The ad in the back of the Village Voice said ‘BARMAID – EXPERIENCE PREFERRED’. What I saw was no experience necessary and I was all that and almost eighteen. I’d been in topless bars before, small places out in Long Island, but nothing that prepared me for the Mardi Gras.
The double glass doors opened onto an insanity of mirrored walls, lights, sequins and more mirrors. I’m busy staring, mouth hanging open, trying to take it all in and I feel someone staring — at me. He had a face made from the soft sweat stained leather of an old catcher’s mitt, and I’d swear I’d seen that face in a hundred gangster movies. He says his name is Ralphie. I tell him mine.
“‘S’a boy’s name. Ya mudder wanna boy’n get stuck wit chu?” Snort. “We’ll come up wi’sumpin’. You a dancer or bartender?”
“Uh, bartender?”
“Can ya mix drinks?” I shake my head no. “Can ya open a bottly beer, little girl?” When he talks, only one side of his face moves, one side of his mouth, so’s if I was standing on the other side I wouldn’t know it was him talking at all. I’m mesmerized, by him, by the whole huge glittering place. It’s like being inside of a Christmas ornament. Ralphie bends down to look me in the face, like I’m the town idiot, or a small child. I feel like both, but opening beer bottles, here was something I had plenty of experience with. I shake my head enthusiastically up and down. Yes, I shake, struck speechless
“Good. Now, can ya close ya mout ‘n folly me?”
I close my mouth and folly.
dirtygirl wants to know:
Have you ever stepped through the looking glass? What was the first time you found yourself someplace you had no reference at all for and what the hell were you doing there in the first place? Post your thoughts below. C’mon, talk dirty to me.
| << 1975 : funeral | 1975 : in the beginning >> |
Posted June 29, 2009 at 10:00 am, filed under the diary and tagged 1975, Robbies Mardi Gras, Times Square. Bookmark this post. Follow any comments @ RSS feed for this post.
