PIT 2/25: The Prize
Points In Time
Thousand Oaks, California
Back Street Cafe
July 5, 2009
10:o5 AM
My observation is that as men– at least regarding Milt Abrams and myself, we no longer speak of the women we’ve known, or women wish we’d known. Or bitch about our wives…
Actually from the day I met Milt, I no longer had a wife as Marsha had left California and was living in Chicago and our divorce was in the process of being finalised and, for the next seven years, his wife, Harriet was still alive and Milt, in my opinion, had plenty to bitch about. .. And regarding Marsha, so did I.
Then, in time, as we grew older our talk was of politics, of food, then, time going on, about his ‘prostate’, my ‘bad knee’, his ‘acid reflex’, my ‘eyesight’ and so on…
However, on this day Milt had asked….
“That other one, Mitch? The one you met in Chicago.”
Remembering…
Remembering that last day…
‘Our’ last day...
'Sunday, June 20, 2009'
Chicago, Illinois
Allerton Hotel
8:32 AM
“Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen,” the moderator said, “we have seven remaining poets that have not yet presented their writing. Then, when finished, the panel,” motioning to the two and tapping himself on the chest, “will confer and announce the winner.”
‘That other one. The one you met in Chicago.’
Remembering:
O’Hare Airfield
Sunday, June 20, 2009
1:47 PM (Central Standard Time)
“United flight 233 to New York City...” the woman behind the flight counter announced “...will now be boarding.”
A double line of people queued between the movable barrier and the wall.
Sitting, waiting until the line was all but through the hatchway leading to the runway of the plane...
Sighing now. Standing now, walking to the hatchway, hands still held...
All words said...
Opening her hand, Barbara released Mitchell’s hand and, without a further glance, walked through the hatchway, onto the ramp leading to the plane.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
Remembering:
‘That other one. The one you met in Chicago.’
Westlake Village, California
Sunday, June 20, 2009
5:15 PM (Pacific Standard Time)
Expecting an Email from Barbara saying she got home safely, turning the computer on...
In a message dated June 20, 2009, 6:35 PM Atlantic Daylight Time.
beachbaby.global.com writes:
Mitchell, today when I left you it was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do and cannot stand the thought of you and I having to say goodbye each time we write. I cannot stand the thought that you and me will never have the opportunity to make a life together, or to actually ever see each other again so I have to end it now!
At the finish of this letter I am going to change my Email address and drop out of ‘Writers Market’ as I simply cannot go on living with the thought that we will never be together so I must say goodbye now.
I love you!
Remembering:
‘That other one. The one you met in Chicago.’
Having come to the conclusion that unless some sort of miracle occurred regarding Barbara’s lifetime commitment to her mother and sister I had dismissed any sort of long term life with Barbara because there was absolutely ‘nothing’ I could do about it…
Knowing that Barbara was right.
Sensing the pain in Barbara’s heart
Feeling the pain in my heart.
I knew that Barbara was right and ‘sadly’ excepted and agreed wit her logic.
Thousand Oaks, California
Back Street Cafe
'July 5, 2009'
10:25 AM
“Got anything going today?”
Sopping up the last of egg yoke with the remaining bite of bagel. “No, not much of anything. Think I’ll write a while then… Still wiped out from last night, so maybe take a nap… You?”
“Do my best to avoid your next door neighbour, then, don’t know.”
Catching the eye of our server…
“Your turn today?”
...Receiving our check.
“Yeah”. Peeling a ‘twenty’ from the thin sheath of folded bills in my pocket. Leaving it on the table, Milt and I, going to our individual cars, drove to our homes.
11:38 AM
“Oh, shit!” Pulling onto my driveway at the same time as Milt did his. Having no idea of his thought… “Oh, shit!” I said aloud seeing both sisters, ‘Missy’ and ‘Mona’ squatting in the grassy area between the street and the white stuccoed front of their home, apparently planting small potted flowers along their driveway.
Standing, “Hey!” Mona called.
Missy coming towards me, opening the door, I stepped out, as Milt, walking behind my car, came alongside.
Wondering if either sister was aware of their no longer even ‘remotely’ youthful appearance.
A eighty plus degree day, both wearing short, crotch length shorts and meagre – leaving little to the imagination, bra tops.
And if my imagination was not imagining then I ‘really’ didn’t care as….
Attempting to visualise what they looked like seven years ago, before their retirement– but could not picture it because, probably unaware, a bare fold of flesh from the lower portion of Missy’s left tit having slipped from beneath the bra top. Their chests wrinkly from bra top to throat. Thin rolls of fatty belly flesh rippling as they approached Milt and me.
Their somewhat still muscular thighs and calves from thirty-five years of ‘stripping’ showing their age, Missy had a visible knot of dark blue varicose-veins appearing from beneath the flesh on the backside of her left calf.
“Missy and me are planning on B-B-Quinn’ stake tonight. You guys want to join us?”
Shrugging my shoulders noncommittally, hoping Milt
would come up with some kind of an excuse to get us out of it, but...
