Category: Uncategorized
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I woke up early on a Friday morning. The last girl I had sex with left her underwear on my bed. It’s a pink-colored silk thong. Some guys get turned on by keeping or collecting it. But for me, I find it very unsanitary. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy everything the vagina has to offer in terms of physical satisfaction. But to keep a used underwear?! I don’t think so. I got out of my bed, put on my pea coat which I bought from Bloomingdale’s yesterday and went to Union Square Park. Since it’s only a short walk from my apartment. And also, I need to gather new ideas for a new writing project that I desperately need to write. I stepped out of my apartment building on East 17th Street and walked to Union Square. I got there and it was empty. More relaxing. I sat down on one of the benches, took out my fresh pack of Gauloises cigarette and smoked. Then I noticed something that caught my attention. I saw a young father, probably in his late 20’s walking along with his son, I think the son was like 4 or 5 years old. He’s enjoying some quality time with his father. He’s keeps yelling; “Daddy! Look at me!!” Then he would run around his father just to feed off the attention that he’s being given. An image of a father and a son, are one of those things that is stained in my mind. It doesn’t go away. My single mother raised me on her own, she told me that my father walked away from her when he found out that she was pregnant. And I always wondered what it’s like to have a man around as a child. The idea of a paternal and masculine presence continues to mystify me up to this day. The attention and approval of a man is highly important to me just like food and water. If I had father, maybe I’d be more stronger and tougher. Growing up without a father left me with a feeling of endless longing and hunger. A big gaping hole in my fucking heart. A bottomless pit within my soul. Before you judge me, I want you to realize that nothing is more important than the protection and presence of a man in a child’s life. In some way, I felt like my own mother betrayed me. She did not provide a father figure for me, that’s why my life is all fucked up right now. Shit, I really wished that there was a man in my life. That could’ve made my life perception a lot more clarifying. Fuck it! I’m moving forward with all my life choices. The whole scene made me feel like shit and I decided to leave. I called Suzanne and was glad that I was able to arrange a same day appointment. I arrived in her office, I felt like a five year old all over again! I entered her office and there she was, sitting pretty, all prepared for her client – a functional fuck up who sails through life like a child who’s taking his time at a candy store.
“Hello Lorenzo!” Suzanne greeted.
“Hello!” I responded.
I sat down on the couch across from her and didn’t know where to start.
“When you called me this morning, it sounded like an emergency so I considered seeing you today”
“Well, maybe this is an emergency and I just don’t know it!”
“What’s eating you up this time?” She asked.
“Men. Every man that walks through my door” I replied.
“Is it sexual or emotional?”
“Both”
“Could you tell me a little bit about your childhood?”
“Sure. I was raised by a single mother back in California. My father was never there..”
“Is your father still alive?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“When was the last time you spoke to him?”
“Can we not talk about my father? This isn’t about him, this is about me living my fucked up life!”
“You did mention to me that men are troubling you so why can’t we talk about him?”
“Because he walked away from me the minute he found out that my mother was pregnant! That fucking asshole left me before I was even born!”
“So because of that, do you resent men?”
“No, I never resented men. It just bothers me that I was never loved by a man. Most children experience that paternal love and protection and I never had that. It fucking bothers me. It left me with this feeling of longing and emptiness.”
“If your father never walked away from you, do think you’d feel a lot better?”
“Yes, maybe. Every time I think of it, it would’ve been nice. Maybe I’d be more stronger and tougher.”
“You don’t think you’re strong enough?”
“No, not really.”
“I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit. It takes a strong character to write a book, and to be able to make a writing ambition come true.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah! My writing ambition! I don’t mean to sound like a dick but you and I both know that my writing profession doesn’t change anything in the past. It pretty much restores it.”
“Really? How?”
“Everything that I write about is from the past. There is nothing from the future or the present.”
“Have you ever thought of getting into a serious relationship with a man?”
“Yeah, I did try that. But most guys I meet are assholes. So I swing the other way whenever that happens..”
“Swing the other way?”
“I hook up with women. They fill in the void that men does not fulfill in me.”
“What about women? Ever had a serious relationship with any of them?”
“Nope. I really don’t feel the need to settle with a woman. I mean I highly respect women, but I feel too reserved for it.”
“So settling with a man is more acceptable for you?”
“Maybe.. I’ve almost given up on it. It’s like whatever..”
“It’s not whatever. It bothers you that there wasn’t a man who loved you.”
“No shit!”
“What’s you typical Friday or Saturday night like?”
I laughed a little bit after she asked me that question.
“What so funny?”
“I’m not so sure if I want to answer your question..”
“Try me. You can tell me absolutely anything. You’re paying $200 an hour.”
“On a typical Friday or Saturday night, I go out to bars, clubs, or sometimes a sex club. I get drunk, I meet someone, I fuck and I’m satisfied. You know..”
“No, I don’t. I don’t get drunk and fuck strangers during the weekends.”
