OK, here's the deal. My father was the boss of everything, and apparently my first full sentence was "you're not the boss of me". It was the on-going struggle I fought to win and thought I had by moving three thousand miles away. But the indiscriminately allotted three months was up and there was no way in hell I was going back. I had an ok job, that cool shag carpeting in my apartment and I was free at last, free at last.
Big Joe - as he was not always so fondly referred to - decided enough was enough and the ethnic composite of my apartment building was his excuse. I just wasn't safe in Los Angeles. As my mother and brother sat silently in the restaurant, Big Joe and I replayed the dinner scene of my youth. He and I were talking loudly in disagreement and she and my brother were nervously coughing, twitching and throat clearing.
Somewhere between the soup and salad at Sorrentino's in Burbank - I'd found my way to the "Valley" - my mother said sternly, "enough". We both looked at her in amazement. This was not part of the normal agenda. Her next words rang clear and true, "she's staying here, Joe....she's staying here".
She usually let me fight my own battles and had only intervened once before.
About ten weeks before I was supposed to be married she came into my room and said "I don't know what's going on with you, but you're not acting like somebody who's getting married". Then, "if you don't want to do it, you can call it off, but you have to do it now - there's a shower for you in two weeks".
She closed with the magic words,"I'll fix it with your father". I think they ate off the reception deposit at the Swan Club for a very long time.
And now for a second time she really proved that "mother knows best" as she saved me from a fate far worse than marriage would have been.
They flew back to New York two days early. She cried at the airport when she said goodbye - she was quite the crier - and I thanked her.
She smiled and said "move to Burbank".
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Slauson Cut-off....
Remember the "real" Tonight Show with Johnny Carson? He did a skit where he was Art Fern showing a massive tangle of L.A. freeways and it always ended with cutting off your Slauson. Our first journey on the mass of tangles they call "commuting in LA" was not for the weak of heart. Especially since we had absolutely no idea where we were going. Kate had called human resources and gotten the address - remember, no computers, no internet..just people who, thankfully, answered the phone. They were located in the "mid-Wilshire District". Now all we had to do was find Wilshire. We'd figure out the mid-part later.
What we did find were several freeways and each had a Wilshire exit,or offramp as they are called. Since every freeway seemed to merge from the right at warp speed, it was impossible to exit unless you spotted the signs far in advance. I don't remember which freeway finally deposited us onto Wilshire Boulevard, but I do remember we were deep in the heart of downtown Los Angeles. That was almost as scary as Downey.
There are no homeless people in Locust Valley. Very little dirt, except in gardens and no traffic. This was truly life in the fast lane. I had a vague idea of how Alice must have interpreted falling through the looking glass.
We found the office building and decided mid-Wilshire looked wonderful. We began driving around and it seemed a more than acceptable place to live. Luckily, most of the apartments had live-in managers so we would stop at one and ring the buzzer. How safe and secure a building with a buzzer seemed. And, wait - there were palm trees lining Occidental Boulevard.
Oh my gosh...the apartment - #101 - was just like a Doris Day movie. Built in furniture and shag carpeting. Completely furnished one bedroom for $175 a month including utilities. Between three of us that would be more than manageable. It would be downright thrifty.
When my parents' arrived for a visit at Christmas, my father's immediate exclamation ruined my fantasy first apartment...."Jesus Christ - you're the only name on the mailbox that isn't Mexican".
I guess we'd noticed but I'm happy to say it hadn't mattered until then.
I was being ordered back home.
What we did find were several freeways and each had a Wilshire exit,or offramp as they are called. Since every freeway seemed to merge from the right at warp speed, it was impossible to exit unless you spotted the signs far in advance. I don't remember which freeway finally deposited us onto Wilshire Boulevard, but I do remember we were deep in the heart of downtown Los Angeles. That was almost as scary as Downey.
There are no homeless people in Locust Valley. Very little dirt, except in gardens and no traffic. This was truly life in the fast lane. I had a vague idea of how Alice must have interpreted falling through the looking glass.
