"The Dakota" is an excerpt from Mike's new book Dollhouse.Chapter 25 to be exact.
Click here for more information on the book
It was good to get outside.
No, sleeping on a floor didn’t matter, it was fine. You just had to be drunk or crazy or tired or all three. Look, the little crowd of Ricans wants to mess with you. Think they hang out in front of the bodega all day?
I went into the bodega and got coffee. The one guy had a piece of wire, like he was gonna strangle me. Funny, they just want to see if they can get you all scared. The good old boys played games down home too. Fuckers. I could show them something but had a date. No, I didn’t look at your women. No, I won’t, you can have them. Yeah, we’ll see. Ha-ha. You okay, blondie. All right, see ya’s. See ya’s around.
I walked over to Avenue B and up. I was disorientated, didn’t know my way around. There were people in the street, people hanging out windows yelling at people in the street. If you look sideways at them, they’ll try and rip your white-boy guts out. All ya need is the walk, that’s all. You get the walk and they smile. You don’t even have to act cool, just get the walk and the third-eye stare. That’s it. Hello. Nice day. Oh, yes. Really quite nice. Hiya. Look at this goofy-assed motherfucker strolling down the lane. Red hair pouring out of his head. Fucker looks lost, no, he’s smiling. What the hell’s wrong with this bastard? Heyya. M-huh. Heyya, kid.
I walked past Tompkins Square Park and up to Avenue A. There were white people up there. I nodded at a few and said hello and they ignored me. That’s how it goes. Elitism is the first cousin of barbarism. I know you fuckers from high school. Now you’re all sleek and in another uniform but I still see ya’s. You can turn your third eye off now, it ain’t needed. Ain’t gonna be nothing but art and its first cousin politics here. Yeah, I see ya’s. Fuckers.
I walked into the International Bar and Grill and had a seat at a table.
“Who da hell are you? Why don’t you geta dahell out of here?” Mary said after appearing from the back.
“Mary? I met you last night, remember? With Choo-Choo and Nick?”
She looked at me, blinked. “You help me close gates?”
“Yeah. I just wanted to sit here and drink my coffee, if that’s okay.”
“You no buy drink?”
“Nah. Maybe later.”
“I buy you drink. You drink with old lady?”
“I shouldn’t. You get drink and sit with me. I drink coffee. We talk.”
She came back with drinks insisting I drink with her. “It’s liquor, you like. Go good with coffee. Nostrovia,” she said and sipped.
“Nostrovia,” I said and drank it down. “Whew! That’s good. What was that?”
She told me some name I couldn’t pronounce, said it was from her country. What’s that? Ukraine. The bastards drove us out. Some didn’t make it. I made it out. May they burn in hell.
“You Choo-Choo’s friend, right?”
“Yeah. I’m Choo-Choo’s friend and Nick’s friend.”
“You move up here, they are good friends to have.”
“Nick told you?”
“Yes, Nicky and Choo,” she said.
We talked for a while, yeah, my grandpa came from Ireland. Drove out also. Yeah, may they burn in hell. “I gotta get some food,” I said.
“Go to Stanley’s. Is just up the block.”
See ya later. See ya. You come back? Yeah, I come back, Mary. Uh-huh. Go eat.
Stanley’s: up the block on Ave A. Dinky little place, like a bar but a diner. Barstool seats. Eggs, homefries, toast and coffee. Okay, sausage too. Uh-huh. Mary told me to come here. Uh-huh, yeah, from the International. “She came from the village that was a few miles from mine,” Stanley said. “You know her?”
“I just met her. My friends know her.” I’m just up visiting, etc.
“We feed you good here, right?” he said to his wife that was cooking.
“That’s right, Stanley. Us Ukrainians just one big happy family.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Stanley said, “she’s grumpy today.”
“I heard that! I’ll beat you with a pan!”
“You do that, you won’t get no lovin’ tonight!”
“Don’t be such a beast in front of the customers.”
