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)
