2005-08-17 - 2:00 a.m.

Just call me Linda the Friendly Ghost. I live in my own invisible little world. Not elated. Not unhappy. Not anything�a kind of limbo existence. And, I admit, it really suits me...but in the back of my mind, I think, �This is kinda weird.�

My building in Greenwich Village has over 200 apartments�but, except for a few people on the 4th floor where I live, I don�t know a single person�and they don�t know me. Oh, there�s the occasional familiar face on the elevator with whom I share a nod or a �Hey, how ya doin?," but, other than that, I might as well be living in the middle of a desert.

I suppose that�s a typical city scenario�and believe me, I dig the anonymity, but it is a little strange that NOT ONE PERSON in this entire building has ever been inside my apartment. Well, the handymen�Steve and Giuseppe�have been here, but those don�t really count as �visits��seeing as how they�re usually fixing a leak in the sink, unclogging the toilet, caulking the bathtub, hanging a light fixture, or patching the ceiling where a chunk of plaster has fallen down. They go on and on about building gossip but, quite frankly, I never know who they�re talking about.

I talk to the doormen on my way in and out. During the day, it�s John�who, for some reason beyond my comprehension, insists on calling me �LOVE DOLL.� Eeewww..!! I'm having visions of something you�d buy at the Pleasure Chest and inflate at home for your amusement. That�s not exactly what you want to hear from your doorman. John also says he gets jealous every time he sees me kissing a guy outside the building. Uh, yeah�

Henry is the 4 p.m.-to-midnight guy. He�s about 5�2�. A few years ago when the lobby was renovated, they built a beautiful, marble-topped reception desk. But when Henry first sat behind the new desk, he sorta disappeared�and he was FURIOUS. Now there�s an adjustable swivel stool behind the desk, so that Henry can see what�s going on. Henry is essential, because he buzzes up all the take-out food guys. He�s always eating something behind the desk. Most of the time it�s bananas. Henry loves bananas. But last Christmas, Elizabeth handed him his Christmas bonus and he said, �Thank you. I�d give you a kiss, but I�ve been eating fish!� That still cracks us up.

Mark takes over from midnight to 8 a.m�but I rarely see him because my social life sucks, and I�m usually home before midnight. But Elizabeth knows Mark quite well. He�s a Jehovah�s Witness�and secretly leaves copies of �Awake!� in the mailroom. They discuss religion at 5 a.m. when she returns home from the bars. Wish I could hear a tape of one of those talks. Once in a while I�ll see Mark at 6 a.m. or so, if I have to meet a client for an early morning TV show. On these occasions, he always says, �Am I dreaming??? There�s something wrong with this picture.�

Sometimes I see Robert DeNiro in the lobby or the elevator because his ex-girlfriend Too-Kay (sic) and their surrogate-produced twin sons live in my building. Lorraine Bracco of �The Sopranos� occasionally visits Too-Kay.

Keri Russell lived here for about two years, but recently bought an apartment two blocks away on 12th Street.

Rumor has it that actor Owen Wilson has looked at the vacant duplex penthouse. Henry promises to keep me informed.

Oliver Sacks, the wacky neurologist, lives here. He always looks a bit disheveled, and he walks around in his bedroom slippers. He wrote a famous book called, �The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat,� and Ann Sheehan actually knew him years ago when she worked in the Psych Department at Montefiore Hospital in the Bronx.

Anyway�so here�s who I know from the 4th floor�and what I know about them:

--Barbara the yenta. She runs a dog-walking, pet-sitting business out of her apartment, which nearly got her evicted a couple of years back. She�s a total busy-body who has an opinion about everything and everyone�and it�s always negative. I try to stay on her GOOD side. She used to bug Elizabeth about her party lifestyle. �You�re first going out at midnight? Where can you go at this hour?? You kids�OY�I�m exhausted by 9:30.� She once noticed that I threw lots of magazines into the recyling bin�so she asked if I could give them to her when I was done with them. Now, I regularly leave stacks People, Us, Life & Style, Star, Domino, Shop, Lucky, InStyle, W, New York, Time Out New York, Vanity Fair, etc. in front of her door. She says, �All those crazy clothes. Who WEARS these things? And those celebrities. I don�t know any of these people. I never heard of them. All those little blonde whores.� Last time I saw her, she was headed to a free concert in Battery Park. �Linda�you should come�it�s Little Anthony and the Imperials.�

--Liz the Lesbo Lawyer. She�s lived right next door to me for nine years and has NEVER said ONE word to me�even when we pass one another in the hall or are standing side-by-side waiting for the elevator. She�s really fat and unhappy looking�which is not a good look for a lesbian. Barbara the Yenta takes care of Liz�s cat when she�s away and uses her kitchen as a spare when preparing her annual seder dinners.

--Jo the Would-be Actress Turned Hermit. When I first moved in, Jo was a single mother raising an adorable little boy named Xanthus. She was an attractive would-be actress whose day job was working for a well-known woman politician who was then in the U.S. House of Representatives for New York. Years later, when I, too, was a single parent, Jo and I would occasionally chat in the laundry room. By now, she decided she was a would-be photographer, but I don�t think anything came of it. Her day job then was working as a waitress at Ye Waverly Inn. By now Xan was out of college and had moved to Rhode Island. One day Jo went from being a brunette to being a blonde. It was not a good look for her. A few years back, she took a trip to the Galapagos Islands, and I overheard her telling a neighbor that while she was there she hadn�t taken a shower for eight days. I made a mental note never to go to the Galapagos Islands. Over the years, after Xan left, Jo got a cat (natch!), stopped wearing make-up, wears total Salavation Army clothes (but not in a good way!). I�ve never seen one person go into or come out of her apartment. She�s never had a single date. Now she studies the piano�and, since her apartment is just opposite the elevator, occasionally I�ll hear her practicing the same note over and over and over again. Oh, and there�s always the smell of popcorn coming out from under her door. Piano and popcorn, her cat, and dried out bleached blonde hair. I always say to Elizabeth��Oh, God�I hope I don�t turn into Jo.� But, the truth is, in many ways, my life is Jo-like.

