{"id":777,"date":"2024-02-06T21:22:32","date_gmt":"2024-02-07T03:22:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/?post_type=product&#038;p=777"},"modified":"2025-09-05T12:55:34","modified_gmt":"2025-09-05T17:55:34","slug":"port-authority-orchids","status":"publish","type":"product","link":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/product\/port-authority-orchids","title":{"rendered":"Port Authority Orchids"},"content":{"rendered":"<h3>by\u00a0Stephanie Dickinson<\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<style>\r\n\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t#tab_container_776 {\r\n\toverflow:hidden;\r\n\tdisplay:block;\r\n\twidth:100%;\r\n\tborder:0px solid #ddd;\r\n\tmargin-bottom:30px;\r\n\t}\r\n\r\n#tab_container_776 .tab-content{\r\n\tpadding:20px;\r\n\tborder: 1px solid #e6e2cc !important;\r\n\tmargin-top: 0px;\r\n\tbackground-color:#fffbe5 !important;\r\n\tcolor: #000000 !important;\r\n\tfont-size:16px !important;\r\n\tfont-family: Open Sans !important;\r\n\t\r\n\t\tborder: 1px solid #e6e2cc !important;\r\n\t}\r\n#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs {\r\n    border-bottom: 0px solid #ddd;\r\n}\r\n#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li.active > a, #tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li.active > a:hover, #tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li.active > a:focus {\r\n\tcolor: #000000 !important;\r\n\tcursor: default;\r\n\tbackground-color: #fffbe5 !important;\r\n\tborder: 1px solid #e6e2cc !important;\r\n}\r\n\r\n#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li > a {\r\n    margin-right: 0px !important; \r\n    line-height: 1.42857143 !important;\r\n    border: 1px solid #ece8d2 !important;\r\n    border-radius: 0px 0px 0 0 !important; \r\n\tbackground-color: #fffbe5 !important;\r\n\tcolor: #000000 !important;\r\n\tpadding: 15px 18px 15px 18px !important;\r\n\ttext-decoration: none !important;\r\n\tfont-size: 14px !important;\r\n\ttext-align:center !important;\r\n\tfont-family: Open Sans !important;\r\n}\r\n#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li > a:focus {\r\noutline: 0px !important;\r\n}\r\n\r\n#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li > a:before {\r\n\tdisplay:none !important;\r\n}\r\n#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li > a:after {\r\n\tdisplay:none !important ;\r\n}\r\n#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li{\r\npadding:0px !important ;\r\nmargin:0px;\r\n}\r\n\r\n#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li > a:hover , #tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li > a:focus {\r\n    color: #000000 !important;\r\n    background-color: #fffbe5 !important;\r\n\tborder: 1px solid #ece8d2 !important;\r\n\t\r\n}\r\n#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li > a .fa{\r\n\r\nmargin-right:5px !important;\r\n\r\nmargin-left:5px !important;\r\n\r\n\r\n}\r\n\r\n\t\t#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs a{\r\n\t\t\tbackground-image: none;\r\n\t\t\tbackground-position: 0 0;\r\n\t\t\tbackground-repeat: repeat-x;\r\n\t\t}\r\n\t\t\t\r\n\r\n\r\n#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li {\r\n    float: left;\r\n    margin-bottom: -1px !important;\r\n\tmargin-right:0px !important; \r\n}\r\n\r\n\r\n#tab_container_776 .tab-content{\r\noverflow:hidden !important;\r\n}\r\n\r\n\r\n@media (min-width: 769px) {\r\n\r\n\t#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li{\r\n\t\tfloat:left !important ;\r\n\t\t\t\tmargin-right:-1px !important;\r\n\t\t\t\t\t}\r\n\t#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs{\r\n\t\tfloat:none !important;\r\n\t\tmargin:0px !important;\r\n\t}\r\n\r\n\t#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li {\r\n\t\t\t\t\r\n\t}\r\n\t#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav{\r\n\t\t\t}\r\n\r\n}\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n@media (max-width: 768px) {\r\n\t#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li {\r\n\t\t\t\t\r\n\t}\r\n\t#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav{\r\n\t\t\t}\r\n}\r\n\r\n\r\n\t.wpsm_nav-tabs li:before{\r\n\t\tdisplay:none !important;\r\n\t}\r\n\r\n\t@media (max-width: 768px) {\r\n\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t.wpsm_nav-tabs{\r\n\t\t\tmargin-left:0px !important;\r\n\t\t\tmargin-right:0px !important; \r\n\t\t\t\r\n\t\t}\r\n\t\t\t\t#tab_container_776 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li{\r\n\t\t\tfloat:none !important;\r\n\t\t}\r\n\t\t\t\r\n\t}\t\t\t\t<\/style>\r\n\t\t\t\t<div id=\"tab_container_776\" >\r\n\t \r\n\t\t\t\t\t<ul class=\"wpsm_nav wpsm_nav-tabs\" role=\"tablist\" id=\"myTab_776\">\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<li role=\"presentation\"  class=\"active\"  onclick=\"do_resize()\">\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<a href=\"#tabs_desc_776_1\" aria-controls=\"tabs_desc_776_1\" role=\"tab\" data-toggle=\"tab\">\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<span>Overview<\/span>\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/a>\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/li>\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<li role=\"presentation\"  onclick=\"do_resize()\">\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<a href=\"#tabs_desc_776_2\" aria-controls=\"tabs_desc_776_2\" role=\"tab\" data-toggle=\"tab\">\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<span>Excerpts<\/span>\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/a>\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/li>\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t <\/ul>\r\n\r\n\t\t\t\t\t  <!