“I was just playing…”
It was good to see. Old folks that had been together for years. The food was good and cheap and the regulars just sat there not saying much. They had heard it before. I tipped them a buck and he looked at it like he never got tipped. Yeah, I’ll be back. Some year. You kids play nice. Kids? You hear that, honey? He called us kids. “I’ll hit him in the ass with this pan if he don’t scoot.”
Ha-ha. Lala. La-ti-da. Up on First Avenue I looked for cabs. What was it? Lights on and they’re taken? Something. I put up my hand and one pulled over. I got in and gave him the address.
“The Dakota?” he asked.
We went off. “What’s the big deal about the Dakota?”
He looked at me in his mirror. “The Dakota is old, man.”
“Fuck it. You care if I smoke?”
“You can smoke.”
I didn’t have any cigarettes.
“Got its name from the fact that, when it was built in 1884, it was so far uptown and away from all the fashionable residential areas, it might as well be in the Dakota territories.”
“Got a cigarette?”
“I don’t smoke,” he said and then went on. The walls were twenty-eight inches thick, they filmed Rosemary’s Baby there. John and Yoko. That’s right. That’s where I heard of it. Strawberry Fields is across the street? Yep, in Central Park.
“You from out of town?”
“Yeah,” I said. “My dog told me to go there and kill somebody.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Yeah, little joke. I’m a funny person.”
“I didn’t think it was funny,” he said and continued on with his historical overview of the Dakota.
I looked out the window. We were in some movie. I was taking a briefcase filled with pages from the novel I had slaved over for months to some famous editor. No, that’s not right, I was going to meet some record producer that was a famous recluse and but suddenly became interested in producing again after hearing our tape. He called me all the time at the dollhouse. That’s right. After a while, I quit answering the phone, told Cindy to tell him I was in my studio. Yeah, that’s it. I was a freakin’ genius and…
“Goddamnit, man! You should teach,” I said.
That shut him up. We drove on.
“Columbia,” he said.
“What?”
“I used to teach at Columbia.”
“Columbia?”
“Yeah, uptown. Fuck Columbia.”
We got there. Fuck Columbia. May they burn in hell.
I paid no mind to the huge archway entrance and went in, gave the concierge my name and told him, Adams. He picked up the house phone and dialed.
Gothic, ain’t it? Yup. Look at this guy. Phone dialin’, uniform wearin’. Didn’t call me sir 'til after he got off the phone, uh-huh. Go on up. There. The elevator is there, sir. Uh-huh, all right. Can’t I wander around the courtyard a bit? Forget it. Go on up. All right.
The elevator guy looked straight ahead. We got upstairs. Do I tip him? Look at me, fucker! Nope, there she is. He’s lookin’ at the young lady. Uh-huh, he’s all right, it’s all right. Thanks, Jimmy. Look at me Jimmy. Nope. Jimmy’s gone. What’s with Jimmy?
“Hiya, Amy,” I said.
It was like that. Third eye blinkin’ and then in my bubble. Fuck the world, let them burn in hell. Hello, hiya. Blinkblink.
“Hey, Tony. Come on in.”
I followed her ass in, she was saying something. I stood there for a bit in the middle of her living room.
“Nice place,” I said. Lame. Totally lame. Was a genius in the cab though. It might come back, I might get something back.
“It’s my parents’ place,” she said. “Would you like something to drink? We have soda, beer…”
“Stop,” I said.
“What?”
“Come here,” I told her.
“No, I don’t think so. You come here.”
I did. It’s all right. Sometimes you have to give a little.
A while later, we were laying in her bed and I told her, “Someday, I’m gonna save you from this place.”
She laughed. See? I am a funny man. What the hell do ex-Columbia teachers that drive cabs know? I rolled over and spooned her. She grabbed my hands in front of her and purred. Yes, purr kitten. Gargoyles flew around the building.
“I must show you around!” she suddenly exclaimed and jumped out of bed.
