It's a sparkling summer day, July 1985. A baseball day, the Yanks are playing the Chicago White Sox at Yankee Stadium and the Bronx Bombers are up 4 to zip in the 6th inning.
Henry a Met’s fan was listening to the game on 700 WFTM, Yankee radio, paying no heed to the score or the action, letting the sounds of the game flow through him, the cadence of the play by play broadcast relaxed him.
Lucia walks into his office sexy-like wearing a knitted thong bikini. The bodily display is a visual teaser promoting the soon to be beach trip. She says,
mi amor, ir a lay playa, he says,
OK, I need to work, I'll take a portable typewriter, what about the Chis? She answers as the small dogs bark,
hear the babies saying, I wana go, Daddy! He says,
OK, let's go to Coney Island, we'll have to leash them.
The phone rings, it’s Henry’s editor Dave Spleen, a speed-poppin-speed-talker, who spoke but never listened— and if you asked why? He would say, gotta go, gotta deadline to meet, Spleen says,
Henry, baby, your last story, The Yellow Brick Road to the Chelsea Hotel, our readers loved it! We had to run a 2nd printing within hours of distribution! Ciao baby gotta go, gotta deadline to meet!
Everything about Dave Spleen needed to be ticketed by the mind police for speeding. One day, soon maybe, his old lady, Goldy Spleen would walk into the offices of HEADBANGER Magazine and find Dave slumped over at his desk, his skin green, dried and wrinkled like a raisin.
Henry's relationship with Dave was ambiguous, Dave needed him, not vice-a-versa, Henry was an underground literary legend in New York City, his work was off-color, raw, funny in an odd way and unapologetic— unsuited for rags such as The New Yorker or New York Magazine.
He couldn't tell you why he wanted to wallop Dave like a piñata, he held the feeling inside. But, one sure thing, speedball Dave was a bizarre package who weirded out more than a few.
Maybe, HEADBANGER Magazine readers found Henry's biographies on modern literary lions— biographies written within narrative stories, dreary. He researched the biographies at Queen’s Public Library, striving to write in a bonafide way which wasn't dulled-down by over the top detail. Knowing as well, if the research material was flavorless, he would fall asleep from the neck up as he typed and his work would go flat.
Jack Kerouac’s writing was on the other side of the moon, he didn't go to libraries for direction. He did research in surly bars, Time’s Square and on the road, not at libraries. And, if you asked him about writing he would say,
It ain’t what you write, it’s the way atcha write it.
Kerouac’s alliterated, rhythmic sentence on writing and Hunter S. Thompson’s Gonzo style were lasered in Henry's brain.
Thompson like Kerouac believed a writer needed to go directly to the source to research a story, saying,
No honest writer, for instance, would validate—with his byline—a third-hand account of a Scottish gamekeeper who claims to be a werewolf. You’d have to confront the man, assuming he’s alive, and get a fix on his head by discussing other things.
It's close to noon, Lucia walks into Henry’s office, the Chihuahuas, Che, and Mia are following her on leashes. She's wearing a oxford shirts over a bikini and a pair of rubber flip-flops. He quickly changes into a boxer style swimsuit, a Hawaiian shirt, flip-flops and a floppy straw hat with a red, Veteran’s Day poppy in the band.
They leave their Queen’s apartment, riding down the elevator to reach the street— he carried a portable typewriter and she has a large bag on her shoulder, the Chis following on leashes.
They wave down a taxi, the driver who is a Sheikh asks in an Indian accent,
please, where are going? Lucia says,
Coney Island, the driver says,
that will be 40 dollars, madame, I will turn the meter off, and I hope the puppies are house trained, Lucia laughs and says as she hands him a 50 dollar bill,
keep the change señor, my babies won’t pipi in your taxi.
The sheikh is a steady driver, Henry, Lucia, and the Chis eyeball the action outside as the cab weaves through the hot city streets— kids in swimsuits, spraying water with hoses at one another, playing with squirt-guns running through open fire hydrants that are gushing water. Fruit, hot dog, pretzel, and ice cream stands. Whores, pimps and dope dealers, folks big and small, some needing to cool down, others wanting to sell something.
In 30 minutes the taxi stops near the boardwalk at Coney Island, Lucia thanks the driver, as they walk the wooden steps down to the beach they see a sign that reads,
SHARK ATTACK
NO SWIMMING
UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE
Regardless, there are scattered sunbathers, people playing volleyball. The lifeguards are there to keep people out of the water.
Henry rents 2 large umbrellas and 2 foldable chairs for 20 bucks, then going to a boardwalk liquor store to buy 2 six-packs of Miller beer, which the sellers put in a styrofoam cooler filled with ice.
They sit, protected from the sun by the umbrellas, drink beer, and smoke a joint. Lucia lets the Chis off the lease and runs on the sand with them, her luxuriously rounded body undulating as she moves. Henry typing a story and intermittently sipping a canned beer.
