Redux, Algonquin Sunset

Outside, the early evening hour greeted the world with a seeming nonchalance.

The city,

New York City,

New York, New York

The hustle, the bustle, the hey hey, the ho ho, it had all begun to settle down, the vendors on the corners selling scarves and hats and gloves were packing their wares into ratty cardboard boxes, and they slowly disappeared into the steam that emanated thickly from the grates that provided glances into the world below,

Maybe not hell, but definitely not heaven,

The air, crisp yet not chilled, it moved from here to there, whipped around a lamppost and swirled upward, all mystical barber pole wrappings seen only by rabbis of the kabbalah and priests wrapped in orthodox black, swirled upward until running out of umph, gravity winning, falling back down to the sidewalk like the spray of old faithful herself,

A Christmas shower.

Inside, though, the lobby of the Algonquin buzzed with a well-lit and celebrated festivity, having adorned itself in dark Christmas velvets, poinsettias and a frosted green tree that welcomed the guest, this guest, stepping in through the revolving door and leaving the still unusually autumnal conditions of the season outside,

That sighed at him suggestively, that tugged a little at his jacket, just a little of the cloth caught gently between thumb and forefinger,

That pulled on his scarf, as if to invite him to participate in some forbidden dance.

And the tree, she tickled his nostrils with wisps of expiring evergreen ever so faintly, stirred not shaken, mixed with the edgily crisp whirls of outside that had snuck in behind him, spinning through the door with him, teasing him with faint promises that perhaps the weather would turn by the time the baby Jesus,

That bastard offspring of virginal tales, that kid who grew up to inspire multitudes to live a wild and wooly existence,

In.

His.

Name.

Dropped down the chimney to wish Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

And the tree, she grasped helplessly at her throat with limbs limp and lean, slowly dying of thirst, trapped in her own private Idaho, sitting tall and wide in the middle of the lobby and adorned with glittering fringe, silver and red, like an enslaved Ukrainian transvestite transsexual in a Nashville brothel, a shemale lovely, no Crying Game here, she with her colorful glassy balls, large bovine sparklers twinkling and winking at all the others, mostly tourists, turtle necked tourists tucked into Uggs and fleece, flashing holiday gold from ear and throat and wrist, occasionally a nose if she was younger, but rarely a lip, these touristas, they were up visiting, maybe from Carolina, maybe from East Tennessee, difficult to tell the upper class Southerner these days, they did tend to fall back on that commonly practiced and cable televised genteel yet a little over the top pretend version of Snuffy Smith’s Squidbilly English,

The margins honed to a soft and rounded edge,

Weathered Appalachian stones atop the mountain.

Oh, bless their little hearts!

They now all sound alike,

A chorus of cane syrup flowing down the naked rivulets of good living.

They’re all burdened with bags from Bergdorf’s and Barney’s and Saks and some of those cute little shops down off Canal.  And this guy,

Our guy,

Eddie,

He watched as they, the touristas, as they struggled to snuggle into the elevator that had been constructed, installed, first turned on back when Abraham was sharpening his knife.  He, our Eddie, watched a gaggle of them wiggle into the elevator that had been designed for four sans luggage.  They giggled, loving to complain about the shortcomings of this Yankee excuse of a metropolis.  Oh, the crowds, the expense, the small rooms that won’t allow George to even get around the bed to the bathroom without moving the suitcase and lift it up onto the desk which is already cluttered with wires and adapters and iphones and ipads and kindles, the wrappers from truffles and assorted other chocolates mined from Filene’s Basement of Christmas past.

And our guy,

Eddie,

He slowed his pace and looked around, bathed in the history of Miz Parker’s charnel house, where correspondents had committed crimes of creativity over and over and over,

Aided and abetted by Martinis, Brandy Alexanders and Whiskey Sours, games of words, games of cards and many wasted hours,

Til they themselves bored and they, their efforts stillborn, became the characters in their own works,

Trapped.

Here.

In all their glory.

Eddie, he enjoined himself to their lingering spirits, both ethereal and liquid, that haunted this den of literary yesteryear.  These ghosts had sat at the knightly writers roundtable, reveling and rejoicing with those, with others, who preferred to

Scribble and scrawl,

Dribble and drawl,

Riddle and brawl,

Leaving behind faint totoros of dust and old age, swirling, whirling about, around, tickling the olfactory, heckling the matter of fact’ries, a remembrance of when, if ever, a blonde was a blonde.

His drink, Eddie’s drink, it waited for him back in the lounge,

And he crossed the lobby all frogger between table and chairs, tourists in pairs.

He crossed from restroom to barroom where his drink awaited him on the blue sparkly tres hip buffet du hooch, not quite the maple bar of his classic wanting but a port in this storm of Xmas-tide.

His drink, napkin resting across the rim, a drinker’s reservation system, a drunk’s cause for a fight, waited along with his beloved barstool upon which he ascended, climbed high into the saddle again, giddyup, hi-ho, as he studied his surroundings.

The view, the scenery, it had changed, such was the life of a hotel bar.  Les patrons, they had come, they had gone, they had been shuffled like a game of fifty-two card pickup since he,

Our guy,

Eddie,

Who maybe only five, maybe ten minutes before had left his new best friend, the forgetful bartender, that hotel employee lazily living on union wages and an ignorance of the Savoy bar book.