I looked at her body. I didn’t deserve her, it was stupid. All my clever words were gone. Maybe she didn’t care.
“Get dressed,” she said as she threw on some clothes.
I did and she showed me around the place. Her mother and father did this and that. They won’t be home 'til five, relax. You’re so tense. It’s all right, Tony, I like you. John and Yoko.
“Oh, yes. Yoko still lives upstairs,” she said. “Charles Henri Ford lives next door, man!”
“Were you here when John Lennon got murdered?”
“It was so sad. He was such a nice man but he seemed sad all the time anyway. Look at all my father’s books, man!” She pulled me into another room.
I looked. It was a huge room with bookcases built into the walls. They were all filled.
“This is my dad’s library,” she said. “He’s a publisher and knows all these famous people! You read?”
“I have read a lot,” I told her.
“I thought you did, you can hear it in your songs. Look,” she said.
I didn’t know where to start. Picked up this and that book off the shelf, put them back.
“I’ve got to go back to PA tomorrow,” I told her.
“Oh, no. We just met.”
“I have to. Made a promise.”
“Well, you want to meet Charles Henri Ford?”
“All right,” I said.
We went next door and she knocked. An old man came to the door and said, “Well, hello, Amy,” and let us in. We had tea with him and she told him I was a musician. He groaned.
We went back to her place after a while and fucked again, then she said her parents were going to be home soon. Let’s go somewhere. No, I have to get ready for work. Kiss me here. Kiss me here. Ha-ha.
“What are you going to do?”
“Do?”
“Yeah, later. Not tonight but what are you doing working at a bar?”
“Oh, that’s just for the summer. I’ll go back to school in the fall.”
I stood there.
“You can come see me at the bar tonight,” she said.
I know, don’t ask. Just stop it. Don’t be a dick.
“Ah, I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, I know. The bands there suck. It was a hot place for a couple of years but the scene died out, went downtown. That’s how it goes.”
Call. I’ll call. You better.
Kiss me here.
The concierge gave me a condescending look as I walked out. The street smelled good; I liked the street smell better than the library smell.
Click here for more information on the book
It was good to get outside.
No, sleeping on a floor didn’t matter, it was fine. You just had to be drunk or crazy or tired or all three. Look, the little crowd of Ricans wants to mess with you. Think they hang out in front of the bodega all day?
I went into the bodega and got coffee. The one guy had a piece of wire, like he was gonna strangle me. Funny, they just want to see if they can get you all scared. The good old boys played games down home too. Fuckers. I could show them something but had a date. No, I didn’t look at your women. No, I won’t, you can have them. Yeah, we’ll see. Ha-ha. You okay, blondie. All right, see ya’s. See ya’s around.
I walked over to Avenue B and up. I was disorientated, didn’t know my way around. There were people in the street, people hanging out windows yelling at people in the street. If you look sideways at them, they’ll try and rip your white-boy guts out. All ya need is the walk, that’s all. You get the walk and they smile. You don’t even have to act cool, just get the walk and the third-eye stare. That’s it. Hello. Nice day. Oh, yes. Really quite nice. Hiya. Look at this goofy-assed motherfucker strolling down the lane. Red hair pouring out of his head. Fucker looks lost, no, he’s smiling. What the hell’s wrong with this bastard? Heyya. M-huh. Heyya, kid.
I walked past Tompkins Square Park and up to Avenue A. There were white people up there. I nodded at a few and said hello and they ignored me. That’s how it goes. Elitism is the first cousin of barbarism. I know you fuckers from high school. Now you’re all sleek and in another uniform but I still see ya’s. You can turn your third eye off now, it ain’t needed. Ain’t gonna be nothing but art and its first cousin politics here. Yeah, I see ya’s. Fuckers.
I walked into the International Bar and Grill and had a seat at a table.
“Who da hell are you? Why don’t you geta dahell out of here?” Mary said after appearing from the back.
“Mary? I met you last night, remember? With Choo-Choo and Nick?”
She looked at me, blinked. “You help me close gates?”
