And The Dog Barks... A 21st Century Adult Fairy Tale Continues...

By E. P. Lee

... and Eric’s “Leaving Las Vegas” meets “Madagascar” world changes with it. But, daily Freud barks;

“And the Dog Barks...”

And that’s familiar.

Familiar.

And new...

• Language: English
• Publisher: E. P. Lee
• Release date: Feb 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311038760

E. P. Lee

After a lifetime spent in his native New York Eric Paul Lee now resides in beautiful, tropical, Miami, Florida. Born in Brooklyn and raised in Coney Island, Eric often wandered the Boardwalk in his childhood. Eric frequently wasted his allowance at the now demolished Steeplechase Park and the other dated, dowdy and declining amusements that defined Coney Island... and much of traditional society... back then. The traditional was still IN back then. And the traditional like Coney Island had seen its glory days, its heyday, long passed. But the new hadn’t arrived yet. Just the old was fading... And so the forms still had to be obeyed. And with that Eric’s parent’s obeyed those forms and Eric was dispatched to college in Upstate NY to return to Brooklyn some four years later. Upon graduation from college Eric bounced from job to job until the Graphic Arts caught his creative eye and a new career began. With his first graphics production position under his belt Eric moved in to Manhattan some two years later never to live in Brooklyn again. Success built on success as corporate stints in California brought about even greater successes leading to Eric’s eventual New York City return and the opening of his own Graphics Agency in Manhattan. That enterprise ran successfully for over twenty years. Now out of industry entirely, Eric is happy to enjoy the perpetual Florida sun and write.

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Copyright © 2013 Eric Paul Lee.

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All characters, situations, names, places and locations are the product of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any and all resemblance to actual people living or dead, events, businesses, locations, or places is completely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

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1

And the dog barks…

Freud’s not a puppy in a marble kennel with a plush bed and wee-wee pads howling the night away any longer.

Good thing that… good thing.

No… now Freud is a three-year-old, fully trained, fawn-colored French Bulldog who walks by my side off lead and answers to verbal command; sometimes with great indignity that… actually oft-times with great indignity (but cute that, cute…), but Freud answers to command… he always answers; just soooo slowly sometimes, soooo slowly, but he always answers.

Always…

And Freud stays un-kenneled in the house now too.

Un-kenneled and un-howling… both things are good…

Very good…

Peace in the Castle reigns… ... peace in the Castle… or is it peace in the Valley?

And since there hasn’t been any peace in a long, long time… peace is good.

Peace is very, very good!

2

We’ve arrived at a destination, Freud and I; we’ve arrived.

Or perhaps we’re just not where we were…

I get confused sometimes.

There was so much insecurity, so much illness, so much death, so much tension… so much angst… that I lose sight of the details and just stay confused. It all blurs, the details, it all blurs. And it’s easier that way. I don’t feel the pain so much. I don’t feel the loss. I don’t miss things as much… Mitch, Ziggy, my friends, the business, money, my health…

I just move on.

And move on I do.

I’m on this new trip, a new voyage, a new journey. I have no idea where I’m going. And I suppose I never did know before as I travelled.

Before…

Before I just went.

But this time is different. I consciously took myself here. I worked at this and worked at this and worked at this and pulled and pulled and manipulated and finally I’m here.

Here…

And Here is, well… Here…

And Here is pretty, and safe, and secure, and comfortable, and Freud is happy and Freud howls no longer and no one has died, and no one is sick, or at least no one is any sicker than they were.

Here… I’m Here…

And Here is fine.

But I’ve never done fine before…

And I’ve never been Here before.

I wonder where this will go?

3

Before I was Here I was There.

And I was There a long time.

And There was beautiful, truly beautiful.

There was a canal front house, with a pool, tumbled marble patios and terrace, four bedrooms, living room, kitchen, and a formal dining room. There was impeccably renovated and furnished smartly.

There was located in Bay Harbor estates, a beautiful gated community just 10 minutes from the heart of downtown Miami city center and fifteen minutes from chic and trendy South Beach; South Beach, Miami Beach, Florida.