We found the office building and decided mid-Wilshire looked wonderful. We began driving around and it seemed a more than acceptable place to live. Luckily, most of the apartments had live-in managers so we would stop at one and ring the buzzer. How safe and secure a building with a buzzer seemed. And, wait - there were palm trees lining Occidental Boulevard.
Oh my gosh...the apartment - #101 - was just like a Doris Day movie. Built in furniture and shag carpeting. Completely furnished one bedroom for $175 a month including utilities. Between three of us that would be more than manageable. It would be downright thrifty.
When my parents' arrived for a visit at Christmas, my father's immediate exclamation ruined my fantasy first apartment...."Jesus Christ - you're the only name on the mailbox that isn't Mexican".
I guess we'd noticed but I'm happy to say it hadn't mattered until then.
I was being ordered back home.
Leaving Las Vegas...
Sunrise came very quickly that Sunday morning and it was time to get on the road. Kate and I had decided one night in Vegas was enough and were anxious to arrive at our final destination. Downey, California - a suburb of Los Angeles. There was a reason for this particular choice. While I would have moved to Guam, Los Angeles became possible because two friends were out here visiting a relative. Though totally unknown to me, it was "family" to someone my family knew which made it possible for my parents to consider. More about that later.
Obviously,cell phones hadn't been invented and we stopped at a pay phone to let our friends know we were on our way. They had booked us into a reasonable motel for a week while we would get our bearings and figure out next steps. One had just accepted a job in downtown L.A. - wherever that might be - the other was leaving in a couple of weeks and Kate was going to work at the Los Angeles office of a large insurance company she had worked for on Long Island. We had a week to find an apartment...somewhere near Wilshire Boulevard.
It should be noted that Wilshire Boulevard is a major artery - one of the few streets that runs completely through the city of Los Angeles from the ocean to downtown. There are at least fifty completely different worlds located along that 14.4 mile corridor. We didn't yet know that fact or have any idea which world would be closest to Kate's job.
The drive from Vegas to Los Angeles took around four hours and another phone call as we approached ascertained our meeting at the motel in destination Downey. As the freeway signs announced our arrival to the area I felt a knot beginning to tighten in my stomach. Where were the palm trees and mansions? Movies stars and talent agents couldn't possibly live here. Where was Beverly Hills adjacent?
What part of town was this?
The part with the Giant Donut located right off one of the many freeways.
We won't discuss the reasonable motel...all I could say about Downey was "we gotta get outta here...fast".
The search for Wilshire Boulevard began early Monday morning.
During rush hour.
Obviously,cell phones hadn't been invented and we stopped at a pay phone to let our friends know we were on our way. They had booked us into a reasonable motel for a week while we would get our bearings and figure out next steps. One had just accepted a job in downtown L.A. - wherever that might be - the other was leaving in a couple of weeks and Kate was going to work at the Los Angeles office of a large insurance company she had worked for on Long Island. We had a week to find an apartment...somewhere near Wilshire Boulevard.
It should be noted that Wilshire Boulevard is a major artery - one of the few streets that runs completely through the city of Los Angeles from the ocean to downtown. There are at least fifty completely different worlds located along that 14.4 mile corridor. We didn't yet know that fact or have any idea which world would be closest to Kate's job.
The drive from Vegas to Los Angeles took around four hours and another phone call as we approached ascertained our meeting at the motel in destination Downey. As the freeway signs announced our arrival to the area I felt a knot beginning to tighten in my stomach. Where were the palm trees and mansions? Movies stars and talent agents couldn't possibly live here. Where was Beverly Hills adjacent?
What part of town was this?
The part with the Giant Donut located right off one of the many freeways.
We won't discuss the reasonable motel...all I could say about Downey was "we gotta get outta here...fast".
The search for Wilshire Boulevard began early Monday morning.
During rush hour.
Having it all...
Please remember, I am part of that "transitional" generation of women. Told we could "have it all" but raised by women who had migraines, asthma and ulcers because real life told them they couldn't. Without an independent role model, I followed a path of predictability. Getting engaged at 19 was far from unusual. In fact, at 19 I was already a "godmother" and had been "maid of honor" at a totally "non-shot-gun" wedding.
