posted September 27, 2005 (revised November 14, 2006)
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When you were 20 years old in 1985 and had lived in New York City for 17 months, specifically in the East Village, you finally got around to visiting Gee That's Swell!, that East Village vintage clothing shop with the 1950s-style d�cor more exaggerated than that in the other East Village shops�black-and-white checkerboard floor, turquoise walls with little gold-foil boomerangs, black-velvet paintings of crying waifs, Eighties cash register plastered with photos of Pee-wee Herman. You were standing in front of a full-length mirror, watching yourself model a pair of lime-green pedal pushers you thought were a little overpriced at $21.
"Mmm, yeah, they fit perfectly," someone said behind you. You turned to look at her. She looked about your age. "They flatter your ass. Don't they flatter her ass?"
"Yeah," said a woman next to her who looked several years older. "If they flattered it any more, its ego would burst out of this store and block the sidewalk. No room for anyone to take a piss�.Don't worry, I'm an artist. I know what looks good."
"I'm an artist too, but I don't pee that much in public"
You laughed.
"I'm Julinda Packard," the woman who looked several years older said, shaking your hand.
"And I'm Andi Warhole," the woman who looked about your age said, using both her hands to shake your hand. "That's Andi with an I, War with a hole."
"That's not her real name," Julinda loudly whispered as she leaned in close to your ear and cupped her hand to her mouth.
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," you said. "Anyway, I'm Thea Kirshenbaum, with a Thea and a Kirshenbaum. So...you two are artists, huh? May I ask what art you ladies do?"
"Sure. I paint earth-toned paintings of TV cartoon characters from the 1960s," Julinda replied. "You know�the Sparkle Twins, Whiz Kid Weasel, G.I. Werewolf?"
"Of course I know. I used to watch them on TV as a kid."
"Great! Never underestimate the power of shared pop-cultural references."
"And what art do you do, Andi?"
"Well, right now I'm ripping off Andy Warhol's paintings," she replied. "I'm not choosy; any of his paintings will do. I Xerox them from art books and staple them, the paintings, onto blank canvas in pleasing geometric patterns. Sometimes I color them in with children's crayons. I keep hoping his organization will sue me and give me free publicity, but no luck so far. At least my teachers like my stuff. I'm a freshman at Turner School of the Arts."
"Really? I heard that's a good school."
"I'd say it is. Everyone in it loves Andy Warhol, ha ha."
"Do you love Andy Warhol?"
"I really don't give a crap about him, but he's the bigshot in the art world here, so why not exploit his name? If the guy who draws Garfield were big here, I'd call myself Guy Who Draws Garfieldhole."
You laughed again. And you bought the pedal pushers. And you invited the two women to catch your show that night at Feedback Loop, one of the East Village's oldest (founded 1984) and most nearly-respected performance venues. "You might have heard of me? Free Government Cheese?...That's my stage name, Free Government Cheese�.Anyway, this is my most prestigious gig ever. It's my first time at that club, and the first time I've been the second opening act right before the main act."
"Who's the main act?" Andi asked.
"Hackensack?"
"Well�they're popular, I'll give 'em that. No, seriously, congratulations."
"Yes, congratulations," Julinda said. "You're on your way to fame. Soon you'll be shooting out TV screens, or�"
"Or shooting out peanut butter and banana sandwiches!"
"Please don't step on my lines, dear."
When you were 10 years old in 1975, your mother took you out to dinner at Captain Clipper's Family Restaurant, an East Coast chain that had just opened its newest location at Cornfield Acres, that sprawling new shopping center outside your suburban neighborhood. You'd never been to any Captain Clipper's. Its wallpaper, vintage black-and-white drawings of clipper ships surrounded by their names (the Flying Cloud, the Smyrna, the Andrew Jackson) in 1970s spiraling-serif font, looked like homework assignments to you. The dining room's six-foot-high plastic palm trees in genuine brass spittoons looked like the six-foot-high plastic palm trees (in wicker baskets) in your pediatrician's waiting room, a fact that perturbed you for a few seconds, considering that each checkup, he would jokingly say "Time to give you a shot in the butt with my Frankenstein needle," a line you'd repeated to your classmates a few months ago, causing your teacher, that old hag, to scold you in front of everyone for saying something naughty.
You had the Junior Clippers Burger 'n' Fries Plate, the Junior Clippers butterscotch sundae, a ginger ale, and two round hypno-swirl mints. Your mother had a scoop of tuna salad on a bed of half-frozen iceberg lettuce, a typical dish grown-up women ate back then. Your waiter laid the check upside-down on the table and left. Your mother picked up the check, looked at it, laid it back upside-down, opened her purse, took out her wallet, held her wallet in her hand, dropped the wallet back into her purse, and closed her purse. When your waiter walked past your table again, she said "Stop it!" in a loud voice.
He turned to look at her. "Excuse me?" he asked. He was in his early twenties and wore a red long-sleeved shirt, black ruffled sleeve garters, black jeans, a straw boater hat, and a front-pocket nametag reading AHOY�I'M STUART.
"I said stop it!" she shouted. "You should be ashamed of yourself! What am I, a piece of meat?!"
"What are you talking about?"
"Where's your manager? That's what I'm talking about! I want to speak with your manager!"
A middle-aged man walked toward your table, dressed like Stuart but in an oversized bolo tie and no nametag. "I'm Mr. Hollis, the manager of this restaurant. Is there anything wrong, ma'am?"
"Yes, Mr. Hollis, there is. Your waiter keeps giving me peculiar looks."
"Peculiar looks?"
"You know, with big eyes. Big-eyed looks. Moving his eyes all over me. He keeps looking at me with intent beforehand." Your mother had heard the phrase "intent beforehand" on a TV cop show.
"I didn't look at her, sir," Stuart said.
"I saw him lick his lips at me, too�and in front of my ten-year-old daughter!"
"Ma'am, I never�"
"That's enough," Mr. Hollis said. "Go to my office, Stuart."
"I didn't look at her."
"Now, Stuart." Stuart left. "I apologize for any trouble you may have had during your eating experience tonight here, ma'am. You and your daughter's meals will be on the house, of course."
"Thank you, sir. One thing, though?"
"Yes?"
"Could you please not fire Stuart for this? I have no complaints about him otherwise. He's just a kid, and he hasn't learned to control his powers of sight yet."
"I'll take that under consideration, ma'am."
"Please�promise he'll remain employed here."
"I promise."
"Thank you, Mr. Hollis."
You and your mother left the restaurant. On the drive home, you in the back seat, the radio playing current hit singles you'll buy on campy CD compilations 15 years later, she said "I showed great restraint in there, Thea. I could have had him fired, but I didn't." A long pause. "I could have said he was looking at you, but then he probably would have gone to jail, and I couldn't have lived with myself for that."
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� 2005-2006 David V. Matthews