Part 1

I was engaged once. One time, and with any luck that’ll be enough. I had this job off of Charlie Parker Avenue delivering cheeseburgers all along the east village. The Blue 9. Crazy place to work – there was me, Korrell Korrell the Marvelous, Puerto Rico, and Carlo. That was the crew – or at least the night crew anyway. We’d all pitch in for a bottle of rum and then sit outside on the steps hollering at all the half naked intoxicated women stumbling about looking for the next bar.

“Hey, pretty-pretty, you gotta a burger to go with that shake?”

“Oh, you’re funny…” (Laugh, giggle, snort)

At a certain point that’s all there was to do – chase girls. We were right next door to this bar so outside would be packed with people but for some reason few people found a need for a cheeseburger at two in the morning, so we had to find our own ways to keep busy. And it wasn’t the hardest thing in the world to do – I liked working with those guys, all of them that is except for Carlo. Fuck Carlo, that guy was a maniac. Claims he owned a bar in his home town in the Dominican Republic – but I think his parents owned it and just gave him money to shut him up. He’d snort coke in the bathroom and then come back out wired as hell and start telling us these ridiculous stories. They always had him coming out looking like some kind of big hero, you know? None of them were true and we all knew it but nobody ever wanted to call him on it – what would that have solved? So the best you could do was just sit there and pretend to listen.

“So, I got this motha fucka by the throat, right? And I says, ‘that’s my sista, motha fucka.’ And he says, ‘what about it?’ Just like that, ‘what about it?’ So back in them days I used to carry a piece on my ankle cuz you don’t know the Dominican Republic like I do, bro – you just don’t know. So, anyway, I got this fool by the throat while simultaneously reachin’ for the gun at my ankle – got me standin’ all fucked up, right?”

And I’m sure the story went on and Carlo came out looking great. But I stopped listening, as soon as I saw her step out of that cab and the whole city went quiet if only for me. Slender, pale skin tangled in a mess of black hair all wrapped up in an evening dress and no where’s to go. I decided in that very moment that if I didn’t talk to her I’d surely spend the rest of my life regretting it. Now I’ve never been that good at approaching women – but New York will make you a different kind of person if you let it - and I can be the most confident guy in the world with a little rum coaching me from the sidelines. I made my move.

“Uh, excuse me, miss. I don’t mean to bother you, but I felt obligated to inform you that you are the one hundredth person to walk by the store tonight and that entitles you to a free milkshake!”

“What are you fuckin’ retarded?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Fuck off.”

“Listen, I’m serious, lady. I could lose my job if I don’t give you this milkshake. They got cameras all over this place. And I would be doing not only myself a disservice but the entire Blue 9 franchise a grave disservice by not giving you this milkshake. Shit, you don’t even gotta pay for it. Just sit there and look pretty while you drink it – gorgeous woman like yourself, shouldn’t be too hard for you.”

Oh, and for Christ’s sake, after losing what felt like years of my life I finally convinced her to come in for the milkshake. And not to toot my own horn but it was the greatest milkshake these hands have ever constructed and I doubt a better one has been made since. But she was a hard nut to crack and there were times I thought I oughta just leave her alone. But it was far too late for that. As soon as I heard that petite little thing bellow out the harsh tones of a native Bostonian accent, well, shit, man – I was in love. Any woman’s gonna tell me to Fuck Off and I’m instant putty in her hands. Like in the Addams Family when Morticia would speak French to Gomez and it'd drive him nuts – same concept.
We got to talking and she told me she was only in town for the night. She had been here for a week from Boston visiting a friend but now was only so many hours away from jumping on the back of some asshole’s motorcycle and heading back to Boston. Well, none of this sounded right to me. So with a great deal of convincing and what I’d like to think of as charm, we came to an agreement. I told her I’d pay for a ticket for the China Town bus in the morning back to Boston if she’d blow off the guy on the motorcycle and spend the night running around town with me. And she agreed. So she ran off to a friend’s house to change and I was left with the grueling task of talking one of my co-workers into covering the rest of my shift. Must have been a little after midnight because Carlo was nowhere to be found which, after midnight, was nothing new. He had some deal with the bartender’s nephew and those assholes would sneak off to snort coke and you were lucky if you saw either one of them for the rest of a shift. So he was out of the question. That left Korrell Korrell the Marvelous and good old Puerto Rico.

“Korrell Korrell, how about it, brother? You saw her, didn’t you? She’s only in town for the night, man. I gotta move on this one.”

“I don’t give a fuck. My girl’s back in the Bronx with a fitty sack, some turkey legs and my motha fuckin’ cables back on – I ain’t stayin’ out for shit. Everything’s everything, know what I’m sayin’? Marvelous.”

“No, I actually have no idea what you’re saying, but it’s fine, forget it. Puerto Rico, how about it, boss? Who loves ya, baby? Come on, man – help me out here.”

“Okay. I’ll do this for ch’you. But ch’you have to do something for me.”

“Yeah?”

“Tonight when ch’you fuck her I want ch’you to slap her face.”

“What?”

“Ask her if she has fantasies about me…and then slap her in the face and make her call ch’you my name.”

