There’s going to be a reading of my new play today, which makes me suitably nervous, since I’ve never heard the play out loud before. This situation has also made me think about New York and Tom Eyen.
I met Tom shortly after I’d first moved to the city. New Yorkers always call it “the city” because they sincerely believe that no other cities exist. I was at the New York Health&Racquet Club, a gym which is astoundingly still there, on East 13th Street, just off Fifth Avenue. Tom had written such off-broadway hits as The White Whore and the Bit Player and Women Behind Bars; he’d also written many episodes of the TV series Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, as well as the book and lyrics for Dreamgirls. I always think of Tom whenever I see a 12-year-old belting out “And I’m Telling You I’m Not Going” on a TV singing competition. And when it’s a 12-year-old I also wonder, where is that kid not going? On a field trip?
Tom had a wicked tongue and a comprehensive knowledge of New York real estate. If you were apartment hunting, he would tell you exactly which buildings to investigate, which apartments were available and their square footage. Anyway, I was at the gym and a not particularly pleasant man was haranguing me. Tom appeared and pretended that he and I were best friends, and the unpleasant guy wandered off. Tom wasn’t hitting on me; he was rescuing me. We started chatting and I told him that I wanted to be a writer. He talked about working hard and about ignoring what other people thought and most especially, about sticking with it. He said, “Because I intend to have career longevity.” Then he strolled a few yards away and stepped onto a narrow cast-iron circular staircase. He turned, in his t-shirt and gym shorts, and said, quite grandly, “Like Marlene.”
Here are some of the things which have happened near 13th Street and Fifth Avenue since then: there was a disco called Ozma which closed rapidly. There was a gallery which had a photography show of celebrity portraits, where all of the stars were wearing red shoes. There was a Texas-themed restaurant called The Lone Star Cafe, which had a Chevrolet-sized statue of an iguana on the roof. And one day an elderly driver lost control of her car and plowed into Washington Square Park, killing several people and injuring others, which accounts for the stanchions which have been permanently placed near the arch.
There’s also a branch of Cohens Fashion Optical on Fifth and 14th, where I bought my glasses. I once left them in the back seat of a cab, where a kind passenger found them and tracked me down, using the receipt from Cohens, which was in my eyeglass case. He refused any sort of reward, so I gave him a box of cookies which were frosted to look like bright yellow taxis.
A huge new building has just gone up across from Cohens, housing The New School. This building has aggressively assymetrical architecture and zigzag windows; it’s not quite finished, but it already looks dated.
New York can make you feel desperately old or eternally young, because it keeps changing.
So today I get to hear my play, which I’m very excited about. And very nervous about. And I’m so glad this is all happening in New York.
