After the magazine party at the New York Athletic Club, Blake
Schnellenberg made small talk with a lawyer waiting in line for his coat.
"Lawyer, huh? Hope you are one of the good ones, I'm sure you are. "
Blake laughed generously.
The lawyer, who was managing partner of his firm, smiled and chatted
more with Blake and a group of others and then as Blake was leaving he offered
a card and said to Blake,
"I don't know what it is Blake, but you have a very winning quality
about you. Confident and likable." "Thanks, (looking down at the business
card) Preston... these days I will take all the compliments can get."
" I mean it, you just have this indefinable quality...a kind
soul."
"Thanks, Preston that's very kind and thoughtful...you guys have a
great rest of the evening."
Blake was a good person but that didn't count for much to the IRS, his
landlord or his ex-wife; to them he was a loser and a deadbeat. The next
morning he was walking to face his past. Past 5th Avenue handymen who were
spraying down the sidewalk in front of the gates to mansions and fancy
apartments. The wet streets could not be avoided and the water found its way
into Blake Schnellenberg's socks through the holes in his shoes. Blake thought
of the mahogany desks and Persian rugs and tumblers filled with scotch. This
was how the rich kids in high school entertained like a scene out of a Whit
Stillman movie. This was 12th grade over 35 years ago.
I need a job
I need a job
I need a job
I need a job
Being Editor in Chief of Sharkpool Magazine was just not paying the
bills. Blake walked dutifully toward the synagogue about a mile away across the
street from Central Park with screeching buses and early morning pedestrians.
I need a job
I need a job
I need a job
Maybe if he said it out loud enough on his way to the funeral service
he would have the guts to repeat it when the time was right not that there is
ever a right time.
"My father worked for your grandfather during the war selling piece
goods. What are piece goods? Bolts of fabric. My father was such a good
salesman that your grandfather had to pay him in piece goods instead of money."
This was the extent of the conversation with Blake's friend's dad.
"Oh my God" was what his other old friend from high school said with a
quick hug and then on to the other mourners.
Blake nodded to no one in particular and walked out - dreading the
Shiva the following day. Where he would reminisce on high school while eating a
pastrami sandwich at the buffet table.
I need a job
I need a job
I need a job
He couldn't ask them. He pussied out.
The conversation about yachts and luxury cars left Blake feeling
depressed.
Instead, he snuck out and retired to a nearby diner shortly thereafter.
One cup of coffee and unlimited refills. What a deal! Frank Sinatra
crooned a silky ballad that wasn't familiar but comforting nonetheless. The
joint was jumping with tots running around with little dolls and New York's
finest eating lunch among citizens on a cold, breezy-rainy afternoon. And this
was life and hope was a small seed inside of Blake as he watched the steam atop
his coffee and felt the tears roll down his face.
She says the city's strange
She says the weather's cold
Earlier that morning after pissing he felt the pull of the toilet flush
trying to pull him all the way down forever. Now, listening to Sinatra,
his mind exploded in fireworks of possibility he felt almost giddy. It was
hope. Perhaps It was a sign from a chandelier making noise in the temple from
his father and from a couple of new business leads on his phone and a couple of
small signs that all was not lost and it never truly is. Hope. Maybe becoming a
teacher is not such a bad idea. The dead man had it right. If you love
what you do, it is never work and if you are having fun the money will come.
Always be closing. Blake looked back at his life suddenly and realized it
wasn't bad at all. He had done things. Good things. Had been modestly
successful and had acted honorably and that as long as he was alive and willing
to take on new risk and challenge that he could still escape the quicksand.
Little things. They mattered. People. Relationships. Time to be proactive
Blake!
Then his iPhone pinged.
"Blake! How come you stopped answering my emails? Madone! Get yourself
out of that shit show of a magazine!!!" Wrote Mitzie Kerfuffle who had posted
on FB that [I've left Sharkpool Magazine because there was nothing there for
me]
"Blake, since my official resignation announcement I have been deluged
by people who have told me that Bob Beauregard is a snake, a crook, a liar, a
thief and a philanderer - which means he will fuck anything or anyone in a
skirt #metoo!... That fucker still owes me $3,500 for the reporter wardrobe I
purchased on his demand... I swear to god that creep smelled my hair on the
dance floor and pinched my ass or something touched my ass.. maybe it was his
trouser snake that tried to make its way up my caboose--whatever it was you can
be sure that my legal team is going to do DNA testing on the dress I was
wearing on the dance floor and if his wrinkled up worm rubbed up against my
innocent tush then there is going to be a motherfucking enormous lawsuit
against Sharkpool that is going to make Ol Bobby Boy's head spin. My goods are
meant only for my husband when I find him and not some sleazy old man who can't
keep his pecker in his pants when he sees a pretty girl on a dance floor. I'm a
lady Blake and I don't take kindly to being treated like a whore. He defiled me
Blake and I'm going to take a stand with all my sisters. Hallelujah.
Retribution will be mine!" He's going to pay for 10 new wardrobes, a new
apartment and a cool Mil for pain and suffering and he will be lucky to get off
that easy!"
Blake was about to turn off his phone ... he was tired of all the
Mitzie nonsense.
"Blake you are a thousand times better than this I pray for you. I am
so glad I quit that piece of shit Sharkpool - you need to wake the fuck
up as I did. I'm woke! So much happier but I still see that that
weasel-motherfucking piece of shit would be rapist pervert cocksucker
Montgomery is still embarrassing your so-called magazine with his douchebag
social media posts - when are you going to wake up Blake... he's bad news and
so is Sharkpool."
Blake read the text and replied.
[good luck Mitzie...wishing you every success and happiness.]
There was no need to take the bait or remind Mitzie that she was
actually fired for inappropriate behavior... she knew that - but she decided to
deal with that by re-writing the ending a little. She was a piece of work.
Blake wished her well and hoped not to keep getting any new texts or emails
from her. She was exhausting.
The guy in the next booth in the diner had an affected and exaggerated
way of speaking on the phone that was annoying and off-putting. In the past
Blake would get on his own phone and be just as loud and annoying to illustrate
how uncivil it is to speak loudly in a diner where people are drinking coffee
and trying to sort their life out and arrange their priorities. This
passive-aggressive approach was pretty childish and ineffective Blake decided
as he walked out the door of the diner... on the corner was a fruit stand.
Blake complimented the fruit stand guy on his wonderful looking bananas. The
fruit-stand owner ripped a banana (4 for a dollar) from the bunch and handed it
to Blake.
"Here you go, my friend"
"Thank you- how much do I owe you?"
"No charge my friend"
Blake nodded appreciatively. He kept walking. It was a new day and
Blake had even made a new friend.
And then Blake's iPhone pinged again.