When I went shopping for a wedding dress I'd been told by a friend who was already married, "when you put on THE dress you'll feel the magic". I tried on one dress and said "you're right, this is it". But I didn't feel any magic. I just knew it looked better than the others.
I lied because I didn't want to be "different".
And what is having it all anyway?
When I went shopping for a wedding dress I'd been told by a friend who was already married, "when you put on THE dress you'll feel the magic". I tried on one dress and said "you're right, this is it". But I didn't feel any magic. I just knew it looked better than the others.
I lied because I didn't want to be "different".
And what is having it all anyway?
A Mayonaisse Princess in Sin City...
A decade after my evening in Las Vegas, a husband returned with me to Locust Valley. Observing my life there he said, "now I have the final piece of the puzzle" and promptly dubbed me "the mayonnaise princess". While I had been known to put mayonnaise on cheeseburgers, the nickname had nothing to do with my choice of condiment. I had recognized a cultural divide between my past and present a couple of years earlier on a visit home when I asked the very young man behind the counter of the delicatessen for "lox" and was told "none here, go to Briton's" - the hardware store. I realized I'd had lots of Wonder Bread but never a bagel until I moved to L.A.
Yet on that Saturday night in Las Vegas I had no idea how incredibly sheltered my upbringing had been and even less of an idea of what Las Vegas was about. What I did know - I was on my own in a place lit up like a Christmas tree at a time when Christmas trees were still politically correct. The thrill of sitting with that watered down drink at a slot machine wearing high heels was indescribable. At that moment I was certain my life in Los Angeles was going to be everything I had never dreamed of and the possibilities were endless.
But first there was tonight.
My friend, Kate, and I wandered into the lounge. In Vegas during "the day" there were lounge shows of medium talent and those headlining Rat Pack type show rooms with untenable cover charges. The "Treniers" were appearing at the Sands lounge that evening. As a Motown devotee I found this absolutely perfect. No Four Tops or Temptations, but just what the night called for. The cover was two drinks which were definitely not watered down. Kate and I enjoyed the show as four men at the table next to us were checking out their possibilities. I was too enthralled with the first true rush of freedom and loud music where no one said "turn that down, Janet" that I didn't pay attention - at first.
After the first drink I smiled back...after the second we agreed to join them at their table. It turned out they were "friends" of the Treniers. Men in their mid- thirties in town for the weekend from they didn't mention where. They were definitely the most sophisticated guys I'd ever seen, but then where would I have been hanging out with men in their thirties? After the show we all went out to the "tables" - no slots for them. They were playing roulette and planned to move on to another Casino. Did we want to join them? We had our own car and felt perfectly safe saying, "sure, we'll follow". And we did.
Two or three casinos later it was about three a.m. I wasn't imbibing but I was certainly high on the experience. One of the men was particularly attractive, and attracted, and asked if I wanted to head to Caesar's Palace with him. He would, of course, drive me back to our motel whenever I wanted - no doubt about that. Kate drove away, as did Jake and I. Caesars was beyond unbelievable. As we walked over to the roulette table I boldly put $2 down on my lucky number - 8. The wheel spun and I won! $72 return. Today that would barely fill a gas tank but 1970 gasoline was 28 cents a gallon. I saw this stroke of luck as a positive omen for my future.
As for the present, most certainly I was having fun. Would you believe Jake lived in Los Angeles? He was a talent agent in Beverly Hills with a house in the Hollywood Hills and would love to take me to dinner once I got settled. He recommended some great areas to look for an apartment - Toluca Lake in the "Valley" and Beverly Hills adjacent if I wound up "over the hill". At 21 I found that doubtful until he explained the geographic boundaries of the city I was going to be calling home in forty-eight hours.
But right now, flush with my winnings and a potential "Mr. Right" - oh, those life plans die hard - standing with me in this glamorous atmosphere I was certain I'd made the right choice to "go West young woman".
It must have been 5AM when I was ready to get some sleep and asked Jake to drive me back to the motel. While I was a bit embarrassed for him to see where we were staying, I knew wherever I wound up would make a better impression when we met up again in Los Angeles.