I laughed at Suzanne.
“I’m sorry, it makes me feel funny whenever I encounter someone who is emotionally committed. I think I’m finished here. Thanks for listening.”
“My pleasure.”
I stood up from the couch feeling than an ancient anchor has been lifted up from my shoulders. But it doesn’t erase the fact that my father left me and he’s an absolute asshole. I decided to go to the beer garden on Rivington Street, the place is called Loreley Beer Garden. I went in there and bought myself one masskrug (1 liter mug) of my favorite German beer, Weihenstaphner. After I finished the beer, I went to this new bar around the corner called Leave Rochelle Out It. It’s an unusual name for a bar but the real story is – it’s about two guys who dated the same girl named “Rochelle”. I stepped inside and there’s was like 7 or 8 people. A laid back, easy going crowd which I prefer. I ordered a glass of screwdriver. The male bartender, in his late thirties, speaks in a distinctive Australian accent. When I used to work at hostel here in Manhattan, I had difficulties distinguishing British and Australian accent.
“Would you like a shot mate? It will be on the house.” He asked.
“Sure, thank you!” I replied.
His name was Tom. He’s from Melbourne. He was nice enough to offer me a free shot of jaeger. He then told me that he’s dating a twenty year old model who’s currently working at the Mercedes Benz Fashion Week in Lincoln Center. Then all of a sudden, a tall, skinny girl with a charismatic pretty face showed up. Tom embraced her and then squeezed her round ass. Lucky guy! I continued to sip on my screwdriver and as I looked at the end of the bar, I noticed a melancholic character. A man in his early forties, drinking a glass of whiskey by himself. He has an athletic built and I could tell that he’s in the military or something. He reminded me of actor Daniel Craig in James Bond. There was a slight attraction and I repressed it. Because I wasn’t sure if he’s straight or plays once in a while on the other side of the buffet. I finished my glass of screwdriver and ordered a refill. Then I noticed him staring at me. Fuck, that made me uncomfortable. As I received my refill drink I drank it like a loose college kid who’s enjoying a holiday in Ibiza. I finished my second screwdriver and stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. I stood outside the bar took out my pack of Gauloises. When I reached inside my pocket for a lighter, I cannot find it. Fuck! I looked around me and there was James Bond.
“You need a light?” He asked.
“Yes, sorry..” I nervously replied.
He took out a silver metallic lighter from his pocket and lit my cigarette.
“What are you sorry for?” He asked me again.
“Because I know that you’re having an alone time back in there and I don’t want to ruin it for you..”
James Bond grinned at me.
“You’re not ruining anything. I’m just enjoying some break from the military”
“You’re in the service?”
“Yes, I’m in the US MARINES”
“Yeah, I could tell that you are.”
“Is it the haircut?”
“Yeah, but it looks rad.”
“I’m starting to get bored here in New York and I can’t even find a gay bar!”
“I’m with you on that one..”
Then he looked at me straight in the eyes with serious intent.
“Do you want to get out of here and have some bourbon in my hotel?”
“Let’s get a cab”
We then hailed a cab and disappeared into the night. Before I got into the cab, I’ve thought about my conversation with Suzanne, maybe she’s right. Maybe I should try to get into a serious relationship with a man, maybe it will fix me. But then I realized that if I really want a serious affair, then fixing my shit should not be the focus of it. That would be wrong. But right now, the only thing I could think of is this moment – this temporary affair. This is my substitute for love.
-
I decided to see the psychologist that Sonia wanted me to see. Her office is in Upper West Side, on 63rd Street and Broadway. It was both a residential and commercial building. As I entered her home/office clinic, I immediately felt a vibe of psychological security. The office is clean, spick and span. Full of modern furnitures, the rectangular glass table and the infamous “patient’s couch” where I intend to lie down while she psycho-analyze me. Her office was so quiet that I thought maybe she forgot that I had a session with her. I looked at the framed sketches on the wall when I heard a soft voice of woman, I looked in my back and there she was, Suzanne Lessing. She was wearing a white collared shirt and black skirt that’s down to her knees. She’s pretty much like a replica of Sharon Stone. Her blonde coiffed hair, and blue eyes, makes her an ideal poster girl for the Aryan race. She’s in her forties but you can’t see any wrinkles on her face, or traces of gray hair on her head. She’s one of those women who took the effort to stop the hands of time in order to cling to the fountain of youth, whatever procedures she got done on herself, it surely worked. She looks hot. My own version of Mrs. Robinson.
“Lorenzo?” She asked me.
“Yes” I replied.
“I’m Suzanne Lessing.”
“Pleasure to meet you Dr. Lessing!”
She and I shook hands. She hand a firm grip like a dominatrix.
“Please, call me Suzanne. I don’t have a doctorate degree, I use cognitive psychology to my clients, not pharmaceuticals.”
I noticed her California accent- every word is well-pronounced, making her sound like a premiere television reporter. She’s definitely from Southern California. My interest in her just peaked.