-- Tab panes -->\r\n\t\t\t\t\t  <div class=\"tab-content\" id=\"tab-content_776\">\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t <div role=\"tabpanel\" class=\"tab-pane  in active \" id=\"tabs_desc_776_1\">\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<p class=\"sm_text\" style=\"text-align: left\">This enigmatic classic by Stephanie Dickinson, follows thirteen-year-old prodigy Dalloway as she spends Easter vacation with her father and grandmother in Manhattan.\u00a0Both father and grandmother constantly hog the spotlight, leaving Dalloway feeling largely invisible. (Those familiar with her namesake from Virginia Woolf\u2019s novel may remember that Clarissa Dalloway, too, \u201chad the oddest sense of herself being invisible\u201d). Dalloway also has a preoccupation with hybrid animals and likens her family to them (her transgendered father being a cross between male and female; and her grandmother, having just undergone cosmetic surgery, being a cross between young and old). As Dalloway soon learns, she is consubstantial with her father and grandmother. She is nothing but a domesticated hybrid in the wilderness that is New York City. Just as the protected existence of Woolf\u2019s Clarissa Dalloway had left her ignorant of the experience of the lower classes, so too is the Dalloway of this story ignorant of life outside her bubble. Bolstering this offbeat cautionary tale throughout is its gimlet humor. Dickinson also limns so well the frightening and majestic backdrop of New York, the \u201csexiest address in the world.\u201d Thanks to Dickinson\u2019s mesmerizing narrative, it\u2019s easy for the reader to get lost in the city, even if just on the page.<\/p>\r\n<p style=\"text-align: right\">\u2014Matthew Limpede, editor,<em>\u00a0Carve<\/em><\/p>\r\n<p class=\"sm_text\" style=\"text-align: left\"><em>Port Authority Orchids<\/em> is a coming-of-age narrative that is by turns humorous, quirky, and tragic.\u00a0 Stephanie Dickinson offers the reader New York as seen by Dalloway, a precocious and idealistic teenage girl with a fractured, eccentric family in constant metamorphosis. Dickinson's eye for detail and narrative style entice the reader to sit up, look and listen for the next beautifully crazy scene. \u00a0One of the many characters that stands out is the brazen, redwoodesque Great Aunt Dorna of \"Sonic Ear,\" an elderly version of Astrid Lindgren's ultrafeminist Pippi Longstocking with an endless supply not of golden coins from a treasure chest, but of expensive sets of flatware and tableware that she offers, piece by piece, as currency. Dorna is the adult role model Dalloway deserves; together, they take on all those who would usurp or brutalize women on the streets. I am thrilled to see this collection of stories together at last.<\/p>\r\n<p style=\"text-align: right\">\u2014Bonnie Ditlevsen, editor,\u00a0<em>Penduline<\/em><\/p>\r\n<p style=\"text-align: left\"><img fetchpriority=\"high\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-708\" src=\"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/07\/Stephanie-Dickinson-headshot.jpg\" alt=\"Stephanie Dickinson\" width=\"200\" height=\"250\" \/><strong>Stephanie Dickinson<\/strong> raised on an Iowa farm, has lived in Oregon, Texas, Louisiana and now New York City, a state unto itself. Her novel\u00a0<em>Half Girl<\/em>\u00a0is published by\u00a0<a href=\"http:\/\/www.spuytenduyvil.net\/\" target=\"_new\">Spuyten Duyvil<\/a>\u00a0as well as the novella\u00a0<em>Lust Series<\/em>. Her work has appeared in many journals most recently<em>\u00a0Fjords, Nimrod, Hotel Amerika, Weber Studies, Tusculum Review, Lit n Image, and WIP Works In Progress<\/em>. Her story \u201cA Lynching in Stereoscope\u201d was reprinted in\u00a0<em>Best American Nonrequired Reading<\/em>\u00a0and \u201cDalloway and Lucky Seven\u201d and \u201cLove City\u201d in\u00a0<em>New Stories from the South<\/em>. She is the winner of\u00a0<em>New Delta Review\u2019s<\/em>\u00a02011 Matt Clark Fiction prize judged by Susan Straight, and a finalist in the 2012 Starcerone Book Prize for Innovative Fiction. <em>Heat:<\/em>\u00a0<em>An Interview with Jean Seberg<\/em>\u00a0will be published by\u00a0<em>New Michigan Press<\/em>\u00a0in its 2013 chapbook series. Along with Rob Cook she edits\u00a0<a href=\"http:\/\/skidrowpenthouse.com\/\" target=\"_new\">Skidrow Penthouse<\/a>.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t <\/div>\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t <div role=\"tabpanel\" class=\"tab-pane \" id=\"tabs_desc_776_2\">\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<P><strong>Sonic Ear<\/strong><\/P>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u00a0It was the summer we tried to save lost girls from their fates. It was the summer my mother remarried and left on a long honeymoon. My best friend sent one postcard from Russia. June melted into July. I\u2019d been dumped at Great Aunt Dorna\u2019s. \u201cYou\u2019ll have fun. Girlfriends together,\u201d Mummy said, depositing me into a cab.