identify with the downtrodden urban poor who have to take the transit and also the rich people from Shaker Heights who think it’s fashionable.  $25 (+ another $10 on trashy magazines so I can learn about sex and find new positions for when I play Bang the Buddy game with my roommate–Ha! Ha! Ha!  You’re so incredibly weak and easy!  Some would say, pathetic!).

5:30 We pick up Patty and Jennifer (as you so coyly call them, the Yum Yum, Double D. Pleasure Twins–your dreams must be so tortured)  from tennis practice (somebody, maybe your roommate,  has mysteriously called off sick).  You do not, I repeat, you do not, look at Patty’s legs and Jennifer’s breasts like you always do.  Hear me?  I don’t want to hear them complain to me again!  (As in, “ewwwwww the pervert was looking at my legs!  Again!”)  We drop them off at home.  Free (although for only $20, Patty said she will let you take pictures of her in her old Catholic school-girl uniform!)–What am I going to do with you?!!! (And it was the unanimous opinion of the three of us that $20 was much too low considering the fact you’d probably gladly pay $50 and provide lifetime taxi privileges).

6:00 I’m famished!  Because you love me unconditionally, as you would a daughter, you take me to Gavi’s where we feast on an appetizer of Portobello alla Gorgonzola (yum!) followed by Filetti di Vitello con Sugo di Prosciutto e Pancetta for the lady (me!), and Tasmanian Salmon for the gentleman (with reluctance, I dub thee)–be very grateful, it is a fatty fish and will go right to your thighs and immediately convert to cottage cheese (well, technically, that only happens to women.  In your case, it lands on that vast expanse called the Great Plain of Goo which resides above your belt). $80 (includes the $5 tip you’ll give Brad, the guy who’s in charge of valet parking tonight–he’s a hot boy!) 

All in all–About $225 on your Master Card.  A day with your loving, sex goddess roommate: priceless!

          Oh, I forgot.

8:00 An after-hours appointment at the bookstore with David and Pervis Stahl for you to appraise used books he’s selling.  Is it me, or do you also think Pervis’s address is somewhat south of Erebus?  (Ah, yes. All this sex you’ve been getting has turned your mind into balata. At your advanced age, you’ve probably lost all knowledge of Greek mythology.  Erebus being that dark place just north of Hades).

10:00 Wallow in self-pity because you’ve gone 24 hours without sex, no fruit even in analogies, and are developing scurvy.  Think about how you could have spent the last two hours at the mall buying me clothes instead of with that vile, nasty Pervis Stahl, and then sneak into my bedroom while I’m sleeping and steal the magazines I bought today.  Memorize them (Please!  This time, don’t cut out the pictures of the girls in their underwear!  Leave me some shred of dignity for when the Yum Yums come over and we’re looking through magazines and then I have to explain how all the holes in my poor periodicals got there.  It’s just so unfashionable to be living with a true pervert.  They both feel so sorry for me). 

          11:00 Lights out!  Wasn’t it a lovely day!?

              Most affectionately, I remain, your true Erato,

                        Amber McClain, aka, your loving roommate

Dreamers on the Rise

Dreamers on the Rise

Amber returned from lunch and came in and sat across from me. 

     “Do you love her?” she asked.  She reached over and brushed the hair out of my eyes.  I wondered who took care of whom sometimes.  

     “Huh?” 

     “Charly.  Do you love her?”  I stared out the window.  “You know, it’s just an observation, but did you ever notice what a label whore you’ve become?”  This wasn’t on topic at all.  But, it did give me the opportunity to avoid the original question.

     “Meaning?”

     “I’ve watched you.  Since you’ve started hanging out with Charly you’ve bought fifteen Tommy shirts.  Did you know that?  You’ve started wearing Nautica.  Did you ever do that around my sister?”

     “It was different.” 

     “How so?”

     “I was. . .Sara was just. . .”  I was fumbling.  No words were rushing out offering to be the pace car for a complete sentence.  Little eddies of them were scrambling around begging for order and logic.

     “Always there?”  I looked at her.

     “You mean, like I took her for granted?”

     “No.  I’m not saying that at all.  All I’m saying is, and I’m not saying don’t explore everything with Charly–believe me–I love the girl–she’s great.  But, what I’m saying is, all this time you’ve been looking for that On Golden Pond love you were all puddling up on–and maybe you’ve been swimming in it for twenty years, treading water.  It’s possible.”  She probably made more sense than I wanted to admit.

     “A label whore, huh?  Is that in your book?”  She dug in her back pocket and flipped pages. 

     “It comes right before lack-a-nookie,” she said, peering at the page.

     “Is there a picture of me next to that one?” 

     “At least you know what the beast looks and smells like.”