Jake just happened to be staying at Caesars. How about we catch some sleep in his room before he drove me back? After some back and forth conversation it became clear his driving me anywhere was not an option. Mr. Right was really wrong.
We parted relatively amicably but as I walked out of the Casino I realized two things...it was a very long walk back to the motel and I didn't even know this talent agents' last name.
Using a large part of my winnings on a taxi - that motel was REALLY at the end of the strip - I had time to reflect on my first big night of freedom.
I wasn't nearly as smart as I thought I was a couple of hours earlier.
Wouldn't you think I'd remember that?
Yet on that Saturday night in Las Vegas I had no idea how incredibly sheltered my upbringing had been and even less of an idea of what Las Vegas was about. What I did know - I was on my own in a place lit up like a Christmas tree at a time when Christmas trees were still politically correct. The thrill of sitting with that watered down drink at a slot machine wearing high heels was indescribable. At that moment I was certain my life in Los Angeles was going to be everything I had never dreamed of and the possibilities were endless.
But first there was tonight.
My friend, Kate, and I wandered into the lounge. In Vegas during "the day" there were lounge shows of medium talent and those headlining Rat Pack type show rooms with untenable cover charges. The "Treniers" were appearing at the Sands lounge that evening. As a Motown devotee I found this absolutely perfect. No Four Tops or Temptations, but just what the night called for. The cover was two drinks which were definitely not watered down. Kate and I enjoyed the show as four men at the table next to us were checking out their possibilities. I was too enthralled with the first true rush of freedom and loud music where no one said "turn that down, Janet" that I didn't pay attention - at first.
After the first drink I smiled back...after the second we agreed to join them at their table. It turned out they were "friends" of the Treniers. Men in their mid- thirties in town for the weekend from they didn't mention where. They were definitely the most sophisticated guys I'd ever seen, but then where would I have been hanging out with men in their thirties? After the show we all went out to the "tables" - no slots for them. They were playing roulette and planned to move on to another Casino. Did we want to join them? We had our own car and felt perfectly safe saying, "sure, we'll follow". And we did.
Two or three casinos later it was about three a.m. I wasn't imbibing but I was certainly high on the experience. One of the men was particularly attractive, and attracted, and asked if I wanted to head to Caesar's Palace with him. He would, of course, drive me back to our motel whenever I wanted - no doubt about that. Kate drove away, as did Jake and I. Caesars was beyond unbelievable. As we walked over to the roulette table I boldly put $2 down on my lucky number - 8. The wheel spun and I won! $72 return. Today that would barely fill a gas tank but 1970 gasoline was 28 cents a gallon. I saw this stroke of luck as a positive omen for my future.
As for the present, most certainly I was having fun. Would you believe Jake lived in Los Angeles? He was a talent agent in Beverly Hills with a house in the Hollywood Hills and would love to take me to dinner once I got settled. He recommended some great areas to look for an apartment - Toluca Lake in the "Valley" and Beverly Hills adjacent if I wound up "over the hill". At 21 I found that doubtful until he explained the geographic boundaries of the city I was going to be calling home in forty-eight hours.
But right now, flush with my winnings and a potential "Mr. Right" - oh, those life plans die hard - standing with me in this glamorous atmosphere I was certain I'd made the right choice to "go West young woman".
It must have been 5AM when I was ready to get some sleep and asked Jake to drive me back to the motel. While I was a bit embarrassed for him to see where we were staying, I knew wherever I wound up would make a better impression when we met up again in Los Angeles.
Jake just happened to be staying at Caesars. How about we catch some sleep in his room before he drove me back? After some back and forth conversation it became clear his driving me anywhere was not an option. Mr. Right was really wrong.
We parted relatively amicably but as I walked out of the Casino I realized two things...it was a very long walk back to the motel and I didn't even know this talent agents' last name.
Using a large part of my winnings on a taxi - that motel was REALLY at the end of the strip - I had time to reflect on my first big night of freedom.
I wasn't nearly as smart as I thought I was a couple of hours earlier.