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">I wasn\u2019t looking for a friend. Not one sixty-nine years old, not one six feet tall, but I had no choice. I was Dalloway, a fourteen-year-old with a bad attitude, and Mummy\u2019s new husband, who happened to be the most treacherous man in New York City, had stolen her. My aunt (who insisted on being called Dorna) and I spent time with our binoculars on the roof. The only person who sometimes bothered us was the Albanian concierge who materialized like the Grand Canyon, thick forearms popping from his white shirt sleeves that cuffed at the elbows. \u201cVladis looks out for me,\u201d my aunt liked to say. Every other week she tipped him with a piece of sterling silver flatware. Dorna, the road warrior who\u2019d driven across the country in a Triumph while women her age were mixing Manhattans for the cocktail hour and crossing their garter-belted legs, now needed some looking out for.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">I was half in, half out of the shower. I\u2019d drawn the face of Mummy\u2019s husband in the fogged-up mirror and then sprayed Windex into his mouth. There was a knock on the bathroom door.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cDalloway, would you like to eat supper on the roof?\u201d my aunt asked.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">I jumped into jeans cutoffs and a Save-the-Chimps tee-shirt, and then I wiped the lenses of my Duane Reade reading glasses. \u201cSure, Dorna,\u201d I said, running a comb through my wet, dirty blond boy-hair.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cWe have work to do,\u201d she said in a low voice. \u201cI\u2019ll carry our equipment up.\u201d I heard the intercom buzzer and Vladis\u2019s bark, \u201cFood guy\u2019s here!\u201d He announced the Jukebox Caf\u00e9 delivery boy.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">I tiptoed out. Dorna stood by the intercom, two pairs of binoculars roped around her neck, a backpack slung from her shoulder. \u201cDalloway, pack the silver and plates and I\u2019ll meet you up on the roof,\u201d she commanded in her soft tone, her turquoise eyes aglow as if witnessing a radiation release only they could see.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cAye, aye,\u201d I answered, saluting.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cAt ease, Dalloway!\u201d With that Dorna marched into the hall wearing her favorite piece of apparel, a too-tight aqua dress which bore the mark of her hand on the right hip, the waist cinched with a purple belt. Her body smelled peculiarly of wood chips. A six-feet-tall woman, my aunt towered over her neighbors like a nervous California redwood with a mole on her cheek. In fact, there were soft moles scattered over her forehead and chin. If she could blend into the forest, I could pass for the twig. She had eloped as a teen to San Francisco (Frisco, she called it) with Harmon, an older Kodak salesman. After he died she ferried herself back east in a convertible followed by two Mayflower moving vans. Blue-green must be the color Dorna was wearing the last time she saw her husband. Her closets were stuffed with blue-green water glasses and lemonade pitchers and armloads of blue-green dresses. Harmon must have told her the dress brought out the color of her eyes. Those pools of turquoise algae. The flying apart of sunlight entering water. It was my aunt\u2019s one feature you could call beautiful<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">I shuffled into the townhouse kitchen. Mummy must never have come inside when she picked Dorna up for lunch. She\u2019d never mentioned the trails between the six-foot-tall stacked boxes that gave me an underwater feeling like swimming in the deep end. The a\/c couldn\u2019t penetrate the maze. It was stuffy even when you watched a movie from Dorna\u2019s heart-shaped bed, the air catching in the curtains like a sob. My aunt made it her business to keep outsiders away. They wouldn\u2019t understand about her crates of cracked eight-sided plates. Her dust-covered Victorian champagne flutes or ruby port glasses. I didn\u2019t at first. She and her dead husband never had children; instead she gave birth to tableware.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">I packed plates (hand painted with blue English cows and thatched roofs), setting them into the wicker basket and tossing in forks and knives. Dorna had traveled to London once to buy a Victorian silver service for 1,500 guests. \u201cIt\u2019ll be yours someday, Dalloway, my great aunt had announced. \u201cI can hardly wait,\u201d I\u2019d muttered to the ceiling. But since she\u2019d told me of my inheritance I found myself searching out the pickle spoons and bread forks, the grape shears and cantaloupe scoops. My favorite\u2014the crumb scoop.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">When I headed for the door I saw that an envelope had been slipped under it. In bold block letters PRIVATE CONFIDENTAL was printed. Immediately I opened it.<\/p>\r\n\r\n<blockquote>\r\n<blockquote>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Your neighbor Mick Rooper is born trouble maker. Spent half his life in jail. He promise 20 year girl she model for cover of romance novel. When she got to his studio he take pictures of her and force her to do sex act. He spend time in prison for luring girls. Drugging and videotaping them. If they perform porno he\u2019d introduce them to high-powered entertainment people. Prison release him 1 year ago.<\/p>\r\n<\/blockquote>\r\n<\/blockquote>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">I tucked the envelope in my pocket and started to laugh. Not the Mick Rooper who lived with his fianc\u00e9 directly below us. He was a middle-aged baldy who hauled his bike up and down the fire stairs for exercise. When he decorated himself in his photography equipment he took the elevator. Right, that guy\u2019s a pornographer. Who else but Vladis could have penned that? It sounded just like him.