People and parties, they churned like the tides, ebbing and flooding, moving along at an ever-accelerating rate, moving,

Always moving,

Like love,

Sweet, delicious love,

Who in her splendid glory now sat to his left,

A gorgeous creature of feminine proportions,

A woman who looked like she would pour from her dress like sugar from silk,

Flowing all sparkly and sweet,

So obviously by herself, elbows propped up on the bar, both hands in front of her,

The long bejeweled forefinger of her right hand sliding up and down and across a brightly lit phone, icons moving, screens flashing, changing in some sort of personal pachinko madness.

The same finger of the left hand, another long and lovely digitus extendus naked of diamond and glitz but painted purple on the nail, a dancing purple encapsulating a dot of pink,

The eye of Fatima,

Circled her glass perched precariously on a stem, tres chic crystal opening up into an art deco-perfect butterfly, a vampish vargas girl, half full, could be a martini, the double olive on a spear,

Plastic and pink,

To match the Eye,

possibly giving it away.

Her head bent down studiously, long brown hair hung over her face, a veil of mystery.  Her long legs crossed, double crossed, with the tip of her shoe hooked back around behind her runner’s, her ballerina’s calf, her equally long stockings tight and terrifically sheer, very business-like.  Oh, so, very much you-get-what-you-see.

Oh, so.

And Eddie,

He thought, perhaps, he even said it out loud, the murmur of the room elevated enough to douse random verbal insights, he said, maybe he even might ever so slightly sung it in that Gang of Four sort of way, he said,

“Goddamn, I love a woman in a uniform.”

Her dark suit, white shirt, good golly, by god, by gum, bye-bye, she glanced over his way, Eddie’s way, as he settled in, as he accidentally nearly almost invaded her space with an awkward mount of the stool, a foot slipping on where the footrest should be, Eddie forgetting the stool was of the lean and prop style.  He, Eddie, he caught himself in time with as much panache as he could muster and still managed to

Wink,

And she smiled a simple smile, lips only, lips simply parted.  Eddie, he swooned, she giggled, Eddie, he paid attention, acted, reacted, acted, reacted.  Jesus Jiminy Cricket Christ, it was like some hot action happening on a telegraph wire, two people doing the dot-dot-dash-dash back and forth, back and forth.

Eddie, he would have liked to do the back and forth right now.

Right here would be fine.  Maybe this was getting right down to his gestalt, right here.  Maybe his mother had been bedridden when she was pregnant with him, he just didn’t get enough of that back and forth movement when he was in utero.

And now,

Eddie, now, he just craved it, that to and fro, up and down, back and forth, that swing set of schtupp,

Finding joy through the entire arc, loving the top and the bottom of the ride, wrapping his hands, entwining them, within the dark beauty of the drapes as he took off on that magic carpet ride.

She smiled a broader smile, and this smile, it simply sparkled, like in the movies, some sort of Doris Day Glass Bottom Boat moment, mermaids swimming about him, tails all a’glitter.  A light reflecting off the mirror behind the bar beamed in on, was attracted to, couldn’t help itself but to seek out, to find, to locate a cute little silver tooth sitting so wonderfully, so happily in the loveliest of kissers, and this twinkling tooth, not the middle one; not one of those that always go first in the tooth-losing summer of childhood; no, no, no, sugar, it was the one next to it, on the right; the light bounced off that tooth, leaving a gleaming trail like it was the Silver Surfer shredding forth from Venus, screaming in and down and across the breaking backlit sunlit froth, and it, this beam of the beholder, it hit Eddie smack in the eye, nearly knocked him off his perch.  Eddie, he all giggle-giddy inside, Eddie, he said to himself, Eddie, he said,

“Hey, Ma, I’ve finally met that knockout you always told me I’d meet.”

And, he, Eddie, he grinned, but Miz Knockout mistook his heart-exploding reaction with

A sick sense of humor.

 It was a Hallmark re-enactment of that old joke about the two lonely people at the dance, one with a fake eye, one with a fucked up mouth, and old Freddy-fake-eye, he asks this woman with the upturned lip, ol’ Freddy, he asks her to dance and she exclaims, all panty-wetting excited, she cries,

“Oh, would I, oh, would I..!”

And he, Freddy, he gets all embarrassed, he misunderstands, and he yells back,

“Well, you hairlip, you mean old hairlip…!”

And she, Miz Sparkly Silver Grin, she didn’t see the humor, didn’t see it that way, not at all.  She looked down and, with that sort of fake cough, covered her mouth, picked up her phone and drink, did the barstool spin

And

She was out of Eddie’s life.

Forever.

And,

Eddie, he felt maybe he should chase her, explain his feelings, beg forgiveness, do the knee-drop in front of a cast of thousands, spread his arms wide, call her Stella, scream her name to the streetlights.  

But he didn’t.

This wasn’t television.  This wasn’t the stage.  This was real life, Eddie, he

Could have read the scene all wrong, and it could have been very embarrassing, not to mention the wear and tear on his suit trousers.

