Blissful Interlude: J. G. ROTHBERG

by J. G. Rothberg

  I sucked in some breath, and let it out slowly, and finally spoke. “Many evenings when I had finished homework, I would comb and brush out my mom's long blonde hair. I changed her hairstyles, sweeping her hair up sometimes - and laughed and brushed her hair back to the way she had worn it. Maybe I should have become a hairstylist. You think so, Dr. Kantor?” I laughed.

  “Okay, back to my original story, of mom following me into the bathroom. You know she always meant well. Always wanted to make sure I was nice and clean. I remember she laid out clean undershorts and socks, that Sunday morning, a bright white tee shirt and Levi dungarees, and placed them over the closed lid on the toilet bowl. “Don’t forget to brush your teeth,” she said, and walked out and closed the bathroom door behind her. That was it. Nothing more. So, why do I feel a tingling through my body.”

  “What do you mean by tingling. Explain that?”

  “I don't know. Not much to explain. Just tingling. Like sometimes when you get goose bumps.”

  “Elaborate Nick, so I understand you fully.”

  “We all get goose bumps. You know Dr. Kantor, I'm beginning to feel … “ I began stretching my neck and turning my head around, to give it a crack.

  “So, I showered quickly, stepping out maybe a couple of minutes after she left. I brushed my teeth, spreading the red and white tube of Colgate on my toothbrush. The images of that day are still in my head. It's weird, doc, I mean Doctor Kantor. It's plain weird, like I'm tripping. I remember standing naked in front of the bathroom mirror, turning my face left and then right, examining my chin, and wondering when the slight blond hairs would grow in, full enough, to shave. Gosh I am talking now like a speeding train. I'll tell you something. I feel like I'm on an acid trip. Not really. Sort of, I suppose. Anyway, I toweled dry my long hair to the right side of my face. As you can see now, I sweep my hair straight back.

  “I knew mom would soon be off to the country club and would want me to join her. Sure enough, “You know the tennis pro is at the club today,” she said as I walked in the kitchen. “He says you have possibilities. Will you be going with me today?”

  “Can’t mom.” Got things to do.”

  “Such as?”

  “Mom, don’t you trust me? I got my own things, my own life.” I gobbled my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, took quick sips form a hot cup of cocoa with tiny marshmallows floating on top, and grabbed my plaid jacket sweater.

  “Ooops, got to go upstairs, and then I’m leaving,” I called out.

  “Be back early. You have school tomorrow, you know.”

  “I took two steps at a time running up to my room, slamming the door behind, and got a condom, hidden in a sneaker, which I then stuffed in my wallet. I ran down the stairs, as fast as I ran up, slammed the front door and sped off on my old red Schwinn bike, pedaling as hard as I could, past fields, houses, lawns, and yards, greening now, after the gray color of winter.

  Gwen, my fourteen year old girl friend, stood at the front door of the barn as I had hoped and expected. I grabbed her hand, and we walked into the unused wood structure and climbed up to the loft. I quickly unbuttoned her Sunday blouse, and we kissed, poking at each other’s lips.

  “I”m afraid, we have no more time this session,” Dr. Kantor interrupted. “We covered a lot ground, wouldn't you say. Next session we'll go into a more in depth search of these events you just related.”

  “Got you,” I said, rising quickly. “See you next time,” I went on and closed the door behind me. I was hapy to end today's appointment with Dr. Kantor.

  In the waiting room, a skinny kid wearing red rubber boots, probably Dr. Kantor's next patient, smiled and nodded at me. I had seen him in the lounge and canteen areas before. He told me he's a musician and a songwriter. He sat in one of the chairs in the room with his black guitar case, near his feet. What struck me about him, is he reminded me of an earlier me. I don't know why. Maybe it was the long blond hair. He had green eyes, though, was thin, and wore gray woolen slacks. Strange sight. Doesn't he realize it's hot in Arizona?

