Pulp Dreams

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Coda

»Que j‘aie réalisé tous vos souvenirs, que je sois celle qui sait vous garotter, je vous étoufferai …«

Arthur Rimbaud

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Messed Up

When the convention closed at six we took a taxi back into town and during the ride Ronnie‘s phone buzzed. God, the music in her voice. And so shy all of sudden. I‘d never have believed Ronnie could be so shy. I didn‘t dare look at no one. Staring straight ahead I reached for Keerah‘s hand and she held on tight ...

»What he say,« I asked, still staring straight ahead, when Ronnie put her phone away ...

»He‘s asking me to dinner.«

»The two of you?«

»You don‘t mind, do you?«

I flung myself at her, hugging her hard. Couldn‘t say a thing, was crying. I was in such a mess that Keerah handled business with the taxi diver ...

[pulpdreams-blog]

Merely A Miracle

Whether it was me and the abundance of my joy or merely a miracle of circumstances, I don‘t care to explain, to understand and figure it out, but I noticed a transformation in Sascha. At first he was awfully shy, overwhelmed to find himself in the company of such lovely, beautiful and graceful creatures, and all of ‘em lavishing their attention on him. Might have frightened him off, why he was so shy at first, but when he felt that our interest was genuine he relaxed and opened up ...

Oh Lord, if people were allowed only once to witness this kind of transformation in someone they‘d know and this world would be a place no one would recognize. But of course it‘s they themselves who don‘t allow for it. Nothing on their minds but to come out on top by f***ing over everybody else and showing off as the smartest of ‘em all at screwing themselves ...

When we separated hours later, Sascha to go home and us ladies to go to the convention, he and Ronnie exchanged numbers and addresses, and for the rest of the day Ronnie was awfully quiet. Keerah and me exchanged glances and smiles and waited ...  

[pulpdreams-blog]

Executed

Ronnie and Keerah were fast asleep and the hotel‘s bar and restaurant hadn‘t opened yet so I asked Sascha to take me someplace where we could have breakfast. It was close by so we walked ...

I left a message at the front desk for Ronnie and Keerah to call me. Over bowels of freshly pressed grapefruit juice Sascha and me got lost in reminiscing. When Ronnie called Sascha and me returned to the hotel where Ronnie and Keerah joined us in the breakfast room. The two girls fresh from sleep and a shower, smelling wonderful, looking ravishing ...

Me, I may not have looked and smelled quite as fresh as my two darling girls but on that morning I was at peace with the world, living and dead. For the first time in all my life I didn‘t feel like excluding and executing like 99,999999 per cent of its populace. On that morning I‘d have been content with 97 per cent ...  

[pulpdreams-blog]

Sound

I told Mr. Taxi Driver about our first encounter years ago. About the man in hat and trench all buttoned up. Mr. Shy Customer who asked for a bit of tenderness if I didn‘t mind. At first Mr. Taxi Driver stared, then a smile slowly spread across his face and it grew brighter and brighter as he shook his head in disbelief. He recalled that night alright, and apparently he even recalled, if dimly, my piece of meat ...

His eyes going up and down and all around me, kind of: »You sure found a way to make something of yourself …«

I may have said it before, it‘s not what people say but how they say it, it‘s the tone of voice that tells you what they mean and how they mean it. He might very well have spoken in a language I‘d never heard before ...

»I mean ... I didn‘t mean to say that you weren‘t …«

I had to laugh: »That‘s alright. You still haven‘t told me your name …«

[pulpdreams-blog]

Shy

Mr. Taxi Driver was beside himself. Apart from the fact that somebody had bothered to help him it was the performance itself which apparently topped everything he‘d ever seen in the movies or on stage ...

Yes, he mentioned the stage. Might be a surprise to people, considering he was just some taxi driver, right? Well, I could see he wasn‘t just some taxi driver, and it wasn‘t the first time I had the opportunity to notice. He was the one I‘d asked years ago if he could pick me up after work to drive me home and who‘s phone was off when I called him ... 

