by luddite lady on 08 Aug 2009 07:33
Part 47
I found myself back in the great green current that flowed into Fat Annie’s. The post-gig gathering was similar to the pre-gig one, but there seemed to be even more people, more noise and more laughs. We were celebrating The Police as well as our old friendships and newly cemented ones. I ended up having a few rounds in a booth with Maud, Lynne, Madgrad, JenX and inflatable Sally. Schmaffy came up to us with the little Nutter autograph book that she had made especially for the occasion. We all signed it, even Sally. Next, two Japanese women, one of whom was Midori if I recall correctly, walked over to us, bowed slightly and in the loveliest and most polite English asked to borrow Sally for a photo. Their shy, respectful manner seemed humorously incongruous to the act of posing on either side of an inflated sex toy in a rowdy New York bar. However, the picture with the ladies’ beaming smiles somehow encapsulated much of what I love about Nutterdom.
Eventually, the staff at Fat Annie’s began nicely kicking us out as they wanted to close down. What happened to the city that never sleeps? A number of people decided to call it a night. One group planned to head off to another bar with a later closing time while the gang I was with chose to go to The Tic Toc Diner. I had heard about a few previous fun times some Nutters had had in this place and was glad for the opportunity to go there. Many warm embraces were exchanged before going our separate ways. I can’t remember everyone who was at the Tic Toc that night (very early morning actually), but I believe our crew included Kellie, Mo, smudge, Hannah, conroy, Dietmar, Dive, Gina, her Papa, Amy and Nancy. Besides that bunch, I recall sitting closest to bella, CG5 and Schmaffy. The four of us were giddy, exhausted, ridiculously happy and maybe more than a little drunk. I can’t remember any thing in particular that made us laugh, but everything was completely hilarious. It got to the point were a single word could render us helpless with laughter. I haven’t experienced that type of thing too many times since my university student dorm days. And if it wasn’t for the persistent cell phone calls from my daughters, I would have thought I was back there. Each time, they started their call with the same question: “Don’t you know what time it is?” Each time, I ended their call with the same promise: “I’ll leave soon.”
Smiling broadly, Charlie Arnold walked into the diner around 3 a.m. As soon as he greeted us, his cell phone sounded to indicate a text message. He read it to himself then loudly and pleasantly announced, “It’s from my wife and I’m in deep shit. Good night!” He turned around and walked out.
A few minutes later, Dancerina and Sporterella called me again. The Boy had been asleep for some time, but my daughters said they would not be able to sleep until I was safely back in the hotel. I promised them that I’d leave as soon as I finished my coffee and pancakes in blueberry sauce, which tasted heavenly, like all food does at 3 a.m. My girls said they were hungry and wanted pancakes with blueberries too. I said I’d do my best but I hardly thought I could get a take out order of pancakes at that hour. But, bless The Tic Toc Diner, I could! Once the order was ready, I had no more excuses. I made my final round of hugs and goodbyes for the night and walked out to hail a cab.
Ahead of me lay a very long drive home on very little sleep, the hassles of returning my rental car, finalizing my insurance claim and buying a new car. Just beyond that, I would be faced with shaking off my summer mode and preparing myself and my children for another school year. But none of that mattered right then. As I sat in the back of the cab with a warm package of pancakes on my lap, I was filled with an inner warmth. It was fucking 3:45 a.m., and I was in a city that serves take out pancakes in blueberry sauce anytime you want--a city that The Police wisely chose to host their grand finale concert. I was leaving people I love and heading for people I love even more. It doesn’t get any better than that.
FIN
In Dallas, the only game that really mattered was in the word gamelan.