  “How are you doing?” he said. When he got up I realized he was almost as tall as me; and in a deep voice he said, “I don't think I've told you my name. It's Billy.” He extended his hand to me. “Nick,” I said. Dr. as Kantor, opened her office door to call him in.

  “See you around, Billy,” I said as he walked into Dr. Kantor with his Guitar.

  Chapter Sixteen

  One day, about six weeks into the sessions, Dr. Kantor told me to sit in the chair apposite her. I immediately plunked down in the comfortably tufted dark green chair, rested my fingers on my lips, and acknowledged the nodded. “Okay yeah … let's see. Glad to be off the coach.” My fingers went over my lips.

  “First, let's make sure you had zero access to drugs,” Dr. Kantor said.

  “I'm at a dry out clinic,” I replied, surprised at her tone, which seemed to indicate she got some report.

  “Stuff happens, Nick. Take this cup and leave a urine sample in the bathroom. When you are finished push the buzzer and the nurse will take your sample for analysis. Then come back here.”

  “Okay, you are the doc,” I said.

  “Be sure to wash your hands.”

  I glared at Dr. Kantor as I stood. In the bathroom, my urine overflowed the cup, running like a race horse on a perfect track on a perfect sun infused day, I pushed the buzzer and returned to my chair opposite the counselor.

  “Hey I've been clean for almost sixty days. I did good. Don't you think?” I said.

  “You have more sessions, Nick. Don't give up your fight.

  “What fight?”

  “To rid yourself of health damaging habits.

  “I'm here only because of my mom and dad. I know dad probably got a loan from his bank. He's an executive v.p. there. Maybe it was easy for him. He's been at the bank for years. But he's still got to pay the money back. I sure want them to believe they got their money's worth.”

  At this moment, a knock on the door and young guy came in and handed Dr. Kantor a report. She nodded as the guy left the room. “You should have thought through your actions before you took them. If you truly wanted your parents to get their money's worth, you didn't go about that the right way. We have a zero tolerance on drug use here. I'm afraid you'll have to leave the program“

  “Yeah,” I simply said, but inwardly was actually overjoyed that I would be getting back to my old routine, friends job and real life, and away from this artificial setting.

  “How did you get the drugs. Telling me will help us with other clients.”

  I smiled, nodded. “Hey, my thing is my thing. This is who I am.”

  “Well, I wish you luck. I hope someday you come back to this or a similar program. You have issues, Nick that need to be attended to. I regret we didn't get to them, but it's a start in away. Now it's up to you.”

  I smiled at Dr. Kantor. “I admire your desire to help people. But I have my own ways for me. Good luck to you, Doc. I wish you the best.”

  “Thank you.”

  Billy the kid with the red rubber boots was waiting. “See you around, Billy,” I said as he walked into Dr. Kantors office. “If you're in New York, call me at the Andy Warhol studios. Okay?”

  “Okay,” the kid said with a broad smile..

  “Good luck, Nick,” Dr. Kantor interrupted and waved a goodbye as she closed the door.

  First thing I did was get to a phone and call Andy. I told him, I am heading back to New York, and will resume all duties. A voice called out, Nick's heading back here, really. I heard a cheer, which made me feel good. Andy told me he's getting into making movies, and he thought I would be good with that.

  “Making movies?”

  “Hey, Nick it's me,” a female voice said. “Yeah, Andy bought a camera. We're going to be film stars.”

  “Okay, the way to go. Tell everyone and my Chelsea girls, I'll be back in a few days.”

  “Wait a minute Nick.”

  “Got to go.”


  “This is important. Andy has a new studio. He's renting space in an abandoned fire house from the city.”

  “What the address?”

  “Andy, Nick's on the line and wants to know the address of this firehouse.”

  “Hook and Ladder company number 13 on Est 87th Street, near the house,” a voice shouted in the phone.”

  “See you all there soon.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I gravitated between staying with Ethan, and staying over at the Chelsea during the next several weeks. On occasion, I went back to my apartment.

