Home #4
A year after our newlywed status, I asked
James to move out. My status changed to “separated single.” I’d never lived by
myself before.
My landlords Al and Sonia lived upstairs, a family of four,
or five, or six, depending on which of the boys got kicked out, and whether or
not the husband came home.
They had a black Labrador retriever named Monty who picked up tools left lying around the house or the driveway, and buried them diligently in the yard. Many times, I saw my landlord Al muttering and digging in the yard, retrieving his tools. They were a rowdy bunch. Sonia, his wife, wore dark glasses outside, and didn’t stop to chat with the other faded house-dressed women in the neighborhood. She favored bright patterned silk scarves, wound around her head and tied in the back, a la Jackie Onassis. She wore a trench coat most of the time.
Al was a cross between John Wayne in swagger and size, and
Robert Mitchum in rugged good looks, with that bad boy, intrigue a-foot grin.
He was the self-appointed good will ambassador of the block. The ladies could be seen hanging onto their
front fences smiling broadly for Al, as he walked past the brick row houses. He had a greeting for them all, talked to
everyone, often and long, if you asked too many questions.
Years later, he would turn up as a stage hand on the David
Letterman show. Still some swagger, but
more years added in the gut, thicker glasses, a tamped down look about him. Dave
regularly exchanged banter with Backstage
Al. Occasionally, the viewers would
catch a glimpse of Al, laconically smiling behind the curtain. The banter developed into a skit called Al’s
Box o’ Thrills, where Dave would say “Ok, Al, what’ve you got for me tonight? I’m
ready – go!” And Al would pull a rope
off stage, and all sorts of stuff would get dumped out of a giant box over Dave’s
head – things like roses or dog biscuits or confetti or something. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2v8fDJSiOEY
Anyway, Al and Sonia had three teenage sons and a prepubescent
daughter who wore the tightest pants in the world, and lots of pancake make up,
making her look like a china doll. None
of the kids spoke to me, though I was barely five years older than any of them.
I guess they thought I was a grownup.
In the corner of my bedroom in the apartment in which I tried not to be afraid by myself, was a locked door (situated
behind the armoire), that led to the upstairs apartment. I awoke one night to
the sounds of a ruckus upstairs. One of
the boys had come home drunk and his mother was letting him have it. Al got up and got involved, adding his loud
voice to the mix. Then there was a scuffle, maybe the boy tripped, or fell
backwards over the rail that I knew to be in their kitchen. He ended up tumbling down the stairs. My heart stopped, and then thumped and pounded and raced
in a panic. Would he, in desperation,
try to come through the door? What
should I do? I couldn't breathe; couldn't utter a sound. I did what I’d done as a
child if I heard a noise somewhere in the house: closed my eyes and pulled the
covers over my head. Was it forever or
just a minute that I waited breathlessly?
I never heard him get up. I never
heard Al or Sonia come down the stairs.
All became quiet. Did he sleep
the night in the stairwell, crumpled in a heap, with a wooden stair for a
pillow? I fell asleep.
But that winter, newly separated from my husband, I met
another neighbor. He gave me a lift in
his car one snowy morning as I waited for the bus to get to the subway. The car
was a twenty five year old custom Cadillac with gadgets and widgets like I’d
never seen before. He was very proud of
his car; it drove like a smooth sailing ship through the streets of
Manhattan. He was tall and rangy and
very friendly. That spring, he left one
of his puppies at my door with a note – please name me and I’ll keep you
company. Of course I couldn’t have a puppy, but Leo, (who I named for my
astrological sign) and I fell in love, and he stayed over often, even though he
did his usual puppy things all over
the apartment. After one particularly
large puppy load which I attempted to flush down the toilet with a lot of paper
towels, I created a big plumbing problem.
I called upstairs for help, but of course made sure to get Leo out of the
house first. Al came to the rescue. I could not admit to the puppy being the
problem, but was mortified wondering what Al might find. I guess he formed his own conclusions. But he never asked me about James no longer
living there.
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