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Still chuckling I climbed the hot stairs to the roof. The air was cooler. Dorna had already set up our lawn chairs and takeout bags. Although all my adult relatives were flaky, my aunt was the whole pie crust. Binoculars raised, she leaned out over the edge of the roof. A perfect view of the river prostitutes. The Navy was in and everywhere the sailors swarmed drunkenly in their too-white uniforms and jaunty hats, cruising the orchid whores. The dusk was a poisonous sex flower.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">My aunt wanted to protect young women and hinted that a man in her distant past, someone she\u2019d trusted as a child, did something he shouldn\u2019t have. She followed the hookers\u2019 doings, especially one girl who resembled Orphan Annie with a halo of blond curls and the body of a fish skeleton clothed in see-through lingerie. That summer the same ones seemed to congregate near the railroad tunnel and empty parking lots, the gates wearing necklaces of razor wire. They gathered along the docks. In the past when we\u2019d seen some girl being abused we called 911. Often Dorna and I walked to 11th Avenue over the bridge of dog turds. No one curbed after 10th Avenue and the train bridge was a minefield of turds. But we\u2019d never approached a girl.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cServe the veggie burgers, Dalloway. I think I\u2019m about to see action.\u201d Her aqua eyes brightened. Like they\u2019d been tainted with luminal and everywhere she looked she saw glowing spots of forgotten blood. I could see a lost child in her eyes.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">After I set out our burgers I unfurled cloth napkins. Then Dorna handed me my binoculars. On the rooftop across the air shaft two ultra tan men stirred their charcoal briquettes. My aunt was allergic to barbeques; the smoke in which dead flesh smoldered upset her stomach. \u201cIt\u2019s lamb chops they\u2019re sacrificing over there,\u201d she announced. Once in Chinatown my aunt and I witnessed a chicken\u2019s execution, all flurry of flying feathers and spout of blood in the shape of a celery stalk. I\u2019d covered my mouth, trying not to gag. My aunt fainted.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">I ate my veggie burger as the greasy smoke entered my nostrils. I imagined curling up next to the lamb in cedar chips. Our Diet Cokes we drank from rummers. Victorian rum tumblers. Afterwards I lassoed binoculars over my head and joined my aunt on the parapet. In a vacant lot below near the wharf I watched the large girl in an off-the-shoulder orange bodice. The girl was broad shouldered like Dorna.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cDalloway, guess what came yesterday?\u201d My aunt unzipped her backpack and lifted the new purchase. \u201cDo you want to take the Sonic Ear for a test drive? It\u2019s high-end surveillance equipment. The FBI uses these. We can hear everything within a three-mile radius that includes the side sounds. Dogs barking, sirens, horns. If anyone tries to hurt these gals we\u2019ll know.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">The Sonic Ear was a miniature satellite dish on a ping-pong paddle, all done in black and silver mesh, ear phones plugged into the dish. I was thrilled. I put on the ear phones, held the binoculars in one hand, the Sonic Ear in the other. I aimed the dish at the tranny in the orange dress on the docks. He was talking to the fishbone Orphan Annie. The waif. \u201cYes, they\u2019re Babe slingbacks, size 11. My feet are cramped.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">I felt pity for his feet and pointed the Sonic Ear at them. Two beagles crossed paths. I could hear them cut the air with glass barks. Then the tranny\u2019s voice. \u201cI found a great shoe place in the Meatpacking District. There\u2019s a special shop in a penthouse. The doors stay locked. You need a code to get in.\u201d The waif in pink camisole moved her lips. The beagles kept barking. A yellow cab honked. I pointed the dish towards her mouth.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\"You have a runner in your stocking,\" the waif said in a belligerent voice. \u201cYour shoes are pathetic. I bought mine at Payless and yours look just as trashy.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\"You\u2019re jealous!\u201d the tranny huffed. \u201cYou promised to be nice. The dress will fit me once I start having surgery.\"<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cYou're not size three,\u201d the waif accused. \u201cThe dress doesn't fit you.\"<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cI\u2019d rather be thick than a boneless chicken breast like you.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">My aunt nudged me and I handed over the Sonic Ear. I strolled to the other side of the roof and looked toward midtown. The Empire State Building not yet lit red white and blue like a Bombpop Popsicle, basked in the late afternoon sun. Aunt Dorna pointed the Sonic Ear towards the Hudson River.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cThe fleet\u2019s in. In the Park N Shop across the street prostitutes are negotiating price. Most are asking for twenty-five dollars,\u201d she said, excitedly. \u201cHow can we stop it?