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New Jersey
October 1982
“Isn’t Sonny cool?” Adah said in a deliberate hint. “Fashionable in a relaxed way, so 1980s,” she added, shining those bright blue eyes on John.
They were snuggled together on her sofa watching Miami Vice, her favorite TV show. She loved action programs, especially cop-action programs where the bad guys always got it in the end. John had mentioned that he didn’t much care for cop shows no matter how hip they pretended to be. Nonetheless, he had not objected.
Adah preferred her men compliant.
An empty box of pepperoni pizza lay on the coffee table; she’d eaten two slices while he had devoured the rest. Next to the box sat two glasses of red wine, one full (hers) and the other half full (his). While her attention was on the TV, he snuggled his nose into her hair.
“You smell great,” he said, commenting on the scent of her rather expensive French parfum. And she enjoyed his musky aftershave and shampoo.
After Sonny and Tubbs blew away more bad guys in a blazing shootout, she made a point she’d saved for just the right moment: “You would look absolutely sexy-fabulous if you dressed with more style. Like Sonny.”
They’d been dating on a regular basis since August — it was now October — and as his girlfriend it was her inalienable right to dress him better. Tonight he wore jeans, a charcoal gray sweatshirt — both freshly laundered — and sneakers. He’d washed his hair and shaved, all for her. Obviously, he’d had his own plan in regards to how this evening would end.
Using an American baseball metaphor — thanks to John Adah had become a Yankees fan — she had every intention of allowing him to slide into third base. But not home plate; she was still not ready. Although his hygiene was excellent, he dressed like a peasant, a peasant who, nonetheless, smelled good.
She kept at it, on and on about Sonny Rollins and how sexy John would look in bright Florida colors. Then she felt his body begin to knot.
“Thank you, Ms. Blackwell,” and then in a rather poor imitation British accent: “I shall take that under advisement, my dear.”
Her own body recoiled and then coiled. “I do beg your pardon, John. In case you haven’t noticed my eye for fashion, both men’s and women’s, is excellent.”
Adah wore an off-the-shoulder black, slouchy Flash Dance style sweater. And because she had not bothered to shave her legs, pleated, baggy black slacks. Her bare feet lay crossed on the coffee table.
Apparently, he decided to exercise his right to criticize her: “Next time, if you must wear pants, how about tighter ones? You’ll look so absolutely sexy-fabulous.”
Adah did not appreciate his mimicry. She fought off a strong urge to pick up one of her shoes from the floor and hit him with it.
Instead, she pushed, “I was simply trying to be helpful,” through her teeth.
That awful British accent again, “Well I do beg your pardon,” before returning back to his true-working-class self: “That’s a load of shit. You want to squeeze me into an Adah Ameen Box of Approval.”
She did not want this fight, but Adah would never concede to any man: “When we’re out together, you dress like a peasant.”
“I am a peasant! I bang fucking nails for a living, Adah!”
With a smile, “You allow me to outclass you.” Then she slipped her words under his ribs like a dagger: “Quite often I’m embarrassed to be seen with you.”
Her word-weapon of choice had been a stealthy knife. But his was a hammer: “You think I wasn’t embarrassed that time you were so drunk out of your mind that I had to carry you home?”
Her turn to thrust a spear at his masculinity: “Are you referring to the incident when I saved you from being throttled by an elderly homeless chap?”
“I could ‘a handled him, no problem. Your help was as unnecessary then as your comments about my fashion sense are now.”
She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes became slits shooting a death ray at him: I should throttle him right now!
Instead, a pointed: “You... Have... No... Fashion sense. John!”
Then, like two prize fighters retreating to their corners, she slid across to one end of the sofa while he backed his bum into the other.
End. Round One.
Bell! Round Two.
He led off with a jab: “And why do you always wear black? You look like Morticia Addams.”
“Who is Morticia Addams!”
He sang a short refrain: “The Addams fam-ily...”
“Haven’t the foggiest.”
“It’s an old American TV program.” He spoke as if addressing a cultural fuckwit; then, flapping a hand at the screen, “Better than this crap.”
On screen, Sonny the fabulously-sexy Crockett was screeching around a corner in a sports car.
Arms still held tight together across her chest lest she pummel John, she grinned and chuckled. “I simply can’t imagine you and your dung buggy performing that maneuver; most likely there would be a series of end to end rollovers should you ever attempt a corner like that. Ha!”
Needless to say, not another word passed between them, not until the end of Miami Vice.
“Thank you for a most charming evening, Ms. Ameen,” he said in that faux accent again. Then he grabbed the bottle of wine by the neck — there was still a little bit left — and walked out.
Decision: A draw.
He called the next evening to apologize. She said she was sorry, too.
“I do want you to have nice things, John.” Then, to make up for her “abominable” behavior last night, she invited him to dinner at her place on Monday.
“We can watch the Addams Family. I do want to see this Morticia person. She must be lovely.”
On Monday night, after a grueling day at Wilton, Adah had no energy left to cook one of her fabulous Middle Eastern dinners for John. Instead, she ordered take-away: Chinese food and a six pack of coke.
After dinner, Adah presented John with a special gift: a new ensemble! He was genuinely appreciative.
A stubborn man had finally bent to the wishes of a strong willed woman. Adah had been victorious once again — never mind that his new clothes had cost her a few hundred $. Thank God the Russians so generously supplemented her income.
***
ON SATURDAY NIGHT, their regular date night, Adah and John were walking along West 4th Street in the West Village. They’d just finished eating in their favorite, upscale, downtown pub. They held hands. She was dressed in black as usual: tight leather pants, black sweater, and a black velvet jacket with shoulder pads. Tonight it was cool but mild.
