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The vitamin pack didn’t do much in the way of energy. Was it too early for a healer, mate? Joey Little Italy arrived an hour late for work whereupon Kelly scolded him and mentioned something about a warning. Another crappy day. The egg sandwich sat like a lump in his belly. He craved broccoli and cheddar soup for Au Bon Pain and some massive carbs. Later, he would take a lunch trip, sneaking out and telling Kelly he had an errand.
At the cubicle, his message light was blinking red. Begrudgingly, he listened. It was his mother from Cincinnati. She was planning to visit with her daughter, Joey’s half sister, Mary. They would be int his weekend. Thanks for the warming, Mom. Now his night would be spent cleaning the hairs off his vanity and doing some serious toilet bowl cleaning. The refrigerator was a mess and Brian’s private quarters were a shit show. The clothes were scattered everywhere.
He quickly called Brian who was also from Cincinnati and knew his mother well.
-Dude, you need to clean your room.
-Joey, I’m an artist.
-Brian, my mom doesn’t care. We look like slobs. Mary will freak.
-Are you going to introduce her to Frankie?
-Maybe. Who knows? I haven’t really seen him around. Just set out the roach hotels STAT, Brian.
-Motels. It’s not the Ritz Joey.
-Whatever, don’t buy the cheap models from Chinatown. We need the Raid variety.
-You’ll need to give me a few bucks. I don’t get paid until next month.
-I just bought you drinks last week. You owe me at least a twenty spot.
Click.
Kelly came around to ask Joey for his accounting report. He dug through various papers on his desk and produced his half-arsed work.
-I would like you to present this to the team.
This was Joey’s big chance to segue from accounting to creative, if he could pull of a coherent presentation.
Liquid courage, Joey. Liquid courage. He tossed two of Laura’s pills (make note to call her later) down his throat.
-The meeting is in 15 minutes. Let’s hope your work paid off.
Yes, let’s hope, Joey thought. Geez, let’s hope.
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A fun, spontaneous column about the adventures of a fun, fictious character entitled “Joey Little Italy” by Kate Donnelly. Read what you missed; installment One, Two, Three , Four. Five. and Six.
Joey and Laura sauntered back down to Mulberry Street. Too drunk to really care, Joey paid for the cab and tipped an extra $2 to show it wasn’t all about money. He knew how to treat a girl right. Plus, he was about to get lucky. He could feel it. As of late, JLI had been going through a dry patch.
The main door of his apartment building was swung open. Great security thought Laura as she stumbled. The restaurant next door shared the hallway and drug the trash onto the lineoluem floor. Joey forgot to fire off a warning shot as often, a thin layer of grease appeared from Da Angelo’s busboy dragging the Sicilian meatballs and kitchen smudge.
Joey’s black Kenneth Cole shoes slipped as if on a banana peel, prompting him to land on his ass. At first, he laughed but a sharp pain climbed up his back. Ouch. Laura laughed and offered a hand when she too slipped on her Barney’s Co-Op flats falling a top of him. Always trying to break a fall, Laura’s elbow hit the ground with an unusual thump. They lie engtangled speechless. Usually, a romantic situation turned into a predicament.
-I think my bone might be protruding outside my elbow.
Joey couldn’t look. Another glance revealed a small bone upright. He thought of a wishbone on a turkey and almost gagged.
-It’s fine. We can bandage it upstairs.
-Are you insane? I need medical attention.
- I can give you cab money.
Laura started to cry. Joey thought she might be going into shock. Fifteen dollars later, they were in front of St. Vincent’s hospital. Why, pray why, Joey’s poor luck? Out of obligation, he accompanied Laura to the Emergency Room where they waited for six hours to see a doctor. His head throbbed. Laura would probably be medicated and Joey might be able to bum a pill or two.
Because Joey had eaten up his sick days, he would need to appear at work. He checked himself. Yikes, he reeked like a brewery and was on petro fumes. He hoped Kelly didn’t notice. A quick goodbye to Laura being bandaged as he snuck away. Outside, Joey ran to the deli for a men’s vitamin pack and Egg and Cheese with three ketchup packets. Ominously, a man just deposed of his banana peel outside. Joey didn’t like the humour nor the implications. His entire night, plus breakfast, just cost him $200. A bloody hemorrage. Rent was going to be a bitch this month.
