Keeping Up With the Greenbergs
Phil Wohl
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2005 Phil Wohl
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FORWARD
Life is funny sometimes. Of course it isn’t as funny as smashing your brand new Mustang convertible into your house and having your life flash before your eyes. Sitting here in my car in the middle of m den, can't help but think that things could have worked out differently - that could have been happier - that could have lived the life that wqs meant for me. That was, if I didn't have to keep up with the Greenbergs.
ONE
My name is Rory Feldman. I am a 40 year-old, broken down, victim of the ideal suburban life. has-been, who has seen better days. Much better days. All of my mental torment started 38 years ago when my parents, Rose and Arnold Feldman, decided to move our family to West Barton from Brooklyn, New York.
West Barton is your typical middle class suburban town. The town’s inhabitants are scattered between of Irish, German, Italian and Scandinavian garnish, with a mild sprinkling of Jewish residents to add some additional Eastern European flavor.
Life in a playpen had its advantages because it kept me out of trouble. M life seemed to change a few years after was sprung from my playpen. As a four year-old, I was completely mobile and free to find trouble n the neighborhood. My street, Lucy Lane, was pretty quiet until Old Lady Mondschein had passed away from a chronic case of pessimism, which was a common suburban condition. Shortly aft she died, her adult kids quickly sold the house after they painfully cleared out their possessions. It took the three of them for months of half-hearted cleaning to make the place ready to sell. Seemingly, the memories were still fresh in their minds and it seemed to impede their progress. However, once the closing took place, they collected their money and did what smart people would do: they never returned.
I was excited to see a little kid hop out of the moving van passenger door. What little dude staring at the four walls wouldn’t be excited to see some action next door? The new kid smiled and waved at me, so I waved back. I was too young to know anything about the Trojan horse, but something told me that this gift would be a mixed blessing like everything else in my life.
As fate would have it, our new neighbors, the Greenbergs, had an eight year-old girl and a four year-old boy. That meant that my older sister and I would have people our ages to play with.
My parents and the Greenbergs became instant friends, which meant that Jeffrey Greenberg and I were buddies. Life was pure. It was the mid-1960’s and things were good. Ford introduced the Mustang, and although JFK had dramatically been killed, we were still a few years away from taking our dreams to the moon. It was a good time to be an American, and an American living in the suburbs. Suburban life had been a logical progression from the cramped, overcrowded cit life, to the open greenness of the new-age settlement.
TWO
The Greenbergs and the Feldmans were two peas in a pod. We were so comfortable with each other that you never would have guessed that our paths had crossed for such a short time.
My dad, Arnie Feldman, was a high school social studies, and Benjamin Greenberg, Jeffrey’s dad, was a plumber. Benjamin wasn’t just your average plumber; he was a plumber with dreams. He was planning to go to law school at night while unclogging toilets and various drains during the day.
Most of the families that moved to West Barton in the 1960s were young, and the majority of them had moved from Brooklyn. Nobody had great wealth. Nobody was really poor. They were all just getting by and fighting hard to put dinner on the table. There wasn’t time for envy or jealousy. People were too busy enjoying the struggle of life. Ah, the sweet struggle of life. It leaves you so tired at the end of the day that sleep is the only option. People were glad to be living in open spaces with green grass and trees instead of the tight quarters of an apartment building. It was the perfect time for families to overflow from the "concrete jungle" to the serenity of the "burbs."
But, as usual, good thing brings associated complications. Brooklyn families Families were as tight as a drenched t-shirt. Generations of family members cohabiting in the same building, and often in the same floor of apartments, made for quite a close-knit community. Moving out to the suburbs stretched the very fabric of family and community togetherness. It gave people the independence to branch out and claim a little slice of the American pie. The old-world European values were slowly eroding away. For most people, change was good, but for others it was a painful adjustment.
By the time we knew the Greenbergs for a year, we started going on vacations together. First it was Washington, DC, and then it was the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York.
My sister Pamela was three years older than me and about six junkyard dog years angrier. She hung out with Sarah Greenberg, who was her equal in age but about as half as bitchy. It was a classic “Do what I say then get in trouble” relationship. Pam loved to stir the pot. She was now nine years old going on 15, and the wait to be boss was killing her. She often fought with my dad and talked down to my mother. What an excellent role model for me... good thing I learned to completely ignore her.
THREE
I’ll never forget my first day of school. The two girls, Pam and Sarah, took the lead while Jeff and I walked excitedly behind. Our mothers trailed us, effectively curtailing most of the evil actions that were floating around the girls’ heads.
In the 1970s, boys wore ties to school and girls wore dresses. They weren’t uniforms, just a symbol of a generation that at least started their schooling by respecting their elders.