Wouldn't you think I'd remember that?
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Here and Now...
When Geri first suggested we blog about our lives - both fact and fiction - I couldn't wait to begin. We're going to turn our stories into a New York Times bestseller for the old ladies to read on cruises...that's Geri's line. The goal is to make it happen before we're old ladies.
We're kids of the late 60's being 60. It's an interesting place to be in life. Unbelievable, because I know I still act surprisingly immature at times and wear jeans. That wonderful mother of mine always wore skirts and sweater sets.
Re-uniting with Geri on Facebook and others from that time in my life - including the nice boy I didn't marry - have made me remember things vividly. Some things best left forgotten, I'd imagine, but only time and continued blogging will tell.
Geri and I seem to be going full circle together. The adventures we had together as teenagers are as vivid as the goofy conversations we have on-line today. Our distant past is entwined and I believe we still have a good part of the circle to complete.
But there's forty years in between...two thirds of our lives where we spoke only intermittently, yet always seemed to know most of what was happening to the other. My life certainly didn't go the way I'd imagined and I know hers didn't either.
We've both had a lot of drama, tragedy and happiness. I know I have to say it in that order, for me. I won't ever speak for her. But, I'm glad we're both here today.
I think we have a story to tell. It's as simple as two pre-teens sitting with a reel-to-reel tape recorder singing "I Love How You Love Me" over and over. It's as complicated as five marriages between us...yeah, I'm the one with three.
The names will be changed to protect the guilty and the stories will contain truth, fantasy and/or a combination thereof. Only those who know me and themselves very well will know which is which.
But here's something that's very true.
I really hope Geri comes to California some day.
We're kids of the late 60's being 60. It's an interesting place to be in life. Unbelievable, because I know I still act surprisingly immature at times and wear jeans. That wonderful mother of mine always wore skirts and sweater sets.
Re-uniting with Geri on Facebook and others from that time in my life - including the nice boy I didn't marry - have made me remember things vividly. Some things best left forgotten, I'd imagine, but only time and continued blogging will tell.
Geri and I seem to be going full circle together. The adventures we had together as teenagers are as vivid as the goofy conversations we have on-line today. Our distant past is entwined and I believe we still have a good part of the circle to complete.
But there's forty years in between...two thirds of our lives where we spoke only intermittently, yet always seemed to know most of what was happening to the other. My life certainly didn't go the way I'd imagined and I know hers didn't either.
We've both had a lot of drama, tragedy and happiness. I know I have to say it in that order, for me. I won't ever speak for her. But, I'm glad we're both here today.
I think we have a story to tell. It's as simple as two pre-teens sitting with a reel-to-reel tape recorder singing "I Love How You Love Me" over and over. It's as complicated as five marriages between us...yeah, I'm the one with three.
The names will be changed to protect the guilty and the stories will contain truth, fantasy and/or a combination thereof. Only those who know me and themselves very well will know which is which.
But here's something that's very true.
I really hope Geri comes to California some day.
A Very Different L.V.
A brief summary of Locust Valley....green, gorgeous, affluent and affable. Spending most of my youth there totally unprepared me for the "real" world, let alone Las Vegas.
As we pulled onto the strip I was like a kid in a candy store. Where to stop first? A cheapo motel at the end of town. That envelope of cash was not overwhelming and large expenses lie ahead...an apartment -oh, bliss - and paying my own way for the first time in my life. After checking in and checking out the rather dismal accommodations we drove past landmarks I'd only seen on television. The Tropicana, Frontier Hotel and the Little Chapel of the West that, unfortunately, I'd know more intimately a few years down the line.
But, I digress.
The only thing that could have made that night MORE perfect would have been the Rat Pack appearing at the Sands. We were barely "legal" and able to walk into the Casino at the Sands. Wow, free watered down drinks, oxygen pumped in to keep you awake long into the night or day and not know which, people dressed to the nines and the clanging of slot machine bells.
My "life plan" seemed a lifetime ago as I bought twenty dollars worth of nickles and headed for my first adventure.
Mature beyond words was how I felt.
The night was young and truth be told I was, of course, even younger.