“Shit, man. All right, fine. You got it. I’ll…slap her…in the face.”

“And make her call ch’you my name.”

“Yeah, and I’ll do that shit, too. Fuck, I’m leaving. Catch you assholes on the flipside.”

And just like that I was gone. I met Shelby at the L-Train and she was certainly a sight to see. Like a little porcelain doll. We took a certain number of trains and ended up somewhere on 42nd street and we painted the place red. In one bar and out the other. She’s drinking White Russians and I’m drinking her and there’s something different about this girl and I spend the next several hours trying to figure it out. She said she was a dancer – worked the Disney Tokyo Cruise Lines but got tired of the politics and the drugs. Wanted to get back to the art of things, wanted to move to Manhattan and get in with a ballet company. I respected that – ambition, it’s attractive. We drank until the whole city spun and we decided it best to grab some food at the nearest diner. I can’t remember the name of the place we finally fell into but I do remember the circumstances that came to be inside the diner, because it all lead to our eventual hasty engagement.
So we’re sitting at the booth, ill and hungry and Shelby’s trying with all her might just to stay awake on the other side of the table. And I remember the whole place being in an uproar because some guy from American Idol was in the place and it took forever to get any service.

“Hey. Hey, buddy? You think we could get some coffee over here?”

“I’m sorry sir, but you’ll just have to wait. The American Idol is here! He’s here in the diner! The American Idol!”

“Who? No, wait….I am an American…and I demand some service….and some coffee.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll just have to wait. He just announced he’s getting married!”

“Well, so is that what it takes to get some service around here? Fine then, so are we – due to get hitched any day now. So how’s that grab you? Change the situation at all?”

“You’re really getting married?”

“Yes, really – now bring us some fucking coffee!”

“And some slapjacks!” Shelby had finally woken herself up from the other side of the booth.

“Yes, and my wife here would like some slapjacks. I don’t really know what they are, but by God, you best figure it out and bring some or you might just force us to go and do something crazy like get a divorce. You want that on your conscience?”

Slowly but surely we got the coffee, I never saw this asshole from American Idol, and believe it or not, somehow Shelby got her "slapjacks." We finished our food and were feeling a little better. We caught the nearest subway and decided to go back to the basement in Brooklyn to call it a night – or morning, I always fuck that up. We got back to my place, I lit a joint and we crawled into bed.

“I’m not fucking you. Not on the first date – I told myself I wasn’t fucking you tonight.”

“Ah, that’s all right. What if I just fucked you instead? How about that?”

“Well…..hmmm….all right. You got a condom?”

“I Goddamn well better – or I’ll construct one by hand.”

But to our luck I had one and we put that slimy son of a bitch to use, fucked till we lost our voices and then passed out. The morning came and I woke up next to her feeling good, feeling in love, feeling very close to a person I had only known for a short amount of time – but my motto has always been if it feels right, then roll with it. Or I don’t know, maybe I haven’t always used that as a motto – but if it’s all right I’d like to start using it right now. If it feels right, then roll with it. She was still sleeping and I just laid there watching her until I couldn’t take it anymore. I shook her awake and waited until her eyes focused and I knew she was with me.

“Hey.”

“What? What is it?”

“Are you awake?”

“I am now, asshole.”

“Good. Listen, marry me.”

“What?”

“Marry me, seriously.

“Ah, I’m going back to sleep.”

“No, you aren’t. I’ll keep shaking you.”

“I’ll ignore it.”

“Then I’ll sit on you.”

“You don’t weigh that much.”

“I’ll burn this whole fucking house to the ground! Now
get up and marry me, please. I’m in love with you, I know it’s sudden, but I don’t care. Marry me.”

“You’re serious.”

“Yes! There’s a church just down the street. I’ll bet if we go right now we can get there before the morning mass – hammer this whole thing out, be married by noon and then catch the 2 o’clock ferry to Staten Island for a honeymoon.”

“Why Staten Island?”

“I don’t know. I just keep hearing all this shit about these chili cheese dogs they have somewhere over on Staten Island. I guess I just figured a honeymoon was as good a reason as any to go find out what all the hoopla is about. So come on, what do you say? You wanna get married?”

“Sure.”

And it was settled. We got dressed and walked down to the church hand in hand, soon to be husband and wife. But I was wrong about the morning mass and it all went on for far too long and we had to get her down to China Town by 10:30 for her bus back to Southey in Boston. She said all that was left in Boston was some of her things in boxes that she had to move out of her apartment and then she’d be back – two weeks tops. So I walked her to the subway station and bid our temporary farewell.

“You still gonna wanna marry me in another two weeks?”

“Probably. Just hurry and come back – I’ll wait for you.
I love you, Shelby.”

“Yeah, I guess I love you, too. Thanks for last night.”

“Likewise.”

“I’ll call you when I get in.”

“Yeah, do that. Have a good trip.”

I pulled her in lightly by the back of her neck and kissed her long on the mouth – it was going to have to last for another two weeks so I gave it the best I had and I’d like to think she did the same. We held each other tight until the humid air rushed up from the subway tunnel as her train approached. She untied her hemp bracelet and put it in my hand.

