CHAPTER 1
Is playing Richard Wagner’s Ritt der Walküren,[1] proper when describing any rescue? Is playing anything NAZI appropriate? Rich, industrialist, Romero Grnt thought himself some male Valkyrie, saving ’Bama from backwardness, but first, he’d save Rose.
If she knew his plans, Rose Marie Sherman would find her “homeless” Romero Grant some Don Quixote, Dreaming his Impossible Dream. She’d ask, “Is describing any rescue proper when that person has no idea, they need rescue? Is describing any rescue proper when someone rescues someone else into old, dingy, office politics? Is Rossini’s William Tell Overture more fitting? Rose is Larry Verne in Verne’s Mr. Custer? Romero is General Custer when Romero came for his Rose. This is, our story which continues where Little Boy Blue left off:
Rose arrived at JFK at 1500 Post Meridian.
She has never flown before. Only states Rose Marie Sherman had been within were Georgia, then ’Bama. Rose had ridden inside Romero’s helicopter.
She had also flown within this fancy, sleek, private Jet. Her day had started like normal. Now, it seems, every two hours major changes have come within her life. Her last major change had taken three hours. She flew over New York City.
New York’s sun had risen three handbreadths post its zenith. It was at 250-degrees that twenty-eight May.
Peter Ploēgós[2] flew his Neo Infinito over New York’s outskirts, then toward John Fitzgerald Kennedy Airport.
Rose sat in her seat. Her mouth remained open. Her eyes bugged out. Her body took in Pete’s Neo Infinito’s every gentle sway.
Large buildings fought larger trees for Rose’s viewing. Raritan Bay sat upon her view center, then her view right.
Tree-studded land decorated her left view.
Casting her eyes down she glimpsed bridges coming into view, then departing. Rose’s nose gleefully clung onto Pete’s jet window.
Each building seemed larger than its previous.
Central Park’s large rectangular green spot appeared.
“They have that garden sitting amidst this concrete sea mixed within glass ’n’ steel!” Rose exuberantly exclaimed. “What’s that lake amidst that strange rectangular garden?”
“They call that Central Park,” Romero explained. “We call its island Central Park Lake. We’ll spend time a-plenty there.”
“There it rises, one large dot!” Rose yelled.
“New York’s Empire State Building,” Rebecca informed Rose.
“There it surges in unmoving silence, America’s Liberty Statue,” Rose gasped.
Peter Ploēgós knew someone was in his plane who had never seen New York.
He flew close by that Statue within New York’s Bay.
“Are those chains on our Lady’s feet?” Rose inquired.
“Yes, our Lady was built twenty years after our Civil War,” Rebecca monotoned. She presented herself like any park ranger giving her presentation for that Nth time. “Those chains represent our nation’s liberation from slavery.”
Juliet handed Rose binoculars.
Rose eagerly gazed into them. “I can see that glint within our Lady’s eye,” Rose yelped. “Thanks, Juliet, I can even read that writing upon her tablet.”
Rose tried counting stars upon Lady Liberty’s head, “One, two...twelve.”
“There it rises, one gleaming island, Ellis Island,” Rose whooped. “It glistens. My new freedom!”
“Your joy glistens, gleaming from your eyes,” Romero gushed.
“Why thank yah,” Rose exclaimed.
Pete’s jet circled.
“Buildings, buildings, everywhere buildings,” kept spurting through Rose.
Pete’s plane banked.
“Water, water, a-nothin’ but water. Wow!” Rose prattled.
Pete’s jet slowly descended.
Rose made out runway 13 Right.
Pete’s plane hit JFK tarmac, then suddenly sped up, or so it seemed, then slowed down. Pete’s jet turned right.
Rose gazed upon large buildings. “It’s like some grand factory’s backside,” Rose gushed. “It has nah trucks, just planes ‘n’ those Jumbo-liners. Hey, feast my eyes. They even have Cessna ‘n’ other private jets!”
Rose gawked upon one Boeing 747 bearing United upon its side.
It raced down its runway, stuck its nose up into New York air, then darted, almost skyward before disappearing.
Rose couldn’t make her head stop focusing upon her right, center, left, center, then right again, all big buildings round.
Pete’s jet continued its taxiing.
“Never visited any major city before?” Juliet inquired, showing her fish-eating grin.
“Not like this!” Rose gleefully remarked. “Wow!”
“This’s where we live,” Juliet informed, again showing her devil’s grin. “Now this’s where you live. You are aware concerning what expenses come included within your new adventure?”
“This all came yer idea,” Rose bemoaned. “Yah gave me nah time fer a-thinkin’ ’bout it.”
“About your housing, you can stay at my place,” Romero offered. “I have extra rooms.”
Rose sat up one bit higher. Someone finally stands up fer me, she thought.
“You know it’ll not look right,” Juliet informed.
You’re having some female staying over at your place. Do you want people thinking you’re like that famed womanizer, Mafia Don, Trump? He still accompanies that hussy he calls his spouse!
“You’re right,” Romero shrugged.
