What a wild ride we’ve had this year. I’m celebrating the end of 2021 with the 6th installment from JUST ACROSS THE STREET IN NEW YORK CITY. There’s more to come next year while I await the re-release of the book on 2 February, 2022.

WINTER 1990

§§

He arrived at the Off-Center Theater on 11th Avenue, far, far off-Broadway, with its black double doors and no marquee. Inside Mike climbed two flights of stairs to find the theater offices, and one more flight to get to the theater’s rehearsal space.

The Off-Center Theater had a reputation for producing new plays that got picked up by bigger theaters or film companies. It was a funky place, but audience regulars included Al Pacino and Herb Gardner. Mike went through his monologue from Last Chance for the audition team. He paused when he was finished, knowing he’d nailed the character, enjoying a couple of seconds of satisfaction.

Usually after auditions, Mike followed protocol, saying “Thank you” and leaving. But this time, unsolicited, Mike said, “I’d like to read from your script,” and he added with a grin, “if you don’t mind.” He went on, “I’m interested in the role of the ditch-digger.”

The three people sitting behind the long folding table, with piles of actor headshots and resumes at their elbows, conferred with each other as if Mike hadn’t spoken.

Mike stood silently in the middle of the room. The audition space was gloomy, an empty six-sided room, one of them covered in mirrors. It had a high ceiling and dull wood floor, with a single window looking out on a brick wall.

A woman with graying blond hair sat with her arms crossed over her chest. A young woman held out a script toward Mike. The goateed man behind the table told Mike to read from page 11.

No one said anything more, but Mike knew the chance to read from the script meant they liked his work. He turned his back to the table and found page 11 in the script of On The Couch. When he turned back toward the table, he started to read the words of Seth, the ditch-digger.

SO YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT MY FIRST TIME? I DIDN’T THINK A CLASSY WOMAN LIKE YOU WANTED MEN TO TALK DIRTY. I CAN LICK YOUR BODY TOO IF YOU WANT.

OKAY, OKAY. I GET IT. THAT’S FOR LATER. NOW ALL YOU WANT IS TALK, RIGHT?

TALK. THAT’S NOT MY CAN OF GASOLINE USUALLY. WITH THE GUYS MAYBE, BUT NOT IN A ROOM LIKE THIS. NOT IN A BUILDING WITH AN ELEVATOR, ALL THESE FANCY TELEPHONES AND SHINY ASHTRAYS. YOU PROBABLY HAVE CARPET IN THE BATHROOM.

YEAH, YEAH, MY FIRST TIME. LET’S SEE. I WAS YOUNG. THE GIRLS WERE CHASING ME AND WHO WAS I TO KEEP MYSELF AWAY FROM THEM, YOU KNOW?

SO THERE WAS THIS ONE CHICK THAT I SNIFFED AROUND. SHE WAS YOUNGER THAN ME. I’D STAYED BACK A COUPLE OF TIMES IN SCHOOL, SO ME BEING OLDER MADE HER THINK I’D BE GOOD, I GUESS. YOU KNOW, BIG GUY, TOUGH GUY, THE GUY WHO WORKED WITH HIS HANDS.

SHE WAS RIGHT TOO, OF COURSE, ABOUT ME BEING GOOD. I KNEW ALL ABOUT IT, WHAT WAS S’PPOSED TO HAPPEN AND ALL.

SHE WAS SHORT, HAD DARK HAIR THAT KINDA TURNED UNDER AT HER SHOULDERS. SOMETIMES I’D CURL SOME OF THAT HAIR ON MY FINGER WHEN WE WERE TALKING OR SITTING AROUND, LIKE WHEN WE’D GO DOWN TO CONEY ISLAND TO WATCH THE ROLLER COASTER SCARE PEOPLE.

Mike walked around the room as if he were looking out a picture window lost in a memory. He kept his face expressionless, but he knew his eyes were switching from innocent to angry to wild. The role was a middle-aged man remembering a young man in love, and he knew the part, even though the details were different from his own reality.

SHE HAD HAZEL EYES. I HADN’T KNOWN A PERSON WITH HAZEL EYES BEFORE HER. I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO CALL ‘EM TIL SHE TOLD ME “HAZEL.”

HER NAME? I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D WANT TO KNOW HER NAME. YEAH, I REMEMBER IT. MOMMY. WE CALLED HER MOMMY. HER NAME WAS ANNE, OR MARY, OR SOMETHING, BUT SHE HAD THESE JUGS THAT WERE LIKE WATERMELONS, YOU GOTTA BELIEVE ME, AS BIG AS TWO GIANT SOFT WATERMELONS.

DAMN STRAIGHT, I TOUCHED ‘EM. HOW’D YOU THINK I KNEW THEY WERE SOFT IF I DIDN’T TOUCH ‘EM? ANYHOW, THE JUGS WERE HOW COME WE CALLED HER MOMMY. ALL THROUGH JUNIOR HIGH, HIGH SCHOOL TOO, MOMMY. EVERYONE CALLED HER MOMMY.