Alas,

Love is so fleeting,

And Eddie, he reflected,

“It’s not like I had cracked some insensitive joke about silver teeth and Alzheimer’s, or silver teeth and Judas, or something Jesus, Jesus, Jesus… “

And,

Eddie, he started to look heavenward, praying for the Big Guy to save his sinful soul from these sinful thoughts but

Whoa, whoa, whoa…

To his right,

Just over his shoulder,

Was the-one-the-only-Miss-Welcome-Back-to-the-Eighties-Cindy-Lauper-look-alike, hello, love is in the air, love is in the hair and, yeah, it’s the hair, it’s got to be the hair that got to Eddie, that smacked him like a towel in the locker room, snapped hot and sharp, leaving a whelp on his sorry ass. 

Her hair, it was too, just too, you know, a little too orange, but also too red, with bold streaks of yellow.  Oh, her hair, it was so too, too, too, you know, and the makeup a little too much, a bit of mascara dripping down her cheek, and the lipstick too dark, too red, and the dress, too tight, too short, and the stockings too black with a little run on the inside thigh.

Pale, pale, pale.

Oh, that milky white

And

The hair, all so tequila sunrise.

And,

Eddie, he said, in his most refined and respectful manner, in his most mannerly manner, with a charm that worried his conscience but not quite his psyche, Eddie, he said,

“Hi.  Can I just say that, you, in all your sumptuous sunrise splendor, are making the neighborhood a better place to live?”

And, without skipping a beat, without a pause, not even for dramatic effect, he, Eddie, he said,

“I would like to buy us a round of drinks in honor of this just-discovered truth.”

And,

She, she looked at him, at Eddie, really looked at him.  She said, eyes bright, she said,

“What do you suggest, what sort of drink would you recommend to toast this auspicious occasion, what would you have grace my lips?”

And

For, Eddie, well this question, it required no thought, no consideration, no Sherlockian mulling.  He knew, he really knew what to say and he said it, he said,

“Tequila sunrise of course,

“To match your hair.”

And,

She smiled that cutesy little smile, that oh, you, kind of smile, and toute de suite, she said,

“Oh, too, sweet, n’est-ce pas, makes my lips pucker, don’t you know, and I don’t like them to pucker til I’m all good and ready to pucker.

“So, how about a real drink, whiskey, maybe, a Manhattan, very dry, very, very dry.  Two cherries dangling.”

And

Eddie, he waved, he beckoned with a seasoned confidence and a hurried yo-yo-gotta-go-gotta-go-barkeep attitude,

“My man, we could use – no! --  let me say, we need two Manhattans,

S’il vous plait.”

And

Eddie,

He signed the tab to his room, thinking, “Ah no worries, the money’s here, and there’s always more,” what does he care he was later going to memorialize her as Client, and he said, leaning over slightly, he didn’t know if it was the altitude or the attitude, Eddie he said,

“So, I’m Eddie,”

And

She said, lifting her glass by the stem in one hand, placing the lip of the glass between her own ruby reds, taking a timid little sip, she said,

“Nice cufflinks, they’re kind of cool.”

And

Eddie he said, tipping his glass her way, he said, glancing down at his wrists and shrugging he said,

“Thanks.”

And

She said,

“No, really.”

And

Eddie, he said,

“Well, thanks.”

And

She said,

“I’m Hallie.  I used to be Hallie Silverstein but now I’m thinking of Hallie-Go-Heavy, don’t you know, in honor of Miz Hepburn and Mister Capote, bless their souls.  What do you think?”

And Eddie nodded his approval with another lift of the glass and suggested, maybe even emphasized with a studied glance and a nod, he said,

“Well, may i say that there is absolutely nothing heavy about you from where i sit,

“You,

“My lovely, curvy crook of sugarcane right out of the stocking on Christmas morning.

“You are just as lovely and pert and sexy and sultry and titillating and teasing,

“Yes, teasing

“As Miz Audrie herself,

“Or, hell,

“Anyone else i have ever met.

“But,”

And, Eddie, he paused, and he sipped is own drink.  Then, he said,

“I can see that the new name most certainly applies in that metaphysical sense, that wrap-yourself-around-the-goddess-that-is wrapped-around-you sort of way.”

And, Hallie, she smiled.  She looked away, then she looked back, and

And

And she smiled, and she said, looking down only briefly to stir her drink, she smiled at him and said,

“Thanks.”

And, they sipped their drinks and they talked flirty bar talk and they finished their drinks and they talked life talk, that where one came from, where one went, where one belonged sort of chat, that bonding across common data points --  who, what, where one liked.  They managed to avoid television, music, food, restaurants, touristy destinations, both classic and new age, that basic shit two bored people fall back upon, like falling forward onto a sword,

Conversational hari-kari.

No, they talked good shit, they made each other laugh, they ordered another drink.  And another.

She touched his arm when making a point, he touched her thigh right where the slit in the stocking stretched and split, showing skin.  He reached up and touched her hair, a curl of her hair, moving it out of her face,

Where it had drunkenly fallen down across the bridge of her cute little nose, more O’Grady than Silverstein,

And, then, that’s when Eddie knew,

That’s when he knew that he had to find out,

Was it the same sunrise down there, where the sun rises, was it red, blonde, brown, or darker?  Did the flower bloom, even if only along a narrow Brazilian garden path?

And Eddie,

Our guy,

Eddie, he excused himself for a moment for another trip back across the lobby to find that portal, that porcelain bowl of relief, he asked with a touch of the hand on her wrist,

Her tattooed wrist,

A canvas supporting the image of an old Timex, the one that that can take a licking and keep on ticking, inked around, permanently attached, worn brown leather wristband, tarnished gold plated case, cracked face.

