War Wounds

Have you ever heard the expression‘it hurts when it rains?’ This can be applied to an old injury or an arrow that pierced one’s heart.

I’ll never forget this particular dart I’ll call Sam, who shredded my feelings like a head of iceberg lettuce. We’ve all had a Sam…that one guy who changed us forever and not necessarily for the better.

We met on a television show. He was looking for a little company while he was here working, his wife far away in England unable to amuse nor humor her man. I was young and hormonal, happily humping a bannister if I had to. When you’re well into your fifties it’s falsely assumed you can’t remember that, but ah…how you do.

Handsome he was with charm, like a snake, coiling through a basket. My heart pounded  every time he looked my way. What I failed to realize…Sam was shopping, searching for the best deal, in this case, someone willing to accept the little he had to offer (and I mean little) just for the night. We went to Elaine’s where I watched him hold court like British royalty. I sat mesmerized by where I was, the hottest place in town, and how truly bad the food was, but nobody went to Elaine’s for the cuisine. You went to be seen along with everyone else gracing her mighty entrance (opened 1963-closed 2011).  images-10

I recall sitting there as Steve Martin walked in wearing his famous white suit. George Plimpton sat across from us with Woody Allen and Mia sequestered in the back. Elaine, the size of a tow truck, would waddle from table to table greeting her esteemed guests.  images-8

Sam ignored me pretty much except to occasionally squeeze my throbbing thigh. I was merely a bauble enhancing the table no more important than the candle dominating its core.

But I was used to dressing things up. Models do that…images-9always on a guest list sprinkled about like confetti, or live decor, as Camille liked to call us. I truly don’t think my soul made an appearance till I was 40. To be admired was all I knew and spending the night with a famous, handsome actor seemed part of my job, with a few perks like dinner and ‘enough wine to wash an elephant,’ to quote Truman Capote in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, who was also there looking like a stuffed still-life.

Trouble with this particular one nighter was…it lasted a year…a very painful, heartbreaking year because Sam, as hard as he surprisingly fell, wasn’t changing lanes for me. Why should he? His wife, though never spoken of, knew of his many indiscretions. But as long as her position as his Missus was never threatened, all was well.

I of course, not knowing the rules, was ready to slit my wrists at a moment’s notice, especially when his TV show got canceled and NBC was no longer footing his rented condo bill. When he suddenly had to reach into his own pocket life changed.

We ate in a lot…cheap take-out…with me eating ribs in my tattered La Perla underwear. Sex slipped from 10 to a 3 before you could say, is there any shrimp fried rice left Ducky?

After a few unsuccessful attempts at resuscitating his show, he went back home.

It was as if I was dropped on my head from the roof of his building. The day he left he hardly spoke to me. I offered to go to Kennedy to see him off, but he said no. I wept in the hallway like an unwanted child as he coldly closed the door.

He refused my calls, didn’t write like he promised then on Christmas Eve a fax, from the machine he gave me he wouldn’t be needing anymore, came cyphering in.

‘I am so, so sorry Susannah, forgive me…I miss you…and our cocoon high above the park.’

I did too, and still do…sometimes when it rains.            images-6

SB

About Susannah Bianchi

I'm just a girl who likes to write slightly on slant. I've had a career in fashion, dabbled in film and to be honest, I don't like talking about myself. Now my posts are another matter so I will let them speak for themselves. My eBooks, A New York Diary, Model Behavior: Friends For Life and Notes From A Working Cat can be found on Amazon.com. Thanks.
This entry was posted in Love, media, New York City, sexual relationships, Uncategorized, women, Women and men and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

27 Responses to War Wounds

  1. skinnyuz2b says:

    Ah, young memories. My Sam was actually unattached and could have stayed with me, if he wanted to. We lasted a year, too. He broke up with me by quoting a song, “Two out of three ain’t bad”. Luckily, I met my sweetie very soon after.
    Very evocative writing, as usual, Susannah.

    Like

    • Thanks Skinny. I get very elegiac around the time of my birthday. Old romances turn up like bodies bobbing in a lake. I was nuts about him and to make it worse, he was awfully nice to me, till he wasn’t. He switched channels like a cable station. I wept for weeks. Then he came back and naturally called me, but I never saw him again. That’s the thing about me, when I get that hurt and I get up, you don’t get another shot. I’m done. Get it from my mom who’d kill you in your sleep if you crossed her. I’m not quite that severe, but I do possess a strain of an Italian’s code of honor. Thanks for sharing about your Sam.

      Like

  2. Anon says:

    Poignant stuff Susannah. As you say, we’ve all been there. Gaynor broke my heart more than thirty years ago. Even though I’m contented now, she still makes occasional cameo appearance in my sleeping meanderings. It is better to have loved and lost……..

    Like

    • Like I told Skinny, it’s that time of year. Uninvited memories show up. I’ve really come to loathe birthdays. Gaynor, now that’s an interesting, unforgettable name. Those wounds haunt I’m sorry to say. Thanks for reading and writing.

      Like

      • Anon says:

        Maeve has decreed that her birthdays are subtractions rather than additions from now on. “Second childhood” drifted through my grey cells, but I decided discretion was the better part of valour and kept quiet.
        Your birthday is an opportunity to celebrate you being who you are. I know your readers are up for that.

        Like

      • I’m glad they are because I’m not…Maeve is still such a bambino…tell her it’s too early to put black crepe on the windows.

        Like

      • Anon says:

        Will do.

        Like

  3. katecrimmins says:

    “humping a bannister!” I just love your phrases. They add just enough humor to ease the pain that was there. It’s funny how birthdays dredge up memories of old hurts best forgotten.

    Like

  4. D. D. Syrdal says:

    Wonderful, heartbreaking. Do you think they have any idea of the damage they inflict? Mine was no famous actor, but there was that something about him that like you said, just the sight of him had me lighting up like a firefly. And if he so much as touched my elbow — ignition. Conflagration. Bastard.

    Like

  5. Jeanette Hamilton says:

    Wow, does this bring back memories. I think most of us women of a certain age have a Sam or two that we just can’t forget. I’m just happy to be at that stage in life where I’m no longer at the mercy of those banister-humping hormones. Great, honest post, Susannah.

    Like

  6. Patricia says:

    Anyone who hasn’t had a heartbreak, or a few heartbreaks, really hasn’t spent much time actually living.

    Like

  7. pmahaney says:

    Love the images you carve with those keys Susannah. There is beauty in such honesty.

    Like

  8. Just reading this I can go back in an instance.Lessons learned my friend, lessons learned. I laughed out loud at the “humping the banister” line…best way to describe those years for sure.

    Like

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