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After more than his share of post work drinks, Joey Little Italy was due across town meet his blind date, Laura. He was much too cheap to spring for a cab and walked, passing a sleuth of men in dark suits on Blackberry’s. One day, he thought. One day, he would feel that same rush. He thought about grabbing a slice of pizza but didn’t need that carb gut. Granted, the hotel snacks would not be cheap. Hopefully, Laura wasn’t one of those eater types.
Joey hoped she didn’t smoke; he didn’t like the taste of cigarettes on a girl. Most of the New York gals were a bit crass for his taste (cursing and super boozy) not to mention cheap. Long term, Joey contemplated the idea of a sugar mom or someone who could, at the very least, throw down some bills.
Laura arrived ten minutes late. Upon first sight, Joey thought she was cute but her features were strong. A long pointy noise to accompany a big mane of blond curly hair; thankfully pulled into a neat bun. The dark lobby helped her looks. She shook his hand. A good thing no one felt awkward. They talked. She worked as an Associate Buyer at Barney’s. Joey liked the implications of free menswear and Anthony Men’s product, even though she explained her discount was only for her family.
Yeah, right.
Joey ordered a Johnny Walker Black and sipped it while Laura sipped on a vodka soda. His eyes bugged out when she mummers Kettle One; that would tack on at least 3 bucks. Ugh. LABELS! The conversation slid to geography. True she lived uptown but always thought of herself as a downtown girl. How not cool thought Urban. Uptown. Certainly if this relationship were to work, it would be nice if she could move below 14th Street.
When the subject came to background, Laura talked about her Irish upbringing and Joey wondered if she would ask about his lineage. Blah blah blah blah…It was 10 o’clock. Joey wasn’t one for cutting to the chase. He was tipsy from after work booze and the second Johnny Walker went down smoothly. Joey called for the bill, $75 for drinks and no snacks. What the F? Joey cursed his decision to meet at a hotel bar where tourists were constantly ripped off.
At least he would try to work something. Would she like to visit to his Mulberry Street digs?
-Sure, why not? Sounds fun!
Sounds fun. Fun, Joey thought. Fun. Joey could get used to fun.
Wait would he need to pay her cab fare downtown? He took a gamble she might split the fare.
He hoped his roommate didn’t drink that cheap bottle of Chianti. Come to think of it, he hoped his roommate didn’t have a girl over either.
Stress! Panic! What door would he use?
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A fun, spontaneous column about the adventures of a fun, fictious character entitled “Joey Little Italy.” Read what you missed; installment One + Two + Three + Four.
Read what you missed; installment one + two + three.
At five o’clock Joey was quick to pack his things and head to the tavern with a work buddy. The computer thankfully turned off, his eyes were bugged from the yellow hue of the screen and a wad of trash was piled high; something out of a Shel Silverstein poem.
It was 4:58 and the clock wasn’t moving. Someone once told him a watchful clock or pot never boils. Boy, were they right. He heard the faint typing of those staying late, hoping to impress the boss or those caddy girls who didn’t need jobs and would be married within two or three years. Dumb chicks.
The hour of five finally came to pass. Joey and Rob headed out the door, down the elevator and out of the Lipstick building where they worked. They headed over to Murphy’s pub for the standard two or three Stellas and the free snacks; today was tater tots and pizza.
Third Avenue was such a dud, and usually Joey Little Italy liked to return downtown to his posse. However, Rob lived uptown and the Mets were playing. Plus, it was a good way to break the ice with a drink, loosen the nerves, before JLI met his date, Laura at the W Hotel bar. He didn’t know why he chose a hotel, certainly not for any reason, other than it was on the east side and JLI was a East side guy.
-Kelly was such a bitch today.
-She doesn’t like you much, man. That’s for sure.
Rob laughed.
Joey was thrown off. While he thought Kelly might not like him, certainly he didn’t know others were onto the fact.
Read what you missed; installment one and two of Joey Little Italy.
Installment 3: Joey arrived at work, sweating from the subway to his cubicle. Plus; compared to other co-workers, this was a medium to large cubicle (probably not larger than his bedroom and bathroom on Mulberry combined).
Not that size mattered.
His perspiration only worsened under the false florescent lighting as a small wet patch appeared under his left armpit. Damn gene pool! He approached his cubicle littered with a few pictures of his family along with the obligatory Jets poster and Atlanta Braves World Series pennant. A rough, but necessary, jumping off point he thought. He wanted others to know he wasn’t entirely New York sports authority and carried other interests. Lacy and Peter arrived behind him, talking about their Upper East existence. How boring though Joey Little Italy. They walked over to the coffee machine, storing their lunches away in the group refrigerator.