There was where I ran to when I had to escape my old life in New York City. Yes, before I was Here, I was There, and before I was There I was at that other There…

All of my other lives have been There. There was where I always was when I wasn’t Here.

To be or not to be? … … … that is a question… … … serious, I have to get serious… … … serious.

OK… serious!

There, I’ve always been There.

Only…

Only now… I’m not.

Now I’m not There; now I’m Here.

Here….

4

Here…

And Here ain’t bad.

Here is in the "City of the Village of Miami Shores", only some five minutes north of Bay Harbor Estates and hence some 15 minutes north of the sophistication that is downtown Miami/Brickell and some 20 minutes north of the trendy chic environs of South and Miami Beach.

Here is a two bedroom, split floor plan, house of some 2,000 square feet (under air), on a 9,000 square foot lot, finished with cove ceilings (that’s ceilings with insets for those of you who don’t know about those things); Crema de Marfil marble floors, snazzy Bisazza glass tile trimmed, marble tiled bathrooms, granite topped kitchen counters, and deluxe, hurricane impact, triple wide glass windows letting the Florida sunlight stream in and sparkle over the marble, snazzy glass tile, granite, and stainless steel scattered all around the house.

It’s all so upscale it almost makes me retch…

And I had all of the furniture redone to match the new digs before I moved in.

Yep…

I planned all of this stuff… each and every piece of it. I searched for this place and hard; forty, fifty, maybe sixty houses did I look at and finally Here…

I chose Here.

Crema de Marfil marble floors, granite, stainless steel, snazzy Bisazza…

Here…

I chose Here.

Here…

And Here is turning out to be a great choice.

I’m more than a little comfortable. The space is more than a little spacious. There’s only me and Freud and we ramble around from room to room with impunity; breakfast at the granite breakfast bar, lunch at the eat-in breakfast room table under a grand crystal chandelier, dinner in the dining room, music in the living room, TV in the family room.

Oh…

Daily we ramble around the house with impunity and wanton abandon… ramble, ramble, ramble…

But the house is pretty silent… and that silence hurts me. There are no memories Here… no memories of anything; no memories of Mitch… no memories of Gal… no memories of Ziggy; no memories…

Memories…

And I haven’t gotten laid Here… and I haven’t ever been well Here…

So…

So there are no memories…

No memories…

And yet… and yet…and yet…

And yet I haven’t died Here and I did almost do that There…

So maybe Here is better…

But There…

There…

I was There so long; twelve years I was There.

And I wanted to be There until I died. That’s why I put so much effort and spent so much money on developing There.

I wanted There to be the last place I lived.

And There almost was…

But I didn’t die There.

No…

I didn’t die There… I almost died There, but I didn’t.

Ziggy died There…

Ziggy…

Memories…

And Mitch died There…

MITCH…

Well… Mitch didn’t die There physically, in the house. No… Mitch died on a driveway miles and miles away… physically.

But emotionally Mitch died There…

Mitch lived There emotionally with me and Mitch died There emotionally for me… and right now I feel as if I’ve died emotionally because I didn’t want to leave There.

And leave my memories…

Memories…

All of my memories are There…

And all of my other memories are at the There(s) before too.

I have no memories Here yet. Lots of pretty rooms do I have. Lots of pretty Crema De Marfil marble – and granite and stainless steel and snazzy Bisazza do I have… but new memories, no…

No…

I have no memories Here…

No memories do I have; this place is filled with stuff and yet…

Empty...

But There…

Yes… memories, lots and lots of memories…

Memories…

Memories There and at the There before that…

And memories at the There before that still…

Memories…

Memories at all those There(s)…

There…

Memories…

5

Memories…

My last close relative, my Father, died five days after September 11, 2001. Yeah… that’s right, Dad died five days after the Twin Towers came down and all of New York City imploded.

Memories…

For the first time in my life I was responsible to no one except myself… everyone was gone. My Mother, my Grandmother, my Father…. gone. There was just me now in a pretty, renovated, 1856 Federal Townhouse; me with my adorable dog, my first French Bulldog Ziggy, all of my memories, and a stratified, frozen and decaying 12-year-old relationship with Gal.

