Terrence and Candy In Love
A Cold New York Night
Drunken, fallen, like a king in an exile, like a bird with broken wings, Terrence Grandchester was back at the streets. He liked that old feeling of agony, of freedom, of exploration… The streets were dark and wet, the cold was piercing his body, giving him a chill, he was longing for this chill, every single night. The lights of the city behind him were glowing in the distance, but the area he headed too, had only a dim yellow light, that came from no more than one or two street lamps. He walked slowly, gazing the stars, looking the sky, the cool air smelled like rain…
“This is a night to die for”, he thought as he approached the gang of people that seemed to form a circle at the centre of the small alley that lead to an old garbage yard.
‘Hello, Terrence are you ready?”
“Of course I am”, he said removing slowly his cape.
“The guys are waiting for you. Erick is already back there, watch out he looks drunk”, said the younger of the group.
“Good”, Terrence thought, leading the way to the back of the yard.
Passing through the narrow alley walls, the gang was clutching its fists. There were no more than 5 to 6 young men, all around 20, who aroused pure fear to the most decent members of this society. Dressed in black, with no ties, open shirts, tight jeans and dark gazes, they all looked as one and the same.
At the back of the alley, another group was waiting. They seemed more like bullies, with torn clothes, holding chains to their hands.
-Oh, so the theatre actor decided to come?, said the leader of the group. Eric was looking beautiful and strong, despite of his delinquent looks and his blare gaze. He was slightly taller than Terrence, his arms coming out of his sleeveless jacket were well formed.
-You will regret my arrival soon enough, Terrence replied, taking out his jacket, removing also his tie and joining Eric at the centre.
The others surrounded them and started to exchange money and swears at each other either laughing or shouting.
-Well, I am telling you, there is no stage for you tomorrow…Call your mother to play… Eric said with a malicious laughter.
Terrence made his fists…as his opponent did, he said nothing in return.
-Now remember ladies, we show no mercy, the bets are over, you can start…
“Fight Terrence, fight” the younger one started to shout.
Among cries, shouts and swears Eric and Terrence had started to exchange kicks and blows to one another. They were both young and strong, determined to take this battle to the end. After ten minutes of continuous strangle, there was no winner among them. Terrence was blue all over his face having taking several blows but still nothing severe enough to make him put his face at the ground. Eric had also received multiple punches, his nose was swollen, his left eye almost shut for the next three days but he could take more…much more than this. The young men, yelling behind them, manifested, they wanted a quicker “death”, the night was still young and they wanted to be lost in the booze. Eric was fast but Terrence was faster moving out of his opponent’s fists. Eric’s hand landed on the wall. It sounded like the bones of his fingers broke on the spot. Driven by an excruciating pain that made him scream his lungs out, Eric kicked Terrence down to the ground, moved on top of him and started to hammer Terrence’s head to the pavement. Terrence kicked him at the stomach as hard as he could, sending Eric back to the cold pavement. The fight had reached its peak, the two opponents were looking each other in the eyes with a menacing stare. “You are dead” said Eric, “censor you”, Terrence replied. The next punch was forceful, finding Terrence on the spot, he fell to the ground, Eric continued punching him as hard as he could until the pavement turned into a red colour.
Judging that his face could take no more, he started to kick him sideways at the back and at the stomach. Terrence felt like throwing up. They all felt that this was the end to it, the half of the group started cheering. “You are no good you bastard, go back at the stage”, another bully shouted. Just when Eric backed off and turned his back, a man with a face covered in blood, slowly started to rise up again.
“What you want more?”, said Eric.
“Is this your best show? A kid would have done better”, said Terrence.
“You will beg for mercy, you bastard…”, Another fist found its way to Terrence face, only that this time, he got a better grip at the wall and remained standing despite the pain he felt.
‘More..give me more..” he said, provoking his rival.
Eric set out with a dozen of punches falling on Terrence. Terrence reacted fast, punching Eric to his stomach, making him bending in two pieces. Another punch and Eric lost his balance. Terrence started kicking him with no mercy at all, reminding himself the equivalent scene he had experienced just a few minutes ago.
“Stop you are killing him”, the rest shouted.
Terrence stopped, feeling that he had overdone it.
Eric lied half dead at the ground, declaring a pure defeat. The crowd of delinquents applauded in a wild, savaged way. It was not just the free show, much more than this these boys loved the money. Terrence helped Eric to stand up, they were both in a crimson state.
‘You are good as dead Grand..”, Eric said.
‘Promises” …Terrence replied..
A few financial interactions later the young men set off to leave and Terrence was left alone at the dark side of the alley.
He sat down feeling the cool air drying his blood and sweat, the night’s shadow covering his wounds…He closed his eyes, feeling he wanted to delve into a resting sleep. He managed it tonight, but still, there were many nights to come…
“Nights are okay” , he though. Slowly, trying to find his remaining strength, he got up. He wore his cape but he threw his tie to the garbage yard. With the moonlight casting glimpses at the deserted buildings, the filthy pavement and the semi-built factories around him, he set off for the bars.
“Hello” said Monique to the young actor who sat silent at the bar having a mix of whiskey and soda.
“Hello, princess”, Terrence replied with a small smile.
“You made it tonight?” she asked, looking at his brutally swollen face.
“Looks like it”, he said.
“You know you can really die”, she whispered to him.