“Are you from California?” I asked with childlike curiosity.
“Yes.” She replied with a some excitement.
“So am I.”
“Really? From where?”
“Los Angeles.”
“Where about in L.A.?”
“Well, my last address before I moved here in New York was in the Hollywood District. On Hollywood Boulevard and La Brea.”
“I know exactly where that is. I left L.A., twenty years ago. I was living in the Pacific Palisades.”
“That’s cool. I used to drive up there with friends for house parties.”
She then smiled at me, like a school teacher who anoints her student as the apple of her eye.
“I hate to interrupt our L.A. connection but may I ask you why you’re here?”
“Oh, sure.”I went over to the patient’s couch, I sat down. Suzanne sat on her chair across from me, and turned on her psychoanalytic method.
“Tell me Lorenzo, what is it that you do?”
“I’m a writer.”
“Really? What kind of writing do you do?”
“I write fiction.”
“Do you think your life is fiction?”
I was baffled with her first question and I thought it was bullshit.
“Excuse me?”
“Your life, do you think it’s fiction?”
I laughed a little bit.
“What kind of fucking question is that?!”
“I’m just trying to determine what aspects of your persona that enabled you to come here.”
“I’m sorry, I think your first question was stupid.”
“Okay. Do you mind filling me in why you came here?”
“My literary agent sent me to you. She thinks that my debauchery is so out of control that I need some kind of help.”
“Do you think you need help?”
“Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. I would say, only on certain days.”
“Have you been in any serious relationship?”
“No, not really. I mean I tried, but every time I try, I only get fucked over. ”
“We’re you raised by single parent?”
“Yes, my mother raised me.”
“How’s your relationship with her?”
“It’s good. We’re pretty close. I actually feel sorry for her..”
“Why?”
“Because, she had me when she was only twenty two years old, she just graduated from college, she just started her first job as a teacher at a University, then she met my father and then he left her. My point is, she never got the chance to live it up in her twenties. Instead, she spent it raising me.”
“I don’t think that you should feel guilty for any of this. Your mother had a choice back then. She made a decision to have you.”
“Well, I feel fucking guilty okay?! There’s no denying that she never got the chance to live her life because she had me!”
“You don’t think she’s happy?”
“Absolutely not. She never expressed it in words but I always knew it anyhow. The last time I spoke to her, she asked me if I was happy..”
“And what was your answer?”
“I told her I don’t know.. I wished I knew how to lie to her but I can’t do that. Not to my own mother. Now she knows that I’m fucking miserable!”
“Well, are you really miserable?”
I wasn’t able to answer her question for a couple of minutes. I sighed before I replied to her.
“Just like I said before, only on certain days.”
“Fair enough. When was the last time you had a one night stand?”
“Yesterday, what does that got to do with my supposed misery?”
“It could be possible that you end up combining sexual chemistry and emotions. These two are very different.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“So what’s bothering you then?”
“I never said something was bothering me-”
“Are my questions making you feel uneasy?”
“Well, yeah.”
“This is the point of cognitive therapy. You can reveal yourself and be vulnerable without worrying about the consequences at the same time. I am not forcing you to feel like you’re in a safe place at this moment but I want you to know that whatever it is you say and feel, I’ll be sitting right here and I’m not going anywhere.”
I felt a sentinel of security of what she said. Very well said I thought to myself.
“Sometimes I wish that I’m in a serious relationship. It’s one of those thing that I haven’t engaged myself in. And it makes me feel like a fucking loser that I haven’t experienced that.”
“Maybe you’re looking at the wrong places..”
“Possibly.”
Before I knew it, my session with Suzanne was up and I booked another one for next week. I walked out of her office feeling emotionally medicated, in a positive level. I decided to take a walk to the 72nd Street subway station and hopped on the #2 train going down to 42nd Street-Times Square station and then transfered to the N or Q train and get off on Union Square. When I got off Union Square, I felt too sober so I went to the Reservoir Bar to have a glass of bourbon. When I walked in, I noticed a familiar face. Someone I knew but for some reason, her face has changed, not because of age but because of what happened to her, invisible emotional bruises I think – visible only to those who experienced it including myself. As I walked closer to her, I finally knew who it was, it’s Bettina, my old roommate from California. She’s one of the dozen roommates that I lived with on that eight bedroom house in Hollywood owned by Columbian actor who placed bunk beds in each room and rented out all the beds. It was one fucking crazy house. Almost everyone had sex with everyone. And I did my share of decent rendezvous. Bettina was almost unrecognizable. She used to be blonde, but now she dyed her hair black and wore heavy make up, it doesn’t make her ugly, I just thought that she looks pretty without any make up, just like every girl next door.
“Bettina?” I called her name sensing that she will still remember me.
She looked up at me. It took her a few seconds before she recognized me.
“Lorenzo! Oh my God, how the are you?” She exclaimed.