\u201d She was panning the battleship cruisers. \"I see our hooker! There she is. Oh, no. What is she up to?\u201d Pushing the plastic disc farther out over the side of the roof, my aunt balanced her trunk on the parapet.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Into the path of my binoculars teetered Orphan Annie in champagne flute high heels. She hobbled toward a car parked in a vacant lot. After exchanging words with the driver the waif was shaking her head. About to walk away, her hand trailed over the hood of the car.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cDalloway,\u201d my aunt\u2019s voice burst out. \u201cI can hear the fire truck at the Lincoln Tunnel. Now those men in the car. They want her for a group rate. Forty bucks.\"<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">I watched the driver get out of the car and try to pull the girl in. He raised his hand and smacked her. Another man got out of the car. I could almost smell his lean gristle, his muscle like threaded pipe. Acrid and unpleasant like melting plastic. He reached under the back seat and pulled something out. A tire jack. The tranny kicked off a shoe, picked it up as a weapon and charged the tire jack man. The tire jack man ripped the spaghetti straps and pulled the unsightly orange dress to the tranny\u2019s waist. The tranny was running away, carrying a high heel in each hand. The men pushed the waif against the car.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\"One of them has a tire iron in his hand. I think they're going to kill her. Call 911. The car door is flying open and the man in back jumped out. They\u2019re pulling the waif into the car.\u201d My aunt\u2019s voice went high. \u201cHuh? There\u2019s our neighbor down there with his camera. He\u2019s taking pictures. There\u2019s Mick Rooper. What\u2019s he doing?\u201d Dorna exclaimed. \u201cLet\u2019s go! We have to save her. I want to grind that man\u2019s genitals to sawdust.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cMick Rooper?\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cNo the man from the car.\u201d She set down the Sonic Ear. \u201cLet\u2019s go.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p align=\"justify\"><\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">The car was gone and the waif sprawled on the sidewalk. Dorna rushed toward her. \u201cWe\u2019ve seen everything. We called the police.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d The waif was groping for her bag with one hand; the other rubbed her head, a trickle of red streaking her forehead. A Latina prostitute knelt and handed her a cigarette. The Latina wore a string bikini under a gold windbreaker, her eyes dark and angry as the coffee swill in the Kraft Diner. A sailor waited for her at the curb. Another prostitute was crossing the street.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cLet us help you,\u201d my aunt cried.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">The waif scowled at me. \u201cGet the do-gooding old lady out of here.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Dorna let out a long sigh. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to do this. There are shelters. I have cards right here.\u201d She fumbled one from her pocket.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">An older girl headed for the docks trailed by two sailors. A black prostitute with gold hair caught up with them. Her hoop earrings were big enough to be bracelets. They followed the murkiness of the river. The deadness where fish couldn\u2019t breathe. They were girls from somewhere else. Jersey City and Newark, the land of dollar store perfume and wickless scented candles. The girls along the river were of flawed beauty, specialty mollomars and apricot jams that ended up in Jack\u2019s 99cent Store, backward glancing girls too unstable to work at Nails Nails Nails or Costco. Arrayed in ringlets of broken glass they swam in the river of love. It was their stab at glamour\u2014the bites, bruises and rips, arrests and assaults.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cGet your ass out of here, old lady!\u201d the waif ordered. \u201cYou\u2019ll draw the police.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cHey, she was trying to help you,\u201d I said. .<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cYou too little bitch. Evaporate.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cI\u2019ll help you,\u201d my aunt pleaded. \u201cYou can come live with Dalloway and me.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">The waif let out a shrill cry that turned to laughter. \u201cYeah, right.\u201d She struggled up to her feet and tottered off into the sunset. An overheated sky, bruise-colored, purple and yellow shot through with red.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Dorna wanted to say a prayer for the girls. We walked to the Roman Catholic Croatian Church, a bulky fortress on 41st Street surrounded by burnt-out buildings and tunnel entrances. The black and red Croat flag hung from a pole. There were bars over every window and the doors had no handles on the outside, only metal plates. An iron fence topped with concertina wire separated the church from the sidewalk. We went inside and knelt. I couldn\u2019t pray. It was their choice, wasn\u2019t it? To get in the front seats, the back seats, or the no seats. To stand against a wall. It was their choice to get little sleep, to hear no mourning doves, except a muffled pitiful sweetness in their chests, a coo woo they tried to smother. Instead of wedding bells it was car alarms for these girls who knew the heft of white bread and French fries, who ate breakfast at 4:00 p.m. served by street vendors\u2014Chili by the Quart and Big Fat Gyros.