Friday, July 6, 2012

#70 inspired by, the golden girls!

This is a little ditty I wrote up after too much coffee one night.


69 WALKER STREET, MIAMI

69 Walker Street was quite a famous address, if you know the right people to ask. You see, there’s a lot riding out on these home numbers, and boy did they had a fight in the 60’s over who’s taking the number 69 plate. But Louise Armstrong won out, not in the least because she’s a relative of the astronaut; they didn’t call lifting your skirt on your non-arthritic side while hailing a cab the Armstrong manoeuvre for nothing.
On the other hand despite having a solid reputation as er, happy times girl, Louise had had a very happy marriage with her husband Mr. DeLyle. Nobody knew his birth name, and he adopted his wife’s more famous surname. Oh what a looker Mr. DeLyle was, six foot four of tanned goodness and a head of hair that could be seen from Mars! Louise and DeLyle were the toast of town for many years. But sadly strong handsome Mr. DeLyle succumbed to an unfortunate accident; Louise would sigh, tear up a bit and dab a dainty kerchief on the silver bowl containing his ashes whenever she tell the story: “I mean, who’d have thought turkey bones could be so sturdy!”
Over the years two lady friends of Louise, both widows like her, came and stayed with her at 69 Walker Street. There were concerns, of course – the ladies were no spring chicken, and Walker Street wasn’t exactly the hub of civilisation and gentility. However, when a robber was seen scrambling out of the house with several large gashes on his left cheek that suspiciously look like Louise’ extremely manicured nails, the neighbours’ worry was laid to rest. Of course, another concern was Louise extremely extremely extremely myriad gentleman callers. But it was her business, and if she paid her taxes on time pourquoi pas?
I suppose I should describe Louise and her room-mates. Louise herself, mmm years young, a perpetual ice-blond, claimed herself the inspiration of Mr. Hitchcock’s preference to casting blondes in his films when they met at a party as a child: “He never got over me, the silly pervert.” After Mr. DeLyle unfortunate accident she had a reputation for having a reputation, you get the idea. Most of the detectives at the Miami-Dade PD would’ve lay down their lives gladly to be her dates, for example.
Then there were her best friends, Renata Bianchi and Mary Stewart. Renata came from New York, a second generation Italian immigrant, a high priestess of snark, with a glorious hair of red, which changed colour according to her hot flushes status. Mary, dear sweet unfashionable Mary, came from backwater Kentucky; she couldn’t make out azure from turquoise if it was threatening to pull off her wig – on second thought she might. Despite being a ditzy ball she had a passion for astronomy, and just recently bought a telescope over air-mail.
Now the problem that rainy June 1991 was Renata’s cousin, Gabriela ‘Gladiatoress’ Bianchi, was coming in from New York. They hated each other, but Gabriela was bringing the will from Renata’s favourite Uncle Gino, who, may his blessed soul rest in peace, hit his head after drinking a mug too many of the product of his own shop, Gino’s Happy Spirits. Renata spent the day before Gabriela’s arrival spiffing up the place, driving everyone’s nerves crazy, and nearly made Mary cry when she screamed her wig would’ve made a better centrepiece than the one she’d spent two days making. Louise put her foot down when Renata tried to repaint the living room green: “Have you seen a blonde against a green backdrop? Princess Di? What’s your point?”
Renata finally sat down on the couch. “Oh girls, I’ve been so stressed. I just want everything to look the best for when Gabriela’s here!”
“Why? You hated her,” Mary sniffed.
“Exactly. She’d be even more depressed after she’s seen what a beautiful house I, er, we got.”
Louise proposed, “Well, we could take her out to dinner somewhere nice. After all she’s only staying for one day. I could pull some strings with the Valley Sheraton, the head chef owed me a favour after er, a trick with butter failed.”
Mary blinked. “What trick?”
“On how to increase your postmenopausal cholesterol, Mary. And if that doesn’t work you could use peanut butter and cream. Though it’d be harder to clean your thighs after.” Renata turned to Louise. “Valley Sheraton, allora? That might just impress the old bat.”
***
Now Gabriela, like everyone from Uncle Gino’s side of the family, had the bad fortune of having a distinctively loud, raucous voice seemed to project from her adenoids rather than her mouth. Of course that branch of the family also produced more dramatic sopranos per capita than the entire state of New York. Gabriela missed out because she fancied herself the next Emily Dickinson, but after ten years of working in newspapers she ended up writing vampire novels for hormone-riddled adolescents and lonely housewives. Oh wait a minute.
Gabriela turned up on an ominously dark Tuesday, and her awesome height almost made Mary fall backwards when she greeted her at the door. She had the Bianchi red hair, but on her it looked vermillion rather than scarlet like Renata’s because as Renata puts it, “She’s on those fancy hormone therapies. She always thinks she’s better than the rest of the family.” Mary thought she was especially nice because she complimented her centrepiece, which she said looked exactly how she described a vampiric mass centrepiece look like in one of her books.