She then embraced me and seemed very excited.
“What are you doing here in New York?” I asked.
“I live here now!” She answered.
“Since when?”
“Three months ago.”
“You could’ve called or emailed me.”
“I know, I was an idiot and I forgot”
“What made you move here in New York?”
“Chad and I broke up. I mean, he left me!”
I was in total shock of what she told me. Back in California, they’re the sweetest couple you could ever meet. They’re also one of my close friends. My surrogate siblings I would say because I’m an only child.
“I’m so sorry..”
“Don’t be sorry, that’s the last thing that I want to hear!”
“Well, that was Chad’s loss!”
“Whatever, I have a new life now! Just me against the world.”
I looked in her eyes and immediately noticed that a part of her is dying. Her heart.
“So where are you living here in New York?”
“I live in West Village.”
“That’s cool, I’m in East Village. So what do you do for work?”
“I’m a hostess at St. Vincent’s place.”
I was a little shocked when she mentioned St. Vincent’s Place. If I’m not wrong or I just misheard her, it’s the same strip joint where I got lucky with a porn star who left me her dvd movie. LMFAO . So I asked her again for confirmation.
“Is that a restaurant?”
“No, it’s a titty bar!”
I smiled nervously at Bettina, trying not to give her the look of skepticism.
“What?!”
“Nothing, I just didn’t see you going that route.”
“Well, life is full of fucking surprises!”
“It certainly is”
Bettina and I exchanged numbers and stayed at the bar for another two hours drinking whiskey and gin. I eventually found out that she actually works at St. Vincent’s as a private escort. She also explained to me that her decision to work as an upscale prostitute, is psychological. She enjoys the fact that she’s getting paid a ton money based on men who wanted to have her. On an average night, she pockets as much as $1500 per private session. Her beauty deserves it too – slender body, perky breasts, round ass, porcelain skin, dark hair. The billboard girl – for adults only – credit cards also accepted. Just by looking at Bettina, I realized that she’s not herself anymore, (the light in her eyes are gone, though she’s still very pretty) and the possibility that love can actually harm someone. Love isn’t always pleasant or sweet. It could go the wrong direction in an instant. I then thought about myself, when I was madly in love with Hanna. I almost lost my fucking mind. I feel fortunate that I didn’t even sink into desperation. But sometimes, I feel like I’ve already gone crazy and I just didn’t realize it.
-
The release date of my first novel has been finalized by my publisher. It will be on July 18, 2014. Just ten days before my 30th birthday. My agent, Sonia Groff and I agreed to have brunch at Veselka on 2nd Avenue and 9th Street. She went over about the commercial expectations of the book. At the same time, the process of promoting the book in Hollywood, using the same entertainment lawyer who brought success to the likes of J.K. Rowling and Dan Brown. The current life that I’m living is a far cry from the paycheck to paycheck life that I once had. And to be perfectly honest with you, I do miss the days of financial struggle. The process of getting by can be a positive nostalgia sometimes. Before Sonia wrapped our of talent-client meeting, she asked me if everything’s okay. I didn’t know how to respond to that because I’m not really sure anymore how I am.
“So how’s everything in your private life?” Sonia asked.
“It depends on how private the information that you want to know” I replied.
“Lorenzo, I’m not an idiot. I know that your drunken and high debauchery has been out of control lately!”
“What the fuck?! Have you been spying on me?!”
“Of course not. I sensed it because I used to live like that!
“So now that you found the light and Jesus, are you gonna start preaching me?!”
“Stop being so dramatic, I want you to be around for a long time. I’ve lost a couple of clients in the past who overdosed and killed themselves. Not everyone gets what they want in this life, so please take good care of your success and avoid that route as much as possible”I was silent for a minute. I wasn’t sure if she’s being sincere to me or she’s just saying that so that she could continue to receive her fifteen percent commission on every business deal that I have as an author. I stared down the floor, pretty much spaced out from what she said.
“Lorenzo?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“I need you to be open with me as much as possible. I’m not asking you to text me every detail of your daily life. If you ever need anything that requires emotional support, I’m here and I won’t abandon you.”
“Thanks.”
“Okay, I have to leave now. I will call you tonight to give you an update on our lawyer, he’s meeting with studio executives in L.A. right now.”
