The 'Free' World

Thought for the day: What do they mean, “The free world”? You can’t go anywhere for free!

When you’re income is down to zip it is important to find things to do that don’t cost money. So, when I got the invitation to my friend’s book signing party at a gallery on NYC’s Upper West Side, I put it in my datebook; it was the only entry for the week. My husband had a training session for the job he’s been doing for almost 20 years so we drove in together. This enabled me to put the car in his employee parking lot. I dropped off my new headshots at my agent’s office and she liked them. She stated that the ones I’d been using for the last two years didn’t have much personality. (Thanks for the timely notice!) I called the only two people I can ever think of to call at the very last minute to see if either of them wanted to join me at the gallery or for a drink. The one who lives around the corner from the gallery was in Pennsylvania. The other decided to leave her sick boyfriend at home and meet me for coffee. In the meantime, I stopped up at the hairdresser to get my bangs trimmed; Rossi on West 57th. Marie Rossi is my regular stylist although I think of her more like a therapist for how much better I feel about myself after a session in her chair. But Marie is not there today so Tony will squeeze me in. Tony is Marie’s husband, the star of their salon and, in his ‘spare time’, a working actor. Tony is the quintessential Goombah; a guy as likely to be a hairdresser as Hulk Hogan is to be a ballerina. You may have seen him in such gentle vehicles as “The Sopranos” and “Donnie Brasco”. As gentle and patient as Marie is, that’s how powerful and wild Tony is. If Marie were George Serat Tony would be Jackson Pollack. If Marie were Tinkerbell, Tony wound be Sasquatch. He treats my head like one of those bouncing toys that when you push them down they bounce back up. Grab, cut, push, comb, push… If it weren’t firmly attached I believe it would fly off my shoulders and roll around the floor to be swept up with the fallen hair. Now, given the recent decline in my fortunes and current stress level, my head sits atop my neck like a skull on a stick so I have to concentrate on keeping my neck loose so it doesn’t break. I try to pretend I am a bobble-head doll; boyng, boyng…. It doesn’t break or even hurt really; in fact, the whole process makes me laugh. Wouldn’t you laugh if Attila the Hun was trimming your hair and making you look beautiful? I walked back across town talking to the friend in Pennsylvania, feeling very much a part of the NY scene with my chic bangs and my cell phone glued to my ear, talking out loud to someone 100 miles away. I manage to get to the coffee shop first so I call my friend to make sure I’m in the right place and she asks is I would prefer the coffee or a Margarita. I answer so fast she laughs. Who would pay $4 for a cup of coffee when you can have a Margarita for $5? We meet at the bar next to the coffee shop. In less than an hour my husband calls. His training session is over and he’s on his way. He gets the car and we meet on the corner to head uptown. Only two circles around the neighborhood and we get a spot on the street. The gallery is packed and the friend I haven’t seen in 20 years looks radiant. (Since I seem to be plugging in this post, the book is “The Shiksa Syndrome” by Laurie Graff and I’m having one of those “why didn’t I think of that” moments.) We buy the book and she autographs it for us with a great personal note. We have some wine and delicious lox on pumpernickel. They give out free raffle tickets and the prize is a lipstick and a copy of the book and I wonder what I will do if I win. My husband says, “Yeah, but it comes with a lipstick!” I look at him and wonder.

On the way home he is proud that we spent an evening in NYC and didn’t spend any money. I remind him that the free evening cost gas to and from Connecticut, $10 to park in the employee lot, $7 including tip at the Happy Hour bar and we BOUGHT THE BOOK! Passing through the toll at the Henry Hudson Bridge I think, “How can they call this ‘the free world’? You can’t go anywhere for free!” Still, a cool September evening in NYC… priceless.