Laundry Bags and Stiletto Heels
Laundry Bags and Stiletto Heels
Sylvia ran the dry cleaning store at the corner of West 83rd street. It had belonged to her husband of twenty-seven years until he died of pneumonia in the summer of 1997. She would never remarry. Not that she had many opportunities. She was a heavy woman with short frizzy blond hair and a stern disposition. The co-op apartment above the store was Sylvia’s too, only she bought it herself after her husband passed away. It was empty for over a decade before he died. This was mostly due to the fact that the only stair case that led up to the apartment was built in the very back of the store. Which meant the occupant had to venture into the dry cleaning store, through the front counters, and past the forest of plastic-covered clothing every time he came or went. The apartment was also damp and cold from years of abandonment, but Sylvia liked it that way, it agreed with her temperament. The air in the store was steamy and humid from the steam press. Sylvia’s forehead would sweat and her hands would be clammy at the end of each day. The window of her dry-cleaning store read “Soloveichik’s European Cleaning” in large white block letters. The only scenery the window could offer was speckled with little white dots that came from the cold weather and made a permanent home on the window’s glass, no matter how often Sylvia had an employee wash it. She had a couple of helpers: a boy, Bobby, who had grown up on the same street as her children and her youngest daughter, Josephine. Every morning Sylvia would perform the same rituals. She would come downstairs at 5:30, her mouth dry from waking, she would turn on the switch lights, turn on the machines, push her way to the front of the store, open the front door for Bobby, make herself some tea, and wait for Bobby to show up and for the store to open. The half hour before the store opened was her favorite time of day. She dreamed of far away places and warm sea, her husband and clean windows.
***
Natania was a stripper at a high-class gentlemen’s club on Broadway and 39th street. She didn’t like the job but it paid well and she rarely felt afraid. She wore a small white-gold chain around her neck that her father had given her, sweet sixteen. She never took it off. She was always very busty. In high school she would tape back her breasts because of the attention they attracted from male teachers. Now she would let them giggle around for money and drinks. She lived in a small apartment with three other girls. The building had revolving doors, peeling wallpaper, and a small elevator that she would ride to the very top, occasionally getting groped by the landlord when they happened to share the elevator. Her bedroom had one double hung window that looked over the city. The red, green, and white lights glared through it and the shut window could not hush the sound of the morning silence being broken by the screeching of cars. When Natania was younger, she wanted to be a doctor. Her father was proud of her ambition. She came to New York for college; it didn’t work out. Since then, she would get home in the mornings around 5:45, she’d wash off her make up, wash her mouth with burning Listerine, take cash out of her pocket, take off her cloths, and carry her tired and aching body to her bed. At 3:30 the next afternoon the loud beeps of her alarm would wake her. She’d slam her hand down on the off button and pull herself out of bed. She would shower and brush her teeth. Then she would put on her usual costume of stiletto heels and one of various colored thong panties. Sometimes she dressed as a nurse (Her father wouldn’t have approved). Before she left she would cover herself with a long white trench coat and walk four blocks to the club. The air was cold and it stung her body under her trench coat. But she liked the long walk. It was the only time a day that she could be a lone with her thoughts. She would sing to herself and remember her father.
***
At 5:30 am on a Thursday, Sylvia came down from the apartment above her store. She turned on the lights and the machines. She slid past garments in plastic laundry bags and to the front counter. She saw something in the window that made her jump and let out a loud breath. A woman in a long coat and long dark hair was shivering outside of the store window. Sylvia opened it. The little bell in the door rang a few times, piercing the cold quiet. “Can I help you?” Sylvia said to the woman in her horse morning voice. “Yes!” the woman said, “I know you haven’t opened and I’m so sorry to disturb you, but I need this for work tonight!” She handed Sylvia a white nurse’s uniform stained with something orange. The woman’s breath smelled like alcohol and her makeup was smeared and running down her cheeks. Sylvia doubted that the woman was a nurse, but she didn’t ask questions. She believed people were entitled to their privacy.
“I can have this done for you by 5:00 this afternoon, but it will cost a little extra,” Sylvia said to her.
“That’s understandable, thank you!” said the woman. Sylvia let the woman into the store and gestured to the cash register. She placed the uniform on the counter and wrote on a tiny paper.
“What name should I put this under?” Sylvia asked.
“Nataina please” said the woman. Sylvia wrote Natania’s name on the little peace of paper and attached it to the uniform with a tiny pin,
“That will be eight-teen dollars.” Natania reached into her pocked and pulled out a few crumpled up bills. She handed these to Sylvia and then took a seat on a stool.
“Is it alright if I sit here for a minute? I have a long walk home,” Natania asked. Sylvia nodded, then left to make herself some tea.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Sylvia said from behind the barrier of clothing.
“No thank you.” Natania answered. Sylvia made herself tea and brought it up to the font counter where she usually sat down to drink it. She forced a smile at Natania and sipped her tea. The two women sat by the counter without speaking, each wishing they were somewhere else, as the sun rose over them.
