I woke early for a change. The clock said the time was 7:19. Alice is asleep after a long night at CBGBs. I nuzzled her neck. She mumbled, "Not now."
"I'm going out to eat." My usual breakfast was a coffee and bagel at Veselka, but I dressed, thinking maybe someone from the scene was at the Kiev. I almost brought my journal to write poetry, but I hate writing in public. It is not a spectator sport.
I had played pinball for money at CBGBs. $1 per ten thousand points. The money roll in my jeans held about $190. I shouted to Alice, "You want something?"
"Sleep." She had drunk too much with our dear friend, Kim.
I left the apartment and walked down East 10th Street to 1st Avenue. Hakeem was on the opposite side of the street from the gang controlling the sinse trade. The vile junkie menancingly harassed passers-by for spare change and dollars. He sneered at me and looked up to my floor. I read his mind and warned, "I'm only going to the bodega, and if you ever lay a hand on my girl, you're a dead man.
"We got you, gringo," said Franklin, the # 1 dealer on the corner. I had never bought anything from the young Puerto Rican, but he always tried and I respected his determination. We always treated each other with respect. Both of us hated Hakkim.
I bought a coffee, a bagel, and the New York Times at the corner store. When I exited, I glared at Hakeem, who shambled away, muttering, "You white boy think you own this block, but no one own this block. Not you. Not me. Not the cops and not the mayor. The Lower East Side belong to all of us. Remember that, white boy."
I sat on the stoep and read the sports. The Dodgers had slaughtered the Yankees. My Red Sox might hve been playing, if Bucky Dent hadn't hit a home run in the playoff game. Bucky ‘fucking’ Dent. After finishing my breakfast, I returned to 256 East 10th Street. Upstairs Alice hadn't moved in my absence. I kneeled on the floor.
"I've got to go out. I'll be back this afternoon. There ‘s $20 on the table." I didn’t say where. Indidn’t know yet,
"I'll be working on the show late." She reached up and pulled me to the futon. "No telling when I'll be home."
"No problem," I said, but sensed the New Wave Vauville Show was stealing her away from me. I kissed her with tenderness, wishing she had more energy. Not a change. She had already fallen asleep.
I jumped the turnstile at Astor Place. The next Lex. avenue subway was packed with tourists. They looked scared of New York, but happy to be in the City That Never Sleeps. Except for Alice in our tenement apartment. I got off at 34th Street and walked to my landlord's office on West 35th Street. He was at his desk with his wife, Zanda. She smiled seeing me. I paid Mr. Golding $182 for October and he said, "You're ten days late. I hope this isn't a trend." "
"Leave the boychek alone. He's a poet. I'll always find the rent."
Yes, but never on the first."
Jerome and his wife were good people. I thanked the old Jewish couple for understanding my situation. Most landlords would hve me evicted.
"How's that girl of yours? I hear she's putting on a vaudeville show. Give her my best wishes.I loved the vaudeville on 2nd Avenue. That was entertainment.."
it was only 10 am and I wasn't ready to return to the East Village. I walked over to Times Square, counting women in my age group. Only one caught my eye. A blonde model with a portfolio. She was so different from Alice. I trailed her north. She spun on her hell at the door of a high-rise.
"Are you following me?"
"Yes, but I'm no threat. Just a poet on the way to play pinball in Times Square.”
”Are you any good?”
”Second best in Times Square.” Only Michel from Paris was better. Even he couldn’t beat me all the time. Winning and losing in pinball depended on gravity in the end. Two fellow models exited from the building. The blonde said, “Meet a pinball almost-wizard.”
The three laughed at me, as the blonde entered the building. They were used to being followed by strangers and we all looked alike.
A weirdo.
I spent two hours at the Amusement Center on Broadway, beating all comers. No sign of Michel. Nobody wanted to gamble against me and I departed from the pinball emporium to catch the R Train.
Alice was gone. I laid on the futon and picked up Melville's TYPEE. The sheets smelled of her sweat. Before I could turn a page, the telephone rang. It was Mark Amitin, who asked, "I've been calling since noon. Where were you?"
"Uptown."
"You want to meet later?"
"I'm not feeling so well." I lied rather than tell the truth that I had blown off Mark, because he hadn't paid me for my assistant tour manager gig for ALBEE DIRECTS ALBEE. "I'll call you in a few days."
Not likely, I was tired of doing unpaid favors for friends, who abuse you for not working extra hours.
Day went to night and night got late.
Alice hadn't showed up by 1am. I wandered over to CBGbs. She was leaning into the bar with Susan Hanneford, who didn't even bother to say hello. Her boyfriend, Tom, was high on smack. Walter Stedding droned on stage with his violin. Normally his screeching was intolerable, but I suddenly understood his magic. Alice looked cute in a green two-piece dress and black tights. Her hair could have been cut more to accentuate her eyes. The Hillbilly actress saw that I didn't want to be there and asked, "You don't mind if I stay out a little more?"
"Not at all." I hated her friend. Tom would have been okay, except he was in love with the skinny bitch.
I took a taxi home, said hello to Franklin, bought an apple juice at the bodega, and played solitaire, at which I cheated more than once, wondering where is Alice. Something told me Susan's Chinatown loft. I put away the cards and got under the covers. They no longer smelled of Alice.
"Baby, where are you?"
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