“Really? Never thought of that”, he whispered back.
“Where is Eric?”, she asked.
“You should find a new pimp”, he said.
“Is he that bad?” , she was worried, he could tell.
“No, the usual”, he replied calmly.
“Are you for a ride”, she asked softly lingering on his arm.
“I never deny anything to a young lady”, he said calmly. Monique took Terrence hand at her palm and with her right hand she grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the bar.
“Fuels ? ”, he asked.
“Your favourite”, she replied.
A few moments later, they were sharing the same old and rusty room at the above floor of the bar. Monique was soft and gentle with Terrence, she loved his face, therefore she cleaned all of his wounds and made for him her special cocktail: one part whiskey, one vodka, two soda, ice and two lemon slices. One glass of that, send angels and demons up right back where they came from.
The atmosphere was soothing and relaxing, they were both undressed and warmed by the drinks, the proximity, their loose relationship which was exactly what he needed, exactly what she was paid for. After a hard sex session, Terrence was on his way to his empty apartment.
He had survived another fight with the New York’s most notorious gang, another drinking and sex session with his favourite prostitute. He could not ask for more. He opened the door of his apartment and he turned the lights on. He felt on to his bed like a falling rock and closed his eyes with a smile. He was still alive.
A Cold Pony-Hill Night
Candy White Ardley was pleased with herself. The little ones had gone to bed after an exhausting day. This was her favourite hour. The children had fallen asleep, Sister Maria and Ms Pony had found rest in their bedrooms and the house was so silent and peaceful that Candy could hear the branches bending to the wind. Times like this she felt like she owned the Pony Home. She sat to the chair next to the fire, took a blanket to cover her knees and unfolded a letter. To Terry…she was holding it, reading it to herself. These words were the ones she wanted him to hear, these words were the ones she would never dare to say to him. Holding the letter close to her chest she was trying to find a cause… a real cause that would make her throw that letter into the fire, exterminating her deeper feelings…her ultimate wishes.
There was nothing left, nothing. “I have no clue what you do and how you spend your days, I have no right to know, I choose this…I had to…”
In her dreams, she pledged for a miracle. A miracle like the ones she read at the fairy tales. She did not feel sadness, sadness was a heavy word. No sadness was not the word. Another one perhaps, more indifferent, more empty…emptiness, yes that was the word, emptiness. She only hoped that Albert could come to fill in the days with his presence, to give her back some feelings. To make her happy again…She was tired and wanted to close her eyes… to rest but then a strange thing happened. She heard a knock at the door that make her frown. Visitors, at this hour? She though. She approached the heavy wooden door and asked as softly as possible “Who is it ?”
-Ms Candy, open the door is me George.
-George? What happened? She was really worried that something bad might have happened at Albert, Archie or Annie and opened the door at once.
-You must come with me! Mr William is..
-Is he hurt?
-He came home today from France but he seems to be ill.
-Ill? Oh my god, I must come at once, she said. She did not want to disturb the residents of the house, therefore she left a quick notice at Ms Pony and Sister Maria. She would take a trip to Chicago, to see her adoptive father.
“Albert you are the only one that I got”, she said to herself, on her way to Ardley’s mansion. “Please stay with me…”.
Say your prays
The morning sun found Sister Maria and Ms Pony shocked to read the misfortunate news.
-Ms Pony, I say we must pray…
-Yes sister Maria, we must… he is a very good young man.
-Ms Pony what is this? Sister Maria asked, retrieving a white envelope from the floor, next to the fireplace.
- A letter I guess.
-It says To Terry Grandchester, Stratford Theater, New York.
-Oh poor Candy, said Ms Pony, exhaling, Albert’s news must have strike her hard. She forgot to post it.
“Never mind” , she said and took the envelope from Sister Maria’s hands.
Ms Pony was a practical woman, the only thing that this letter needed was wax in order to be securely closed and out of the door. “Oh I love to close letters”, she thought. “It is so easy.” So Ms Pony handed the letter to the morning postman who many years now delivered the mail back and forth.
And Ms Pony waved at him with her usual smile as she was watching him going up the hill. “Candy will be happy to know we settled down this little issue for her” said sister Maria.
“Of course she will” Ms Pony said, and started to pray along with Maria.
Another Day of Sun-Rising in New York City
Terrence opened his eyes feeling pain to his muscles, to his bones, to his head. It was the side-effects of last night. It felt good though. He still had the pleasant memories of Monique’s naked body inside him, the adrenaline rush of his hard fight with Eric in his veins. He owned that memories. Making coffee at this small kitchen, he looked at Suzanna’s notice. He had left it, there on the kitchen table, since last afternoon where he returned into his apartment only to have a hot shower and go back on the Stratford’s stage again, for another show.
I wait you to pick me up tomorrow. Remember you promised me a walk at the park? Let’s hope it won’t rain.
Right, he had to be a gentleman. He had to take her for a walk. He had to smile. His problems were his problems, not hers, his. He did as his mind told him to do, he drunk his coffee, took a shower, put on his new suit and closed slowly the door behind him. No it was not raining, it was cold but sunny. Terry wished for a rain, a sudden storm, a blizzard. He smiled to himself
“No rain today?” God must love you, Suzanna”, he thought to himself, while whistling an old favourite Scottish melody. “God must really love you”.