It had been late in the morning and he was home and in bed by then. Hadn‘t really believed I‘d call. New Year‘s Eve is a tough night for taxi drivers, too. We have a lot in common. All of us service personnel ...

Mr. Taxi Driver beside himself but also very shy about it. Wanted to show his gratitude but afraid he‘d be a nuisance. Yet unwilling to just give up and go home or back to work or wherever. It was his shyness which made me seriously like him ... 

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Foolproof

To have this miserable turd call me whatever really got me going. Without much figuring out what I was doing I made use of each and every argument on Mr. Turd‘s debasement to deliver my own brand-new version of the evenings‘ events. I been there from the beginnning, I seen it all ...

When I was finished a deep silence pervaded the room. Mr. Taxi Driver stared at me in awe and amazement. He been there from the beginning himself and he sure hadn‘t done nothing wrong but he didn‘t recall much of what I seen happening or at least was reporting to have seen ...

Me, I know how to hold and behave myself. My posture, my composure, my manners and my appearance, the style of my rags, my hair and make-up, it all served at least as much as the staggering mechanism of logic displayed in my arguments to convince everybody present of my version of things, except of course Ms. Ingenuity and Mr. Turd ... 

The other cops had returned with Ms. Ingenuity from the adjoining office and she was very meek. Didn‘t look up once and only talked when asked. I made sure that the report on my and the taxi driver‘s version was foolproof before the two of us left the precinct ... 

[pulpdreams-blog]

Poor

The taxi driver looked up at Mr. Tiler and pursed his lips as if wondering whether this dude was real. He didn‘t seem to come to any conclusion so Mr. Tiler hitched his pants and took his seat again ...

The young cop behind the desk looked like he was about to yell for somebody to come help him, save him, whatever, just don‘t leave him alone in this here mess ...

Mr. Tiler had a smug grin on his face. I slowly rose to my feet. Balancing effortlessly on my outrageously elegant high heels I took up position in front of Mr. Tiler the way he done with the taxi driver, except the height I was looking down from was way higher than Mr. Tiler had or would ever be in his entire life. In a calm and most casual voice I let my words drop from my luscious glam-bam lips ...

Beginning with his education. Quit school? Grammar school, couldn‘t do better? Quit or kicked out? Dismantling him piece by piece in the voice of a school teacher disappointed by his poor performance ...  

He didn‘t hold up long under my cool and distant gaze. Hiding his ugly face somewhere above his protruding stomach he kept calling me bitch, bitch and cunt under his breath. The young cop had reached for the bell to call for help but his fingers hovered and trembled in the air. Too fascinated with the performance he was witnessing ...

[pulpdreams-blog]

Ingenuity

Ronnie and Keerah returned to the hotel and I got in a squad car. The officers on duty at the precinct tried to piece the disarray of information offered into a picture which might make sense in some way. The reason why they bothered, had to, really, was the woman had all of a sudden hit upon the idea of accusing the taxi driver that he‘d tried to rape her. Not merely molested, no, rape. She got so carried away with her own ingenuity that she became quite graphic in her descriptions of what had gone on before she‘d managed to get out of the taxi ...

The officers took the woman to a separate room and the rest of us were waiting under the nervous eyes of one very young cop, barely out of grammar school from the looks of him. Way too young to intimidate the woman‘s whatever-you‘d-care-to-call-him and keep him under control ...

He was watching the taxi driver out the corner of his eyes. Then slowly he rose to his feet and stood in front of the taxi driver. In a very quiet and low voice he informed the taxi driver that he himself was the woman‘s partner for life, his words, and that he intended to protect his woman with all means at his disposal. Legal and, if necessary, not quite legal ...

He went on to offer information on his background. Said he was a tiler, been so since quitting school. He knew how to use his hands. Said he could list the names of people who‘d found out the hard way. So if the taxi driver wanted to join that list, he said with a thin smile, just keep going that way ...  

[pulpdreams-blog]

Interference

Ronnie had come back and tried to drag me away from the scene. I told her about the taxi driver. Seen him before, years and years ago. With no idea what I was gonna do I joined the group of quarreling and yelling people ...