“Remember – you’re tied down now. Behave yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She slid her metro card through the slot, passed through the turnstile, onto the subway and just as quickly as she had come into my life, she was now just as quickly gone – but not for long. She was To Be Continued, and at the time I felt more than willing to wait.



Part 2

Sticky filthy moon shine from the previous earlier sunshine or the legendary Carney Grime. Put a little lemon lime in my ice tea from the marquee, takes a quarter to pee. And let me see, seems to me Coney Island is the place to be. You’re not there you’re square but don’t despair cuz it don’t take much to get there. Coney Island. A place where so much happens and never enough all in the same breath.
Shelby and I embarked late on our journey. Late in the day and we rode the train forever – all the way to the last stop – Coney Island. By the time we got off the train the rain started and the sun was well on its to turning in for the night. Aside from the rain and the approaching night there were just as many people there than I had ever seen at Times Square. People everywhere. Carnival games. Greasy food vendors. Freak Shows. Lights, sounds, brilliant. Some woman will light herself on fire for two dollars – and much like Times Square there are people over there camping out on the streets who would gladly perform the same act for two dollars but I suspect it would be far less entertaining.
Shelby and I had a few beers and then rode some rides until I turned green. Then she talked me into getting on the Ferris Wheel. She’d been talking about it the whole way over – my hands were tied. We got into one of the cars that rocked and by that I mean that when the damn thing got all the way to the top it would rock itself down a few feet and then swing back and forth with the momentum of the wheel. I knew it’d be a bad idea from the start but I didn’t want to look like a pussy so I did it and I’m still regretting it. Or maybe that’s too dramatic. It wasn’t that bad. We made it to the top a few times without it rocking and they’d bring the whole ride to a standstill and we’d hang there in mid-air, enjoying the view of the ocean overlapping the beach to our left and to our right an overview of the whole carnival. She pulled a left over joint out of her purse and we held hands and smoked that thing into the afterlife. While the rain lightly gave itself away we sat still, stoned and savoring the moment before descending into our Long Drop – which would later prove itself as a painfully crushing metaphor for our entire brief and lustful affair.
After the ride we walked to the boardwalk where Shelby danced in the midst of sweaty bodies moving fast to the beat of giant speakers, while I ate a corndog and funnel cake on the bench. And I remember both, the corndog and funnel cake, as being nothing shy of incredible. Later we made our way down to the beach and it was filthy – trash everywhere. Beer cans, fast food bags, shitty diapers, napkins, condoms, sheer garbage and I kept worrying that I’d step on a used syringe and then end up coming down with terrible super powers that I would inevitably be forced to use for evil.
We got to the shore line and rolled our pant legs to the knees to walk in the water. Still a little stoned, I watched Shelby kick around in the waves and laugh and frolic like a child and I fell in love with her all over again. But I knew it was all bittersweet because she was going to be too Great to keep. For the time being it was easy – but it would only be a matter of time before a pretty little gal like Shelby was going to require more.
She was going to need a Man and I only play one on TV. She’d need a guy to hold down a job, pay bills, make commitments, make plans, plan trips, trips to the mall, weekends with the folks, buy a dog and pretend it’s a baby until we have a baby and then buy 2 houses – one for the dog and one for the baby – and somewhere in between the two I’m sitting in an expensive robe and expensive recliner slowly going mad and blocking it all out with a glass of scotch and my weekend projects – tarring the deck apart just to rebuild it, just so I don’t have to talk to my wife, listen to my kids, or pet my dog. Alone with my dead and dying thoughts of a simpler time, a time of fields without fences. A time when it was just me against the world and all I ever brought to the table was what I could stuff in my pockets and strap to my back. It all hit me in a flash, watching her dance through the water, spotlighted by the moon – and maybe I just think too much when I’m stoned. But she had never looked so good, never looked happier – and all I could think about was that soon enough I’d let her down.
She finally tired herself from dancing so we sat out on the sand to mellow out. The wind was unbearable, impossible to light a cigarette, though to her credit she tried. I took off my flannel and wrapped her in it and then had what is still to this day one of the more brilliant ideas I’ve ever conceived of. I took 2 cigarettes and tucked my head inside my T-shirt and successfully lit both cigarettes and came back out of shirt in a giant cloud of smoke and I’ve never been more impressed with myself – Never. We talked for a while, finished our smokes, and then started making our way back to the station – tired and in love. Coney Island was by far one of the better sights I got a chance to see during my time in New York. I always used to say the thing that impressed me the most was Times Square – but there’s something all too organized and polished about Times Square. Too clockwork. Where as Coney Island has a more broken down appeal, like people just sort of showed up by chance with tents and rides and cotton candy and it all somehow worked itself out and they’ve been riding it ever since, God bless ‘em.
We waited a while for the train and then stumbled inside, crashing into the first seats we saw and Shelby was curled up asleep in my arms in a matter of seconds. And at the time that subway ride home felt like the best ride we had paid for all day long and I couldn’t wait to get back. But thinking about it all now, honestly, the whole thing couldn’t have gone slowly enough.

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