Kim and the Padre
(wanted to send an audio form with music and such- but your head might create that from written form)
When I moved back to N.Y.C I was trailed by Kimmy- from Cincinnati, an adorable, petite, nicely rounded intelligent young thing. She was in the beauty college and teasing hair ("beating heads" she called it). Paid the rent but she knew it wasn't hr cup of fur. I'd moved into the typical Lower east side hovel. She enrolled in Hunter College and amazingly found a room mate with a fine serviceable flat off central park west at 70th St.
The room mate Gina was a dancer (read:stripper). Hunter was expensive so she introduced Kimmy to the scene. Times Square was rough in those days and required ovaries of steel and game as she was, Kim's naivete' could not brook it. Gina found her other gigs in Hoboken and short New Jersey commutes in dives with ancient retired Polish workers, bleary and non-aggresive- less cash, but still plenty flow for rent, tuition and books.
I'd take the B or C train up to se her. Along with the other intoxicants we'd grown up with, we chipped at herion in those ays. Perhaps it was love and wonderment that kept us from going south with a jones, but we didn't get lost and dodged that bullit.
Her flat was a studio apt. so we'd have our assingnations while Gina was out at work or on a date (she was also an "escort"). Sometimes if Gina came home early we'd take our blanket and bumping up to the roof. Deep into it one starry summer evening I got hit in the back by a frisbee. Some cats on a roof higher than ours had missed a toss. I'm fairly accurate, didn't put my pants on and just sent it back to them. They thanked, waved and went on with their play- we did too. Gotta love New York!
Gina was still egging Kim on to pursue the escort biz. She was very protective of her, knew the education costs she faced and genuinely wanted to help.
"I can find you a niche baby. You don't have to do nobody!" "Gina, I don't go there, you know", Kim mumbled.
"I know, I know, but like for example, this guy I been seein', all's we do is, he picks me up, we go out to eat and then come home- don't gotta talk, touch...nothin!
So Kim asks, "Yeah?!? How's that work?".
"I dunno. He shows up in a big limo, takes me to a restaurant- but always a special expensive one- and we're not like with everybody else, It's always just a table for 2, with a curtain or seperate room. Then he orders all this food and wine- like oysters and lobster- and he just sits there and watches me eat it. O.K,O.K., sometimes he whacks off under the table- but not always. Then he brings me home!
And Kimmy says, "Well, that doesn't seem so bad for a night of delicious food. How much you bringing down for that much of nothing?". "Plenty!", Gina says, "But of course there's a bit of the weirdo factor too." I'd been listening to this, saying nothing, keeping my lip buttoned, but finally allowed my eyes to roll.
Kimmy asks, "What"s the rub?". "Well, he dresses like a priest!". Gina continues, "Yeah like those European priests, with the long black thing and the flat brimmed hat!?!"
"The guy wears a cossack?" I interject.
"I dunno, like what I said, and I'm only allow to call him father Salvatore. An he's got these weird poppin' eyes and this moustache that goes straight out all twisted tight and shit!"
And then it hits Kim and I both and we gaze at each other jaws agape. I clap mine shut, probe a question or two further to confirm the deviant. Kim asks, "Don't you realize you're dining with Salvador Dali?!?"
"He told me Padre Salvatore! But I'm getting fat eating all that shit- Maybe I could hook you up with him?" This is where I step in. "KImmy is an enticing and lovely creature but your good padre is an artist and I'm afraid her form is a bit too diminutive for his delectation." Kim cracked up well before Gina could mumble, "Wad duh hell zat mean???"
Soon after Kim got a serious (or stupid) 9 to 5, another apt., quit stripping, finished school at the top of her class, had some kids with a Nigerian- who left her and put a dent in her plans. She now live inquiet sucess in the tropics with 2 lovely children. I still shuffle the streets of New York and find wonder (even now!) Gina disappeared. Padre Salvatore died but they just keep on showing HIS work!
Rik Letendre, firstname.lastname@example.org, Snail mail, PO BOX 167, Trout Creek, NY 13847, PH#607-369-4140 my radio voice ain't bad and I'd love to record it. Any explicatives can be cooled or bleeped. With your rejection notice please include the phone # for sending direct audio...I've a stack of bizarre, short real tales....Thankx....best, Rik