“Later.”Sonia stood up from her chair and gave me a maternal kiss on the cheek. She also handed me a business card. It’s a psychiatrist, her name was Suzanne Lessing, her glamour photo is in it. She looked like Sharon Stone, the less neurotic version. She probably knew that I’m such a horndog for older women who aged like California wines. I kept the card inside my pocket and left the restaurant. I started walking on 2nd Avenue towards 14th Street. I also did a little bit of self analysis within myself. I’ve thought of every one night stand, every drug that I’ve been experimenting with, and then I thought to myself, what the fuck is going on with my life?! Someone once told me that on your last day here on earth, the type of memory that’s gonna play in your mind are the human relationships that you had. If that’s the case, then I’m fucked. I’ve never been in a serious relationship my entire life. I don’t want to think that I’m incapable of it. If everyone else can do that, so can I! I just refuse to think of it as some kind of social dogma. But I think I’m willing to take a chance. After all, it’s one of those human experiences that I haven’t explored. I’m sure it will give me a different avenue in writing fiction. That night, I ended up going to Solas bar on 9th Street. I was sitting there sipping on my glass of mojito. A beautiful woman walked in, olive skin, dark wavy long hair, light grey eyes, she’s definitely from Spain. I heard her talking in Spanish to the bartender and I noticed the accent of her Castilian Spanish. Which I think it sounds better than the Spanish that they speak here in the US. She sat next to me and gave me an intense glance. The kind of glance that a predator gives when hunting down its prey. I decided to break the ice like I always do.
“Hey!” I said.
“Hi, how are you?” She replied.
“Just enjoying the happy hour, what about you?”
“Just enjoying New York City, I arrived from Barcelona two nights ago”
“That’s awesome, did you travel here alone?”
“Maybe..”She then giggled at me. Like a high school girl who gets wet whenever she watches her quarterback infatuation.
“Maybe?! That simply means that you’re travelling alone!”
“Stop teasing me!”
“I’m not teasing you, I’m just being honest..”She then started giving me the look of sex.
“Do you live around here?”
“Yeah, not too far”
“Do you have $200?”
“Excuse me?”
“Do you have $200?”When I heard her asking me for money, my first thought was just to walk away because she’s a fucking prostitute. But the other part of me just wants to fuck her brains out. So I raised my chin up and and faced her back.
“Are you staying in a hotel?”
“Yes, at the Jane Hotel in Greenwich Village”
“Do you think I can come over?”
“Do you think you can pay?”
“As a matter of fact I can”
“I’m Elena, what’s your name?”
“I’m Lorenzo”
“Lorenzo… What a holy name!”I looked at her face with monetary certainty and smiled. Elena smiled back at me like a serpent from the garden of Eden.
“Shall we take a cab back to your hotel?”
“Sure, let’s go”We left Solas Bar and took a cab together to Greenwich Village. As our cab arrived on Jane Street and Westside Highway, I found myself feeling more horny towards Elena. We got in the elevator of the hotel and started making out. She was a passionate kisser. When we reached her bedroom, the intensity continued that eventually resulted to fireworks. Her passion in lovemaking is legendary, but I also knew that she was working. She’s not real, she’s just an illusion. A beautiful illusion. After that erotic moment, I pulled my pants up, put my clothes on, paid Elena $200 and left the hotel. I also called a cab on my way out and headed back to my apartment in East Village. While inside the cab, I started asking myself, did things get better? Or just gotten worse? She was the first person that I paid money to have sex with. I realized that having sex with a prostitute is no different than a one night stand. You get what you want. The only thing that the prostitute offers is the convenience when you’re actually wanting it. Not like a one night stand where you have to bullshit your way just to score some fuck. When you’re with a prostitute, you pay them and it happens. With a one night stand, there is the burden of getting mixed signals, emotionally speaking, with each other. I don’t regret that I paid a hooker. In fact, I’d glad that I did. The business card of the shrink that Sonia gave me was still in my pocket, I took it out and looked at the photo of the psychiatrist. Maybe I could use a little help.
TO BE CONTINUED…
-
Hanna and I started dancing to “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers and she started screaming the lyrics on the dance floor. She obviously having a good time and also drunk as fuck. Some guy came over and try to dance with her but she immediately gave him the cold shoulders and backed away. She put her arms around me and continued to dance, my hands worked its way down the hips of her slender body. The DJ played “Love Will Tear Us Apart” by Joy Division. I looked at her face and finally realized how beautiful she was. Her silky dark hair, porcelain skin, and deep blue eyes. Silly me, I really wanted to make out with her but something stopped me. Not sure if I was acting like a fucking jerk or there’s more to it other than just sexual urges. I looked around the floor and everyone was gone. It was just me and her. I can’t explain the mixed signals that I got. It’s not sex appeal, not “slut appeal”. Then the music that the DJ was playing started to change, the song wasn’t in English anymore, it’s a classic German ballad, one of the first German ballads that I’ve heard – “Traume” by Francoise Hardy. Then all of a sudden, I felt Hanna’s fingertips touching my face. I then awoke from that euphoric trance. Back to reality. She continues to touch my sweaty face.
“Lorenzo! Are you okay?” Hanna asked.
I looked around and didn’t hear the German ballad song anymore. The DJ was playing “Call On Me” by Eric Prydz. I looked at Hanna again. She seemed worried.
“I’m fine. I am okay.” I replied to her.