“Thank you, Mr. Levale, that’s enough,” the young woman behind the desk said. “Very nice. Call-backs will be Sunday before Christmas. If we select you, would you be available to start rehearsing the 2nd of January?”

“Sure, I could make it. Thanks. I enjoyed it,” Mike responded. “And it’s Levine. Not Levale. Mike Levine. What’s your name?” He was breaking another audition rule asking for names, but he was pumped-up from the reading.

The young woman gripped her lips together, but managed to say, “Angela Herrick. Thank you.” The thank-you was Ms. Herrick’s sign-off, her wave goodbye, her signal for Mike to get out.

“And I didn’t catch your name?” Mike said, speaking through an invisible barrier to the other woman, the one with the gray-blond hair. He said the words as if he had no idea that actors usually backed-off from the decision-makers of a play, even a small non-union play, or maybe more especially in a small non-union play where reputations were to be made.

Ms. Herrick stood up, her way of saying “clear the premises now, or else,” but the other woman answered, “My name is Lori Vaughn. I’m the director. Thanks for coming in today.”

Mike grinned, repeated her name, and left, feeling high. This time, instead of calling Pat Knolles in a cloud of depression after the audition, he went across the street to treat himself to a glass of scotch. He had an hour before meeting Glenda Frazier for dinner, and he was certain that his luck would hold up after they ate.

§§

Joe gave Coco a bottle and changed her, then handed his baby off to his sister Toulousa before going to a morning study session.

Toulousa opened Beloved to page one and started reading to Coco whose tiny cocoa-colored hands waved in the air like she was reaching for butterflies. She’d read Tar Baby the week before. A couple of years back, Toulousa had read Sula and The Bluest Eye. She had a policy of reading only one book by an author, but sometimes, she couldn’t help herself and kept on reading others.

Granddaddy Papa came in and settled in a chair to listen to the story. A while after the baby’s eyes closed, and his did too, with his breaths making his chest rise and fall slowly. Toulousa read, turning page after page about Margaret getting to Ohio.

“Wha’cha reading, Toulousa?”

“Where’d you come from, Jonquil?” Toulousa asked, startled.

The girl sat on the arm of Toulousa’s chair and snuggled close. She talked low to keep from waking Coco and Granddaddy Papa, “You told me you’d take me to see Dick Tracy.”

Toulousa’s eyes got big. Time had snuck by her. She was supposed to be at the Triplex by 10h30. “You’re right. And we have to go right now to get to the theater quick.” She gave the girl’s cheek a kiss. “Go find Mamie for me, will you?”

Without jostling Coco, Toulousa put the book in her bag. Her hair was pushed back with a yellow scarf, and she was wearing her purple skirt with a white blouse. Except for tying up her sneakers, she was ready to leave.

“You should’ve been gone by now,” Mamie said, coming in the room.

Toulousa smiled. “Coco wouldn’t let me stop reading.”

Mamie took the sleeping baby, and Toulousa added, “There’s gonna be a new baby soon.” She stood on her right foot like a heron, tying the laces of her left shoe.

“Boy or girl?” Jonquil asked.

Toulousa switched feet. “This one’ll be a boy, I think. I’ll introduce you to the mama, when we get to the Triplex. You’ll like her.”

Mamie put Coco on the pink-checkered blanket on the floor, next to the couch where Granddaddy Papa was snoring. “If you like her, we’ll like her, baby and all,” Mamie said. “Bring her home when you can.”

Toulousa kissed all the cheeks in the room, without waking anyone, and hand in hand, she and Jonquil made their way to the subway, where a train was waiting for them. They walked into the Triplex at 10:29, both grinning.

Toulousa took Jonquil to the back of the ticket booth and pulled the curtain aside. “Carolyn, meet Jonquil. She’s a whiz at New York trivia. Jonquil, meet Carolyn. She’s lived in New York all her life.”

“Trivia?” Carolyn asked.

Toulousa nodded and gave Jonquil’s arm a prod. “Tell Carolyn something she doesn’t know about New York.”

Jonquil ducked her head shyly, and without looking up at Carolyn, she said quietly, “Before 1920, if you wanted to change your apartment, you had to wait until Moving Day. May 1 was Moving Day for everybody here.”

Toulousa cocked her head and said, “See? I told you. She’s like a New York encyclopedia.” She turned to her niece. “This is the woman I told you about.”

Jonquil’s hand went over her mouth, and her eyes got big.

Toulousa laughed and explained to Carolyn, “I told her a baby was coming.”

“You’ll be the mama?” the little girl asked, pointing at Carolyn’s belly.

So, it wasn’t a secret anymore, Carolyn realized. She shrugged and nodded her head.

Jonquil tugged at Toulousa’s sleeve, and whispered in her ear.

“She wants to know if you’ve got a name for him yet. She thinks you should call him Jonquil Junior.”