That relationship with Gal had been dying, along with my Father, for years, but my Father died first, leaving me to face an empty reality with an empty relationship still at hand.

I didn’t know what to do, so at first I did nothing.

And at first nothing was all I could do…

Memories…

I had to escape.

Memories…

So on October 31 – Halloween morning, 2001 – I put the adorable white Frenchie in to my BMW X5 along with my suitcase, computer, and cell phone and left on an indeterminate road trip to find my middle-aged self.

And at first I just drove South on I-95.

Miami…

I was going to Miami.

But I didn’t… somewhere around Jacksonville I had second thoughts about being alone in Miami…

ALONE… in Miami…

And then I remembered… I had old, old friends, older than me by decades, and great friends of mine for decades, residing in a small Florida Gulf coast town near Charlotte Harbor and there I would go…

I remembered that there was a waterside Holiday Inn not far from their home and that the Holiday Inn was located near a supermarket and all round mini shopping center. And there was a small harborside park with a beach right next door for Ziggy. The location was perfect… and so with my cell phone I called information and then the hotel and then with a confirmation number for a reservation for a mini-suite for a week in hand, I drove off down I-75 from Jacksonville with a new destination in mind.

But I didn’t stay at the Holiday Inn, in a mini-suite, for a week. No… for a week I did not stay… I stayed ensconced in that suite for 17 days; 17 days of tranquility, peace, and quiet.

For the first time in what seemed to be forever I wasn’t writhing with tension…

I was content.

And content I stayed for 17 days.

Memories…

On the morning of the 18th day I left.

Memories…

I told my friends that I was going home, back to New York...

That was the information they expected to hear, the information that I think they wanted to hear, and the information they would understand. They knew almost everything about my life, my business, my Mother, my Father, my houses, my tensions… they knew almost everything…

But as with all relationships, some things were held back… either by convenience, necessity, or duplicity; but held back nonetheless.

These people lived in a small, quiet town in Charlotte County, Florida, with all of its family values and small town America peccadilloes, with their son, his wife, and their grandchildren nearby…

And me?

Me…

I lived in that Gomorrah of the North with its constant noise and tumult and relationship confusion… and so some things just never got said…

So on the 18th day I was going home…

Except…

Except I wasn’t…

After 17 days of small town Florida life and small town family values I needed a return to Big City life and Big City values… so I was going to Manhattan South.

Now I was going to Miami…

Miami Beach…

To South Beach actually…

South Beach…

And at around noon on the 18th day I arrived.

Let the party begin…

Memories…

Memories…

So here I finally am…

In Miami…

6

Miami…

Miami Beach actually…

South Beach…

Here I finally am in South Beach, Miami Beach, Florida… and oh all the people. Bye-bye to all of the lower middle class Caucasian homogeneity of Charlotte Harbor and hello…

Hello to…

All the World comes to Miami Beach to Party…

South America in particular… but all of Europe is represented too.

Italians are everywhere, just look at all the Italian restaurants on Lincoln Road and Ocean Drive… and so are the French, the British… and Germans… and a smattering of Poles and Slovaks, other Eastern Europeans too.

And there’s Asians, all kinds of Asians… Koreans, Japanese, Chinese, all identifiable by the different slants to their eyes and the chatter of their variant tongues, each tongue and each slant distinct to itself. And then the Jews – Israeli Jews and native American Jews – those guys are everywhere in the shops… as owners, as tourists.

And Blacks are everywhere… native African-Americans abounded aplenty and there were immigrants from all parts of Africa, many times in native garb, and Blacks from the Caribbean; Haitians not liking Jamaicans, Jamaicans not liking Bahamians, Bahamians not liking Trinidadians, and no one… no one – White, Black, Jewish, European or Asian – no one… liking the Cubans.

And the Cubans were everywhere, like roaches… or like Puerto Ricans in New York City… they were everywhere…

And just like in New York City everyone got along. No one cared… The only thing that mattered was money. If you had money, sit down and have a cocktail… Asian, Black, White, Jew, European, Cuban… party…

Party…

But no money…

Go away…

And fast…

Just like New York City that… money as the great equalizer.

And I had money… and so I was equal…

Equal…

And so I was home… after 20 days on the road… I was home.

