Stream

Let's see if I can do this, subject to heavy editing in the a.m. tomorrow.

I left the Frenchtuesdays gig at Lotus at 10:15 p.m. It has been sweltering outside, and no mistake. Sweltering.

I had gone to Markt at 6:30, a meeting - not a date - with a French fellow who had been calling - and calling - for almost a month. He did not show after thirty minutes. What a relief. I adore the French, but I don't tend to date them. A half-hour late? Perfect. He didn't have a chance, and when he asked, later, I confirmed it. "No, you don't have a chance."

I just checked CNN.com (CNN on line) and it is forking 89 degrees Fahrenheit with 64% humidity at 11 p.m.

I walked home. Lotus is on 14th Street, between Ninth and Tenth Avenues, and I live on 25th Street, between Sixth And Seventh. Anyone who know how to count city blocks, short and long, knows that this comprises almost a mile. Ain't nothing. I was wearing flats. And I've done it in heels a jillion times (and no blisters).

The moisture sprang from my skin, the instant the blast of heat hit me full-square as I exited the club.

And here is what I remember of the random thoughts scooting through my head, on that trod, far from a trek, the heat-radiating over the pavement like a concrete-desert mirage.

I think the Asian dude, the one with the thick blonde streaks, the one who played guitar for The Smashing Pumpkins, left with his bespectacled music mini-entourage, way before I did. GVWonder said he had something to do with a new remix-release of Serge Gainsbourg's music, a new compilation disc or something. Something Frenchtuesdays was promoting.

Okay: Six glasses of Laurent Perrier champagne later.

Notwithstanding that I left the Lieutenant Commander behind, that Striptellectual is planning a month in Paris, that Datomantrix was a vision in white, that La Latina was holding court with a lovely group of her own friends - I split.

I started east on 14th Street, and right-hand turned on Ninth Avenue, heading north, wondering if I should get a cab. I had the cash. I had charged the champagne to my trusty Amex. No, on second thought, walk on. I crossed that weird intersection at Ninth and 15th Street, as a cab made to start. As if to hit me.

"What? Am I invisible?" I shouted. I seldom do that. But for real, for once.

I continued east along the long block, quiet, but for a man sitting on a stoop, telling another, "Yeah, I'm thirsty. I could go for some water."

I got the sense that the fellow to whom he was speaking worked in an adjacent restaurant, one of those smaller places, on the sub-ground level. I thought, well, he could give the parched guy a cup of water, couldn't he? But he didn't appear to budge, to make a move.

I didn't listen or watch long enough to know more.

I hit Eighth Avenue, and turned left, northward again. There is a small club, Boudoir, on the left, Frenchtuesdays had a members-only party there, once. It seems like a dead-zone now, the half-life of club-life.

I kept walking, toward The Joyce Theater. Good god, Pilobolus Dance Theater, its name up on the billboard, still exists? Amazing.

I crossed to my right and walked north on the other side of Eighth, past Gascogne, the lone bastion of heterosexuality on Gay Avenue. Gay-Boy-Eighth-Avenue. Gascogne, that shrine to French cuisine, its owner-bon vivant, "Titou," his liver pickled for decades, his guttural voice, claiming "Bon soirs." I am quite sure that he has no idea to whom he is bidding a good evening, even a sometimes friend. But what the hell. He wasn't outside on his restaurant's bench, and when I glanced behind, through the window, I saw a cluster of patrons at the bar. Sipping Armagnacs, no doubt. In the air-conditioned room.

I smelled men's cologne emanating from my neck. Whose? Who did I kiss-kiss as I left? Yes, Frabrice, it must have been Fabrice, Frenchtuesdays stalwart door-master. He is a dear. He must have left a scent.

I hiked up my mid-calf dress as I walked, the perspiration building, I knew rivulets of sweat would course along my spine any second.

I thought, the gay boys would admire that I pulled my dress up, so that my legs could stride wider, with greater purpose.

I turned to the right again, down a shadier block, past the building where an acquaintance lives. An an acquaintance who would be a has-been actor if he had been a has-been actor in the first place.

Past Le Singe Vert, hardly a soul sitting at its sidewalk cafe - for the heat and humidity. I crossed again, and noted that I was but blocks to where I would make a final right turn, onto my street, to my front door, air-conditioning and a big-ass Con Edison bill awaiting me.

I saw three homeless people curled in fetal positions along the closed store fronts. I kept a three-pace distance, closer to the avenue, wondering for a second if they were more comfortable there, if the pavement was cool against the skin of their cheeks.

People on their mobile phones, always looking more important than the calls they were taking or making.

I crossed the two-way thoroughfare of 23rd Street, smelling home. Autopilot.

Another couple, people I did not recognize, entered my (my!) lobby ahead of me and keyed in the third floor. I stepped in and away, by now a full-on sweat, and inserted the key to my floor, the top floor of our little building. And waited.

When the elevator door opened, then closed, then opened again, I counted the steps to my front door. The key slid in faster, and in a fraction of a second, I was inside, where it was cool.

And Jake, my sixteen-year-old cat, came out from one of his four hiding places, and barked at me. Which is what he does anymore in his old age. Meow-barked.

And now it's time to glug back more water, and sleep. Sleep. 

Comments

[jess]

What a great post. I love your writing style - it's very fluid, and easy to read.

Great blog - I will be back.

[GVWonder]

Twas a lovely hot evening indeed. Fun times with the entire gang. One of these years, I really should try and become an FT member. One day.....{{{sigh}}}

[HH]

GVW. As soon as FT opens the membership, you are first on the list for recommendation. We want you.

[Loudlush]

Love this post, felt as though I was walking along those avenues myself (although I unfortunately missed the kiss-kiss part with Fabrice).

[La Latina]

Great party, great night and a great description of our beloved NYC on a steaming hot August night.