John looked quite fetching in the clothes she’d bought him and given him Monday night: a baggy high-waist suit that she said was antique bronze (the belt was almost up to his belly button), a solid dark brown high-neck sweater, and expensive Italian loafers.
“Earth tones suit you quite well, I should think,” she’d told him, admiring her new creation.
“Glad I stopped fighting you on this, Adah. Even I think I’m hot. Women of New York City, eat your hearts out: John Tettouomo is taken.”
He had promised her a big surprise tonight. Adah loved to be surprised. The closer they got to Waverly Place, the more hints he dropped.
“Do you know what Halloween is, Adah?”
“Yes, it’s when grown up Americans dress in silly costumes. Like the Addams Family.” Then she caught herself. “I did not mean to offend America, John.”
“Don’t worry about it... Get ready for a big surprise. You’re about to take part in an American cultural phenomenon.”
That sure lit her up. “Tonight? At midnight? A week before Halloween?”
A pleased with himself: “Yep.”
When they turned right onto Waverly Place, she threw her hands up to her cheeks, “Oh my!” she exclaimed. “So many people! Who are they?”
“See what the marquee reads,” he said directing her attention to the Waverly Theater.
“Rocky Horror Picture Show?”
“On Saturday nights all across America at midnight little theaters play this movie. It’s a thing. The audience dresses in costumes and sings along with the movie. Most of those people over there, God knows how many times they’ve seen it.”
“Have you seen it?”
“Yeah, back in the 70s with my buddies. But we were all stoned so I don’t remember much.”
A mischievous grin: “You John? You smoked marijuana? How naughty.”
“Yeah, back in my younger days of depravity. The movie is crap, but the show is fantastic.”
“How do you mean?”
“You’ll see. Next week, on Halloween, that line will stretch from here to Jersey.”
“Good heavens.”
“Yeah, that’s why I chose tonight.”
They got in line. The sweet scent of weed drifted through the crowd. Even Adah recognized it.
“What were you like when you were young?” he asked.
“Quite traditional, actually.” She did not elaborate. He would only get pieces of the mystery of Adah Ameen, one at a time. She knew that too much at once would overwhelm him.
A group of teenagers behind them said what great costumes they wore. One girl was dressed like Snow White, the other like the Evil Queen, and the boys — Yo-ho, yo-ho... It’s off to work we go... — looked like three of the seven dwarfs. (Tall dwarfs.)
The Evil Queen said John looked like Matt Dillon, and Snow White asked Adah who she was supposed to be.
“Morticia Addams,” she replied, grinning. “And you all look quite enchanting.”
Inside the theater the sweet smell of weed began to turn into a stale stink. Waving it away from his nose and grimacing, “This is bad. I’m sorry,” he said to Adah.
“Not a problem, the smell of burning bodies is far worse, I should think.”
Let’s do the time warp again!... roared through the theater. Everyone, Adah included, stood up and began to sing and dance to the music. As for John, he was quite content to keep his groove firmly planted in his seat.
After the show, and out into the cool “fresh air” of lower Manhattan, they walked back to where the Dart was parked. John said these wonderful new clothes made him want to change his life.
“An idea has been rolling around in my head for too damn long. Thank you, Adah, you were right. I do want better things.”
Her radiant blue eyes held him in their glow. “I’m so glad, John. You may not always agree with what I do, but know this: I only want what’s best for you.”
“I know... I’ve decided that it’s my inalienable right as an American to make as much money as I can and buy as many nice things as I can afford.”
She squeezed his hand tighter.
“There’s no future for me in roofing, no future for us.”
Her heart stalled on the word “us.” A long term investment with her by John Tettouomo left her uneasy.
Later that night, back in her apartment after a heavy bout of snogging — John always said he preferred foreplay to copulation and was happy to wait until she was ready — she invited him to spend the night — on the sofa, as per usual.
***
A THUNDEROUS ROAR PIERCED Adah’s eardrums, shooting bolts of terror like adrenalin straight to a thumping heart she feared was about to explode in her chest! She knew what that terrible sound was: a low flying Israeli jet’s Doppler. She’d caught a glimpse of it in her peripheral vision only seconds ago. She was out in the open desert all by herself driving a huge Egyptian army truck. No convoy to hide among like a zebra in a herd of mixed stripes meant to confuse a lion. Her truck was its only target. Horrified, she watched in the right and left side-view mirrors as the Israeli jet began its arc. It followed the road, death stalking her from behind at supersonic speed.
“MARY, MOTHER OF GOD,” she screamed, “SAVE ME!”
It wasn’t the Blessed Virgin who yanked Adah out of this nightmare. Two hands grabbed onto both her shoulders and shook her awake.
“Adah! Adah! Wake up! You’re having a nightmare!”
It was John, bless him. He was frantic. He must have come running into her bedroom when she screamed. She glanced at the digital clock on the night table. It read: 4:23 a.m.
Her eyes slits, still filled with sleep, “It was a dream. Sorry... to disturb you, John.” Her voice collapsed.
“That was one helluva bad dream, Adah. You screamed in your sleep.”
“Remnants of war,” she mumbled.
Adah was used to this particular nightmare by now — one of many.
“Sorry to wake you, John. Please go back to sleep. I’m Ok, really.”
He nodded. She could tell from the look on his face that he wanted to talk about it.
She did not. She rolled onto her side and went back to sleep. She heard him pad out of the bedroom, but this time, he did not close the bedroom door.