She and I decided to leave that night. I started feeling sick to my stomach. It’s kind of weird because I don’t remember eating anything that night. Hanna literally took care of my drunken ass. She made sure that we didn’t get lost on our way back to the hostel. Good thing she remembered the trains that we took down to Union Square from Harlem. I didn’t sleep that night. Hanna’s face stayed in my head like a broken song. A beautiful broken song. I woke up at 6 AM in the morning. Hanna’s face is still engraved in my mind. I decided to write some poetry on the living room on the first floor of the hostel. Then I realized something. She’s camping in my head. Then I found myself listening to these fucking cheesy love songs : “Crazy For You” by Madonna, “She Will Be Loved” by Maroon 5, “If You Could Read My Mind” by Gordon Lightfoot, and “Your Song” by Elton John. These songs actually ended up as being my all time favorites even though I called it fucking cheesy. The next day, I met a charismatic boy named Yohan from Slovenia. He’s only 19 years old and was constantly asking me if there’s a bar or a club that I could take him because he’s under 21. He was desperately begging me to hook him up with fake ID or something. But the truth is, I really can’t do anything. It’s not like back in L.A. where you could always drive to downtown and get yourself a fake drivers license. I’ve noticed that he’s a little flirtatious and also sexually confused. I guess that’s pretty common when you’re 19. Okay, I think this short story is running a little slow. Let’s fast forward. During that day, I had a job interview for an Italian eatery in the Flat Iron District. At that time, I was unemployed so I still need to work my ass off to in order to survive. On my way out of the hostel , I run into Hanna who just came back with a Subway sandwich in her hand.
“Hey, how’s the goin’?” I asked.
“I’m good, what’s up?” She replied.
I sensed that she’s trying to avoid me. Though I’m not really sure why. I thought to myself that it can’t be the the fact that I got piss drunk last night. I didn’t hesitate to ask her out myself because I really felt like I need to.
“Hey, would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night? I have a friend who gave me a dinner coupon to a five star Russian restaurant. We’re gonna have some nice caviar and vodka”.
She was silent for a minute before she answered my dinner proposal.
“Ah, sure.”
“Okay, sounds good. See you then”.
Hanna then proceeded to her dorm room upstairs, looking uncomfortable. I started asking myself, “Do I really look that scary?”. The following day, I got pretty excited of going out with her. Hanna is supposed to meet me in the living room area around 7:00 PM. The minute I sat down, it was about 6:45 PM, Noah, the front desk agent on duty, handed me a note.
I opened the note and it read:
Lorenzo,
I haven’t been feeling well lately. So I can’t go out with you tonight. No vodka, no caviar for me.
Sorry,
Hanna.
After reading her note, anger was the only emotion that I felt. I tore the note into pieces and went to the front desk. I asked Noah if he knows that she’s still in the hostel, he said she is. I checked the system to see which dorm room she’s in and I found out that she’s in the 4th floor, room 4E. I knocked on her door and she opened. She seems to be shocked that I was there.
“Lorenzo, hi!” She greeted.
“Hi?! What the fuck?! You and I are supposed to have caviar and vodka tonight!” I barked.
“I feel sick to my stomach, I feel like it’s jumping up and down”
“I don’t give a fuck! Do you realize what kind of trouble do I have to go through just to reserve us a table at that restaurant?! Now I have to cancel it!”
“I’m sorry…”
“What about tomorrow?!”
“Tomorrow is OK”
“Are you sure?!”
“Yes, I’m sure”
“OK, I’ll see you tomorrow in the hostel living room at around 8:30 PM?”
“Yes, that sounds perfect”
“Alright, I will see you tomorrow”
I then walked out of her dorm room and called one of my close friends, Sophia, who lives in Los Angeles. She’s one of my “artist friends”, she’s a photographer, because I don’t have too many. She moved to California from Palermo, Italy and the first time I met her was at a bar, I flirted with her because I thought she’s hot, and then she politely told me that she doesn’t like men and that she’s into women. So I smiled at her and realized that a man could never compete with a woman. Same with women, they could never compete with men, in this messy game of love. I told Sophia about about Hanna and she understood me completely. She was also in the same dimension where I am now and I’m glad she gave me one helpful advice – do not control your emotion when you’re in love, if you do, you will eventually lose your mind. At first I didn’t believe her but deep inside I knew she’s right. Sophia also told me that I don’t have the right to be angry because Hanna and I aren’t together at all. But one thing is certain, I’m crazy in love with the German creature from Munich. Her explanation calmed me down and I decided to go Lincoln Center. Whenever I feel sad or happy, I go to the water fountain and observe inner silence within myself. I stared at the water fountain and thought about my little life. I also realized that it was the first time that I fell in love with anyone. I tried to make logical sense of it but I couldn’t. It’s pretty clear that you lose your reasons when you’re in love. That same night I decided to throw a house party at the hostel. Those who were under 21 were pleased because every time I had a pub crawl, I don’t have a choice but to leave without them. This time, everyone is gonna party and everyone is gonna get fucked up. I held my party at the living room area of the hostel. Everyone was there, Yohan kept chatting me up and I was just playing it cool. I wish I could tell him that he’s sexually confused but I think fate would function better for him if I let time take its own coarse. Hanna was there too. But every time I looked at her, she would look into a different direction. I could tell that just my stare itself can make her uncomfortable in an instant. Everyone mingled with each other, I think awkward silences are bullshit. So I made the move. I was sitting down next to Yohan at that time and I asked him if he wanted to have a cigarette with me outside. He and I stood up and I saw an indescribable look on Hanna’s face. She looked pissed and also stood up from her chair. I used the acting skills that I learned at film school and pretended that she’s not there. As me and Yohan walked out to the patio of the hostel, Hanna followed us. I took out a box of cigarettes and me and Yohan started to smoke. Hanna stood in front of us, still looking pissed and also angry. She also took out her box of cigarettes and watched me like a hawk. Suddenly, I felt like I was being an asshole to her for no reason at all, so I instructed Yohan to meet me inside and approached Hanna.