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">On the way home we saw a young guy standing on Ninth Avenue in a diaper and cowboy hat and boots strumming a guitar. Farther down the sidewalk an older man in a white suit was lying on his stomach humping the concrete, raising himself up enough to slam himself again. \u201cUuug!\u201d my aunt cried out.<\/p>\r\n<p align=\"justify\"><\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">We were both happy once the door locked behind us. Dorna curled up on her bed, hugging the pillows like a bird, tucking her big head under her wing. I cranked the a\/c up to high and suddenly it worked. The goose-down comforter made her cozy and pushed back the hugeness of Manhattan.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cOh, I forgot to give you this envelope. Someone slipped it under the door,\u201d I said. \u201cIt sounds like Vladis wrote it. Weird.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cLet me see it,\u201d she said, eyes widening.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">That night my aunt dreamed she watched the waif get beat up. Each time the thrust of fist broke the orbit of the waif's eye, the flash of a ring splitting her lip, the cartilage in her nose cracking, then the fist coming again. Dorna tasted something gritty and round like a peanut, only harder. It was her tooth that had been knocked from its socket. She bolted upright, running her finger around in her mouth feeling for fragments of teeth. It had been a dream. The taste of blood was from where she\u2019d bit her tongue. Both arms were above her head. How brown the skin on her arms, those wrinkles at her wrists like bracelets, the loosening of skin at her neck like a chicken simmering too long.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">She was sure Mick Rooper had been watching her in her sleep. Something had to be done.<\/p>\r\n<p align=\"justify\"><\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">After the letter arrived my aunt shifted our surveillance efforts from outside the townhouse to inside. Rooftop dining moved to the lobby. We stationed ourselves in the Queen Anne\u2019s chairs with a view of both elevator and mailboxes. Vladis hovered behind us. \u201cNasty, nasty,\u201d he muttered. \u201cBoth man and woman.\u201d He was taller than my aunt. Another tree, an Albanian one. His hair shone silver although he was in his thirties. His eyes peered out over his hawk nose and missed nothing. Sniper\u2019s eyes. Once I saw Dorna pass him an envelope stuffed with money. \u201cIt\u2019s courtesy cash,\u201d she told me. With Vladis\u2019s permission we could loiter in the lobby and monitor our neighbor\u2019s comings and goings.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Mick and Brittney Rooper could pass for arty Broadway people, the costume changers and prompters, not the stage singers. Since they lived under us Dorna cleared space between the enameled cups and gravy boats where bedroom sounds might rise into the Sonic Ear. \u201cShe\u2019s his mistress,\u201d Dorna exclaimed, \u201cI don\u2019t believe they are married although they both use Rooper as their last name.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Before long the Roopers started to notice our interest. Brittney Rooper wore frame glasses like her husband. She was much prettier than him. Her eyes glittered. They were a crystalline green and matched her luscious, dark red hair.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Setting the Sonic Ear on the floor we took turns listening. My aunt agonized over how a jailbird like Mick Rooper could have enough money to live here. Who was bankrolling him? \u201cThey\u2019re talking about me,\u201d she whistled. I took the earphones.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cDon\u2019t let that old woman upstairs bother you, Mick,\u201d Brittney said, like she wasn\u2019t really living in her words. Her voice said it wasn\u2019t that big a deal. \u201cShe\u2019s just lonely, babe.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cLonely, hell, she\u2019s got the kid with her. The old witch is training the young one to be just like her.\u201d I heard the sound of footsteps pacing back and forth until the Croatian Catholic Church bells began to clang. \u201cJust like her. Those two witches won\u2019t leave me alone.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">True, I did follow his every movement in the lobby. I would stand on the sidewalk when he went to the Kankahan Deli and watch him through binoculars. Mick Rooper had lost his hair and his pale eyes were blue raspberry popsicles sucked of their fruit juice and very cold. He was slender and of medium height. Once I tailed him to Smiler\u2019s where he bought two onion bagels with cream cheese, a quart of orange juice and rolling papers. \u201cGet lost, lollipop,\u201d he said when I followed him out.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cHe\u2019s strong, Dalloway,\u201d Dorna warned me. \u201cDo you see how he likes to carry his bicycle up the stairs? Never get into an elevator alone with him. Promise me right now, Dalloway.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">I promised.