Eddie,

He said,

“Hey, will you wait?  I’d really appreciate it if you waited.”

And she said, slurring maybe just a bit, that cute little drunken slur that only a beautiful woman can get away with, that stretched out pronunciation that is so cute but so on the edge of becoming slobbering, she said,

“Baby, I’m all Snow White on this barstool.  I ain’t leaving til you come back, give me a little kisssssss…”

And Eddie, he stumbled backwards, spun and turned, headed back across the lobby. He slid into the restroom.  He walked up to the urinal in that way he’d been practicing for years, been doing this all his life, gave it the unzip as he walked across the restroom, reached in, pulled out his flaccid yet getting interested meat, leaned over and spit as he stepped up to begin relieving himself,

The sudden, initial burst struck the porcelain at such an angle, at such a velocity, that it hummed like a tuning fork.

Maybe a b-flat.

The vigor of his stream then slowed, the flow subsiding til the hum faded to a silence, broken only by the drumming drops of the squirt, squirt, the wiggle, wiggle, shake, shake, the weight of his schlong sending heavy spatters against the plastic holding the blue toilet disk,

Spprrrts spprrrts spprrrts,

Til there was nothing left but relief and satisfaction.

And, Eddie,

He stuffed his cock back into his pants, did a little wiggle, zipped up, and reached over to flush

When he heard,

Coming in over his shoulder,

Like maybe it was maybe god himself,

A sort of a low, not Barry White low, but white man, Clark Kent low voice from behind, it said,

“Hey, don’t flush.”

And, Eddie, he said, he looked over his shoulder, his hand still on the plunger, a cop slowly turning around to face the drug dealer who had snuck up behind him, his hand on his weapon, not letting go, and he said,

“Um…don’t think I caught that?”

And, this guy who had spoketh as if from above, like he was the fucking burning bush itself, this guy, he stood behind Eddie, and Eddie he thought,

“Ah, geeze, who is this fucker, what’s this shit smell he’s sporting, I can’t even fucking smell the blue fucking disk in the urinal.  This guy, he smells like the full run of the gauntlet that cuts through the first floor of Bloomingdale’s all rolled into one tall plug-in dispenser that got hit by a short in the wiring and shot its entire smelly wad into the world through some wild tree-climbing monkey orgasm…”

And, this guy, Mister Otherwise-pretty-fucking-normal, Princeton haircut, blue button down, very Brooks Brothers, same place he had found his khakis, bright blue eyes and sardonic grin, this guy, he said,

“Yeah, I know, it’s just sort of, well, yeah, I know how it might sound, how it might seem to be a rather odd request but, well, you know, it’s just sort of my thing, a sort of quirk, a kink, one might say, will probably say, but, hey do a fella a favor,

“I just want to piss on top of your piss. I’m not gay or anything, I just want to, well, let my urine flow atop of another’s and, hey, you just happen to be here, you just happen to be that other.  Come on, what do you say?

“Do a fella a favor?”

And, Eddie, he sort of shrugged, he stepped to the side, he presented a drunken yet grand sweeping open palm to Mister Normal, shaking his head and inviting him to be his guest while he scooted out of the way to give the same hand and its partner a quick rinse, a fast wash, while looking over his shoulder to see other shoulders shimmy softly, to hear a slight whimper and moan bounce off the tiles.

He turned off the water.  He shook his hands into the sink, wiped them on his face, then on the back of his trousers, on his way out the restroom,

A quick getaway

Back to his new-found love, away from his new-found confusion, where sweet and sugary Hallie, she waited.  He climbed back onto his perch and began anew his seduction,

His adventure,

His Indiana Jones expedition to the nether regions below, the navel beneath the cotton, way south of the sunset, to find that true nature, her truth is god’s truth is the sweet stuff that dresses his dreams,

Because he knew that he had to know, must know,

And, as he, Eddie, as he leaned over to whisper into her ear, to suggest some slutty slipping and sliding down the slough to hell he,

Eddie,

He saw Mister Normal the Pissing Boy of Brussels himself walk in and take the seat on the other side of Hallie, beckon to the bartender and order a

Tequila sunrise,

His tell tale aroma, his olfactory aura, reaching their respective schnozzolas about the same time as the request for libation and she,

Hallie,

She,

As if the aroma is only too familiar,

She turned just as Eddie was about to whisper sweet nothings, leaving Eddie to suggest sin to spirits and air.  She turned and looked, only to say,

“Oh, it’s you.”

Turning back to Eddie, she said,

“Don’t mind him.”

And Eddie, he looked past Hallie to him, to Mister Normal, who gave a twinkle and a grin and a nod of the chin.

Eddie, he looked to Hallie, he said,

“Whoa, may be tough not to mind.  He kind of staked out this little disturbing spot in my head just now, gonna be hard to shake, might take a few drinks. 

“Seems this guy, he’s quite the little deviant, don’t you know.”

And Hallie, she frowned that drunken pouty little frown that only a beautiful woman can get away with, she said, turning around to the deviant, she said,

“Oh, Jesus, Joey, you pulling that piss on piss thing again?  That is getting so old, don’t you know?  I’m really quite tired of it and, you just wait and see, some fucking bruiser is going to kick your ass some day.”

