A friendship blossoms.
RENÉE FLEMING
9 THISTLE ROAD
ESSEX FALLS, N.J. 07021
December 15, 2005
MR. LEIB GOLDKORN
LA CASA BLANCA
138 W. 80TH STREET
NEW YORK, N.Y. 10024
Caro Maestro (if I may be so bold!):
I am so happy to hear from you again! I was worried that you would not accept my heartfelt apology. And thank you so very much for Emma’s defiant aria when she snatches the magic wand from her oppressor. There are mysteries in her words that I hope to explore with you in person. For instance:
Oh, here comes old Rübezahl, that hideous lout
With his magic stick: there’s nobody meaner.
Can it truly create dear sister Irmentraut
From a turnip the shape of a sultan’s wiener?
Perhaps we could discuss this together? I wonder if you could drive up to Essex Falls for cocktails. May I suggest December 24th, Christmas Eve? It would give me such pleasure to have you on Thistle Road when the children open their little gifts. Wait till I tell them who’s coming! The great-grandson of Gustav Mahler! I eagerly await your reply. In Emma’s own words to her handsome Prince:
O Komm!
In anticipation, and with warmest holiday wishes,
Renée Fleming
LEIB GOLDKORN
LA CASA BLANCA
CINQUIÈME ÉTAGE
ISLE DE MANHATTAN
December 19, 2005
MISS RENÉE FLEMING
9 THISTLE ROAD
ESSEX FALLS, N.J. 07021
My Dear Miss:
I note that you have left out the remainder of the Princess’s line. To wit:
O Komm! Willst du dich neben mich nicht betten?
Oh, come! Lie with me on this bed of petals.
Undoubtedly you felt in your maidenish way that this was a bit salty.
Did you say the 24th? Alack! You must remember Emma’s next line:
Ach! Hab’ Acht!—Geliebter—Hier sind Nesseln
Ach! Take care, beloved. Here are some nettles.
The petals, my dear, are the thought of our coming rendezvous. The nettles are that thank you very much, but I cannot accept due to an important business engagement.
Yours truly,
“Leib” Goldkorn
RENÉE FLEMING
9 THISTLE ROAD
ESSEX FALLS, N.J. 07021
December 25, 2005
MR. LEIB GOLDKORN
LA CASA BLANCA
138 W. 80TH STREET
NEW YORK, N.Y. 10024
Caro Maestro,
I sincerely hope my invitation did not offend you. I should have realized that you could not partake of our Christmas celebrations. It was very thoughtless of me to put you in such an awkward position. I know that even though your great-grandfather converted to the Catholic Church, he did so only for practical reasons, and that he remained in his heart and in his work a proud Jew. As, Maestro, are you.
Perhaps the Princess could meet her Prince in a place less “nettlesome”? (It occurs to me that perhaps you were referring to mistletoe. Poor Renée! She has no one to stand in the doorway with her this Christmas morning.)
Forgive me!
Renée Fleming
P.S. Could we meet instead in New York? Shall we say next Thursday, the 29th? Oh, let’s make it Wednesday! The 28th! In my private room at the Met. I am eager to meet you and shake your hand.
Renée
LEIB GOLDKORN
LA CASA BLANCA
RÉSIDENCE PRIVÉE
ISLE DE MANHATTAN
December 27th
MISS RENÉE FLEMING
9 THISTLE ROAD
ESSEX FALLS, N.J. 07021
My Sweet Miss,
Offended? Pas du tout! Happy Chanukah! If I had been able to attend your holiday celebration I would, on my knees with your two Fräulein—you see? I too have done scholarly researches—spin our little top:
Draidel, Draidel, Draidel: I made you out of clay.
Here’s a chocolate dollar: ha, ha, that ain’t hay!
I am aware of the mistletoe, Phoradendron serotinum. Is it not a Yankee custom to stand beneath it so that a gentleman may fondle a lady? But Ach! Hab’ Acht! This shrub may cause distresses, with spews from the bowels. How oft in life do we thus find pleasure mingled with pain, beauty with ugliness, innocence with sodomistics. Is not the thorn, madam, close to the rose? Does the doorway to amours not abut the exit of the excrementas?
It is after the midnight hour. In the forest the owl stares with his yellow eyes. The opossum crawls from his den. The bat, my dear, is on the wing. Time for the Prince to say good night to his Princess.
I do not shake your hand.
I kiss it.
“Leib” Goldkorn
RENÉE FLEMING
9 THISTLE ROAD
ESSEX FALLS, N.J. 07021
December 29, 2005
MR. LEIB GOLDKORN
LA CASA BLANCA
138 W. 80TH STREET
NEW YORK, N.Y. 10024
Caro Maestro,
I really should be angry with you. Do you know that I waited and waited? I don’t mind telling you that my heart was beating; it’s not every day that you meet a genius. But you stood me up. Has that ever happened to you? What a terrible feeling. Like the blade of a knife. Oh, Maestro! Dear Leib! Is anything wrong? Has something awful happened? I laugh at my own fears. After all, a man in his prime: What could befall you? An opera singer spends her life surrounded by calamity and suffering—Tosca! Violetta! Desdemona! Povera Butterfly! Perhaps that is why I can’t help imagining the worst. So, please, Cher Maître, drop me a note. Tell me you are in good health. Tell me that I need not worry.