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Vladis told my aunt that there was almost nothing in the Roopers\u2019 apartment. They couple had taken out the carpeting and after sanding it put polyurethane over the wood floors. We had smelled the fumes. The two of them kept putting down coats of it until Vladis threatened them with the police. \u201cThey\u2019re sniffing it,\u201d he accused. \u201cThey\u2019re bringing girls in and getting them drunk on polyurethane.\u201d I wondered if Mick Rooper refused to give Vladis tip envelopes. Or did Vladis have his hawk eye on Mrs. Rooper?<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Whatever his reasons he allowed my aunt to stand for hours at his lobby desk and sort her mail. She gifted Vladis a sterling silver tea service and passed on a clock with real gold hands. He claimed he repaired and sold them to his needy countrymen. Dorna enjoyed mail. It would soon be a thing of the past, she predicted.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">The Roopers buzzed themselves in and strolled through the lobby. Vladis\u2019s turf. When Dorna spotted them she made her way to the mailroom and excitedly pulled envelopes from her slot. \u201cOh, look, Dalloway. A letter from the Young Women\u2019s Christian Association of Belarus.\u201d Her voice disturbed Mick Rooper. Just seeing my aunt in her aqua dress with the purple belt flustered him. The f-ing redwood tree again. He slid his key into his mailbox. \u201cDo you mind?\u201d he said to Dorna between clenched teeth. \u201cI\u2019d like a little room here.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cI\u2019ve nothing to hide. Do you?\u201d my aunt sniffed. \u201cI\u2019m sorting my mail.\u201d Her speech turned monotone. \u201cIt was after Harmon died and the twin towers came down I knew I had to come home. I crisscrossed the country. I drove across Canada. Now I realize I shouldn\u2019t have come back. This city will be underwater before another fifteen years passes. There is so much evil. Sometimes it lives right under you.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Mick Rooper went red from his chin to the top of his bald head. He whirled and shook his fist in my aunt\u2019s face. \u201cYou\u2019ve been sorting your f-ing mail for weeks. You\u2019re a crazy witch. Leave us alone or you\u2019ll have to answer to me.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cLike those girls did that you drugged and videotaped. Did they have to answer to you?\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">The first smile I\u2019d ever seen crossed Vladis\u2019s face. He uncrossed his arms from his chest, his grin growing when Brittney Rooper came bounding from the elevator. Waving her hand in my aunt\u2019s face, she spurted out \"YOU\u2019RE NOT HIS PAROLE OFFICER, OLD LADY. HE\u2019S DONE HIS TIME.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p align=\"justify\"><\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Each time Rooper passed me while I ate my veggie burger on a plate populated with blue English cows and wheelbarrows, he\u2019d snort. \u201cBlow off, lollipop.\u201d When I\u2019d given up on Mummy she returned from the Italian leg of her honeymoon. It was time for me to go home and prepare for school. I protested that she had her husband and Dorna needed me. A sex offender lived under her. \u201cShe\u2019s a big girl,\u201d Mummy said. \u201cA sex offender won\u2019t bother her.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">I only visited on weekends but my aunt stayed busy. The Roopers consumed her every waking minute. She kept notebooks of their exchanges:<\/p>\r\n\r\n<blockquote>\r\n<blockquote>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Rooper bolted from outer lobby to desk where I was standing FIST CLENCHED DIRECTED AT MY FACE, shouting many, many obscenities. YOU F--KING OLD BITCH, ETC, ETC. I was stunned and speechless. WITNESSED BY CONCIEGE. I told the police someone had slipped the envelope with newspaper article under my door. First time I knew of his infamous reputation. Told him I wanted to hear no more. If he didn\u2019t stop---I\u2019d send him back where he came from. HELL! He then threatened me and said , QUOTE\u2014WATCH OUT! Rooper made a VIDEO TAPE of me and concierge Vladis standing outside building. WITHOUT PERMISSION. During October hot spell I saw a bright photographer\u2019s light shining down from his 5th floor balcony.<\/p>\r\n<\/blockquote>\r\n<\/blockquote>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">After Thanksgiving Mick Rooper called the police and accused Dorna of harassment. They came. My aunt resisted arrest and was taken away in a police car. They released her later that day. Then her neighbor filed a civil suit against her. The townhouse board politely asked my aunt to leave. In her wedding photo, she is big and straight like a redwood only younger, and towers over her husband. She decided to move back to California. It would be nice to visit Harmon\u2019s grave. If Mummy\u2019s husband ever was too disgusting I was welcome to move too. It took four movers three days to pack her tableware and Victorian silver for the meals she would never serve.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">She called me every day. Her heart wasn\u2019t in Sacramento and she missed me. I was her one friend. In the spring the call came that Dorna had died. Mummy and her horrible husband and I flew to the west coast. \u201cOh, my God!