     “You’re only sixteen.”

     “And probably the only virgin left in my class, you do realize that, right?” 

     “Well, I’m proud of you.” 

     “I’m touched beyond belief.  Let’s get back to your sex life, not my non-existent one.  I’m not about to give up the goods to any of the McDumbasses at my school.  I’ll just wait for the right guy, thank you very much.”

. . .from the forthcoming novel. . .Dreamers on the Rise

Dreamers on the Rise

We drove in silence for a few minutes.  She leaned over and turned on the radio.  We picked up the Indians game.  I looked over at her.  Amber was staring straight ahead.  Sara had given her the Uvarovite drop earrings I had given her for Christmas a few years back.  The headlights of the passing cars illuminated her face, the earrings sparkling in the dark.   I noticed a bubble of a tear welling up in her eye closest to me.  She turned to me and I saw it slide down her high cheekbone.

     “I love you so much,” she said.  She bussed the side of my face and wiped the tear out of her eye.

     “I love you, too.”  I rubbed her ear, feeling the earring, remembering doing the same thing to Sara.

“She said every time you saw them on me, you would remember

her.”  Amber stared at me and then snuggled up next to me, drawing her legs up onto the seat, her face looking out.   I stroked the top of her head.  She stared out of the side window.  I looked down in a few minutes and she was sleeping beside me.  The moon was pouring through the side window, bouncing off her bare legs.  Goosebumps were rising on her thighs.  I reached in the back and pulled a blanket up from the back seat and covered her.  She nuzzled into my neck.  I listened to the game all the way home.  Charles Nagy was throwing a shutout against the Yankees, his elbow shot to hell, bone-on-bone every pitch, pitching on nothing but guts and grit.  Bone-on-bone.  My emotional equivalent.   Tom Hamilton was at the mike, top of the ninth evening, as we ran the ridges of Central Ohio finding our way home.  As Bernie Williams helplessly flailed at Charles’s last pitch, Tom Hamilton screamed his lungs out in response.  Amber stirred next to me.

     “Charles win?” she asked, half asleep.

     “That he did.”  I stroked her hair silently.  “And so did I.”

     “How so?”

     “I’ve got you, don’t I?”

     “You call that winning?”  She kissed my cheek.  “You poor, poor witless idiot.”

. . .from the forthcoming novel. . .Dreamers on the Rise

Dreamers on the Rise

“Rule number one.  You have to stay in a position for one minute and you can’t move.  Next time, it’s your turn to pick the position.”  Next time?  I opened my eyes.  She was looking down at me.  “Who’s always been your best buddy?”  I figured now wasn’t the time to say Eddie Leftkowisz in the third grade.  Even I was smarter than that.  Hell, even David would be smarter than that.

. . .from the forthcoming novel. . .Dreamers on the Rise

Dreamers on the Rise

We continued the walk home.  I was starting to drag.  I looked down and saw Charly’s hand.   I cautiously took hold of it.  I was amazed at the feel of it.  It seemed to fit into my hand perfectly.  She clutched my hand tightly and looked at me.   At that moment, there was no blueprint for my emotions to follow.

     “If you think you’re going to scare me away with your pain, you’re wrong,” Charly said. She stopped in the middle of the road.  “We do the best we can with what we’ve been given, Ben.  My needle’s moving on to the next track.  I wouldn’t mind singing with somebody for a change.”  I brought my hand up to her face.  My finger traced her lips.  She closed her eyes as I traced her eyelids.  I took my finger and went down the slope of her nose, past her lips, over her chin and down her neck.  I stopped where her tank top met with the swell at the top of her breasts.  I let my finger linger there and her eyes fluttered open.    A car honked coming down the road toward us.  We moved off to the side.

     “How ‘bout breakfast?”  Charly asked.   It was then I noticed we had both started shaking.  I didn’t think it had anything to do with the pain in my legs and thighs.   She turned around and started walking backwards.  She looked absolutely radiant.  Those red satin shorts were starting to make me tremble.  I had never asked her how old she was, although I knew there was quite a gap in our ages.  I did know this: I was pretty much utterly powerless at this point.  As Sara would have said, in the Monopoly game of life, I had advanced to Pathetic Avenue and bought the biggest hotel on the street.

. . .from the forthcoming novel. . .Dreamers on the Rise

Dreamers on the Rise

“How’s the salad, David?  When you told me you were a strict vegetarian, I just couldn’t resist asking you over for dinner tonight.”  I looked at David in horror.  Caught.  Trapped.  He was the grand embellisher and this time it cost him.  David fancied himself a vegetarian, although he hated vegetables.  Strict vegetarian indeed.  This from the man who regularly met me at The Criminal for breakfast and ordered cheeseburgers smothered in chili.