“Now to this will business. Uncle Gino,” everyone muttered may he rest in peace, “left his shop to Benny, his car to Cousin Giulietta, the Brooklyn apartment, that’s to be sold and the proceedings be donated to... Impertinent Furs against PETA.”
“Uncle Gino always likes to make a statement,” Renata commented. “Carry on, Gabby.”
“Yes. Aunt Adina’s paintings to be given to Cousin Donna, with strict instructions on keeping them in the family, et cetera et cetera. Um, he left his books and Italian translation of Kama Sutra to me, and to you he left... er, Aunt Adina’s ‘mink coat and Playgirl subscription’.”
Louise was the first to talk. “How... fancy. I’ve always liked Playgirl for the, er, feature articles,” Louise said, sipping daintily on her tea.
“Did you bring the mink coat here?” asked Renata.
“As a matter of fact I did.” Gabriela brought out an extremely beautiful sable mink coat out of her luggage. “I’m sorry I didn’t have a hanger but I thought what’s the use anyway?”
“I could’ve used it to set up an abortion clinic,” Renata retorted, while admiring how the mink looked on her tall figure. “Aunt Adina always had a good eye.”
“She did,” agreed Gabriela while downing her glass of bubbly. “Well, if I’m going to sleep here you should buy me dinner first.”
Mary blushed. “Well, we had reservations at the Valley Sheraton,” Renata said. “You can freshen up at the john down the hall.” Gabriela sat up. “And Gabby honey, try not to overdo on the shaving cream.”
***
Renata was sitting out alone on the porch, her new mink coat on her lap. She was looking up at the night sky. Dinner was wonderful, the kitchen kept sending out hors d’oeuvres, so insults were kept at a minimum. Gabriela seemed to like Mary a lot, even when Mary accidentally knocked her shrimp off onto a passing garçon’s crotch. Louise was quick to quip, “How quaint,” leaving the poor boy blushing and blustering his way from their table.
Mary came out of the house with a telescope. “Oh Renata, I didn’t see you there.”
“Mary, what the hell are you carrying?”
“Opera glasses. It really makes the details on Virgo’s garter belt much clearer.” Mary seldom got her own back against Renata, but she had her moments. She sat down beside her friend. “Say Renata, you didn’t look like yourself at dinner tonight.”
“I was using Clairol Nice and Easy no. 108. I’ll change back to my original mix after Gabby’s gone.”
“I didn’t mean that and you know it.”
“Oh I know Mary. I’ve been depressed after since I heard Uncle Gino’s passing. We were so close when I was young. He and Aunt Adina were my godparents you know, and after ma and pa’s dead they were the ones who gave me away on my wedding day.”
Mary sighed. “I know what you mean. I miss my parents too, but there came a time when I realised that I need to move on.”
“I know. But it’s like everything is fading away: my husband, my family, my vitality—”
“Your hair colour. The real one.”
“Shut up.” Renata drew a deep breath and stroked the mink. “Aunt Adina used to parade around the block with this coat you know. She said it made her feel like she’s back in Naples, hobnobbing with the rich and the famous at the opera. She was quite a looker you know, from the richest Neapolitan aristocratic family. Then she fell in love with Uncle G, her paisan she called him, and never looked back even after her family threw her out and they had to move to America.”
“That’s a sweet story.”
“Yes it was. Yes it was.” Renata sighed. “You know Mary, a lot of the greatest love stories are the unknown ones.”
“I agree.” Mary stood up and set up her telescope. “Well, I don’t know what’d make you feel alright, but I always feel better after sneaking a peek at the Richardsons’ bedroom.”
“That’s intrusion of privacy, Mary.”
“Not at all. The other night they were watching Jason and the Argonauts. And last night they had the complete I Love Lucy marathon. You could see Lucille Ball’s nose hair on their large screen!”
“I’d feel better if you just stick to constellations’ underwears.”
***
“All right, I think that’s all.” Gabriela stood awkwardly at the door. “See you around, kiddo.”
“Gabriela. I’m three ye... weeks older than you. Knock it off.” Renata hugged her. “Say, do come to Miami in the winters. I imagine it’s still as cold as Dickens up there in January. You’ll always have a place to stay.”
Gabriela stared at Renata like she was wearing Madonna’s cone bras with matching shoulder pads. “I’d... I’d like that, Renata.” She kissed Renata’s cheek, a true kiss, not like a Hollywood fancy schmancy air blow. “Look, I smeared my lipstick on your cheek!” She dabbed the stain away. “I’ll send your regards to the family back home.”
“Goodbye, Gabriela.”
“Goodbye, Renata.”
Louise was crying. “Oh, I always love good endings. I’m so happy you and Gabby made peace.”
“Well, she’s family. And I’d think Uncle Gino and Aunt Adina would’ve loved that we’re being nice to each other. Yes, I think they’d loved that very much.”
Mary and Louise smiled. Mary perked up, “Now, who’s in the mood for cheesecake?”
“I’d like that. Meanwhile we can update the details on that Playgirl subscription.”

In honour of The Golden Girls (1985 – 1992)

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