Isn’t it strange? I’ve never laid eyes on you, but I miss you. I wish you would visit me. Will you, my dear man? Soon? Say Yes!
I wish you a wonderful 2006, a year in which we shall strive together to bring the vision of Gustav Mahler to all the world. Perhaps our friendship, like the work we shall stage, will have a happy ending!
Your own Renée
LEIB GOLDKORN
LA CASA BLANCA
ESPACE PRIVILÉGIÉE
ISLE DE MANHATTAN
January 3, 2006
Miss Renée Fleming
9 Thistle Road
Essex Falls, N.J. 07021
Dear Madam Fleming:
In regard to your letter of December 29, I can tell you that my health is in the top drawer. I am feeling oats. Please convey to your family my wishes for a fruitful new year.
I am remaining
Sincerely yours,
Leib Goldkorn, Graduate
Oh, Leib! My Leibie!
How could you send me such a cold and heartless letter? Don’t pretend there is nothing wrong. Feeling your oats! I know what you’re feeling! And I know her name. Anna Netrebko! Thought you could fool me, didn’t you? Joe told me all about it. You wanted to replace me, me!, with that skinny Russian tramp! And you wanted her photo, too! With those horse-teeth! If I didn’t know better I’d think you were some dirty old man!
Leib Goldkorn, you can’t hide from me any longer. If you won’t come to see me—Monday, the 9th, six p.m. I’ll have them bring in a light supper. What do you like, darling? Some canapes? A little grilled fish? Or if you prefer, a real he-man steak! But watch out, Mister G! If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain . . . That’s right, I am coming to you. Sixteen! Sixteen blocks away! I could be at your side in ten minutes! Oh, I’ll fly there in five! So near, my heart—and yet so far!
Always!
Your Renée
P.S. Find enclosed a photograph of a different soprano. Yes, there is her head, though I fear she is losing it.
LEIB GOLDKORN
LA CASA BLANCA
CINQ DELUXE
ISLE DE MANHATTAN
January 9, 2006
MISS RENÉE FLEMING
9 THISTLE ROAD
ESSEX FALLS, N.J. 07021
Mein Schnuckiputzi,
No! No, no, no. Do not come to La Casa Blanca. All is under constructions. Self-flushing not available. Also, in residence are cousins on maternal side, of the Satmarian persuasion. They must not know of our dalliance. Should they read these billets-doux or discover that I have in my life an inamorata, there would be a family crisis. Not to mention a possible violation of an Order in the Court.
“Heartless,” you say? and “cold”? I confess, my last billet-doux was not so sweet. On purpose, my buttercup. Such are the obstacles to our romance—the sharp sword of King Mark lies between Tristan and his Isolde!—that I thought it best to end matters before they could accomplish a fecundation.
But I failed! How could I resist you? Not when I hold your foto replication in my hand. Danke! Dankeschön! Such charms! Mascaras. Pendants from lobes of ears. We speak poetically of ruby lips. “Kyoto Red” by Tabu? “Naked Kiss”? And the little apple of the chinny-chin. I remove my eyes from lower temptations. Please give no thought to the Russian. There is in her case a palpable absence of cleavage. Madam: no contest.
Gaze on, former flautist! The eyes: hazelnut. The cheeks: rouged. Behind the flash of dentals, is that not a tongue-tip? A tongue-tip, dear Jesus! I wish that I— What’s that? A Niagara! A cousin has completed, upon the W.C., his business. A quick farewell. A brief caress. A Gutenachtkuss
From your own Liebchen,
“Leib” Goldkorn
January 12, 2006
Dearest Liebchen,
I understand. I shall not pursue you to your lair. But soon, soon, soon, we shall be working together. Luciano arrives at the end of the month. Next month you will guide us in our duet and in all of our efforts. Until then, will you do for me what I have done for you? A photo! Send it! Something I can hold in my hand as you hold me in yours. You must do that for your
Povera Butter . . . cup!
R.
LEIB GOLDKORN
LA CASA BLANCA
SUITE PERSONNEL
ISLE DE MANHATTAN
January 15, 2006
Meine Zaubermaus,
Here is a small candid-type. I have hesitations. The hairlessness. Also the ears. Woodwinder’s lips. But such has God made me, and such I am. Do not laugh, madam. Could this be farewell?
Dein ist mein Herz.
“Leib”
Post Scriptum: Luciano? You are with this tenor on a first-name basis?
January 15, 2006
Dearest,
Laugh? Yes, I laugh. With joy! You silly mouse! Don’t you know that baldness is a sign of manhood? And I love your dear ears! Why do they stick out that way? Because all the pretty girls have been pulling them? When in your arms? I’ll try not to think about that. I prefer to see in them a sign of musicianship, extended, as a snail does its antennae, or a beetle its feelers, to catch any stray note in nature, any tone, the least semi-demi-hemi-quaver. True, the lips are large. Oh, my cavalier! May they soon be pressed to mine! And what taste in clothes. That jacket! Those pants! They used to call them “zoot suits,” I believe; and yes, they are just now coming back in style.