“Yeah. I just wanted to sit here and drink my coffee, if that’s okay.”
“You no buy drink?”
“Nah. Maybe later.”
“I buy you drink. You drink with old lady?”
“I shouldn’t. You get drink and sit with me. I drink coffee. We talk.”
She came back with drinks insisting I drink with her. “It’s liquor, you like. Go good with coffee. Nostrovia,” she said and sipped.
“Nostrovia,” I said and drank it down. “Whew! That’s good. What was that?”
She told me some name I couldn’t pronounce, said it was from her country. What’s that? Ukraine. The bastards drove us out. Some didn’t make it. I made it out. May they burn in hell.
“You Choo-Choo’s friend, right?”
“Yeah. I’m Choo-Choo’s friend and Nick’s friend.”
“You move up here, they are good friends to have.”
“Nick told you?”
“Yes, Nicky and Choo,” she said.
We talked for a while, yeah, my grandpa came from Ireland. Drove out also. Yeah, may they burn in hell. “I gotta get some food,” I said.
“Go to Stanley’s. Is just up the block.”
See ya later. See ya. You come back? Yeah, I come back, Mary. Uh-huh. Go eat.
Stanley’s: up the block on Ave A. Dinky little place, like a bar but a diner. Barstool seats. Eggs, homefries, toast and coffee. Okay, sausage too. Uh-huh. Mary told me to come here. Uh-huh, yeah, from the International. “She came from the village that was a few miles from mine,” Stanley said. “You know her?”
“I just met her. My friends know her.” I’m just up visiting, etc.
“We feed you good here, right?” he said to his wife that was cooking.
“That’s right, Stanley. Us Ukrainians just one big happy family.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Stanley said, “she’s grumpy today.”
“I heard that! I’ll beat you with a pan!”
“You do that, you won’t get no lovin’ tonight!”
“Don’t be such a beast in front of the customers.”
“I was just playing…”
It was good to see. Old folks that had been together for years. The food was good and cheap and the regulars just sat there not saying much. They had heard it before. I tipped them a buck and he looked at it like he never got tipped. Yeah, I’ll be back. Some year. You kids play nice. Kids? You hear that, honey? He called us kids. “I’ll hit him in the ass with this pan if he don’t scoot.”
Ha-ha. Lala. La-ti-da. Up on First Avenue I looked for cabs. What was it? Lights on and they’re taken? Something. I put up my hand and one pulled over. I got in and gave him the address.
“The Dakota?” he asked.
We went off. “What’s the big deal about the Dakota?”
He looked at me in his mirror. “The Dakota is old, man.”
“Fuck it. You care if I smoke?”
“You can smoke.”
I didn’t have any cigarettes.
“Got its name from the fact that, when it was built in 1884, it was so far uptown and away from all the fashionable residential areas, it might as well be in the Dakota territories.”
“Got a cigarette?”
“I don’t smoke,” he said and then went on. The walls were twenty-eight inches thick, they filmed Rosemary’s Baby there. John and Yoko. That’s right. That’s where I heard of it. Strawberry Fields is across the street? Yep, in Central Park.
“You from out of town?”
“Yeah,” I said. “My dog told me to go there and kill somebody.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Yeah, little joke. I’m a funny person.”
“I didn’t think it was funny,” he said and continued on with his historical overview of the Dakota.
I looked out the window. We were in some movie. I was taking a briefcase filled with pages from the novel I had slaved over for months to some famous editor. No, that’s not right, I was going to meet some record producer that was a famous recluse and but suddenly became interested in producing again after hearing our tape. He called me all the time at the dollhouse. That’s right. After a while, I quit answering the phone, told Cindy to tell him I was in my studio. Yeah, that’s it. I was a freakin’ genius and…
“Goddamnit, man! You should teach,” I said.
That shut him up. We drove on.
“Columbia,” he said.
“What?”
“I used to teach at Columbia.”
“Columbia?”
