Iggy Gorgess

By Chrissi Sepe and Dan Schurtman

Iggy Gorgess is a twenty-two-year-old punk with spiky, dyed black hair and black eyeliner who moves to Greenwich Village, NYC, in the late 1980's.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781631920097

Chrissi Sepe

Chrissi Sepe has written three novels, one screenplay and several short stories. She studied Songwriting and Voice at Berklee College of Music where she met her soul mate who became her husband. She lives with him and their daughter in New York City.

Book preview

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Chapter 1 – Iggy New York

Iggy was bored so he moved to New York.

Iggy opened his watery eyes. His shoulder was being nudged.

Excuse me, excuse me, wake up now. We’re here at Penn Station, last stop.

A tall, dark-haired woman wearing a Chanel Suit was hovering over him. Iggy looked confused. Everything around him seemed loud, yet muffled. His ears were blocked, and the noise made him shiver. Everyone on the train hurried around. They picked up their suitcases and rushed to the front of the train. Iggy remained slouched down in his seat, his arms folded in front of him. His dyed black spiky hair was messy and ruffled. His black eyeliner was smudged under his eyes. Four empty beer bottles were tucked neatly and cozily at his side. He’d gotten drunk and had slept the entire train ride. Yeah, yeah, thanks, Iggy answered. He slid himself up.

For a minute, there, I thought you might have missed your stop. I didn’t want to wake you. I figured you were probably headed for Manhattan.

Manhattan, yeah. Iggy reached nervously into his jeans’ pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. Hey, do you know where Calle Street is?

It’s in the Village. You’ll have to go downtown. Take the One train.

The woman picked up her briefcase from the storage space above the seat. She’d been sitting next to Iggy the entire train ride.

Thanks.

The woman smiled slightly and headed toward the front of the train. Iggy watched her walk down the aisle, away from him. She didn’t even say goodbye, he thought. He put the small piece of paper back into his pocket and grabbed a blue canvas bag from under his seat. He stood up and ran his hand through his hair. He followed the others leaving the train.

Iggy wandered around Penn Station following the arrows that eventually led him to the One train. It was dawn now, and the creepiest people were on the train. There was a man and a woman, both wearing heavy, colorful make-up, screaming at each other, arguing about Todd and how the man shouldn’t have thrown his drink on him. There were two older male drunks sleeping soundly in their seats, one resting his head on the other’s shoulder. There was a man in a business suit sitting with his back painfully straight, staring into space, moving only to blink. The only ‘normal’ signs of life were two teenage girls, both staring right at Iggy. He squinted into the dark window and looked at his face. His black hair was still standing straight up, but his eyeliner was smeared in black lines that expanded nearly an inch down from each eye. He looked at the two girls. They were talking to each other and had suddenly lost all interest in him. Iggy didn’t know whether to be glad or sad.

Iggy got off at Christopher Street as the ticket person had instructed. He pulled out the map he’d picked up at Penn Station and traced the street name that was written on his small piece of paper – Calle Street. He walked quickly till he found the street, constantly checking the map. He looked for the address number that was written on his small piece of paper. He stopped in front of a red brick building, about four floors high. He opened his blue bag and took out a brown envelope that his mother had mailed a duplicate key in. She and his older sister had found the apartment for him a month ago, while Iggy was still in Germany. I guess you do need family sometimes, he thought. He opened the heavy door and climbed a huge, slightly winding staircase till he reached the fourth floor. The walls were white with the paint chipping off. He stopped in front of apartment number 7. He opened the door and—

Hey, Jellyhead!

"Caramel, what are you doing here?"

Iggy’s sister was sprawled comfortably on a large, black leather chair. She was wearing a skimpy vinyl black top and black leather pants. Her clothing matched her long, dyed black hair with a straight-across bangs cut. Her legs were thrown over the side of the chair.

I’m here to welcome you, little brother.

Iggy dropped his blue bag on the floor and shut the door behind him. What are you wearing? Iggy asked.

I know, Caramel said. "I look gorgeous! After all, it is our last name!"

Iggy walked around the room. Everything was painted black. There were wooden shelves, a cozy, smooth black velvet couch, a glass coffee table with an opaque surface that was also painted black, a TV, a single futon thrown across the floor and several cardboard boxes still unpacked.

