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First of all, what the hell kind of New Year’s Eve party was this? It was colder in here than out there.
Sydney had called me last week to invite me to a party in B’s apartment. She mentioned that in addition to a celebration to welcome in 1984, it was also a rent party; like I really gave a rat’s ass if the Goth-Turds had a place to keep their coffins.
There were a lot of rent parties back in the eighties, even before the concept made it to Broadway.
I was in a bad mood to begin with. I’d welcome a new year minus one. My first mistake was to let Sydney talk me into going. “You really need to get out more, John, enjoy life. Your girlfriend is gone. You’ll never see her again.”
That stung. She was right, of course, but not what I wanted to hear. Need was another thing — yeah, I needed to face the truth.
“If you won’t do this for yourself, John, then do it for me. I’m moving to California. I’d hate to go and not say goodbye to one of my dearest friends.”
OK, she had me. “Are you taking the B-thing with you?”
“No.”
“I’ll see you there. What’s the address?”
Like Washington Heights, parking places in Hoboken, New Jersey have always been precious commodities. But unlike the Heights, nobody double-parks.
And given that it was New Year’s Eve, I found a spot several blocks away. That meant a long walk in a cold, wet drizzle; my foul mood begat an even fouler one. Plus, when I finally found the street, I couldn’t find the damn building number. And then I spotted three people whom I guessed were Goth Turd minions headed towards me, two males and one female. All were dressed in black, looked barely out of their teens, and were so pale I figured them for Goth Turd blood donors. They had to be headed for B-thing’s party. I turned around and followed. They seemed to know exactly where they were going.
Sure enough, they entered a store front building with two apartments upstairs. I followed them up a long stairway. At the top there were two doors that led to two different lofts. From the one on the left heavy metal music had the front door vibrating. The Goth Turds must have been going live, full blast.
“The hills are alive with the sounds of music,” I joked to the baby vampires slowly trudging up the stairs ahead of me.
They were breathing hard like they were scaling the Matterhorn. Their moody mood must have been even worse than mine. The girl, trailing behind the guys, raised her right hand and shot me a Fuck You finger. And she didn’t even have proper manners to face me head-on; instead she kept her back to me and tossed it from over her shoulder.
Figuring I could take all three of them at the same time, and even though they held the high ground, “Hey, sweetheart, I wouldn’t fuck you with their dicks!”
The lead minion slowed his step just long enough to say, “Hey man, we don’t want trouble.”
“Neither do I, so get your asses in gear.”
I knew who I would not be chatting with at this fucking party.
Inside, it was so cold I could see my breath. I should’ve known that when a rent strike was called the first thing the landlord did was shut off the heat and hot water. Goths, punks, artsy-fartsies, who had segregated themselves into separate groups, were clustered together like musk oxen. Chatter steamed in the air, hovering above each grouping. For added panache a few glassy-eyed derelicts wandered around looking for handouts.
No loaves and fishes from these people.
None from me either. “Get the fuck outta here,” I said to each one that dared approach me palms up.
I did not deny all my generosity, however; I sat with my back propped up against a wall when a pretty, young girl approached me with a big smile on her face. She held a box marked, “Donations.” She was dressed for the arctic in a red hoody, the hood pulled over her ears, layers of multi-colored sweaters beneath. She was short and blonde and looked like she had a good body.
A perky: “Hi. My name is Genvev,” she said.
I smile up at her. “Hi Genevieve.”
“No, no. Genvev. GEN-V-EV.”
A hard squint: “My apologies, GEN-VE-VE.”
“No, no, GEN...V...EV.”
I still couldn’t say it right.
“That’s OK, never mind... I live here with my boyfriend.” She pointed to a corner where the band had set up to begin another set. “He’s the drummer.”
“B is your boyfriend?”
Her smile extended to one of pleasant surprise. “You know him!”
“I’m a friend of a friend.”
When she asked for a donation I told her poverty and I were well acquainted, too well acquainted. I dropped a ten into the box. She sat down next to me and we were having a pleasant conversation. In my opinion, G was much too good for the B-thing.