Rose slumped back into her seat. I most certainly don’t want a-bein’ compared within that pair’s company.
“Ever try finding New York housing?” Juliet prattled.
Rose slid even lower within her seat. At least in ‘Bama, I had my place fer a-stayin’. Now I’m on New York streets. Shit! Fuck! Is it too late fer a-goin’ back home?
“Not recently,” Romero answered. “I know you have.
Finding housing around here for new employees goes with your position. You’re right for this job. Thanks for volunteering.”
Rose. She rose back up within her seat. I’m a-gonna have my place fer a-stayin’ after all. But where?
“What about tonight,” Juliet snickered.
“Set her up at Park Avenue’s Waldorf or something,” Romero instructed. “That must do until you find more permanent housing.”
Pete’s jet drove past concrete ribbons surrounded by freshly mowed lawn. It finally pulled upon one large brown concrete building, aluminum glass sectional doors afront.
Pete’s jet followed Port Authority employees.
Employees waved flags, flashlights also in hand, until they motioned for his stopping.
Everyone entered Port Authority building 146.5’s, Sheltered Hangers. It presented one concrete building. They slid past its entry sign which bore its name.
Port Authority building 146.5’s entry brought them into its long tan hallway. It bore its wide opening, its waiting area. Burgundy leather sofas joined plush seats alongside one mahogany table.
Romero’s group gathered just outside JFK Port Authority building 146.5’s restrooms.
Males within Romero’s group entered this building’s men’s head.
Females entered their female’s head.
Romero exited his head first, followed by Juliet exiting hers.
Rebecca stayed behind chatting alongside Rose. They stood before large restroom mirrors over pastel-green sinks.
“Isn’t it exciting?” Rebecca queried.
“Not fer yah, been there, done that,” Rose prattled. “Fer me, it’s all new.”
“It grows on you,” Rebecca[3] observed. “I originally hail from Kansas, went through my own experiences.”
“I don’t cast myself so stupid after all,” Rose chattered.
“Not at all!” Rebecca confided. “Let me show you how we get our makeup freshened up.”
Within New York Port Authority building 146.5’s waiting area, Juliet stood beside Romero, dialoguing.
“You know,” Juliet informed, playing her card. “This new fiancé does have plans on attending college. She desires working on her degree when she gets established.”
“No, didn’t know about college plans,” Romero snapped, his eyes upon Juliet. “You’re in Human Resources. Make it happen.”
Juliet sighed, then huffed. She approached Port Authority building 146.5’s coffee vending machine, then purchased one latte plus one muffin.
Rose alongside Rebecca, rejoined Romero’s gathering party.
“John, I have this favor. Housing for one, she comes tonight, indefinite stay,” Juliet jabbered into her smartphone.
Juliet paused. Frustration’s groan came from her lips.
“I know it’s short notice, thanks,” she muttered.
All slid through New York Port Authority building 146.5’s waiting area, then toward Sṓfér’s New York limousine.
This took them north on Interstate 678, then east on Rockaway Boulevard. They turned right on Bayview Avenue, then arrived near Bay House.
Romero boarded his 59 feet, white, burgundy trimmed, Sunseeker Manhattan 52.
Sṓfér pulled his limo a-next Romero, or more properly Grant Biofuel’s yacht.
Alexander Hamilton rose proudly, painted upon Romero’s yacht side.
All scooted across Romero’s accommodation ladder, boarding Alexander Hamilton.
Yacht horns sounded like semi-truck horns within Jamaica Bay. They hooted Romero’s boarding, he hand-in-hand Rose.
Romero pulled upon pier lines, seagulls squawking overhead. Alexander’s synthetic line created that distinct grinding sound, sliding upon solid oak mooring. They also slid upon Romero’s fiberglass yacht.
Rose gazed down upon one fish species plethora. They all swam near carp.
“Nice seein’ yah guys, gals,” Rose opined.
Miss yer relatives down Georgia way. So nice a-seein’ they have such friendly relatives up here. Yer all so pretty down there too. Wish I could join yah, but think non-civilized society down here might object.
Blue herons skimmed Broad Channel’s surface. Mink frogs joined wood frogs croaking from everywhere, but also from nowhere.
Within Alexander Hamilton’s distance, heron joined other birds. These included egrets, ibises, various swans, ducks coming in multiple species, mallards plus pheasant. They all joined chimney swifts, striving for attention within this Jamaica bay estuary.
Geese a-plenty flew overhead joining seagulls, each telling their friends about their love for one another.
Ocean’s salty, slightly bleach-like aroma filled Rose’s nostrils, she taking in this nautical scene.
American Oystercatcher, that large, bulky shorebirds, each presented one thick red bill below striking plumage. They cast their loud yelps. Whistles in rapid series followed.
Northern mockingbirds sent forth their sweet song. They mocked Juliet. They flew over her, bantering.
Very black, red-winged blackbirds yelled out their ear-piercing squeal.
Rose observed them feeding upon shellfish.
Some Aigéan[4] Steuerman[5] sat upon Romero’s seat.