Everything’s so – black!

To match your black, jellied head! Caramel laughed and swung her legs off the side of the chair, sitting normally. Iggy sat on the black velvet couch, perpendicular to Caramel. He ran his fingers gently along the smooth, soft surface of the couch.

Where did you get this?

It’s Paul’s, or it was Paul’s, I should say. Isn’t it groovy?

Yeah, sure. Iggy stood up and examined the apartment. There was a tiny kitchenette with just enough space to fit a stove and refrigerator. Beside the kitchen was a bathroom. Iggy looked for a bedroom, but he didn’t see one. What, no bedroom?

This is it, babe. What did you expect? You wanted to live in one of the most expensive cities in the world!

Iggy sank himself into the couch again. Caramel stood up and gazed dreamily out the window. Did you see the plants I put for you here?

Iggy glanced at two, tiny, green cactus-like plants in orange, clay pots sitting on the windowsill. Lovely.

Mom’s doing fine, by the way.

Are you saying that sarcastically?

Oh, no, no.

I just called her yesterday.

Caramel suddenly turned to Iggy. You know, you should have just moved back to Staten Island. It’s so expensive here. I mean, you can just take the ferry over in half an hour. I do it all the time. I couldn’t afford to live in Greenwich Village!

Sure, because you blew all your inheritance money partying!

What better way to spend Aunt Thelma’s money? That’s what she would have done. Caramel looked out the window again and ran her painted black, three-inch long nails through her hair. That money isn’t going to last forever, you know. I’m surprised you didn’t blow it all in Germany. I would have. What did you do over there, anyway? I mean, didn’t you ever go out?

Look! Iggy said defensively. I’m not like you and your friends hanging out all the time just for the sake of hanging out. I like to stay home and think. That’s why I’m a writer.

You’re a writer, what have you written?

Iggy leaned back into the velvet couch while Caramel lit a slender cigarette.

I’m working on a novel. Did the first hundred pages or so in Germany. I should have it finished in about a month since I have no distractions now.

In a month, and then what?

Then I’ll try to get it published.

Caramel moved away from the window and sat back in the black, leather chair. She puffed away on her cigarette. Iggy, you’re so clueless. It’s 1986, not 1906! I just wish you’d get out of that head of yours sometimes and join the rest of us. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get published? And you think you’ll have it ready for that in a month?

I just said I’d try.

You’d try.

Iggy slunked back deeper into the couch and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to talk about this now. He’d just gotten off the train. He was tired. He wished she would just leave.

Caramel got up and sat beside him on the couch. She placed her hand gently on his arm. Listen, Iggy. I just say this because I worry about you. I mean, you’ve just moved into your own apartment. I’ve brought you enough things to help you get started, but eventually you’re going to have to get a job.

Look! Iggy sprang up suddenly. I’m fine with money. Just don’t worry about me and money, I’m fine! He closed his eyes again.

Okay, you’re fine. How about a hug?

Iggy let Caramel hug him, but he didn’t hug back. Caramel noticed and pulled her arms away. I think all you need is a good woman! She nudged his shoulder. Not that idiot Marlene Dietrich, or whoever she thought she was. Caramel stood up from the couch. She picked up her black, vinyl raincoat that had been thrown over the leather chair and put it on. Iggy opened his eyes and looked at her. Caramel opened the door. "Well, I’m going to leave you alone, Grumpy. I’m going to walk to the subway now. It’s pretty deserted out there, I might get mugged, but don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine!" Caramel stepped into the hallway.

Love you, Iggy said as she slammed the door behind her. He took a deep breath and pushed himself off the velvet couch.

He walked into the kitchen and picked up a glass that sat in the sink, obviously used by Caramel. He turned the taps on and rinsed it carefully, cleaning it with his fingers. He filled the glass and shut off the taps. He drank it all in one gulp. He put the glass down in the sink, then changed his mind and placed it gently on the counter, moving it back and forth along the counter several times, until it was in his exact, desired spot.

Iggy walked into the bathroom and turned the light on. He looked into the dusty mirror and attempted to comb his hair with his fingers. He examined his eyes and