Sylvia ran the dry cleaning store at the corner of West 83rd street. It had belonged to her husband of twenty-seven years until he died of pneumonia in the summer of 1997. She would never remarry. Not that she had many opportunities. She was a heavy woman with short frizzy blond hair and a stern disposition. The co-op apartment above the store was Sylvia’s too, only she bought it herself after her husband passed away. It was empty for over a decade before he died. This was mostly due to the fact that the only stair case that led up to the apartment was built in the very back of the store. Which meant the occupant had to venture into the dry cleaning store, through the front counters, and past the forest of plastic-covered clothing every time he came or went. The apartment was also damp and cold from years of abandonment, but Sylvia liked it that way, it agreed with her temperament. The air in the store was steamy and humid from the steam press. Sylvia’s forehead would sweat and her hands would be clammy at the end of each day. The window of her dry-cleaning store read “Soloveichik’s European Cleaning” in large white block letters. The only scenery the window could offer was speckled with little white dots that came from the cold weather and made a permanent home on the window’s glass, no matter how often Sylvia had an employee wash it. She had a couple of helpers: a boy, Bobby, who had grown up on the same street as her children and her youngest daughter, Josephine. Every morning Sylvia would perform the same rituals. She would come downstairs at 5:30, her mouth dry from waking, she would turn on the switch lights, turn on the machines, push her way to the front of the store, open the front door for Bobby, make herself some tea, and wait for Bobby to show up and for the store to open. The half hour before the store opened was her favorite time of day. She dreamed of far away places and warm sea, her husband and clean windows.
***
Natania was a stripper at a high-class gentlemen’s club on Broadway and 39th street. She didn’t like the job but it paid well and she rarely felt afraid. She wore a small white-gold chain around her neck that her father had given her, sweet sixteen. She never took it off. She was always very busty. In high school she would tape back her breasts because of the attention they attracted from male teachers. Now she would let them giggle around for money and drinks. She lived in a small apartment with three other girls. The building had revolving doors, peeling wallpaper, and a small elevator that she would ride to the very top, occasionally getting groped by the landlord when they happened to share the elevator. Her bedroom had one double hung window that looked over the city. The red, green, and white lights glared through it and the shut window could not hush the sound of the morning silence being broken by the screeching of cars. When Natania was younger, she wanted to be a doctor. Her father was proud of her ambition. She came to New York for college; it didn’t work out. Since then, she would get home in the mornings around 5:45, she’d wash off her make up, wash her mouth with burning Listerine, take cash out of her pocket, take off her cloths, and carry her tired and aching body to her bed. At 3:30 the next afternoon the loud beeps of her alarm would wake her. She’d slam her hand down on the off button and pull herself out of bed. She would shower and brush her teeth. Then she would put on her usual costume of stiletto heels and one of various colored thong panties. Sometimes she dressed as a nurse (Her father wouldn’t have approved). Before she left she would cover herself with a long white trench coat and walk four blocks to the club. The air was cold and it stung her body under her trench coat. But she liked the long walk. It was the only time a day that she could be a lone with her thoughts. She would sing to herself and remember her father.
***
At 5:30 am on a Thursday, Sylvia came down from the apartment above her store. She turned on the lights and the machines. She slid past garments in plastic laundry bags and to the front counter. She saw something in the window that made her jump and let out a loud breath. A woman in a long coat and long dark hair was shivering outside of the store window. Sylvia opened it. The little bell in the door rang a few times, piercing the cold quiet. “Can I help you?” Sylvia said to the woman in her horse morning voice. “Yes!” the woman said, “I know you haven’t opened and I’m so sorry to disturb you, but I need this for work tonight!” She handed Sylvia a white nurse’s uniform stained with something orange. The woman’s breath smelled like alcohol and her makeup was smeared and running down her cheeks. Sylvia doubted that the woman was a nurse, but she didn’t ask questions. She believed people were entitled to their privacy.
“I can have this done for you by 5:00 this afternoon, but it will cost a little extra,” Sylvia said to her.
“That’s understandable, thank you!” said the woman. Sylvia let the woman into the store and gestured to the cash register. She placed the uniform on the counter and wrote on a tiny paper.
“What name should I put this under?” Sylvia asked.
“Nataina please” said the woman. Sylvia wrote Natania’s name on the little peace of paper and attached it to the uniform with a tiny pin,
“That will be eight-teen dollars.” Natania reached into her pocked and pulled out a few crumpled up bills. She handed these to Sylvia and then took a seat on a stool.
“Is it alright if I sit here for a minute? I have a long walk home,” Natania asked. Sylvia nodded, then left to make herself some tea.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Sylvia said from behind the barrier of clothing.
“No thank you.” Natania answered. Sylvia made herself tea and brought it up to the font counter where she usually sat down to drink it. She forced a smile at Natania and sipped her tea. The two women sat by the counter without speaking, each wishing they were somewhere else, as the sun rose over them.