I’ve always loved walking in Manhattan, where there is palpable electricity. It feels like really being somewhere. I was smiling and excited as I climbed out of the subway at West 4th and glanced back at the marquee of the Waverly Theater as I crossed 6th Avenue. It was now a multiplex. One of the movies playing was The Thing. I wondered if it were the classic 1951 version. Walking east, I immediately noticed the sound of handballs being pounded against the wall at the nearby park famous for its pickup basketball games. The area was bustling with youth, hipsters, freaks and, of course, beautiful young women that immediately had me eating my heart out. I heard music coming from Washington Square Park, and saw students pouring out of the buildings of NYU. I was relying on memory to find the KGB Bar, located at 85 East 4th. Sure enough, I spotted 87 but no 85. Was it East 5th? I wondered, trying to picture the note I’d jotted near my PC. I circled the block and the addresses were in the 200s. I gave East 4th another try and would have missed the place again if I hadn’t looked up. The entrance was one flight up, and the bar was one more. It was so dark in there, lit only by candles placed atop each table and a desk lamp that sat atop a podium positioned in a corner at the end of the bar. I immediately noticed the flag of the hammer and cycle, and posters of communist stalwarts on the walls. What am I doing here? I thought, although I cautioned myself that the motif might simply be quirky, not political. Fortunately, Susan Tepper, who organizes the readings there, immediately introduced herself. She recognized my name and finally placed it among the writers who post stories at Fictionnaut. I told her I’d come to meet fellow ATTMP author Jen Knox, to repay her for all the kindness she’s shown me in our web relationship.
I sat on a bench at the rear, much like I did throughout my school years. I recognized Jen when she entered, although her web photos did not do her justice. She was wearing a sleeveless top, so I immediately noticed the barbed wire tattoo that circled her right upper arm. I said her name and she recognized me. I offered a hand, but she demanded a hug, which made my day, Her natural sweetness was obvious from the start. She congratulated me on the acceptance of my latest novel and I passed along greetings from another ATTMP author, Bob Rubenstein, who visited the floating book shop earlier in the day. “I’m so glad you came," she said, smiling. It was her first time in the city and she was loving it. She’d come all this way for the reading. We chatted a while, then I let her go get ready. She has done many. She didn’t appear at all nervous. To my delight, she was first up. She was poised and smooth, reading from her collection To Begin Again, which has received two awards: Next Generation Indie Book and Readers Favorite. The prose and dialogue were beautiful and witty. I’ve said this before - the writing I respect most is that which gets life right. Jen does that. I bought a copy of the book, which she signed and wrote something touching in, then I wished her well, hugged and kissed her goodbye, and went on my way. Her husband is a lucky guy. She may be a national literary star some day. She already is one in my book.
At the foot of the front door, two men were smoking and conversing. One mentioned someone who had been blacklisted. I repressed a laugh, as it was exactly what i would have expected to hear at such a venue. As I approached the subway, I reminded myself to make sure I went to the downtown track. Confident I was in the right place, I boarded the train and dove into the book I’m reading. Sure enough, by the time I noticed it was headed uptown it was approaching 125th Street. I was completely baffled, certain I’d done it right. I’d done this several times before. Keeping my embarrassment to myself, I got off, climbed the stairs, and walked to the other side. Naturally, the train went local in Manhattan, then paused for 15 minutes at the crest of the Manhattan Bridge. I wanted to scream, reminded of the great Seinfeld episode where all four of the characters are on separate trains and Elaine’s is stuck in the dreaded "congestion" and her dark thoughts are heard out loud and the bleeping is pronounced. This being the post 9/11 era, I was thinking about being killed in a terrorist attack because I’d lost so much time getting on the wrong train. Of course, no one can time such things. Any train is vulnerable, but the mind does what it does, seemingly independent of will sometimes. I’m so glad I don’t have to take the subway five days a week any more.
Visit Vic's sites:
Vic's Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
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