“This craft is all yours, sir,” he barked. He removed himself from his seat. “As per our pre-arranged plan, might I debark. Might I then travel within your chauffeur’s limo back toward Manhattan for our again meeting?”
“As per our plan,” Romero repeated.
Aigéan Steuerman be-barked, then crawled into Sṓfér’s limo.
Sṓfér[6] departed down Bayview Avenue.
Romero sat upon Hamilton’s helm, taking his Alexander Hamilton’s helm, steering her south.
They entered Jamaica Bay proper.
“Rose, do you have your driver’s license,” Romero inquired.
“If you must know, yeah,” Rose giggled. “Haven’t driven any car since high school though.”
“That changes! Right now!” Romero informed her.
He stepped from his helm chair.
Winter Flounder swam a-next Romero’s, Alexander Hamilton.
“Rose, your turn,” he jocularly commanded. “Keep her straight; nothing over 10 knots.”
Rose took Alexander Hamilton’s helm, grinning.
Romero’s craft sped up from its current five knots, toward eight knots.
“This is fun,” Rose laughed, her hands upon Alexander Hamilton’s wheel, it turning.
Waves crashed upon Hamilton’s sides.
That distinct water hitting wood wharf sound followed.
All relaxed into their seats.
“This is fun,” Rose bantered, joy within her voice. No roads. My hittin’ anythin’ is hard.”
“Have fun but be careful,” Juliet warned.
Romero’s Alexander Hamilton slid past Broad Channel.
Romero pointed toward Broad Channel Island.
Mute Swan, trumpeter swan, wood ducks, various turtles, joined varied frogs, they all sunned themselves upon Broad Channel Island.
Alexander skimmed along at 4 knots, everyone aboard stretched out enjoying themselves.
That is except Rose who sat, piloting Alexander Hamilton. Her face gave her thoughts away.
She suffered disorientation. She sat numbed from her life-changing, her life-changing rate dizzying.
Lightheaded, she considered how she awoke, homeless, sleeping upon red clay ground. Now she piloted Romero’s yacht, sleeping this coming night, she knew not where she might lay, she pretending not a-care.
Fuck! Who are these people? Rose contemplated. Now I know what Saint Peter meant when he denied knowing Jesus. He knew his great preacher ‘n’ healer, but he knew him as Messiah, that one a comin’ for kickin’ out those nasty Romans.
He didn’t know Jesus Ben Joseph any more than I know this guy, though I know that guy who wrote into town upon his beat-up old bike.
I thought I knew Romero, some bum like myself. Love that guy. This Guy? Rich beyond my wildest imagination? He owns helicopters, private Jets, yachts?
Next thin’ yah know I’ll find he drives some fancy car, maybe even own some limo? Who are these people? What did I get myself into? Who are these people demanding I shave my legs?
Next thin’ yah know, they’ll demand I shave my armpits or wear that silly rag these lady’s ’re a-wearin’ atop their breasts. Who are these people insisting I wear these new clothes?
Whipping baby pads upon my flesh? What did I get myself into? I must play along now or I’m out in New York’s streets. Shit!
Anxiety came over her. What happens now, should he suddenly change his mind, she wondered. Her mind flickered.
Her mind moved back toward her friends, her new wardrobe, Jaune Peau,[7] then Roberta Elisa Lee. It continued toward telling off Mayor Walker, thinking about Crónán[8] Dunkelbraune,[9] Pete flying her, Glas, future Juliet problems, Rose-Blau Rose-Blau[10] Schwarzhaarig,[11] then Ebony.
It came upon Rebecca gently rubbing her face, her mother, Raul, singing How Do You Do, then Emmanuel. She thought about Corentin, singing Ann Murray’s You Needed Me, Deiondre, then Deshawn.
Her ears brought upon her mind, Kára, singing Skylark’s Wildflower.
Rose contemplated Gamhard,2 Argos,[12] Aristaeus,[13] brothers Kástôr,[14] his beloved twin brother Poludeukēs[15] Dióskouros,[16]slipping off Keds, putting on fancy shoes. Rose’s mind constantly swirled.
Imagine if you will, your day beginning within Eastern Alabama Wald. It began at sunrise, ’Bama sun at 60 degrees.
It was six Ante-Meridian.
At eight Ante Meridian, you were picked up by your wannabe boyfriend you thought was some homeless bum.
At ten Ante Meridian, you were shopping for new clothes.
At twelve you were helping that man you thought was some bum tell off Dallas De-Murgatroyd Station’s Mayor. You also helped tell off his spouse. Turns out your wannabe boyfriend is filthy rich. He has also fallen in love. So have you.
At three that Post Meridian, Marie Sherman landed at JFK airport in New York. Romero has his own chauffeur, black-haired, olive-complexioned five-feet ten-inch Greek Sṓfér Odigós-Upērétēs.
He has his own pilot. Medium-sized, thin, black-haired Italian framed Pete Ploēgós can fly private Jets. He can also fly helicopters. He even flew them in Afghanistan. What surprises could your old boyfriend possibly spring upon you next?