And, Joey, our Mister Deviant, our Mister Normal, he himself frowned as well and said,

“Oh, little sister, don’t you worry none, you know I only ask the ones who I know will let me, who I know won’t mind.”

Joey, he leaned back on his bar stool, looking around Hallie, Joey, he said,

“And, you don’t mind, now do you?”

Eddie, he started to say, started to reply, all ready with a snarky response, but the “well” and the “fuck” and the “you” all sort of slurred together, such solid retort backed up with the classic use of his whiskey glass as a pointer, a bit sloshing over the edge, a couple of cool drops falling onto Hallie’s thigh, landing, splashing, slo-mo like in a milk commercial, she jumping a bit at the surprise, just as she was taking a sip from her own glass, another drop escaping, joining the other two on her thigh, and she did the double squirm.  Eddie, always the gentleman, quickly dabbed lightly with a bar napkin, leaving his hand there post-clean up, his eyes going to hers, hers to his, his nappy-holding hand sliding slowly up that short, short skirt, her bottom sliding his way across the barstool. 

Eddie, he thought, he wondered, admiring her oh so silly hair, the light still bouncing, the light still glancing, the colors, oh, the colors, Eddie, he thought, he wondered,

“…oh, my, oh, lordy, oh, me, oh, my, please Jesus, I just want to know, I just want to find out, don’t ask me why, please don’t judge, knowledge is such a beautiful thing, I just want to know…”

And, his eye, Eddie’s eye, they caught Joey’s as he watched, curiously attentive.

And Joey, he winked, he smiled, no, he looked down to Eddie’s hand on his sister’s thigh, he grinned, and Joey, he turned back toward the bar, elbows planted and hands up, fingers spread, he leaned in to his dayglo drink, leaned over, and took a sip through a tiny stiff straw, his cheeks squeezed in together in a tight pucker as he withdrew straw between tight lips, a cherry suctioned to the end, a literal Little Jack Horner withdrawing a reinforced proboscis sporting a bit of a hardon.

And Eddie laughed.  And Hallie turned and laughed.  Drunken laughter, a giggle guffaw snort cough gag gasp giggle go again kind of laugh.  And Eddie, he leaned over toward Hallie in his fit of laughter, putting his hand on her thigh again, this time sliding to the inside, between her thighs.  And, Hallie, her leg, her legs, they parted that slight part, that hint of an opening, a perhaps, a tease, in a good way tease, a there just might be something behind door number one tease.  And, the guffaw faded to a soft giggle, to a slow, long breath, to a moment of silence, to Eddie leaning over, kissing Hallie on the cheek, to Hallie turning, kissing Eddie full on, mouth open, thigh open, oblivious to those in the bar, Eddie thinking to himself,

“Wow, think anyone ever sat here at this bar kissing Dorothy Parker this way?”

Joey, he tapped his sister, he tapped Hallie on the shoulder, he said,

“Hey, hey, hey.”

Hallie, she, slowly, oh so slowly, in that hesitating sort of should I or shouldn’t I don’t want to stop so can’t you just fuck off but ok if you insist sort of way, Hallie, she turned reluctantly, she raised her eyebrows, adjusted her shoulders, silently saying, what-the-fuckingly saying,

“Yeah?”

Joey, he looked down at his drink, he stirred the little straw, cherry still attached, he said,

“So, does this mean I’m not crashing on your couch tonight?”

Hallie, she just looked at him, not quite a stare, but a look, definitely a look, she said, deadpan, she said,

“Yeah. That’s what it means.”

Hallie, she turned back to Eddie, she touched his hand on her thigh, she winked at him, yeah, that was what Eddie saw, she winked at him, he grinned, and Joey, getting in one last one, couldn’t help himself, Joey, he leaned over, leaned in, Joey, he said,

“So, you gotta pee before you go?”

And, Eddie, his eyes not leaving Hallies, he said,

“No.”

And, Joey, he shrugged his shoulders, he looked the other way, across the crowd, a long gaze, a studied gaze, he got up, finished his drink, said over his shoulder, as he walked away, he said,

“Thanks for the drink, gotta go find a new friend, got to go find a place to crash tonight.”

Eddie, then he turned, he left her gaze, that lock, that assurance he needed, that it was true, he would have the truth, that he would know, by the end of the night, he would know, he would find out, he would know her truth, the truth down below, the truth that sizzled in his mind, sizzled so hot that he couldn’t touch it, couldn’t have it, couldn’t know it until he proved it again, proved what he knew he knew.  Eddie, then he turned, then he, Eddie, he watched Joey walk away.  That song, from way back, that song, it hit him,

We live

As we dream

Alone

And Joey, he grinned back over his shoulder, as he ducked through the door into the Algonquin lobby, and onto who knows where.  The men’s room, behind one of the humongous is-it-real-is-it-memorex wild-ass combo fern banana plant, maybe a private showing in someone’s tiny upper floor suite bathroom, Joey standing on the edge of the tub, watching, ready to pounce like some cougar crouching on the ledge of a boulder defining the trail, like some trust-fund cougar crouching on a barstool in one those trust-fund towns like Boulder or Mill Valley or Bend.  Or perhaps simply out into the cool New York evening, the world is his oyster, but Eddie, he would not know, Eddie, he would not care, he had only one concern, one bubbling curiosity, one that could conceivably kill the cat, or at least shoo her away, and he watched his curiosity gaze after her brother. 