     “Oh yes.  David is quite the vegetarian,” I said, looking down at my plate trying not to explode into laughter.  I glanced up at him and took the offensive.

     “David, why don’t you tell them about some of the delicious vegetarian delights that you’ve concocted.”  All eating stopped.  Attention was riveted on David.  He squirmed in his seat and then proceeded to choke on his last gulp of water.  He coughed uncontrollably again.  Rejoyce repeatedly hammered him on the back with her six-year-old fist.  David, looking around in a panic, finally knocked over his chair, backed up against the hutch, dishes rattling, and managed a feeble “excuse me” and made it out the front door where he hacked away. Rejoyce ran after him. Charly and Hanna went to get up and I motioned them to stay seated.

     “He’ll be fine.  I’ll check on him.” I got up and looked out the door in time to see David deposit a microscopic bit of green goo on the front lawn.

     “Bleeeech,” I heard Rejoyce say.  I went back to the table.  David and Rejoyce came back in and sat down.  David’s face was chalk white but he acted as if nothing happened.

     “David threw up!” Rejoyce announced.

     “Did not!”  David said.  “It was just the result of the coughing.”  He patted his mouth with his napkin.

     “Did to,” Rejoyce said, under her breath.

     “Okay, enough, you two,” Hanna said.  Chastised like a mere two-year-old.  “Are you okay, David?”

     “I’m fine, really.” All respect gone, the lad might as well pick up an accordion and start playing Frankie Yankovic’s greatest polka hits.

Dreamers on the Rise

In closing the front door, I inadvertently shut the back half of the cat between the door and the jamb.  She screamed in protest.  Her tail puffed out to resemble a bristle brush (a foreign object to me, but I had heard rumors of their existence for the purpose of toilet cleaning). I went back inside.  Amber didn’t even look up.   I remembered I hadn’t fed Chuckles in three days.  The cat looked around sullenly, first at her empty food dish, then to her dry water bowl.  She started licking her bruised tail. Amber looked up.  “I’ll feed her.” She slid her chair back and went to the cupboard.  She shook the bag.  “Maybe another three days.” 

     Or, a week, by my measurement.  The cat was on a diet.  The I Haven’t Made it to Pet/Smart yet Diet.  I went to the cupboard above my filthy sink and opened a fresh can of tuna while Amber doled out the dry.  We placed the bowls in front of her royal highness.  The cat scarfed down the tuna in the time it took me to look back up at Amber.

     Amber looked at the filthy sink and then back at me.  I nodded.

     “It’ll cost you.”  She smiled at me.

     “The Snickers are in their usual place.”

     “Venerable!”

     I fished in my pocket once again for my keys.  “I’m locking you in.” I headed for the door.  She waved, not looking up from her paper, deep in concentration, pen stuck in her mouth in anticipation of a viable thought, followed by the motion of writing.  

. . .from the forthcoming novel. . .Dreamers on the Rise

Dreamers on the Rise

“Listen to me.  You’ve got plenty of time.  Love and romance are akin to gegenschein on the distant horizon.”  I stopped while Amber took out her little notebook and carefully wrote gegenschein in her book, tallying up a point for me.  “It’s faint light.  You can’t touch it.  It’s love undefined.  Diffuse light in the evening sky that’s there one minute and vanishes with the stars. It’s dust particles shimmering out like fireworks on the fourth.”   I left her with that and went back out to the counter.

. . .from the forthcoming novel. . .Dreamers on the Rise. ..

Dreamers on the Rise

“You’re late and you’re smiling.”  David looked at the register receipts on the counter, scanning the figures from business we did last night.  “Sara was smiling when she came in too.” 

     “What was Sara doing here?”

     “She dropped Amber off. Remember?  She’s working this morning?”

     “Where’s she at?”  I looked around the store and didn’t see her anywhere.

     “She’s in the back, making you coffee.  Imagine.  She called me a stupid caboon this morning.  Clues?”

     “Slave.”  I wiped some dust off the counter with my finger.  “Imagine.”  I smiled at David and went to hunt down Amber.  I pushed aside the portiere to the back room and found her spooning coffee into a filter.

from the forthcoming novel. . .Dreamers on the Rise

Dreamers on the Rise

“Not bad for a pathetic old man,” she said.

     “I sacked up good, didn’t I?”

     “That you did.” She ran her fingers over my chest and looked up at me, yawning.  “Sometimes, you are such a TDS.”

     “The Amber translation please.” 

     “Terminal Dumb Shit.”   She was asleep in two minutes.

     Yes, sometimes, I surely was that.

     I laid awake a long time thinking.  Wondering how it had come to this.

Dreamers on the Rise

“I like the tennis skirt,” David said, grinning, staring down at Amber’s thighs.