Disgusting. Why don’t you hold a black light up to that science experiment.
Joey popped a Sudafed for a sinus infection when his superior, Kelly McCollum dropped in to check on his latest accounting report for a new junk food being released by Dire Farms.
-Urrr…let me get it right to you.
- I can wait while you find it.
-It might take a moment.
-I need it in five minutes. The Dire people will be here in ten.
Kelly was on such a power trip. Joey thought it was her mid-life years when in fact, Kelly was only thirty. He knew Kelly McCollom lived in Jersey; otherwise he didn’t have much scoop.
Joey ran into the bathroom to wash cold water on his face. He thought he might be under the weather but clearly it was too late to vanish. The report was complete and half-assed at that. Joey had left the office early the day before to head to Mulberry Bar and hang with the boys.
As if Kellyknew what it was like to live amoung real Italians. Ph-lease. She knew NOTHING…nothing about Joey Little Italy. It was going to be a long day. The pills would only offset some of the problems.
read last week’s installment: here.
It was around 8 o’clock when Joey Little Italy woke from his slumber (he hit the snooze button a total of four times) and jumped into his 2×2 shower which felt more like the inside of a space shuttle as it contained no tile and instead was a metal surface (heat board) which some self-proclaimed industrial designer on two floors above him installed. Oh well, he was cheap like that. He counted a few water bugs in the shower as he scrubbed using his Anthony Mens products and Kiehls conditioner. He never skimped on products, which he deemed a necessity and liked his hair well manicured.
Back in his small 5×5 room with the cranky air-condition, Joey Little Italy threw on a pair of J. Crew pants and a blue Brooks Brothers shirt and specs (he was still pondering eye laser surgery). He slipped out the second door of his shared place (rent $1150 a month/per person). Hey, he was living in Manhattan and Little Italy at that. Life was sweet.
His roommate Brian, was sound asleep. Joey only heard the fan on high to drown out the street noise. The buzzing irked him. Joey had a bit of a hangover. Eh, nothing the three Motrin in his pocket couldn’t cure. He grabbed his soiled clothes to drop at the Chinese laundress. He would request powder Tide and ask his boxers be neatly folded.
Joey Little Italy ran down the stairs, past the narrow hallway with the bad florescent lighting with the splitting linoleum floor and on to the streets where the trucks were unloading produce, meat and booze. It also smelled like trash. Luckily, his landlord was nowhere in sight. It was tough always keeping up an Italian persona. Sometimes he thought he might be giving up his character. He walked down to the 6 Train on Spring Street after picking up a bagel with cream cheese and a New York Post.
He didn’t love his job but this was New York and a lot of people didnt’ love their jobs either. He worked in the advertising slash marketing sector but worked more on the accounting side of things. Truly a bummer, he thought himself more as a creative type. Oh well, pay your dues and Joey Little Italy could play by the rules; a true company man.
The subway came to a screeching halt and Joey stepped in as the doors closed behind him. In five stops he would be at his destination.
He hoped work would fly by…for tonight would mark the first of a series of blind dates he had lined up.
1999: Joey Little Italy lived in a fourth floor walk up on Mulberry Street where his landlord was called Frankie Two Toes (aka Little Frankie). Joey followed the path of a young Michael Corleone, unassuming and quiet. He smoked Italian roll-up cigs. He liked the Democrats. Joey Little Italy often frequented a joint, of course across the street, called Mare Chiaro (now sadly and rather generically entitled the Mulberry Street Bar). Like a young Don Corleone, sipping on both Peroni’s and Grappa and flanked by his white homies. At least he had some protection before he staggered home and entered one of the two doors on his floor. The old bald man (his father owned the shop when Blue Eyes dropped in), he often muttered, “God weren’t those the days…”didn’t know if he was Italian but didn’t breach the subject; he was much too angry cleaning the tables of the place.
Joey Little Italy didn’t worry; these were HIS mean streets. He popped a quarter in the music box and flipped to some Sinatra. He ordered another round, this time Dewar’s, which perplexed the bartender. This guy couldn’t be Scottish, could he?
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A fun, spontaneous column about the adventures of a fun, fictious character entitled “Joey Little Italy.”
