As the snow swirled outside Meng’s restaurant <br />Jenny Berg said, “Frank’s not here, Bernstein.” <br />“The weather.” <br />“He promised.” <br />“The weather, ” I repeated, to calm Jenny <br />tears now streaming from her puffy eyes. <br />“I love him.” <br />What could I say? <br />I stared at Jenny not knowing how <br />she had fallen for Frank Crane, a philandering bum. <br />Just then Hattie trudged in <br />no hat, thin coat, despite the blizzard, <br />a sixty year old courtesan. <br />“Bernstein, your snow is here, ” <br />she said plopping down. I smiled. <br />”And this makes you happy? ” <br />“Yes.” <br />Hattie stared at Jenny still crying <br />so said, “A man once ruled me. He lived <br />in the Terminal Hotel and had <br />seven women at his command <br />one in each room <br />and he didn’t chain us or use knives <br />to keep us there.” <br />“Seven women! ” said Jenny. <br />Out came wine. <br />First Jennie, next Hattie, eventually silence <br />except for the wind blasting Brooklyn. <br />“But I left, ” said Hattie <br />wiping wine from her chin. <br />“Why? ” asked Jennie. <br />“Couldn’t stand him <br />fucking the other six <br />suffered because of that <br />went to my sister’s shrink, Dr. Towel, <br />and I told him the tale <br />as he puffed on his big cigar <br />like his hero Freud. <br />I had no money but by then <br />he was fucking my sister <br />so he took my case gratis <br />or maybe he thought to have me too <br />and don’t you know <br />that’s what happened <br />until the smoke became too much, <br />and I moved out.” <br />“Your sister still with him? ” I mumbled. <br />“Get real, Bernstein, she dumped him <br />the minute she found out <br />she could love herself.”<br /><br />Charles Chaim Wax<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-pillow/
