Sambuca!

There's a LOT more to tell about Christopher Earl..but I do love him, and worry about his privacy. I wouldn't do him justice anyway. Not now. Maybe later.
The thing WAS....I WAS clearly told that I had a place to crash for 2 weeks - and 2 weeks only. I HAD to find a job!
If I can find it - I will post my first headshot from that time in NYC - and you will see with your own eyes that I looked like I was 12.
I set out, day after day, newspaper in hand looking for a waitressing job. I combed the Village Voice for everything and anything. I went knocking on doors for nanny positions, I went to open calls and met with agents, i went to EVERY opening at EVERY restaurant ....NO ONE would hire me. It felt like no one would even take me seriously.

There was a place, at that time , that had an ongoing comedy contest. I forget what the place is called - I believe it's still there. A real tourist place. And once a week they had a contest - you could either do a few minutes of stand-up, or you could sing 2 Broadway songs. If you won all 4 weeks of the month - the prize was a thousand dollars. I NEEDED a thousand dollars.

So, I went to this place and checked it out. Some of the singers were very good. Most of the stand up routines were not great or horrible...I watched the show...nursing a coke, trying to avoid my starving- actor-waiter, and an idea popped into my head.
As soon as i could, i found the manager and began asking him questions. Oh - he was soo annoyed. But I was getting close to desperate.
"So, do you HAVE to do one or the other - or could you split it up and do both?", I asked..like a puppy, sort of following him around in circles.
"What are you talking about?" said the manager
"The contest. Could I do a little stand-up AND one song, for instance? Would you allow that?"
He looked at me like i was crazy. "I guess. Why not."
"OK. And the other thing is...are you allowed to wear a costume?"
He looked downright suspicious. "Most people don't."
"May I?" ...dead air. He thought about it. "Wear a costume? Could I wear one - for this contest?"
He looked at me in a different way all of a sudden. I could hear the wheels turning in his head.He was thinking, 'This 12 or 13yr old girl is going to come here in COSTUME. The tourists will LOVE that! doesn't matter HOW bad she is..'
"Sure", he said. "You want to sign up for next week?"
I sure did.

Meanwhile, back at the flat, I was already past the 2 week mark - and had NO money. NONE. I was getting REALLY scared - and i didn't want ANY of those boys to know just how scared I was.I remember this day VERY well.
I put on a cute outfit - I did have a pretty nice coat. Someone had told me to just go into restaurants on the Upper West Side, look as adorable as possible, and fill out applications. So that was my plan. I had ONE subway token left. ONE. And ZERO dollars. Zero change. I knew that I was looking at jumping the turnstile to get home, or walking all the way. I head for the subway station with my little black clutch purse tucked safely under my arm, my head bent down against the light rain, my red patent leather pumps with little red bows on them clicking on the sidewalk.
I remember very clearly that I ducked into a side entrance to the subway - not the front one that I normally used, because i was in a hurry to get out of the rain. I was click, click, clicking my way down the stairs when a body came out of nowhere and threw me up against the wall. I was so shocked and scared. It was a young black man - all i knew at first was that he was VERY strong. He grabbed me again, like a rag doll, and slammed me against the wall of the stairwell over and over again. I was no match for him in strength...and i couldn't understand what he was saying at first. "Gimmy yo walle!" over and over ..."Give me your wallet!"
When I realized what he was saying - there was a break in the repetitive slamming for a second, and I LOST IT.
He had NO idea who he was slamming around that day.
I shoved my little black clutch in his face and freaked OUT on his ass! "You want my WALLET!!!!???" I screamed at the top of my lungs, "that's fucking FUNNY!!! Take my purse, TAKE IT!!!" I screamed - I was PISSED - and he was taken aback. Not what he was expecting. As i screamed at him, I noticed that he was wearing really nice, new sneakers and really cool, brand new looking jeans. I wasn't done. "You want my PURSE!!!????I have ONE subway token left!!! you want that??!!! I have some MAKEUP in here - you want THAT!!!????I don't have a subway token to get HOME tonight! I've been looking for a job for over TWO WEEKS and NO ONE will HIRE ME!!! This is ALL I have!!! no money at home - No more subway tokens!!!I'm FUCKING STARVING!!!You want to take me to lunch???!!! You look like you're doing pretty good!!! How 'bout YOU take ME to LUNCH!!!??"
The guy just started to shake his head and back up. He looked sorry for me, and confused. I was screaming REALLY LOUD.
"You take ME to lunch! Look at your shoes!!! What do you make? Two hundred bucks a day??? Take me to lunch!" I was screaming..he just shook his head and started muttering, "it's ok, lady, It's gonna be ok,"
" LADY!!!", I screamed at him - "I'm just a KID!!!! I'm not even 18! And I don't know what I'm going to DO!!!" he shook his head and backed up to the entrance, slowly - step by step with his palms out as if to guard against me, the 'crazy lady'.
"You buy ME lunch!!! You buy ME lunch!!!", I screamed at him.