After awhile Lucia tires, Che and Mia to the umbrella poles, not wanting to get ticketed by the shore patrol. Henry still working as she falls asleep in the folding chair. The afternoon fades into evening and it feels like time stops. As night falls they both are asleep in folding chairs, then startled out of their slumber by yelping Chis and a lifeguard who says,
beach closed !
They catch a taxi back to Queens, having to pay another 50 bucks, taking the subway to Queens was hairy because there were so many changes. In life, the easy way out always seemed to cost you.
Back at the apartment, Lucia cooks the dogs fresh chicken liver, rice, and carrots. Then showering and quickly dressing to go out to eat.
Leaving the apartment they walk a few blocks to eat at a deli where Henry had been a regular in the past. He loved deli food and wanted Lucia to try it. He felt uneasy because his X girlfriend, Ruby was a waitress there. Lucia eclipsed Ruby in body and soul, but Ruby was a good woman, sexy some, who in the past cleaned Henry’s apartment and was there for him when he was addicted to junk.
As they walk to the deli he explains, simply saying,
my X Ruby is a waitress at Chaim’s Deli, if she waits on us, be cool, no hissy fits darling, Lucia laughs saying,
I love you too much to shame you in front of friends bebe, I’ll bust your culo when we get home!
They laugh and walk into Chaim’s Deli. It’s in a single-story brick building on the corner of a downtown street that was built in the early 60s. The entire front of the building was windowed, the couple sits in a booth next to the window.
Ruby makes a b-line to them with menus and says,
Henry, how ya doin? Dave Spleen was here a few weeks ago, he told me you married a Cuban gal, Lucia breaks in saying,
that'd be me, I’m Lucia nice to meet you! Henry asks,
she's never had deli food, can you give us an assortment doll? Ruby says,
Chaim will put something together for you guys.
She walks to the bar and brings a pitcher of Michelob beer mixed with Clamato. Halfway into the pitcher, Ruby brings a tray with small plates of assorted kosher standards— gefilte fish, chopped chicken liver, pastrami, pickles, coleslaw, and corn beef, along with a basket of sliced rye bread.
Lucia loved the deli food, it was close to closing time, 10 PM. Ruby says,
we're having an after-work get together at a nearby bar and want you guys to come! It's close, we can go together.
Ruby walks with Henry and Lucia to a small neighborhood bar called Neirs. They go inside, the place is empty, they sit at the bar, ordering shots and beer. 20 minutes later Chaim shows with 10 others— waitresses, cooks, the dishwasher, a few Black, a few Hispanic, Chaim and Ruby the only Jews in the lot. The group stands at the bar and talks loudly as they drink, laughing about the odd behavior and eccentric habits of their regular customers.
we're having an after-work get together at a nearby bar and want you guys to come! It's close, we can go together.
Ruby walks with Henry and Lucia to a small neighborhood bar called Neirs. They go inside, the place is empty, they sit at the bar, ordering shots and beer. 20 minutes later Chaim shows with 10 others— waitresses, cooks, the dishwasher, a few Black, a few Hispanic, Chaim and Ruby the only Jews in the lot. The group stands at the bar and talks loudly as they drink, laughing about the odd behavior and eccentric habits of their regular customers.
Then Chaim, who is a fun-loving dope addict pulls an ounce of cocaine out of his pocket saying,
Ruby, did you bring the Polaroid? OK, we are going to break the Guinness World Record for the longest line of cocaine! Everybody finish your drinks, hand the empty glasse to the bartender and stand back a few steps
The maniac Chaim drys the bar with a towel, then carefully pouring a 3-meter line of cocaine which he shapes to perfection using a Visa card. Saying,
get your straws and dollar bills ready and have at it!
The deli staff, Henry, Lucia, Chaim, and the bartender, snort what is front of them quickly, everyone greedy, then Chaim pulls another ounce of coke out of his vest pocket and says,
let’s do it again,
proceeding to wipe the bar down and laying out and shaping another 3-meter line of coke. Ruby snaps a picture of the monumental line with a Polaroid camera. The cocaine slobs go at, this time licking the bar to get every bit of crystal that wasn't snorted.
Henry looking around, taken aback, noticing the partiers who looked normal earlier, were pale with bloodshot eyes, mumbling grandly and saying nothing. He wondered if the 4000 plus dollars, 2 days profit from Chaim’s Deli was well spent? Turning normal folks into cocaine slobs!
By 2 AM the gang at Neir’s Bar were still snorting coke and drinking, the place was closed so it was a private party.
The scene is getting weirder, Henry and Lucia say good-by. As they are walking home they breathe the still night air and it centers them, Lucia says,
darling, that was way, way outta control! The deli guy Chaim es muy loco! Do you have any Xanex?