And she, Hallie, she watched only until Joey disappeared, until he simply vanished, and she shrugged, she was done, the squirrel had disappeared, poof, it no longer existed, poof, out of sight, out of mind, better things occupied her mind, more promising things, and Eddie, he knew he was that better thing, he had that better thing.

Eddie, he snuggled up to his Curiosity, hands on her thighs.  He said, again, like he had said when he first met her, only one hundred and seventeen drinks ago, Eddie, he gave her his best Dean Martin, maybe his best Ricky Martin, he said,

“Hey, sugar, my sugaree.  Can I just say, can I maybe just get a bit closer and whisper, can I just say, sugar, sugar, that, you, in all your glorious sunrise splendor, have made my neighborhood a much better place to live?  I mean, if I may, if I might, by the soul-sucking glow of this fluorescent light, grit my teeth and growl, lean back and howl, aim to shoot the moon, baby, I’ll be the plate, you be the spoon?”

And, Hallie, she squeezed him between her thighs, those wondrous pillars of love, the twin muses protecting the secret, her secret. Hallie, she said, or her lips moved like they were saying, had said, Eddie, he didn’t care, he knew what was what, he could feel what was what, she was now feeling his what with her hand, gripping it through his slacks, pulling on it, pulling it toward her, and she said, Hallie, she said,

“Hey, let’s go, don’t you know I have the place to myself tonight, rumor has it I’d be all by my lonesome self if you weren’t to come home with me, and, lord help us, a girl simply should not be alone in the City, no, no, no.  Not at night.  Not this night.”

And, Eddie, he said, looking at Hallie, thinking that should his gaze leave she might go ahead and detach his cock and leave without him, Eddie, he said, looking at Hallie but motioning to the bartender to bring the bill, the classic-never-goes-stale spinning of the wrist, Eddie, he said,

“Girlfriend, right about now I would follow you pretty much anywhere your sexy little self might want to take me, walk through the lion’s den, across the burning desert, into the depths of hell itself, I’m your Venus, I’m your fire, at your desire.  But, but, but, my newest love, one upon whom I have suddenly and unexpectedly crushed, don’t you know I have a room right upstairs, so close, so near.”

And, Hallie, she said, still with that grip, perhaps a bit firmer, maybe with a bit more determination, Hallie, she said, “No, I want to go all adventurous just a bit in the cab,”

And, Eddie, his hand went to slide up her thigh, not caring for or about those around him, around them, his fingers began to crawl, to crab, up her thigh, looking for a parting of the waters, a not so random thought zeroing in on the possibility, as if he could feel read understand immerse himself in the shades and hues, could sense organic or artificial, and Hallie, she said, lightly placing her other hand on his wrist, guiding him askew of his target, entangling his fingers in the torn fishnet, and she said, Hallie, she said,

“Yeah, I want some of that in the back seat of a cab, my horny sweet GQ, only ten minutes, maybe a little of this,” tugging on his cock, “maybe a little of that,” dipping his hand up swiftly between her legs, as she herself dipped slightly, a quick curtsy, and Eddie swooned to the vaporous wonders that tingled the tips of his fingers, only fleetingly, it happened so fast that he, Eddie, he had to pause and consider if he had passed through a nitrous moment, could he actually feel color, and Hallie, she said, pulling him off his barstool, Hallie, she said,

“Let’s go, hero.  Ten minutes of frantic in the back seat, then my place. What say, Mister?”

And, Hallie, she pulled him behind her, through the bar crowd, hand still on cock, like a ship’s rudder, steering him, guiding Eddie, out the door and into the night air, the doorman opening the backdoor of a Yellow Cab, like she had telegraphed ahead in that kind yet seriously expectant James bring the car around voice that only the ruling class can master, she ducking into and sliding across the bench of the awaiting carriage, physically beckoning Eddie in after her, landing him next to her, a flopping fish on the dock, gasping for air, and Hallie, she gave the cabbie her address, and off they went, with a lurch of acceleration, cross-town to head south on seventh, all the way down toward the Village, Eddie pressed back on the back seat, and Hallie, she leaned in, pulling his shirt tails out from his pants, exposing his mostly flat belly, and put her lips onto that spot below the navel, above the belt, that tender spot, that spot where even guys who have no body hair have a little peach fuzz, just something to tickle, Hallie, she leaned in and put her lips to that spot, kissed him softly, wetly.

For the next ten minutes, Eddie, he forgot his mission, and he succumbed to the fatigue of the campaign.   The tugging, the lips, the bumps on the perforated road going downtown, south of NYU, going down, the zipper going down, Hallie going down, the glancing up through the darkness of the backseat, Eddie, he could still see her eyes, dancing, sparkling, the occasional late night car light, bouncing off her bobbing orange and yellow head, bringing him, pushing him, shoving him, right up to the edge. 

Then the cab stopped with a squeal of brakes and the snap crackle pop crunch of a Jane Street pothole getting bigger.

Hallie, she hopped up with a lollypop plop and popped out of her side of the cab, leaving Eddie unzippered and with a eighteen dollar tab to pay, and he, Eddie, he struggled to both zip and pay at the same time, somehow managing, overtipping, and topping off the zipper as he stumbled out of the cab Hallie-side, she catching him before he fell, both laughing, giggling,

That drunken giggle emanating from a couple who knows they about to get all carnal.