\u201d Mummy kept saying, \u201cShe was a hoarder just like those smelly people on TV. I never knew.\u201d I saw the half-hearted walk trails between the bed and the kitchen and bathroom. The boxes standing in walls, none of them unpacked.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">There was enough room in the kitchen for one person to stand and use the sink or open the refrigerator. On the island stove dirty blue tumblers made a pyramid and overloaded trays of silverware obscured the burners.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">\u201cWhat in God\u2019s name is this?\u201d Mummy cried. Next to her bed covered with newspapers and tablet paper and Little Debbie cupcakes was the Sonic Ear.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Dorna fell on the Sonic Ear with cell phone in her hand. Her last call had been to me. I was in school. Ringer off. \u201cWhy didn\u2019t she phone 911?\u201d Mummy\u2019s husband kept asking. Her pride kept her from it. The shame of dusty eight-sided plates.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Her money she left to me in trust with a bequest to Mummy. It\u2019s waiting for my 21st birthday. The hoard of silverware and table settings is mine entire. Mummy wanted to sell or give away all of Dorna\u2019s \u201cjunk.\u201d I knew better and insisted it be sent to Pilgrim Storage. The silverware for 1,500 people I keep in my room. I use the bread crumb scoop and pickle forks. \u201cDalloway, we should sell that set. It\u2019s craziness,\u201d Mummy complained. \u201cNo!\u201d I shook my head violently. \u201cNever.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">I sometimes dream of the wharf and sailors emerging from the misty hulls of destroyers, rain hitting the walk trails, the skin of the high wire poles vibrating. I hover, a night-blooming cirrus with a single white bloom, miraculous petals erupting into fog fragrance. The dusk moves. A girl appears in a gold windbreaker, white flat sandals, and eyes as dark and angry as the coffee swill in Tildesburg, PA. Another in lime-green tube top and forest-green fingernails. Girls disappear in the murkiness of river fog. They are the flawed, the spoiled, the marmalade and honeyed, those already blurred into grayness. I call out to the Jersey City and Newark girls. Have they moved on or are they still plying their trade? Awake I think of that summer often. I want to ask the girls of smoke and tin foil if my lost aunt is wandering among them. \u201cWhere will my footsteps be when the fish take the city back?\u201d I imagine her saying. \u201cWho isn\u2019t alone here?\u201d She tells me I\u2019m wrong to judge. The girls are like the burning lambs on rooftop barbeques. Lamb smells sweet and you can hear its baaahing even in flames. What a fate. To endure terrible fear and suffering only to end in the digestive tract of a predator. Not even an afterlife to look forward to.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t <\/div>\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t <\/div>\r\n\t\t\t\t\t \r\n\t\t\t\t <\/div>\r\n <script>\r\n\t\tjQuery(function () {\r\n\t\t\tjQuery('#myTab_776 a:first').tab('show')\r\n\t\t});\r\n\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\tjQuery(function(){\r\n\t\t\tvar b=\"fadeIn\";\r\n\t\t\tvar c;\r\n\t\t\tvar a;\r\n\t\t\td(jQuery(\"#myTab_776 a\"),jQuery(\"#tab-content_776\"));function d(e,f,g){\r\n\t\t\t\te.click(function(i){\r\n\t\t\t\t\ti.preventDefault();\r\n\t\t\t\t\tjQuery(this).tab(\"show\");\r\n\t\t\t\t\tvar h=jQuery(this).data(\"easein\");\r\n\t\t\t\t\tif(c){c.removeClass(a);}\r\n\t\t\t\t\tif(h){f.find(\"div.active\").addClass(\"animated \"+h);a=h;}\r\n\t\t\t\t\telse{if(g){f.find(\"div.active\").addClass(\"animated \"+g);a=g;}else{f.find(\"div.active\").addClass(\"animated \"+b);a=b;}}c=f.find(\"div.active\");\r\n\t\t\t\t});\r\n\t\t\t}\r\n\t\t});\r\n\t\t\r\n\r\n\t\tfunction do_resize(){\r\n\r\n\t\t\tvar width=jQuery( '.tab-content .tab-pane iframe' ).width();\r\n\t\t\tvar height=jQuery( '.tab-content .tab-pane iframe' ).height();\r\n\r\n\t\t\tvar toggleSize = true;\r\n\t\t\tjQuery('iframe').animate({\r\n\t\t\t    width: toggleSize ? width : 640,\r\n\t\t\t    height: toggleSize ? height : 360\r\n\t\t\t  }, 250);\r\n\r\n\t\t\t  toggleSize = !toggleSize;\r\n\t\t}\r\n\r\n\r\n\t<\/script>\r\n\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>by\u00a0Stephanie Dickinson<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":778,"template":"","meta":[],"product_brand":[],"product_cat":[29],"product_tag":[50],"class_list":{"0":"post-777","1":"product","2":"type-product","3":"status-publish","4":"has-post-thumbnail","6":"product_cat-fiction","7":"product_tag-stephanie-dickinson","9":"first","10":"instock","11":"shipping-taxable","12":"purchasable","13":"product-type-simple"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/product\/777","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/product"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/product"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/778"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=777"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"product_brand","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/product_brand?post=777"},{"taxonomy":"product_cat","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/product_cat?post=777"},{"taxonomy":"product_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/product_tag?post=777"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}