John�who has some kind of illness. He�s lived in the building longer than I have, but I only found out his name about six months ago. He was talking to Jo and she said, �Bye, John.� He doesn�t go out much. He�s lost his hair and eyebrows in the last two years, so I suspect he�s having chemo. His apartment is also opposite the elevators�and he opens his peephole every time the elevator doors open. It�s bizarre.

Odd couple in 4G. She looks like a big, beefy bull-dyke. He�s half her size and looks like a bespectled blue-eyed altar boy. Supposedly, they�re MARRIED. But they both look so TOTALLY GAY..!! A few times, when I�ve left overly-large garbage bags on the floor of the �compactor room� (too big to fit down the chute)�the odd couple have picked them up and placed them back outside my apartment door, along with notes inquiring as to my knowledge of �the spread of vermin.� This means they must have actually OPENED the garbage bags to find some piece of evidence linking said bag to ME. Barbara the Yenta saw them leaving the bags in front of my apartment. This just confirms that this is a couple who is NOT having sex with one another and has nothing better to do.

Anita the smoker. She�s about 80-ish�coughs CONSTANTLY�but still smokes. She can barely take five steps without stopping to catch her breath and say �OY..!� Last week I saw her walking with a �walker.� When I asked what happened, she said, �Don�t ASK!!� Then she told me that she had stepped off a curb and got hit by a truck, which knocked her down and broke her hip, her leg and a couple of ribs. I�m really doubting the veracity of this whole story�because she was moving at a pretty good clip in that walker. Something�s not kosher here.

The �white� couple. Gina and her husband (don�t know his name). She�s his second wife. He always wears a hat�summer, winter, spring�whatever. Look�we all know you�re bald. Get over it. It�s 110 degrees out�ditch the hat. Anyway�EVERYTHING in their apartment is WHITE (not that I�ve ever been inside their apartment, of course, but that�s the way it seems). Gina does laundry like five times a week. Every time I�m in the basement�there she is with a load of whites. Everything�white. They have a house in Easthampton. They drive out late Friday night to beat the traffic�and drive back early Sunday�to beat the traffic. So, they basically spend 36 hours there each weekend, year-round. Why bother? Gina is obsessed with my hair. �How do you get your hair so shiny? �What kind of hair color do you use? What shade? Who cuts your hair? Do you blow dry it? What products do you use?�

Oscar the dog guy. Oscar looks like the typical Village-y Jewish Liberal. Bald�a little decrepit�a little smelly�bit of a free spirit�70-ish�wears sandals. He has a couple of really flea-bitten old dogs. And he always seems to appear whenever I�m waiting for the elevator. One of his dogs�Amy�a yappy little thing, insists on jumping up on me, and Oscar says, �She�s saying �hello� to you.� I am totally NOT a dog person, so this completely grosses me out. Her ratty little paws scratching my legs. One time she actually sneezed on me with her dog mucus�it was disgusting..!! Now I take the stairs whenever Oscar and his mangy crew appear. Last time he said, �Why are you so afraid of dogs? Did you get bitten by one when you were a child?� Now, I�m in psychoanalysis with Oscar the dog guy. I said, �NO�it�s just that I don�t like them NEAR me. They make me sick.� A few years ago, Oscar found a �love interest� on the 8th floor�a woman who lived in a one bedroom apartment with THREE HUGE COLLIES!! They would have �dog parties� or whatever and were always holding hands. She looked kinda crazy to me and spoke in a really loud voice, but, hey, whatever turns you on. They were actually cute together in their weird smelly way. Occasionally they�d be in the elevator when I got in�the two lovebirds�and their SEVEN DOGS. I held my breath till we got to the lobby. Then one day the woman had a brain aneurysm and dropped dead. The collies went to live with her sister in Florida. Now it�s just Oscar and the rat dogs.

Random other people live on the floor, but I have virtually NO interaction with them�probably couldn�t pick them out of a lineup. And I�m sure that as little as I know about these neighbors�they know even LESS about me. Some people know me simply as �Elizabeth�s mom.� Others may know me from years and years ago when I was still married to Ted. I was always screaming after him when he left the apartment, �You�re a disgrace. Don�t come back.�

I�ve actually spent whole weekends in my apartment where I haven�t spoken a single word for like 48 hours. No human contact�except to order a coffee at the Village Den. Sometimes I�ll say something out loud like, �This is fucked up!!��just to see if my voice-box still works.

Oh my God�I just realized I�ve become JO!

If any of you guys have had even remotely similar experiences...EVER... (and I hope you have!), let me know.


8 comments so far

previous - next

UNE ESCAPADE BELLE - 2012-04-11
Ooey Gooey Good... - 2010-12-07
Say WHAT..?? - 2009-07-09
THE MENNONITE SCHLEMIEL - 2009-05-30
HARRIET, DAH-LING! - 2008-08-19