They slowed their breath,

His hands on her hips,

Her hands on his hips,

Foreheads tipped and touching,

All lady and the tramp,

And Eddie, his mind, it wandered from sunrise scruff and mane, all brilliant and bright and lighting up the night, lighting up his night, lighting up his need, lighting up his obsession, driven on down below, down, down, down periscope, dive, his mind, it dives, full on scuba, all a’bubblin’, big fins flapping, corkscrewing through the sweet warm honey, his mind, his third eye, it just wandered on down but,

He just couldn’t see, he just couldn’t tell, something was all a’blur, and he knew, he just knew how it was that he was going to know, and he then gazed at her and knew that

He loved her for the adventure she presented, for the moment that she provided him here in this night, in this night in Manhattan,

This place that is not really a place,

Where things happen that do not happen,

That looms over the rest of America

With both amusement and disdain,

And Miz Hallie, she pushed back gently, looking up with pouty lips, stepped backwards, off the walk into the gutter, looked around up and down the street, put her finger up to those pouty lips giving that oh so sexy shush, then turned away from him, from Eddie, and she

Hiked her skirt,

Squatted

And slid her panties off to one side, in a very experienced manner, and she peed, and

Eddie, he stood behind her, arms folded loosely in front of him, and watched the sizzle of her pizzle, steam exploding from heat hitting chill, and she peed for at least twelve hours, full on headwaters of a kayakers hottest wet dream, until Eddie, he himself actually stepped forward clapping, seeking to reward such womanliness, and also trying to catch that glimpse, that tell tale sound of the tell tale heart, but Hallie, she arose from the squat, skirt dropping, her butt wiggling, wiggling, shimmying, getting things in place,

And turned to greet her applauding fan with both arms up and around the back of his neck, her lips on his, and she pulled away and pulled him by the hand, and he followed, Eddie, he followed, his ears all perked like the hound dog he was, oh, goodness gracious, oh, jiminy cricket. 

They bounded up two flights of stairs and down a hallway and then up a half flight of steps that twisted around themselves and opened to a landing with a big door with three locks which required three separate keys which were fumbled every time Eddie, standing behind her, a willing accomplice to this unlocking activity, every time Eddie tried to slide his hand up the back of her skirt, keys which were fumbled as she dropped them to slap his hand away, and said,

“Come on, baby, almost there, just a little bit, longer,”

And he stopped and she got one piece of the puzzle solved, one of the locks opened, and then he, Eddie, then he tried to slide his hand back up her skirt, like he could feel color through this fingertips, and she, Hallie, she fumbled the keys as she slapped his hand, and said,

“Come on, baby, almost there, just a little bit, longer,”

And then got the next two locks opened and the door, it creaked open, and they stumbled in, he pulled her to the couch, and she pulled him back to her room, which overlooked a little dimly lit garden with a bench and a table, and the table held a yellow ashtray littered with a couple of wet and bloated cigarette butts,

Eddie, he could not really see, but he wanted to believe that he saw her lipstick color on the tip of one, and only one, of the two cigarette butts.

Hallie, she leaned over to turn off the lamp next to her bed and Eddie, he jumped ahead and touched her wrist, she looking up at him, Eddie cocking his head in that original Eddie sort of way, that Eddie Haskel grin and shuffle and flatter and advise manner, and she left it on, and he rolled her over onto her back onto the bed, his hands on hers above her head, his lips only a short breath from hers, and he said,

“Girl, girl, girl, do you know what you do by just being, even before I find my way inside you?”

And, Hallie, she looked at him, looked up at Eddie, breath short, her hips purring, her belly button sighing, her Hallie-button stirring, and Hallie, she said,

“Come on, baby, tell me what I do.”

And, Eddie, his lips darted down, his lips tugged at a button on her blouse, loosened it, and then another, and then he leaned up, looked at her, he said,

“I’m going to tell you a poem, I’m going to recite, I’m going to excite, going to get all sappy-delish, scrumpilicious, all wondrously bullshitty on your sugary self, how about it?”

And, Hallie, she pretended to struggle her hands and wriggle her bottom as Eddie, as he leaned in over and on her, parting her legs, and Hallie, she said,

“Sure, sailor, sing me a ditty.”

And, Eddie, he said, looking down on her exposed chest, exposed cleavage, the curve of the breast, Eddie, he said,

“I call this Possessionem.”

And, Hallie, she wiggled and giggled and said,

“Oh, I do so love a man who murmurs Latin to me.”

And, Eddie, he said,

“If I were…”

Looking down, gazing down, dropping his head down to lightly kiss the bare spot of oh so soft skin, Eddie, he said,

“If I were

to affix

the cross

between your breasts…”

Looking down, gazing down, dropping his head down to slightly kiss the bare spot of oh so soft skin, Eddie, he said,

“would your friends

scream

for Bar-abbus

as I crucified

your heart…”

And, Eddie, he kissed Hallie, and Hallie, she kissed Eddie, and he let go of her hands and she reached around him neck and pulled him to her and her legs parted and her skirt lifted and they wiggled on the bed like virgins and Eddie, he fumbled with her blouse and he fumbled with her bra and he fumbled with trying to remove her skirt and she, Hallie, she stopped him and in some crouching tiger hidden dragon drunken kung foo take the pebble from my hand grasshopper kind of flipperoonie Eddie found himself on his back with her on top of him facing his his crotch, her back, her butt, facing him, she quick to unzipper and haul out john henry and slide it, slide Eddie, into her mouth, Eddie’s cock standing to slippery attention as he felt in utter amazement the entire length, down to the hilt, disappear down her throat, heaven was down, hell was up, his world upside down, and feeling so right,

