Harmony 'n' Me

Hello, baby hello

Haven't seen your face for a while

Have you quit doing time for me

Or are you still the same spoiled child?

Hello, I said, hello

Is this the only place you thought to go

Am I the only man you ever had

Or am I just the last surviving friend that you know?

“Ronnnnnn!” It's been years but I knew that voice. I turn to look and see a memory, a tiny Guidette I knew full well on my first job. Her name? Not exact but here goes a close to the bow shot. Diane Chieti Trivento Marco de Cavorti. She was the daughter of a minor thug connected to a certain family on Atwells. Her younger brother was no better as I remember it. Her Mom looked exactly like she should've lived somewhere in New Jersey. A total Italian American Princess with the fake blond hair, gold chains, 80's Spandex and holding a glass of Soave Bola in her hand.

I turn to look and even after the years, I felt it. That old twinge of “I like you!” You probably never forget old flames from the past. She was still 4 foot 11, still weighed 99lbs and still wore denim. Though her, like me, have added crow's feet and gray hairs, though I've gone full white. She still tans apparently, even in March. Well, Guidettes never cash in on their tried and true styles. She would lather up in Hawaiian Tropic frying oil to get that Sicilian tan she always could get.

“God..you're still soo damn tall....and WHITE!” she says. I smile, knowing that mop on my head could be used for a lighthouse.

“Remember all those times we spent at Christy's Landing down in Newport? Remember how I used too grab your *&*^ in the street?” And she giggles. Still the lil' tart at 49. No one changes.

I ask about the guy she married, another Spacone from her breed. “Ah, well, we're still married, sort of...” She trails off. That was enough for me to fill in the rest. “I guess he was pissed I cheated so much, but so did he!” I stood there, knowing what libertine she was then. Probably still is if she can pull it off. She could in a way, still had that body and same teasing personality.

A quick story. She would carouse the nicer bars in North Providence and made it known, for a goodly high price, she'd be the weekend girlfriend for the right guy. I can remember her coming to work one Monday morning, disheveled as hell and dumps her purse onto the table and a a bunch of $100 bills came out. Eight of them.

“He had a real yacht, a 33 footer, in Jamestown! He lives in the Hamptons but his brother runs a waste disposal business in Esmond, up the street from Mineral Spring.”

She didn't care who knew this. I sat there, looking at those fat bills and I said, “You whore yourself out?”

“NO! I'm better than that! I'm an escort!” She had said this with conviction! “Oh, I guessthat makes it alright then.” I say to myself.

Here's another story I have to heavily redact. It happened, in a way, but I'm changing a shitload of facts, to protect the very guilty.

Back in the 80s Rhode Island was the jewelry capital of the world. Shipments of gold, silver, precious gems would come out New York via couriers to here, mostly to the better jewelry shops in Providence. Then these talented men would fashion them into higher priced goods instead of the junk jewelry we pumped out by the ton.

So...one day I go into work, Diane is sitting there, with the phone to her head and a shoe box full of gold bracelets, rings, earrings and loose stones. From what I can hear she's selling them over the phone. I look into the box and pick some of this stuff up, it's heavy. I'm no jeweler but I guess this was the real stuff.

She hangs up. “Do you want to buy some? It's really, really cheap, like 25% cheap!”

“Where did you get it? I ask.

“Paulio and John shoved a shotgun out the window of their car at another one on Rt 4, made the guy pull over. They took it all...made the guy walk blindfolded into the woods and they took off.”

I heard many stories from Diane and she was the type who didn't care if you knew the details. Why should she? She was protected by some heavies. All I could think was of the story I saw on WJAR three days earlier of a courier being ripped off when he was run off the road with a gun. And here she was, putting on and taking off jewelry like she was dressing up a doll, herself that doll.

Colorful chick she was...

Anyways...

There's a pause in our conversation. Of course, my eyes are easily read. I'm looking at her as I did when I was 22. Damn fool I am.

The pause breaks when she says,

“You know...you were probably the only real guy I knew....I mean straight...not crooked as hell”

I then repeated a phrase I have told her and everyone over the years, I take everything literally and am boringly literal myself, to my advantage and detriment.

“Diane you always ran withthatcrowd...there was no way I could fit in.”

“Yeah..in fact I still do run with them...I got better at spotting the liars though.”

Pregnant pause...I see as she was when she was 22. Twenty-two and a thrill seeking, immature, bratty, pouty, hot little number.

“MOMMMYYY! I then hear yelled out. A kid, about 12 I guess, comes running up, carrying three bags of Snickers, “Can I get it? Huh? Puhleezzee!”

All of a sudden, 2014 came back. I say goodbye with the usual half-assed promises of “We should meet up agains” and I walk out of the store, thinking that I may have learned a thing or two over the decades.  

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