I briefly considered a complete makeover for myself: full-skank. Hey, it worked for the B.
As we talked, a young woman with red hair sticking out from beneath one of those Himalayan flap-hats, walked passed. She was cuddling an orange kitten protectively as if she was afraid one of the street people might want to eat it.
She looked familiar. Pointing, “See that girl holding the cat?”
“Alizabetha. She’s an actress. A friend of Sydney Rivas, B’s ex-girlfriend.”
No animosity there.
“I think I met her once. At one of Sydney’s plays... Can you introduce me, please?”
Then as now I’ve always had a thing for redheads. Especially redheads with freckles.
G nodded. “Follow me.”
We walked over to Alizabetha, and G said, “Ally, this is...”
“John!” Ally greeted me as if we were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in a long time.
She remembers my name. Wow! Guess that means she likes me. I’m gonna ask for her number.
G excused herself and Ally and I went back to a corner to sit while we waited for Sydney. She let me hold the cat. I’ve always loved cats. Never had one though, too much work and way too much responsibility for an irresponsible guy like me.
Ally and I sat pretty close to the door. Suddenly I felt a gust of freezing air smack into us. I was glad the front door was to my right and Ally sat to my left. That meant my body could shield her. As for the kitten in my lap, I leaned forward and covered him with my arms.
“Syd, Syd!” Ally called. “Over here!”
It was Sydney Rivas making a grand entrance accompanied by severe cold. She came over to join us. I sat in the middle of two beautiful women. Nice.
“Glad you two found each other,” Syd said.
I was about to find out that Sydney’s invitation to this party was part of a plot between these two actresses. No wonder Ally knew my name. Ego was about to take a hard fall.
The two women cooed and fussed with the kitten, his name was Puma by the way, and said how much he liked me.
“He’s my cat, John,” said Ally. “He doesn’t take to everyone like he does you.” She shined a freckled smile on me. This girl was every bit as gorgeous as Sydney.
Adah?... Adah who?
It was Sydney who laid it all out for me: “Our stage careers are going nowhere. Ally and I have decided to move to L.A. to pursue work in film.”
Nodding, “That’s a great idea, Syd. Theater is dead,” sounding like I knew what the hell I was talking about.
“Puma is her cat but unfortunately we can’t take him with us.”
I still had not caught their drift. “That’s a shame... And he’s so cute. So what are you going to do with him?”
Suddenly a bum came over bent down and made clicking-coos at Puma. I held the cat closer. To the bum: “Get the fuck outta here!”
“See,” Syd said to Ally. “I told you he loves animals.”
Ally smiled and nodded. “I’m so glad Puma will be with someone who will love and protect him.”
Came the revelation: “Huh?... Waida minute!”
“Cats are intuitive, John,” said Syd. “He knows you want to be his friend.”
“I do. From a distance.” I tried to hand the cat back — to someone, anyone. There were no takers.
The tiny orange fur ball looking up at me with innocent green eyes was beginning to break through. “How long do they live.”
“Ten, fifteen years maybe,” said Ally.
“Fifteen years! That’s a major commitment.”
Ally laughed. “Unlike dogs and actresses, cats are low maintenance.”
“John,” Sydney added, “this means I won’t have to worry about you all alone in Washington Heights.”
“This tiny little guy’s gonna protect me?”
“All that love that’s inside you, John, now you have someone to share it with,” said Syd.
“I’d prefer a girlfriend.”
***
I GOT HOME FROM WORK and was greeted at the door by my new responsibility. Also greeting me was,
“Oh geez, was that you,” I said to the kitten. “What a stink.”
The kitten’s tail shot straight up in the air. He ran into the front room. Then he jumped into the litter box and scooped litter over the biggest pile of shit I’d ever seen.
“Was that you!”
Who else.
“Geez, how could such a little cat take such a big dump? How long you been holding that in? A week?’
I got some newspapers — good thing I recycled even before recycling became fashionable — and gagged while scooping the poop.
This would be my life for the next ten to fifteen years.
“Thanks a heap, Sydney.” To the kitten: “You got a new name, pal... Stinky!”