"Brian and I were tenants in the same rundown Greenwich Village
brownstone. His apartment was on the second floor, down the hall from
mine. This was in 1972. Back then it seemed like everyone I knew got
paid off the books, lived in an illegal sublet, or was having an affair
with a married man. I was 23 and desperate to get into law school, which
seemed my only chance to escape a life of moral drift and group
therapy.
Brian often showed up in my dreams disguised as Governor
Nelson Rockefeller or Supreme Court Justice William 0. Douglas, each of
whom could have gotten me into law school on a phone call. In real life,
Brian was 47, old enough to be my father. He thought The Greening of
America was deep stuff. I forgave such a sentimental lapse because he
was English, and I was in love with his ravaged face.
There was
twenty years’ difference between the right side of Brian’s face, where
all the stitches were, and the unlined left side. It was beautiful, like
driftwood. He’d wrecked a car once, back in England, gone head first
through the windshield and had to be put back together again.
I
was in love with his voice, too; his English accent all weathered from
years of New York City, and his gruff, matter of fact tenderness. He
muttered endearments to his calico cat as he ground up the beans for his
morning coffee. Old Bum, he used to call her, and made it sound sweeter
than sweetheart...."
From "Unmentionable Acts with Shoes" Blues for Beginners: Stories and Obessions aby Judith Podell
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