  Ethan was fascinated by my being a coal minor's daughter and a child of Slovakian parents. One evening as we sat at the Whitehorse Tavern, he admitted the reason he was interested “Your background and Andy's are so exact. Exact, Anna, it's uncanny. And I am grateful for this insight you're giving me.” Ethan was often blunt and honest with me. I wasn't taken aback.

  “I'm glad I can help,” I whispered demurely.

  I admit I was less than enthusiastic in hearing about Ethan's heritage; though he told me he was a son of a mom who was an art historian at Brown University and a father, a psychiatrist, who some five years ago, may or maybe not have killed himself. I would never have probed Ethan for this information. “Dad died of an overdose of pills, but mom suspected he may have taken his own life.

  “I'm so, so sorry to hear this. I'm sure it has been devastating for you, and your mother.”

  Ethan shook his head, yes. Tears formed in his eyes and I knew to be silent. He changed the subject and told me he was beginning a new series on The Modern Artist in Today's Pop Art World, for Art Mirror. “That's the reason, you must dig into any family stories, that reflect Andy's background.”

  He was becoming sweeter by the moment to me, and I smiled, turned my head, and fluffed my curls.“Yes my Sweets. I'll call you Sweets from now on. Because you are rosy cheeked and sweet.”

  “Anna. Don't say that -- too loud. You'll embarrass me.”

  “I won't embarrass you, my Sweets.”

  Ethan chuckled, chugged on his beer, and checked his watch. “Hey, we better go.”

  These evening pre-event meals, the laughing groups, people wandering in and out, the gleeful tumult of a darkly lit tavern, became a time of unwinding from the day's activities and sometimes inactivity, at the office; a salad, a bit of bread, or a sandwich, or soup, a beer and beer chaser, warmed my heart as well as Ethan's rosy cheeks and smile.

  Ethan got us invited to a private screening of Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds, and later hooked up with some people from his office, downstairs at the Gaslight on Macdougal for a petry reading by a guy named Taylor Mead. I told Ethan he was becoming quite the man about town.

  Of course Ethan's sweet cheeks grew intensely red. “No. just a fellow who grabs as many invitations as he gets his paws on.”

  After the reading or screaming verbal mayhem from Taylor Mead, an elf-like sprite who seemed like someone from the pages of the Brothers Grimm, several of us including Taylor went next door to the Kettle Fish. “Oooh, I'm being kidnapped.” Taylor exclaimed with the broadest of smiles, scooping up all this admiration.

  At the Kettle Fish we toasted Taylor with a shot of Dewar's Scotch. Talylor Mead, I later learned gravitated to New York from San Francisco, where he'd starred in an underground film “The Flower Thief,” by Ron Rice.

  While we stood among several fans, and Taylor's entourage of blondes, brunettes, hipsters and bedraggled bohemians, a bosomy, broad shouldered blonde, reached for my loins. “What are you doing?” I yelled as I backed away and turned to Ethan. “She just groped me, Sweets.”

  “What the fuck.” Ethan hollered.

  “Don't get your panties all tangled,” the blonde laughed. “Just checking if you are the real deal, darling. It's all in good fun. I startled you honey. I apologize. Oh, you sweet thing. Come here to mamma. Okay?”

  “That's all right. I just over-reacted. Let's party up,” I said.

  “That my girl,” the blonde replied and moved on.

  “Oh, my god. That never happened to me,” I spoke with all the breathlessness my voice could muster.

  In a way, although I enjoyed every moment spent with Ethan and before that with Nick, there was something different with some of the people we met these past weeks; they often frolicked in degradation, and disorder. Maybe it was a drug culture, But without knowing it, I think they wanted to destroy before creating something new. All the more odd in my eyes, because Ethan was a college graduate, from well-to-do parents, and with a job as editor of an art magazine, and Nick was a a prep school kid, also from a well-to-do family.