“Hey, are you enjoying the party?” I asked and then puffed on my cigarette.
“Yeah, it’s good” She replied in a cold manner.
“Listen, I have something to tell you…”
“What is it?”
“It’s something personal, hope you don’t mind”
“Try me”
“I really like you, I like you more than I should. After you and I went out last Saturday night, you got stuck in my head. I’m sorry I’m in love with you.”
Hanna then looked down on the ground, she was trying compose herself after I dropped that anchor on her.
“I don’t feel the same”
“I’ve been trying to control my emotions about this… I cannot eat, I cannot sleep, you’re all I could think about and-”
“Stope talking, come here”
She opened her arms wide, I stepped closer to her and she embraced me. I was nervous as fuck.
“Let’s go back inside and have some more drinks.”
“OK”
I sensed that she’s taking cautious control of this. And I didn’t mind at all. I’m glad she did. The next night, we finally went to that Russian restaurant, Mari Vanna, on East 20th Street and Park Avenue South. I pulled up a chair for her and she sat down. The restaurant itself is a five star. Everything looked expensive, from the English China plates to the Dutch tulips. The waitress came over and handed us the menu. I asked Hanna what she would like, but she left that for me to decide. She could have anything she wanted. During that moment, all I wanted was to give her the entire Universe. She loved the restaurant and repeatedly thanked me. So I ordered us some black caviar and a variety of their house made vodka. When our food arrived, she insisted to the waitress to serve the food herself. It was a little weird but it made me feel fucking great. We talked about the characters that we ran into the hostel. She also told me that she’s meeting with her ex-boyfriend when she returns to Munich. I didn’t really care when she mentioned that to me. I was too busy appreciating the beauty of her soul, not just her physical appearance. We told each other stories that we don’t normally discuss with anyone. It was a beautiful moment and I lived it. I must say that it was the happiest moment of my life. Being with her. The next day, she was about to return to Europe.
“So this is goodbye..” I said.
“Yes, my friends in Munich are throwing me welcome back party upon my arrival” She replied.
“You’re a nice girl Hanna. I don’t meet a lot of nice girls like you.”
We said goodbye and embraced each other and soon as she walked out of the hostel’s main entrance. I felt like shit. I wanted to cry so hard but I repressed my emotions. I hopped on the subway and went back to the water fountain at Lincoln Center. I replayed every moment that I was with her but I was still fucking sad that she’s gone. For the next six months, I became more madly in love with her, that love was tagged with depression and suicidal thoughts. Whenever i worked at the front desk of the hostel, I would just tell almost every guest that I was with this girl. I emailed her to see if she would ever reply but she never did. Her absolute silence ruined me. I reached out to her several times. Still nothing. She eventually deleted me on Facebook and whenever I tried to email her again, but my email would get returned to me. I was blocked. The more she strays away, the more I wanted her. I was sleepless and couldn’t eat for days because I cannot stop thinking about her. Just to help me get through, I started writing poetry based on her and even wrote a stage play set in 1960’s New York based on that experience. Friends repeatedly told me to move on but it felt good to think about my memory of her.
For the next three years, she was the only one. My one true love. Now, I found it very hard to believe in love again. I have turned into a slutbag, a man whore, or whatever you call someone who goes around and just haves random sex with anyone with someone they’re attracted to. I could easily hook up with every girl or guy who expresses interest in me, but whenever I try to to want a relationship outside the bedroom, I have no fucking luck. I guess I can say that Hanna is reason for my non-stop, random one night stands. Although three years had passed, I cannot compare anyone to her. Whenever I’m in bed with someone, I still think about her. The good thing is, I’m not as crazy as I was when i was madly in love with her. I wished she responded to any of my emails when I was telling her that I was suicidal but she didn’t. If I was stupid, I could’ve jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge but I stopped myself. I controlled my emotions by creating fiction and poetry. Yes, I’m a hopeless romantic. Yes, I still believe in love despite that experience. Love has no explanations. You cannot question it when it happens to you. It is indeed very rebellious bird that cannot be tamed. Though I desperately try to stop sleeping around, there is no denial that Hanna’s silence turned me into an emotional wreck. She really fucked me up. Will there someone be out there willing to break my fall? Maybe yes, maybe not. I won’t hold my breath for it. I also found it hard to emotionally connect with almost anyone. I guess, process of unrequited love is finishing its final chapter on me. I really fucking hope so.