It may have been that I was the only person present not yelling, shouting and out of her mind which made one of the cops take notice of me. Taking me aside he asked if I been a witness to what it was all about ... 

I‘d caught fragments of accusations flung at the taxi driver who stood there with his arms crossed and didn‘t say nothing no more, waiting for the officers to take the matter in hand. On the spur of the moment I spun my own version of things I seen. The officer got all confused and befuddled so they called for support and told us all to get in their cars ...

[pulpdreams-blog]

Splash

Part of our business is to visit fairs and fashion shows where we order the merchandise for the coming season. So once or twice a year we're in Munich for the Modewochen. The first year after opening shop, for old time‘s sake and to visit friends, Ronnie went along ...

The way it is with miracles, once they found the kind of soil to grow, prosper and flourish they dig in, grow roots and proliferate. The three of us were staying at a hotel downtown that‘s known for its tasteful decor and concern for natural resources ...

On our first evening in town we had dinner at a restaurant within walking distance. Was a pleasant evening and we stayed long. On our way back to the hotel we heard yelling from a sidestreet. Turning the corner we saw a taxi parked in second row, both front doors open. The driver stood in the middle of the street with his arms crossed over his chest ...

The car‘s headlights were on and in the headlight‘s glare a woman was squatting in the street with her skirt raised, a steady stream splashing on the tarmac between her legs ...   

People were leaning out the windows, laughing, hooting and commenting. Then a squad car turned the corner with blue lights flashing. It stopped behind the taxi and two cops got out. Both of them swaggering as they approached the taxi driver: »What‘s going on here? You‘re blocking traffic …«

They noticed the woman who was still squatting, the water still splashing in a steady stream. The two cops gaped, blinked at each other and gaped some more. People leaning out the windows began jeering and remarking on what to do with guns and pistols ... 

Ronnie had walked on and Keerah was waiting for me to join her. Me, I was staring at the taxi driver. Didn‘t hear what he was telling the cops. The woman had finished her business and joined them, trying to get the cops to listen to her version of the evening. One of the cops took her aside and made her shut up while the other one kept listening to what the taxi driver was saying ... 

It might have been over in a few minutes but then the woman‘s husband or partner or whatever came out of the building where the taxi was parked. Huffing and puffing and eager to show the world who they were dealing with. No one to mess with, bub, never mind your fancy uniforms and guns ...

[pulpdreams-blog]

Ode To Joy

Keerah and me opened shop at that very place on the coast of the Bretagne, a small town the name of which I won‘t disclose because we don‘t need no crowds rushing in. We don‘t need no fame, success and wealth. Certainly we don‘t intend to build a chain, later on to expand to an empire. We ain‘t interested in no sucker games ... 

Keerah and me are happy to have each other and to be able to enjoy each other's company without anyone interfering in ways we can‘t handle ourselves. And in Ronnie we even have a friend who enjoys sharing our happiness ...

What Ronnie‘s made me aware of is once you stop cheating, scheming and lying, trying to f*** people over to get what you want, all kinds of things start happening which common sense minded people call miracles simply because they don‘t believe anything like it‘s ever gonna happen for real in this here world ...

Certainly not so long as you sit around and wait for it to come and introduce itself, telling you what to do. You gotta get going and make things happen. They may not look like miracles when you start out but once you get going you may learn differently. Matter of perspective. To find out you gotta get moving ...

For Keerah and me our mutual joy is the sun we live by and feed on to grow and flourish. Expanding and enhancing what we been given. The more we can give each other the richer our joy and happiness, multiplying itself by all those who may want to share it ...

[pulpdreams-blog]

Proof

The time had come for me to do something and to put the money saved to some use which would make more sense than growing interest. Apparently I wasn‘t the only one aware of that. Ronnie went to a lot of trouble to help me get started ...  

My sense of style and class was what had caught her eye the first times she saw me in the company of Henri. And the way she told it, what had sparked his interest was when he became aware of how natural it came to me to give things something which made them special and beautiful, however modest my means were ... 