As we pulled onto the strip I was like a kid in a candy store. Where to stop first? A cheapo motel at the end of town. That envelope of cash was not overwhelming and large expenses lie ahead...an apartment -oh, bliss - and paying my own way for the first time in my life. After checking in and checking out the rather dismal accommodations we drove past landmarks I'd only seen on television. The Tropicana, Frontier Hotel and the Little Chapel of the West that, unfortunately, I'd know more intimately a few years down the line.
But, I digress.
The only thing that could have made that night MORE perfect would have been the Rat Pack appearing at the Sands. We were barely "legal" and able to walk into the Casino at the Sands. Wow, free watered down drinks, oxygen pumped in to keep you awake long into the night or day and not know which, people dressed to the nines and the clanging of slot machine bells.
My "life plan" seemed a lifetime ago as I bought twenty dollars worth of nickles and headed for my first adventure.
Mature beyond words was how I felt.
The night was young and truth be told I was, of course, even younger.
On the Road...
Somewhere around St. Louis I realized my most marketable skills were making milkshakes and asking "would you like your burger medium or rare?". A frightening few moments, indeed. But Route 66 was fairly distracting despite miles upon miles of corn fields. On Day Four we hit the all important fork in the road. A very important decision had to be made... The Grand Canyon or Las Vegas.
While driving toward the "left coast" seemed an aimless endeavor, the current choice was clear. Sprung from the cage of conventional behavior, I was on my way to Las Vegas.
Los Angeles could wait a couple of days. I was 21 and everything would be just fine.
While driving toward the "left coast" seemed an aimless endeavor, the current choice was clear. Sprung from the cage of conventional behavior, I was on my way to Las Vegas.
Los Angeles could wait a couple of days. I was 21 and everything would be just fine.
Leaving Locust Valley....
A few days before I turned 19 I knew exactly how my life would be. Get engaged, married, have 2.2 children, swim at the country club and run the family restaurant. Well, I did get engaged on my 19th birthday to a very nice boy with a very nice diamond ring from Fortunoffs. We planned a very nice wedding, a honeymoon in Puerto Rico and ordered a copious number of invitations that were never mailed. Exactly what was I supposed to do now with the rest of my life?
Only one suitable decision - leave town and move to Los Angeles. "She'll be back in three months" seemed to be the general consensus among family and friends. I'm not certain I didn't disagree with them as I sat in a car with a friend awaiting our departure. It was all contingent on my father's final "OK" - in the form of an envelope of cash (entrusted to the friend, but more about my relationship with my father at some other time) and the guarantee that my little Triumph Spitfire would, indeed, be shipped.
As my mother - one of the kindest souls and neatest women I've ever known - stood next to the car with tears in her eyes she entrusted a large envelope of her own to me. Inside were all the response envelopes from the not-to-be-had wedding, addressed to the family home and stamped.
Her simple goodbye - "you have no excuse not to write".
Only one suitable decision - leave town and move to Los Angeles. "She'll be back in three months" seemed to be the general consensus among family and friends. I'm not certain I didn't disagree with them as I sat in a car with a friend awaiting our departure. It was all contingent on my father's final "OK" - in the form of an envelope of cash (entrusted to the friend, but more about my relationship with my father at some other time) and the guarantee that my little Triumph Spitfire would, indeed, be shipped.
As my mother - one of the kindest souls and neatest women I've ever known - stood next to the car with tears in her eyes she entrusted a large envelope of her own to me. Inside were all the response envelopes from the not-to-be-had wedding, addressed to the family home and stamped.
Her simple goodbye - "you have no excuse not to write".
I Created a Blog
Well, my best friend from high school and I reconnected on Facebook....we've been farming...cooking....fishing...and yo-villing... all with the obsessive tendencies that remind me of our high school days. Boys, slam books, boys, laughing during assemblies, boys....and then leaving high school, Locust Valley, and each other for many, many years.
She suggested blogging as an alternative outlet and told me how to set one up.
So...here we go....
She suggested blogging as an alternative outlet and told me how to set one up.
So...here we go....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)