Carolyn looked sideways at Jonquil. “You’re joking, right?”

Jonquil nodded bashfully, glad that Toulousa’s friend understood her humor.

“I’ve got to get to work behind the counter. And you, sweetie, you have to get into Dick Tracy quick.” She saw the pout on Jonquil’s face. “Because you don’t want any popcorn, do you?”

“Please, please, please, Toulousa, yes, popcorn, please.”

Toulousa slid into her red vest with the camera on the pocket, and started flipping switches on the popcorn machine. She checked the oil level, and scooped kernels into the popper. Three minutes later, enough time for her to polish the counter and re-arrange the candy bars, Toulousa watched the popped corn overflowing from the popper. Dumping the whole batch into the glass cage and scattering salt, she pulled a plastic bag from her big purse and filled it for her niece, before starting the popping process again. The smell of fresh popcorn lured customers over. Toulousa got busy, and Jonquil walked into theater # 2 smiling.

§§

By the time Joanie kicked him out, Mike hadn’t had sex for months. He’d thought it had been his fault, and not just because he screamed in his sleep. No. Joanie told him he was over-sexed, and under-sexed, and a pervert, and too bland in bed, too fast and too slow. And Joanie never had an orgasm, no matter what.

But he’d found out that there wasn’t anything wrong with him. Plenty of women were happy to have sex with him. Tonight for instance, Saturday night.

Normally, both girls stayed with him from Friday afternoon till Sunday afternoon. But Fran was at a birthday slumber party for one of her classmates, so he and Sherri ate take-out Chinese while they watched Doogie Howser, M.D. Then they played a game of Scrabble, which Sherri won.

Sherri went to the bedroom around 10:00, and Mike saw the bedroom light go out just after 10:30. He was nursing his third scotch in the white easy chair in the almost-dark living room when the doorbell sounded lightly.

Mike buzzed in Hattie Shaw.

“How was your show tonight?” he asked, leading Hattie to the couch. He loved performers. It was a kick to start a date at 11:00, as if he led a Bohemian life.

Peeling off her coat and tossing it on the arm of the couch, Hattie said quietly, “The set went really well. My agent showed up. I’m singing there four more nights. He signed me for a gig in the Poconos next week.”

Hattie leaned over and unbuttoned the top of Mike’s shirt. While her fingers dipped into the curls of his chest hair, she asked him, “How was the time with your daughter?”

If Joanie found out that he had women over during nights that the girls were with him, she could make a stink since the divorce wasn’t final. But with Hattie’s fingers squeezing his nipple, he didn’t care. He finished his drink in a gulp. “Let’s not talk about babies. I want you.”

Hattie harrumphed, “They’re hardly babies.”

He leaned in, lifted Hattie’s chin, and kissed her to change the subject. She kissed back, running her tongue over Mike’s teeth and sucking gently. Without pulling away, she took his shirttail out of his trousers, and finished her work with the buttons.

She breathed in his ear, “I guess you don’t feel like talking tonight.”

Mike unzipped his pants.

“I’ll be back in a second,” Hattie said, heading to the bathroom.

Mike unfolded the couch and fluffed the pillows into place.

When Hattie came back, she climbed naked into bed next to Mike.

20 minutes later, panting, Hattie plopped down on his hairy chest. After a minute, she said hoarsely, “Sometimes I think you’re going to rip my head off or break my back, the way you push and pull on me.”

He was about to apologize, when Hattie went on, “I’ve never felt such passion. I love it. I love the way you make me feel.” She nipped the end of his earlobe with a kiss, and with a sigh, she rolled off his body onto the bed.

With effort he moved, pulling off the condom, dropping it into the empty highball glass on the lampstand next to the arm of the sofa bed. He tried to program his memory to get rid of it in the morning before Sherri woke up.

Hattie said she’d be right back, and Mike listened to the creak of the floorboards, then the water of the toilet and the sink.

Like all of his dates, Hattie knew she had to leave long before the morning arrived when his daughters woke up. The girls were his excuse, whether they were with him or not. Alone, he could sleep without worrying that a woman would find out about his Nicky nightmares.

When Hattie returned to the living room, dressed except for her shoes, Mike handed her a Manhattan, her favorite cocktail. “You never forget what I like, do you?” she asked him.

Mike took a sip from his scotch, then pulled her close, and rubbed his naked body against her clothes. “It’s impossible to forget anything about you,” he said. It felt like a line from a play or a TV commercial, but it worked. Hattie wound her arms around him and kissed him deeply.

“I’ll let you know when I get back from the Poconos,” she told him.

He walked her to the stairway and waited until she disappeared at the next landing to close and lock the door. Back in bed, Mike relaxed against the damp and wrinkled sheet and gave up trying to figure out if he preferred Hattie to Juliet, or Michele, or Candy, whether Barbara was better than Faith or Nancy. He sighed and slept without dreaming.