My hands were shaking as I picked up the contents of my purse off of the dirty subway stairs. I was replaying the scene in my head. It could have gone VERY badly. I remembered shaking my lipstick at him. I didn't wear much makeup back then, but I LOVED red lipstick. It was my thing. Red lipstick, red pumps. I even had a little red scarf. Silk.

I walked down to the subway platform on VERY shaky legs. There were people sitting there. In easy earshot of the whole scene. AND a subway employee in the booth! I went through the turnstile and they all just looked down at their feet or their papers as if there were something REALLY important down there.
"Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME???!!!" I yelled at them. "Are you FUCKING SERIOUS!!!???? I could have been KILLED! What if he had a GUN!!!??"
They all looked away. I will never forget the look on the subway-booth person's face. A woman. It was kind of comical, actually. She shrugged and gave this look like, "You, know. Shit happens"
I stood in front of those stupid, heartless people and addressed them as if they were my audience.
"If I had been killed it would have been on YOUR heads! I can't BELIEVE not ONE of you said a DAMN thing - or tried to help me at all!" (I was i fine form - adrenaline was my drug, and it had a mind of it's own, but my theatre training made it all the better) "I could have been your DAUGHTER. or GRANDDAUGHTER. I hope you are ALL REALLY proud of yourselves. Hope you sleep WELL tonight. You are all the BOTTOM of the BARREL!! You DISGUST me!!!"
And with that, I sat down and tried to get myself together. I still needed a job.

When I got out of the subway on the Upper west side, it was raining harder. Of COURSE it was. I went into restaurant after restaurant trying to look 'adorable'(I think that was Kim Husky's advice) - but I just looked like a drowned rat.

By 10pm, I was walking home via Columbus Ave, starving like I'd never been starving before, and so discouraged I felt dispair wrap itself around me like a cloak. I was cold. My feet hurt like crazy.I KNEW I looked like a drowned rat - a 12 yr old drowned rat! I didn't know WHAT I was going to do. I couldn't call my wonderful Grandmother (or so i thought ) I couldn't call my family....I had almost been killed that morning...my whole body ached from the slamming I'd received - and I thought, "there might be bruises showing by now"
And as I was walking down the side walk - the rain had FINALLY stopped- a friendly Italian voice called out to me.
I don't know what he said, but it was a waiter. A cute, Italian waiter. And he seemed so sweet. And the restaurant seemed still jolly at 10 pm, and it looked REALLY warm in there. So, I stopped to fill out an application.

This story, this day...it's one of those stories that defines a person. Well, maybe that's pretentious. Anyway - it's one of the stories I think about the most.

I was ushered into the back of the restaurant - back by the kitchen. Oh....it was so lovely and warm. And it smelled SOOOO good!!! The sweet water that had called out to me brought me bread and olive oil and a glass of red wine. I can't describe to you how much that kindness meant to me at that moment. It felt like there was a beast in my belly, I was so hungry - i had been walking all day in the rain - after a pretty nasty beating by that mugger. The red wine - felt like a magic salve running down my throat, warming me, and calming me. And the bread and olive oil was the most delicious thing I may have ever tasted - the bread was warm and the olive oil perfect.

As soon as I'd managed a piece of bread and a little wine, the owner came and sat down with me. He was a very old Italian man. At least 60. I immediately wished he was my family.He was like a grandfather. A dream grandfather. He took one look at me and called a waiter over in Italian. said something to him, gesturing towards me that i didn't understand, and in a New york minute, there was a plate of pasta in front of me, and cold water, and another glass of red wine.

I might have started crying, I'm not sure. We talked until every last patron was gone. The pasta was so good! He talked to me about his family in italy - and how he came over and started this restaurant - and how it made him miss his home town and his family. He chatted away - asking very few questions of me - obviously sensing my delicate state. He drank a glass of wine with me. He asked the waiter to bring some desert for me - which I wolfed down like a child. it seemed to make him happy. he knew he was saving a soul. A wet rat, very young soul.

And, at the end of the talk, he asked the waiter to bring one more thing. Two glasses of clear liquid were brought. With 3 coffee beans floating in each glass.
The Italian grandfather raised his glass for a toast. "The 3 coffee beans, they mean health, wealth and happiness." he said.
"I wish all for you." ..he looked at me and I felt that he meant it. A total stranger. just the opposite of the stranger that was throwing me around the subway stairs that morning.
I started to tear up.
"NO.No. No cry. Health, wealth and happiness - you shall have!" he said.
I toasted him with such gratitude. the walk home to the Lower East Side would be a dream with some food and wine inside of me. Not to mention some kindness.
"OK." I said, toasting. "And thank you so much. It's been a really bad day."
"NO. NO!!!", he said "Not bad day! you have found a job!"
I looked at him in surprise - too good to be true!
"Yes. A job! Tomorrow you come here at 4."
"Thank you. Thank you so much. So much!" I blithered.

He gave me money for a cab and sent me home to Bruce's place - all loaded up on wine and food and Sambuca.
I still have Sambuca with 3 coffee beans when i miss NY too much. And I always think of him.