Isn’t this a photograph taken from one of those automatic machines? Dear man! Did you run out in the cold just to please your Schnuckiputzi? But where did you find the booth? I doubt there is a single one left in all of New York. It is so cute and adorable that you would be jealous of Luciano. A great artist, yes. But do you know when he was born? 1935! La! That’s too old for me! But I wonder, with a beating heart: Am I perhaps too old for the dashing youth whose likeness I hold in my hand?
Now it’s my turn to be jealous. This photo has been torn in two. Who was in the other half? That Communist? Netrebko? I thought you did not care for flat-chested types. Beware, sir! I have had much practice in revenge. Muori, dannato! Muori! Muori! Who is she? One of those “cousins”? Maledetto!
Oh, the light on your scalp. How it shines. And have you—I tremble to ask—large-sized shoes?
What does my Prince say in our love duet?
Ich halte dich in meinen Armen.
Perhaps Leib Goldkorn will translate those words into flesh, into blood.
Yours forever,
R.
Mein Schneckchengehäuse,
In these arms my love now safely lands.
To which my Princess replies:
An meine Brüste dich erwärmen.
Warm yourself on my mammary glands.
Thus do we venture, for an American audience, into the risqué. You ask about the missing portion of the rotogravure. I am experiencing here a déjà vu, for only recently did I come across another pictorial of a man and—yes, you guessed it—a missing woman. In that case the man was my late Vater and the woman was Falma, meine Mutter. Only the double-dots of her dirndl remained in view. Now I must speak the painful truth: the woman once shown in this reproduction was—was— Give me a moment. Clara Goldkorn, née Litwack. Wife! Helpmate! Spouse! Gone! Gone! Widower Goldkorn is now alone. Forgive this fulmination. Now you know why the imago is torn. I could not, I cannot, bear to see it.
You are correct, my Liebling, my little snail-shell: the camera that “snapped” this picture was indeed inside an automat-style machine. You can find these still upon the Boardwalk at Coney Island, where I venture to take part in Polar Bear aquatics and to view the Mermaid Parade. Perhaps you would like to join me for a non-skinny-dip? Alas, you have missed our annual plunge upon New Year’s day. But you may partake in other immersions. Bring a one-piece suit. It is such exertions, along with physical jerks, that have kept me through the years in such fine fiddle.
My heart, too, has been ripped in pieces. Will it soon be healed?
I give you ein Knutschfleck.
Your Liebe “Leib”
Post Scriptum: Thom McAn size 5. Why do you ask?
Maestro Mio,
Oh the pain I must have caused you. Your Clara. Your dear wife. I should have known. Never again will I doubt you. Two lonely souls, it seems, have found each other. I long to hold your dear head, so smooth and shining, so full of musical ideas, to my breasts. My Polar Bear: Are you getting warm? Dearest, how this has happened I do not know. A mystery. A miracle. But I can fight it no longer. Leib Goldkorn, Graduate: Renée has fallen in love.
I am overcome with sudden shyness.
R.
LEIB GOLDKORN
138 WEST 80TH STREET
APT. 5-D
NEW YORK, N.Y. 10024
January 28, 2006
THE NAME NOT FIT TO PRINT
THE NEW YORK TIMES
TIMES SQUARE
NEW YORK, N.Y.
My dear FINN [Former Inamorata Not Named]:
How are you? I am fine. Before going further let me make an inquiry. Have you ever in your life been left “standing up”? What a terrible feeling that is. Like the stabs of a knife blade. Cast your mind back to August of 1997. August 31st, to be precise. Need I say the words “Court of Palms”? Or “Hotel Plaza”? Surely you remember the scene of humiliation.
The bill for schnapps and for condiment carousels was one hundred and twenty dollars: stab number one. The shame of a mistaken identity, during which I asked a blond woman with heft if by any chance she wished with me to “faire l’amour.” Stab number two. Number three? The many hours that I spent in the effort to master your native tongue: Onniteluni, rouva, charmikkaasta ja ilahduttavasta hatustasi. “My compliments, Madam, upon your charming and delightful hat.”
You are no doubt aware that in writing this missive I am entering a zone of extreme danger. Wait! Observe that I have not once mentioned your name, not even in the Esquimaux version. S. A. Lubowitz, note you that. Innocent, Your Honor! Still, with the mere expression of these words I am putting myself at risk of incarcerations or—leeches, madam!—even worse. Nonetheless, as a grandee I felt I must give you news that I fear will itself “stab” your heart. I advise you that if you are not already doing so, please sit on a chair. Very well: no more beating the bush. Madam, I have found another. True, with her there shall be no saunaistics. She will in all probability neither beat me nor walk upon my back. But she has definite mams, and is, in her pedigree, American: one hundred percent. And so, farewell!
With no hard feelings,
Leib Goldkorn, Graduate
Akademie für Musik,
Philosophie und darstellende Kunst