Home…

Memories…

Manhattan South…

New York City with palm trees, Manhattan in the tropics (or semi tropics) or whatever… I was home.

So I took Ziggy for a walk.

Memories…

7

Ziggy and I walked right out the front door of our beachfront, boutique, luxury hotel in SOFI (South Of Fifth) South Beach and made an immediate left turn to walk on and up Ocean Drive, towards Lincoln Road for an outdoor cocktail and dinner.

It was early so this was going to be our late afternoon meander and reconnaissance.

And meander was all we could do.

Ocean Drive was packed with late afternoon beach-goers just heading home or to the local beachside Bars for early evening Happy Hour. And then there were all of those other people rushing to the beach for those last late afternoon rays or for those same Happy Hour cocktails.

Vehicle traffic on the road was at a standstill as drivers fought each other for parking spaces. And sidewalk traffic was snail-like slow with skateboarders, bikers, and in-line skaters muscling lowly pedestrians to the side as they all tried to make their way wherever way they were going.

And all of this noise, all of this activity, all of this LIFE is taking place on what you know is a regular basis… just some nine or ten weeks after the disaster that was the fall of the Twin Towers.

Memories…

New York was still in shock when I ran away… beginning to stir, but still in shock.

But Miami Beach never seemed to hiccup.

Miami Beach… South Beach was just like the life and activity I knew in New York City before the Towers came down… life before my Father died…

Life just like before…

Only it was warm here… And there were palm trees… And there was laughter… And it was warm… very warm…

Very, very warm…

And I smiled as I walked… I smiled a lot…

Memories…

8

Ziggy and I had been meandering up Ocean Drive for about an hour when we made the left turn in to the first of two city streets that lead to the Mall that is Lincoln Road.

The heat of the day was still intense and what with the exhausts from the taxis, buses, cars, and trucks, the air was fetid with fumes and little bits of flying dust. I couldn’t wait to crest the Mall and escape the traffic…

So we quickened our pace as much as possible and made our entrance on to the strip that the sign at the very beginning proclaimed:

The First Pedestrian Mall in America

The Lincoln Road Mall

And just as we walk by the ATM machine that begins the stretch towards the first of what must be 100’s of restaurants, cafes, bars, and shops, I faintly hear my name being called out.

At first I wasn’t sure… but a second or two later:

"Eric? … Eric? … … … Is that you?"

The last part of the phrase was much louder than the first… like the person speaking got more sure of themselves as they called out. I couldn’t not hear that last part and since it was me… I turned and looked and…

Memories… memories… memories…

It was Antonio… Antonio from New York City who I hadn’t seen in some eight or nine or ten years.

Antonio…

I didn’t even know that Antonio had gone to Miami; Mars had been my choice of destinations for him when we lost contact so long ago… But here Antonio was in Miami and here I was in Miami and now… and now… and now… well now I was no longer alone.

Let’s go get a drink… says I… and off we go.

Let the party begin.

Memories…

Damn…

Memories…

9

I had met Antonio some fourteen, fifteen, or sixteen years prior on one of my frequent (three or four) yearly winter jaunts to San Juan… and we were never more than casual friends with each other… casual and in contact…

And in contact was all we stayed.

Casually…

We spoke and sometimes often, we went to dinner; I even let Antonio use a spare room in my apartment for three months once when he first moved to New York City from San Juan and was attempting to get settled in the Big City.

Memories…

But I never saw Antonio naked… and I never touched him… I was never intimate with Antonio in any way. I was intimate with someone Antonio knew, someone Antonio introduced me to a long time ago in San Juan the night we first met; in another lifetime that, in another Century even… but with Antonio no… never and that’s all another story, for another time…

Memories…

But I remembered Antonio well and I was happy to see him now.

And I had no reason not to be happy.

Antonio and I had never had a fight. We had never exchanged bad words. We’d just drifted apart… our interests going in different directions as I settled in to my relationship with Gal and my life outside of New York City in the Village of East Hampton, New York, and Antonio settled in to his life in the Big Apple.