  Andy certainly wasn't that way at all, I later told Ethan. “I mean attracted to these odd types. What is this fascination?” Then I realized the celebrity scene changed so dramatically. Instead of the milk and cookie types like Shirley Temple, you had stars seeking to be seen in this world. But Ethan corrected me about Andy: “Now he hobnobs with the do-wells and wannbe do-wells, pushing his way in, and hoping to sell art.“

  “Funny, growing up with Andy you can never imagine somebody so invested in making money,” I said.

  When we returned to Ethan's apartment totally exhausted but in great spirits, I went to the bathroom to wash up, and Ethan as usual checked his messages with his phone service.

  After brushing my teeth and curling my hair, I slipped into my over-sized nightie tee-shirt. Ethan had already stretched out on the big bed, in his gray gym shorts. Our intimate feelings had warmed these last several weeks, though thoughts of Nick consistently tore into me. I wouldn't fool myself, I couldn't shut these feelings out. I compared this sensibility to dealing with a lingering cold. You're never completely over the hump, until it's over; an event with Nick I hoped would never occur, and I chided myself for even thinking life with Nick could ever be over.

  No, you'll always be in my thoughts my darling Nick, and I want to be in your arms. Who knew how happy one person can make you, and I'll always see your lips and eyes, and sweet, sweet smile, and feel your manly thrusts. Who could have surmised that I could make Nick so happy too. But where are you now? After being locked away from desire and numb for years, you gave me feelings of bliss. Nick my beloved, true bliss will happen when you reappear.

  My heart was burning and turning itself over and over. Everything was hot, sharp, confusing and spilling over, feeling both right and wrong, exhilarated and let down, dropped like a stone. All these past weeks I seemed to be feeding on beer and schnapps, and salads and bread. I was at once delirious and delighted, and thoughts of Nick, Nick, Nick consumed me. His face, pallid at times, his strong jaw and cleft chin, his sweptback hair, so gorgeous and manly, his grip, his positive energy, his sexy ass, when he walked, his pale slacks, hanging from his waist. His affirmative utterances, his ever-ready positive embrace.

  I set my eyes on now on Ethan who looked so luscious, though I believed with the fullness of my heart that all three of us will be together again, soon in a loving state. I jumped on the bed and began tickling Ethan. He was sensitive; sometimes he would laugh uncontrollably just from seeing my approaching fingers.

  “Hey cut it out,” he called squirming and laughing, as I began running my fingers all over him. Soon enough he began ticking my feet, and stomach and I lost control, laughing now, curling up, still getting in a few touches at Ethan. “Stop, stop,” I said, while Ethan tickled more vigorously. “Don't let me ruin my hair for tomorrow. I won't look good,” I went on, through a chuckle. “You're too much.”

  “Whoop, whoop whoopee,” Ethan yelled and finally stopped. Catching his breathe and with a big smile Ethan said, “Anna, making love to you is so much fun. You've taught me that.”

  “Yes, and why shouldn’t sex be fun, my sweets.” I answered wistfully, while making sure the curlers in my hair were in place. I looked out the huge windows and through the trees to a night time Central Park, imagining the outlines of the Tavern on the Green.

  Ethan positioned himself on his
side watching me. He did this many times, telling me he just likes to look at me, at rest, and that I make him feel good. “I just need to catch my breath for a moment,” I said with thoughts of Nick still floating through my mind.

  Thinking of Nick, of late, never got me to a good place. Maybe I was too angry with him, for not having a minimal level of decency to communicate someway and say, “ Hey, I'm okay. Miss you babe,” or something like that. Time away from Nick didn't dull the pain.

  Ethan leaned over and gently kissed me, rubbing my ears and neck and slowly moving down to my breasts, squeezing gently, and then placing his moist lips on my nipples. The room was eerily quiet, as we made love. No interior soft lights, just moon beams bouncing off cobble stones surrounding the dark gray-green parkscape. We slept most of that night in each others arms.