     “Pervert!” Amber whacked his shoulder.  “I’m sixteen and you’re what?  Thirty-eight or some fossilized number?  Gross! You’re worse than a barrel full of smashed assholes.”   

     “Pervert!” I said, chiming in.  “And actually, I think the boy is thirty-nine.”

     “What, so you don’t look at her legs?” he asked, sneering at me.

     “It’s Amber!”  My mental goalie searched for something clever to say that wouldn’t incriminate me.

     “What, so you don’t look?” she asked.  They both stared at me.

     “Of course.”  I playfully chucked the bill of her hat.

     “Well, that’s okay.  You’re allowed.  Just not David.”   She took off her cap, slammed it over the top of his head in disgust, and fixed it back atop her head.  “Ben’s practically my father.”

     “Oh.  Yes.  That makes it so much better,” David said.

. . .from the forthcoming novel, Dreamers on the Rise

Dreamers on the Rise

I watched as Amber took a tube of bright red lipstick out of her purse and applied it heavily to her lips.  I had never seen her wear lipstick before and gave her a curious look.  She put up an index finger signaling for me to wait.  I was almost certain an act of kindness wasn’t to follow.

. . .from the forthcoming novel, Dreamers on the Rise. ..

Dreamers on the Rise

. . .coming soon.  .  .

Possibly David needed to raise the bar of expectations a bit. His qualifications were somewhere between an appreciation for music and fairly loose jeans that could be maneuvered off, preferably by the end of the first date.  Not that he ever accomplished that lofty goal.  Talking was welcome, but optional.  He generally was appalled at my criteria.  I needed an appreciation of Beethoven and George Jones.  I needed at least a general understanding that Sophie’s Choice had not a thing to do with Roe vs. Wade.  If they considered Tom Wolfe to be among the top literati of our times, I could hear wedding bells ringing ever so faintly in the distance.  Maybe I should mention to him that his chances of success dwindled from the start when he dated people whose first names ended in ie and whose idea of fine dining was Taco Hell.

Dreamers on the Rise

She pulled a piece of what appeared to be dryer lint out of her hair, grabbing at it like you would an errant cobweb waiting to surprise you in the attic. She flung it at me, and I dodged it like it was part of a legion of fomites, transmitting germs to the innocent. I looked around me to see if anybody had caught a thread of that part of the conversation.  We were surrounded by eager eyes.  “It’s the last time we’ve been in a church.  Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

Dreamers on the Rise

. . .coming soon . . .

The fluorescent light above our booth flickered as if in response to the fly’s battering.  There was a crackling and buzzing emanating from it in a steady, lethargic pulse.  A murk of smoke, an attempted replication of L.A. smog, hung in the air above our table.  I watched as one of the flies landed in the tangle of David’s locks.  He remained completely unaware of the fly’s march through the dog-trot halls of his hair.

Dreamers on the Rise

. . .coming soon. . .

“The boy’s got a bad case of the stupids,” Amber said, nodding toward David. David was staring at a spot just south of Amber’s neck.  “The boy’s got a twins fixation.” David mumbled incoherently.  “Freakin’ Mayberry,” Amber said, closing the subject.

. . .from the novel, Dreamers on the Rise. . .

John Stewart--It Ain't the Gold

Long ago and far away. . .long before there were such things as blogs. . .long before there was an internet. . .there was an idea for a newsletter--quaint, now. . .Ben Blake and I wanted to publish a music and book review newsletter (and Ben, I swear, when I become more organized, I'll take a picture of the banner you just sent me not too long ago--it's here somewhere). . .blogs and newsletters have grown (maybe we have, maybe we haven't).  This will be an attempt to recreate in spirit what we were after.

For Ben's sake, this blog has no affiliation with him whatsoever.  He is still gainfully employed and has a reputation to keep.  I'm looking for a new career (read employment--drinking wine with Anna--my wonderful neighbor next door--while my blushing bride goes to work every day--has netted me zero dollars--$0.00)--so this will be educational, fun, and hopefully bring a smile to someone's face and PG, but with my humor, verging on PG-13 at times.  No NSFW stuff here.  Did I mention I was looking for a employment?  Anyone?

Along the way there will be bits and pieces of one of my "novels in the drawer," Dreamers on the Rise and two other books I'm working on.  Works-in-progress with works-in-progress titles.  One fiction: Permanent Declarations of a Temporary Love.  One non-fiction: Someone Has to Sell the Wine:  One Man's Search for Meaningful Employment, Mastering a G-Chord on the Banjo, and Discovering Zen Moments


Speaking of a work-in-progress--this blog will also be one--right out of the gates I admit to having absolutely no idea what I'm doing.  Please be patient.