And Gal and Antonio were somewhat friendly for more than a couple of years… but like I said before: time, different interests, different needs, different agendas… and we all drew apart…

Memories…

Eight or nine years had passed and I hadn’t seen, spoken to, or thought of Antonio once and here Antonio is sitting across a café table from me on the Lincoln Road Mall in South Beach drinking a Cuba Libre`… that’s a rum and coke with a piece of fresh lime in it for those who don’t know… very South Beach In you know…. pre Mojitos that, pre Mojitos South Beach In, but very, very South Beach In still…

IN…

And Antonio was always very "VERY"…

Very…

In…

Memories…

10

Memories…

As we drank our cocktails (he his Cuba Libre`; me, I had a rum punch with tropical fruit juices, dark rum, a piece of pineapple, an orange slice, a very red Maraschino Cherry, and a green paper umbrella…. Everyone has to have one drink on Lincoln Road or Ocean Drive in South Beach with a paper umbrella in it…. everyone), and we spoke of why I was in Miami in November before Thanksgiving.

No Americans were in South Beach around then… The Americans were coming the next week, for Thanksgiving, and then again for the start of the Winter Season some 21 days after… around December 15th.

But now… mid-November… Americans? …

Americans in South Beach…

No!

Europe was there… Asia was there… South America was there… Cuba was everywhere… but Americans?

No…

So why was I there?

Yeah…

Why?

Memories…

So over drinks I told Antonio why… about my need to find myself and possibly consider a new start in a new place…

And at that point Antonio stopped me and said:

"Well you can’t make a decision like that based on a place like South Beach.

South Beach is a fantasy.

If you’re going to make that kind of a change you have to see Miami… pick me up tomorrow at my apartment at three p.m. and I’ll take you to some areas of Miami where a lot of people like you have bought houses, renovated them, and made a lot of money.

You can’t do that here in South Beach anymore… so let me show you them."

And I said:

Sounds like a plan… … … sure.

Memories… memories…

SHIT!

Memories…

It’s the first, and the only, time Antonio ever had anything of substantive or positive value to say to me.

The first and only time…

And it was a life changer…

Memories…

11

As Antonio left, hunger set in and right next door to where we had been cocktailing was an Italian restaurant that both Ziggy and I were familiar with.

As we’re seated I noticed that my patio dining table mates were chic South Beach hipsters… an older, middle-aged dude trying desperately to be hipper then he could be and his waif thin, much younger, pretty, Asian, girlfriend. The Dude was dismissive of the lady’s presence, enamored of his cell phone, and constantly jumping up from the table, leaving the pretty Lady with a bored, but amused, look on her face.

The Lady smiled at us somewhat quizzically when we were seated (as if to ask how’d you beat the line?) and then went back in to her own world… at least until the food came. When the food came, her mildly amused, quizzical look became a direct stare and as I enjoyed my appetizer of pasta with prosciutto, onions, fresh tomato, herbs, and cream, she couldn’t contain herself:

Does he always eat like that?

He was Ziggy…

You see I was eating one piece of pasta and sauce and Ziggy was eating one piece of pasta and sauce. That was always our pattern some nights on vacation. If it was late and if I couldn’t get a plain piece of grilled chicken or pork or beef to go with the dry kibble I kept in the suite, well at those times Ziggy and I shared dinner.

We shared everything but my Martini and my salad that is…

Memories…

The Asian Lady was overly amused at Ziggy’s appetites and my willingness to feed them, excitedly amused even… And as her gold chain bedecked, black leather (way too tight) pants clad swain was away from the table, we introduced ourselves to each other and started to talk.

So we talked… and we talked…

What did I do for a living? …

Why was I in Miami in November before Thanksgiving?

And each broad question led to more specific questions and by the time "Studly" in Leather came back to the table to dine she and I were friendly acquaintances. She, Roxanne, knew all about why I was in South Beach in November before Thanksgiving, and I had learned what she and her boyfriend did for a living: they were in Real Estate.

It was all very superficial and very entertaining, but before the dinner was over Roxanne got me to wax poetic about what I liked about the Florida lifestyle I had experienced on the West Coast and the fantasy I was now experiencing on the East Coast and what, just what kind of life I might like