And he remembered, oh, right, that, just as she started to bobbing up and down and he caught a glimpse, a total look, of her panty region, bouncing, couldn’t follow the flap of the skirt, couldn’t grasp the detail, and he reached up and slapped her on her ass and she lifted it up and he slapped it again and she spun around away from his reach, mouth still on cock,

Which Eddie thrust upward, involuntarily with disappointment, gagging her, but not losing her, a gack and a gurgle and a go, bob-a-lou bob-a-lopolis and Eddie, he sat up and took her head in his hands and forcefully lifted her off his cock, Hallie pulling back down, not wanting to let go, not wanting to lose what she wanted.

And, Eddie he rolled her over and he held her hands above her head in one hand and he got on all fours and he used his other hand to lift her skirt, to slide her skirt, he used this other hand to touch her thigh, to tickle her tummy, to float above the cotton of panty, dark colored, hiding, placing a shadow over, what he needed, what he wanted, and Eddie, he held her there, his cock stiff and mighty, extending from unbuckled pants, belt hanging down, the light hitting his cock, shimmering just a bit as it bounced off Hallie’s saliva, her gaze following the light, capturing the light of his cock, but Eddie, he didn’t notice.

He was singularly focused as well, gazing, staring.  The wanting and needing pumped his cock into monstrous R.Crumb proportions, anticipating confirmation, what is the color, really, Eddied just wanted to know, had to know, just what was the color that was not tequila sunrise, how else could he know her if he didn’t know. 

How else?

And he reached down with both hands, one on either side of her hips, her hands remaining above her head, and she lifted her hips, wriggled, the skirt falling back down as her panties slid out from beneath, slid out oh so slowly, had to have been forty days and forty nights before the skirt began to recede, til he saw the olive branch of her pale inner thigh.

And, Eddie, he thought,

“Oh, where is that mourning dove?”

And, Eddie’s cock, it thought,

“Oh, god, give me that fucking morning love...”

And, Eddie, he pulled up the skirt and wiggled his face down there, lips leaving bread crumbs of salvation behind as they followed, dancing down skipping on down between betwixt that luscious nether land, lips on skin, lips on skin, lips on skin…

Lips on skin…

A dart of the tongue, a probe…

Eddie, he slowed, lifted his head, looked down below him, between her legs, her parted legs, her legs that trembled just a bit, that forced a moan from behind him, that reached up to grasp a cock that

Suddenly withered,

Fell,

Softly floated back down to earth.

And, Eddie, his eyes, they blinked, he rubbed them, he blinked again, a Trac-II thief had violated his domain,

His tell,

Throbbing expectations doused and made smooth with soap and water and blade, oh so smooth, baby’s behind smooth, glimmering smooth, make a grown man cry smooth.

Eddie, the intensity of his body, the complete contraction of every muscle he had, the stretch of fingers and toes and cock, all of a sudden, Eddie, he simply expired, it all just left, like a tire bursting on rocky desert terrain, the universe, she took it back, she had dangled it right there in front of him, teased him, teased Eddie like he was some stupid silly kitten chasing a ball of yarn.

Hallie, she sat up on her elbows and looked at Eddie, his head dangling there over her cunt, his limp dick dangling there over the foamy phosphorous of her white belly, any dampness all her own.  Hallie, she looked around, like there might be someone there in the room holding a gun on them or something, got to be something, got to be something major to slap his love in reverse, Hallie, she looked at Eddie, she said,

“So, um, lover boy…

“Hey, sugar, sugar, honey, honey…”

And, Hallie, she nudged her cunt up a bit, a little bump of cunt to nose, playful, all in fun, and Eddie, he got up,

Eddie, he got up,

He pulled up his trousers, he buttoned up, he zippered up, Eddie, he didn’t look down at Hallie, did not meet her stare, could not meet her stare, he felt her anger, it burned, radiated, hit his heart, he pulled on his coat, he walked out of the bedroom, he walked down the hallway, Hallie, she finally found her voice, she screamed at him, she said,

“Where the fuck are you going, you can’t just fucking do that, you can’t just fucking look at my cunt and get up and leave, a human being doesn’t just do that, where the fuck are you going?”

And, Hallie, she jumped up off of the bed and ran out the door, chasing him down the hallway, she picked up and threw a cigarette butt at him, burned almost down to the filter, her lipstick still wrapped around,

Halley, she screamed at him, she said,

“Where the fuck are you going, you can’t just fucking do that, what is it with my cunt, a human being doesn’t just do that, where the fuck are you going?”

And, Eddie, he ducked the cigarette, and another, and he got a dusting of ash, and he opened the big door and pulled it hard behind him and he bounded down the steps through the building hallway down the remaining two flights, and he was out on the street, Hallie was looking at him from the window of the second story stairway, Eddie looked up, Hallie,

She flashed him.

She flashed him with a lift of the curtain, the light behind her, the streetlight on her, Hallie, she flashed him one last glance of her Lady Gillette self, and

Eddie, his dick tucked between his legs, he flagged down a cab.