pied-à-terre

pied-à-terre

June 26, 2024

I wanted to call this the pied-à-terre, possibly my pied-à-terre, or my foot-on-the-ground, in the big city. I wanted all of this now that I actually own one.

But, I decided against all changes in nomenclature, against all changes in appearance.

Upon reading of her will, my maternal grandmother decided I required her 1 bedroom, 1 bath “quaint” as she referred to it, condo on the 4th floor of a walk up on the lower east side.

She wanted me to have a place in which I could think.

With all taxes, upkeep, and utilities paid in full for the next three years, I now enjoyed the writing splendor of the greats that lounged in Paris, London, or Berlin during the days of yore.

I was in New York, with a view, a front side coffee shop, a variety of businesses close at hand, and other rare amenities available to a young lady of my stature in close vicinity.

Essentially, I was at ground zero in the city that never sleeps, shrunk down to a wonderful 15 minute walk.

I was in Heaven.

And I got to work.

I wanted to write about my first morning.

I won the lottery

Not a financial win

Not a taxable gain

I won an extension of a life lived well

I am the recipient of all that sustains such a life

Sans a care in the world

Amidst others of a similar ilk

I reach for pen and parchment

To prove my worth

Then, I wanted to see my neighborhood in all of its glory.

A quick shower, nice jeans and a t-shirt, my hair tied in the back, my day began at the corner cafe, sipping an espresso, buttering a small portion of a large baguette. My oversized dark glasses kept those moving past at a distance.

I was on reconnaissance and wasn’t available for an interview.

Until the waitress came with my bill.

She looked as I looked. Same height, same weight. Her slender hands culminated with ivory nail polish giving that exact opal iridescence I enjoyed.

The same I sported.

I paid the bill with a 50% tip and my phone number. She took both in as she gave to me one of those all-knowing smiles rivaling a Cheshire cat and surpassing a Marilyn Monroe, sitting on the staircase, in “All About Eve”, come hither stare.

I tipped my glasses (ala Holly Golightly) and watched her walk away. She knew she was being watched. I knew she knew I was watching.

The remainder of my first day could not rival its onset.

I will call her Heidi

Not that I believe her name to be so

But because, whatever it may actually be, I hope to be wrong

Only on this singular point

She is a coquette. I am intrigued

She holds all of the cards, but I am the dealer

Her night will be spent thinking of me

My night will be spent thinking of her

May such lonely nights, only thinking, be limited in number

I returned the next morning to find her sitting where I previously sat. Today was her day off. She slowly reached for my hand and leaned in to whisper something about taking her away from her mundane existence. She wanted to see how I lived. She wanted what I wanted.

Heidi was aggressive and sincerely forward. I could not offer a reason to contradict her line of reasoning. I warned her I might be a bit too pedestrian for her expectations. She countered that I had already exceeded all of her expectations.

I did not receive a kiss from Heidi until after we finished grocery shopping.

She did not receive a kiss from me until we returned from which I emerged.

By morning, it was time to emerge again.

This time, alone.

The night was magical. The heavens aligned. I discovered why I enjoyed what I enjoyed. But only when she was present to enjoy it with me.

Heidi left a six word letter: I cannot be more to you.

I cried for the duration of the day.

Soft, ever so soft

Vocals of coos

Touches of silk

Gentle arches as if electrified

Gentle moans prior to reciprocation

Everything in whispers

Except for her goodbye

That, she screamed in silence