On her last evening with us on the coast of the Bretagne Ronnie suggested why not open a shop. And she laid it all out for me. How much money I‘d need, whom I might win as sponsors, what qualifications I‘d need in case I wanted to do it on my own. And a long list of people for contacts and references ...   

And never no concern how she herself might profit from what she made happen for Keerah and me. The only profit may be that she enjoys seeing the two of us happy. So maybe the two of us are the proof she‘s needed to keep her pulp dreams alive ...

[pulpdreams-blog]

Precious

Ronnie had intended to stay for a few days but it was two weeks before she returned to Barcelona. From what I later learned she met many people to find ways to get me started on a new and different track ...

She‘d taken Keerah and me on a trip to Paris. Presumably she had business to see to but it didn‘t take long and for the rest of those days she showed us around. She knew I like clothes, shoes, perfume, just about anything with style and class. And me, I enjoyed sharing it with Keerah, introducing her to a world I‘d never gotten involved myself because for one I couldn‘t really afford it, and second, trying to go unnoticed I lacked opportunities to wear, use and enjoy the kind of high class stuff I like ...        

Most of the money I made I put aside for later on when I‘d have to figure out what else to do with my life. Occasionally I do wonder how long it would‘ve taken me had I not been jarred awake by Keerah. Seeing her at the dressing table in my dressing room was the shock treatment I needed. No one but precious Keerah could have made it happen ...

[pulpdreams-blog]

Pulp Dreams

»What we see in another person has not much to do with that person,« Ronnie had said and I was wondering: »How about Henri? He‘s meant a lot to you and he still does, and it‘s got a lot to do with who he was, don‘t you think?« She didn‘t answer, so maybe she hadn‘t figured it out yet for herself ... 

»By refusing his love that girl has proven herself unworthy of whatever he‘s seen in her. She might have taken him up on the promises he saw impersonated by her. See if she was up to it, to make it happen for him. She simply wasn‘t worth it. No need for me to meet her to know that. And it‘s all I care to know about her, or about anyone else for that matter …

It‘s never about the person that‘s adored by someone but about the person who becomes aware of those promises in a person. Most people, when they talk of love they're making demands. Telling you they might love you if you agree to sacrifice everything you are and what you have to their whims but first, of course, you have to deliver. No one's so stupid to do anything for free ...

To me that's not love. I've always imagined love as an act of giving, with no regard of what you may get in return. Love is about what you‘re willing to sacrifice yourself for whatever promises you see impersonated in a person. No haggling, dealing and negotiating. But I guess that‘s all fairy tales and pulp dreams ...«

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Worthy

Ronnie had come as a friend, not as my manager, mentor or whatever. The three of us went for long walks along the beaches and among the dunes. Was Henri who‘d brought the change about in her. The pain over his loss had cracked her armor. And she wanted to hand on to me what she been allowed to learn from it, from her own mistakes and from the pain she‘d brought down on herself by being too tough for too long. ...

»That girl who broke his heart, have you ever met her?«

»Heavens no, I wouldn‘t dream of it. I‘m sure she‘s nothing remarkable. No one I‘d have noticed when passing her on the street. It‘s not the woman who makes it happen when a man‘s heart is broken. What we see in another person has not much to do with that person. I doubt there is anything we might refer to as the real self of any person ...«

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The Two Of Us

For the sake of Keerah I had to do something about the mess I‘d made of my life. And things started happening, falling into place as if they been waiting for me to wake up and take action. A social worker came by who suggested I apply for rehab. Keerah and me didn‘t like the pictures nor the brochures he left with me and most of all I disliked the idea of hanging around people who spent their days doing things they‘re being told to do. So Keerah and me found us a place to our liking. Meant I had to pay for it myself but leastways we got what we wanted ...

Two rooms under the roof of a house on the coast of the Bretagne, the windows looking out on the Atlantic, the surf roaring day in and day out. And guess who called on us there? Early one morning there was a knock on our door and in walked Ronnie. One look at Keerah and Ronnie walked over and embraced her with a warmth I had never witnessed in her before ...

She‘d come to talk about what I was going to do with myself, correcting herself to say, the two of you ...