-
Paris is always associated with romance. But what about New York? When one defines this city, it mostly sums up in these words – money, power, talent, ambition. I realized that Valentine’s day is coming up next month and I came up with an important question to myself: Where’s the love in this city?! Does romance even exist here in Manhattan? New York City is notorious for being unforgiving, tough, harsh, cold, and lacking in human compassion. But despite all these negative traits, during the autumn of September 2010, something strange happened to me. I fell in love. And yes, it happened here in New York.
But not everyone who falls in love had a good experience with it. I was not so lucky. The girl I fell in love with, Hanna – a German tourist who’s been travelling the world for the past eight months, it wasn’t necessarily love at first sight when I met her. It took me a few minutes to notice the intentions behind her smile. At that time, I was still settling myself here in Manhattan and I was broke as fuck. So when she asked me if I wanted to have a drink with her at a bar, I immediately jumped in (thinking that she’ll be paying for my booze at the bar). I also happen to know where to take her. At around midnight, I finished my shift at the hostel and then I saw Hanna sitting across the room, smiling at me. Her smile is reminiscent of a Valkyrie, it captivates me from a distance. She slowly walks toward me.“Are you done yet?” She asked.
“Yes, just give me five minutes.” I replied.
I finished off the auditing and cash out.
“So where are we going?” Hanna asked.
“We are going first to The Belfry Bar and then to a dance club called The Beauty Bar.” I responded.
“Sehr geil!” She responded.
Back then, I did not understand what she said. But I know for sure that she spoke to me in German. I also know that she’s already a little drunk because I can smell the alcohol from her breath.
“What does that mean?”
Hanna laughed at me.
“I’m sorry, I’m a little drunk. It means “so cool” in German.
“Aha, thanks for teaching me… I hope you can teach me other things aside from that!”
We both laughed at the same time after my lewd joke. I still remember the blue silk dress that she was wearing. We took the #2 train from the 125th Street station and then transferred to the N train on Times Square station heading to Union Square. As Hanna and I got off the 14th Street station, we started walking towards 3rd Avenue. I wanted to take her first at The Belfry bar. When she and I arrived at the Belfry, it was too crowded and nowhere to sit or stand to consume your drinks. So we crossed the street and went to the Beauty Bar discotheque. As we walked inside, the bartender whom I don’t remember, immediately recognized me.
“Where have you been? Did you hide all summer? The bartender asked me.
“I guess so.” I responded, pretty much just bullshitting her.
I asked Hanna what she wanted to drink. And I also noticed that all the guys are checking her out, a German beauty like her isn’t a familiar site in here in New York City. I ordered us two screwdrivers and two tequila shots.
“No beer?” She asked.
“Nope, not tonight!” I responded.
“I’m German and to me beer is like water.”
“Sorry, do you want me to take it back and exchange for a beer?”
“No, that’s fine. We’re both getting drunk tonight anyway”.
“So you said that you’ve been travelling around the world for eight months now?”
“That’s right!”
“What is it like, it must be really nice to be able to afford it.”
“Yeah, but to tell you the truth, I travel because I want to forget my problems.”
“That sounds fair, whenever I have problems, I write.”
Hanna takes a sip from her drink.
“What do you write?”
“Fiction, poetry. It really depends on my mood. I write mostly just to make my depression more bearable. Sorry to depress you…”
“You don’t depress me, don’t worry.”
“I got us some tequila shots! Cheers!”
“Cheers!”
We cheered and downed our shots. I immediately noticed Hanna’s deep blue eyes despite the fact that it’s dark inside the club. The DJ played The Killers’ song, “Mr. Brightside”. Hanna and I hurriedly sipped our screwdrivers, kind of life we’re thinking the same that we should finish our drinks so that we could dance to this guilty-pleasure track. Hanna looks like she wanted to say something but she’s restraining her own emotions.
“You know something?” I asked Hanna.
“What is it?” She asked back.
“My entire life, I never saw my own mother and father in the same room. I feel like it’s my fault, like I did something and it reached a point where they don’t want to see each other.”
“It’s not your fault. You want to hear my story? My father recently committed suicide because my mother left him for another man. He left me his money and I used that to travel the world. I just travel to forget my problems.”
I looked at Hanna with sympathy and she did the same.
“I’m glad we both have fucked up lives” I said with a smile in my face. Hanna smiled at me.
“Come on, let’s dance.” I said.
We both got up from our seats and headed towards the dance floor.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Bushwick In Fiction 