“Yes. Okay…” Milt said “...what can we bring?”
‘Not that coffee pot of yours. Had enough martinis for a
while. Got to go to the store, so we’ll get Margarita mix… Okay with you?”
Shit! “What time?” I asked.”
“ ‘Seven’, okay with you?”
Nodding my head.
“Yeah, that’s fine, Milt said.
“What kind of steak do guys like?”
“Rib-eye.”
“Same here…” Milt said “...so long as it’s medium-rare.”
7:20 PM
He did bring it.
Still slightly ‘hung over’ from last night, the thought of one of Milts martinis causing a spasm in my stomach but the thought of a sweet Margarita at this time repugnant, so I did accept it, in a wine glass as Milt poured from the coffee pot.
Of course no one was twisting my arm to ‘drink’, but thinking I would need some alcohol fortification to get through the evening and whatever would come – no pun intended – as the night wore on.
As the night was turning a bit chilly, I was pleasantly surprised to see Mona and Missy dressed in non revealing, non sexual slacks and summer weight short-sleeved blouses.
Milt in slacks and me in jeans.
The gas-heated B-Braque sizzling, Milt had taken over the charge of a well practised chef turning the meat when need be to B-Braque our two medium-rare and the women, medium-well.
8:25 PM
Thanks to Milt, steaks done perfectly. Dinner accompanied by store bought potato salad and coleslaw.
Apparently neither Missy or Mona were known for their cooking skills and other than the steaks, the only home-made part of dinner was the desert of pinnacle upside down cake, that Missy said was the ‘only’ thing her mother had ever taught her.
9:36 PM
Milt and Mona and Missy and me in a semi-circle comfortably reclining in patio lounge-chairs facing outward absently watching the fore and aft lights of dozens of quietly moving electric party boats.
Unnoticed instincts taking over, the four of us realising that our relationships need be nothing more than those of friendly neighbours.
Relaxing now. Forthcoming sexual relations no longer a ‘need’ or the cause for friendship.
Relaxing, Missy and Mona knowing ‘nothing’ other than this lovely night and friendly conversation is all that will be expected on this night.
By his conversation and body language, knowing Milt felt much as me, that ‘nothing’ other than this lovely night and friendly conversation is all that will be expected.
Not exactly drunk, not entirely sober, our conversation partly focused on the reasons Missy and Mona had earned their living by showing strange men their nude bodies.
The story of life with their parents being that of physical and sexual abuse by their brutish, drunk of a father. Their escape from the home of their parents and the need of survival leading them into their life as the ‘Stripping sisters’.
Listening as Mona and Missy, taking terns speaking, turned me from the repugnance I had felt earlier in the day to sorrow for the life they had been forced to lead.
10:40 PM
Recalling my time at Elysium , often with humour, verbally highlighting the fact that total nudity need not lead to sex, but more so, at least in regard to the eight people in our little click, to ultimate friendship.
“Don’t know…” Missy said “...think I’d feel stupid walking around naked and not get paid for it.”
I spoke of Marsha and how she ended up with Morgan. I spoke of Lita and my love of her, and why, in her opinion, we could never marry.
11:42 PM
Growing drowsy and wanting to draw this unexpectedly enjoyable night to a close before I fell asleep. “I’m getting really tired, you guys, and don’t know about you, but I’m ready to go home.”
Standing, “Me, too.”
Maude and Missy giving light hugs and kisses on our cheeks, Milt and I went home.
Thousand Oaks, California
'January 6, 2010'
12:12 PM
Having some idea of how long the publishing process takes. Hoping that ‘Border’ or ‘Barnes & Noble’ were either of the ‘guaranteed placement in at least one major book marketing chain’. I had been checking both local bookstores for the past month, and today...
“Hello…” I said to the woman in ‘Information’ “...I’m looking for a book of poetry by ‘Barbara Longford’.”
“One moment, Sir.” Checking the computer. “Yes, Sir.”
My heart fluttering.
“The book came in with yesterdays shipment.” Pointing in the general direction of ‘Poetry’..
Going to the rack, looking...
Looking. Oh, my God! My heart thumping now.
Wanting to pay and check out fast.
Going quickly to the counter...
“That’ll be twelve-fifty-seven.”
Outside now. Sitting in my car now. Removing the thin book from the ‘Barnes & Noble’ bag, my heart still racing, I look...
‘A Three Day Lifetime’
by Barbara E. Longford
Opening to the dedication page:
“Dedicate to my Chicago muse, with everlasting love.”
B.E.L.
Remembering, I sat staring out the window.
Then I cried.
Arriving home, just as an ‘Atlas’ moving truck parked alongside the curb and, exiting the cab ,one of the ‘movers’ along with another man, walked to my next door unit, unlocked the door and walked in.
Going into my home, calling Milt; “Missy and Maude gone?”
“Yeah, they left about a half hour ago and asked me to say ‘goodbye’ for them.”
Milt…” I said “...how’s about breaking out the coffee pot.”
Next: PIT3/1: A Call