“Yeah, uptown. Fuck Columbia.”
We got there. Fuck Columbia. May they burn in hell.
I paid no mind to the huge archway entrance and went in, gave the concierge my name and told him, Adams. He picked up the house phone and dialed.
Gothic, ain’t it? Yup. Look at this guy. Phone dialin’, uniform wearin’. Didn’t call me sir 'til after he got off the phone, uh-huh. Go on up. There. The elevator is there, sir. Uh-huh, all right. Can’t I wander around the courtyard a bit? Forget it. Go on up. All right.
The elevator guy looked straight ahead. We got upstairs. Do I tip him? Look at me, fucker! Nope, there she is. He’s lookin’ at the young lady. Uh-huh, he’s all right, it’s all right. Thanks, Jimmy. Look at me Jimmy. Nope. Jimmy’s gone. What’s with Jimmy?
“Hiya, Amy,” I said.
It was like that. Third eye blinkin’ and then in my bubble. Fuck the world, let them burn in hell. Hello, hiya. Blinkblink.
“Hey, Tony. Come on in.”
I followed her ass in, she was saying something. I stood there for a bit in the middle of her living room.
“Nice place,” I said. Lame. Totally lame. Was a genius in the cab though. It might come back, I might get something back.
“It’s my parents’ place,” she said. “Would you like something to drink? We have soda, beer…”
“Stop,” I said.
“What?”
“Come here,” I told her.
“No, I don’t think so. You come here.”
I did. It’s all right. Sometimes you have to give a little.
A while later, we were laying in her bed and I told her, “Someday, I’m gonna save you from this place.”
She laughed. See? I am a funny man. What the hell do ex-Columbia teachers that drive cabs know? I rolled over and spooned her. She grabbed my hands in front of her and purred. Yes, purr kitten. Gargoyles flew around the building.
“I must show you around!” she suddenly exclaimed and jumped out of bed.
I looked at her body. I didn’t deserve her, it was stupid. All my clever words were gone. Maybe she didn’t care.
“Get dressed,” she said as she threw on some clothes.
I did and she showed me around the place. Her mother and father did this and that. They won’t be home 'til five, relax. You’re so tense. It’s all right, Tony, I like you. John and Yoko.
“Oh, yes. Yoko still lives upstairs,” she said. “Charles Henri Ford lives next door, man!”
“Were you here when John Lennon got murdered?”
“It was so sad. He was such a nice man but he seemed sad all the time anyway. Look at all my father’s books, man!” She pulled me into another room.
I looked. It was a huge room with bookcases built into the walls. They were all filled.
“This is my dad’s library,” she said. “He’s a publisher and knows all these famous people! You read?”
“I have read a lot,” I told her.
“I thought you did, you can hear it in your songs. Look,” she said.
I didn’t know where to start. Picked up this and that book off the shelf, put them back.
“I’ve got to go back to PA tomorrow,” I told her.
“Oh, no. We just met.”
“I have to. Made a promise.”
“Well, you want to meet Charles Henri Ford?”
“All right,” I said.
We went next door and she knocked. An old man came to the door and said, “Well, hello, Amy,” and let us in. We had tea with him and she told him I was a musician. He groaned.
We went back to her place after a while and fucked again, then she said her parents were going to be home soon. Let’s go somewhere. No, I have to get ready for work. Kiss me here. Kiss me here. Ha-ha.
“What are you going to do?”
“Do?”
“Yeah, later. Not tonight but what are you doing working at a bar?”
“Oh, that’s just for the summer. I’ll go back to school in the fall.”
I stood there.
“You can come see me at the bar tonight,” she said.
I know, don’t ask. Just stop it. Don’t be a dick.
“Ah, I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, I know. The bands there suck. It was a hot place for a couple of years but the scene died out, went downtown. That’s how it goes.”
Call. I’ll call. You better.
Kiss me here.
The concierge gave me a condescending look as I walked out. The street smelled good; I liked the street smell better than the library smell.
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