We were a two-family unit even in our schooling. Jeff and I would often do our homework together because we were in the same first-grade class. Looking back, I can’t imagine a time in my life when Jeff wasn’t either by my side, or a thorn in my side. We’ll move on to the more painful stuff later.
Jeff’s dad, Benjamin, worked as hard as any human being could. He had finished law school at night in three years, and then proceeded to take the New York State Bar Exam with all of the hope of a kid in a candy shop. His first attempt ended painfully in failure. His next try came up short, but the third time was truly the charm. His success sparked a tremendous celebration between the Feldmans and the Greenbergs. I remember going out for a great dinner, then going to Jones Beach until it was dark. For my family, it was a way to show our support for a happy, hard-working friend. For the Greenbergs it was their one-way ticket out of mediocrity. Although they attained success, they were a humble family and would remain that way for decades.
Being a plumber had its advantages. As the saying goes, "It was a dirty job but somebody had to do it." Ben had a lot of friends who were plumbers and they all loved and respected his humble ways and unrivaled knowledge and professionalism.
Little did Ben know that his colleagues at the New York State Plumbers Union were closely monitoring his law progress. They had become dissatisfied with their attorney and were looking to make a change. Once Ben passed the Bar Exam, he received an invitation from the Plumber's Union to attend a benefit honoring members with 20 years of service under their saggy belts.
Ben had become a plumber right out high school. He needed the money because he had just married Sadie, and she was pregnant. Sadie eventually had a miscarriage but that did little to soften their bond. It took Ben seven years of night school to get his Bachelors Degree from Brooklyn College. His plumbing colleagues always marveled at his quiet determination and focus, so they knew that he would have absolutely no idea that the apparent 20th anniversary celebration was really a dinner in his honor. Not only was Ben going to be praised for passing the Bar Exam, he was also going to be offered the job as General Counsel for the New York State Plumbers Union.
I’ll never forget that night. I must have been about nine years old. My parents went to the Plumbers Union Dinner and came home about 11:30 p.m. I know this because heard them screaming at each other after they awoke me from a deep sleep. My parents were charter members of the Frequent Yellers Club, so this outburst came as no surprise to anyone within shouting distance.
I heard my mom trying to calm my mom down by saying, “Arnie, it’s 11:30, you’ll wake up the kids.” Too late, I’m already up. Thank you very much.
From what I can remember, their conversation went something like this:
“How is it possible that a guy who failed the Bar Exam twice could be handed such a great job?!” my dad questioned.
My mother responded, “He must know what he’s doing.”
She has always defended each and every soul on this earth, while simultaneously breaking them down at the same time.
Then the flip side from her came through her pipes, “I wasn’t aware that Ben had even graduated from college.”
The fact is that people of our ethnicity like to continually reevaluate matters. I’m sure we’re not the only group of people who like to meddle as much as they like to talk about food. They talk about eating it; not eating it; what to eat; where to eat it; how much of it to eat; is it good, or bad, for you; where to buy it; how expensive it is; where to buy it for the best price; where is it freshest; and felling guilty for eating so much. Wow, that was a mouthful and a simultaneous headache.
Back to the parental action. My parents, were going at it pretty good by the time I dragged my weary self into the bathroom. I didn’t really process what they said until the next morning. My mind usually shuts down when I call it quits for the night. Come to think of it, my brain always closed up whenever they were fighting.
Their words were so harsh. I had previously thought we were close to the Greenbergs. After eating breakfast I asked my mother if we were still friends with the Greenbergs.
She replied, “Why wouldn’t we be friends with them?”
I told her that I had to go to the bathroom when they came home the previous night.
My mom said, “Oh, so you heard us talking.”
I put my head down and shyly nodded. The words that then came out of my mother’s mouth changed my thinking for the rest of my life.
“Let me explain something to you, Rory. People sometimes say things they don’t really mean. Your father and I really like the Greenbergs. You have to understand that is how relationships are. That’s the way people communicate. You have to learn to develop a thicker skin. Just because people say something, it doesn’t mean they don’t love you.”
She then asked me if I understood, and I nodded because I couldn’t stand to listen to her anymore. I felt my skin hardening with every step I took away from her. I'm hoping that therapy will help me virtually reset my mind to the time before my parent’s argument and the conversation with my mom.
FOUR
I didn’t know it at the time, but my dad cheated on my mom when I was 11. She then took a local real estate agent aside and rifled through his "listings" to get even. It was plain to see that dysfunction and chaos had now taken over our house.
It seemed that the more the Greenbergs lifestyle improved, the more our home life dipped. Ben Greenberg had become General Counsel of the New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut Plumbers Unions, locally called the Tri-State Plumbers Union (TSPU), and a national appointment seemed imminent. Ben’s wife, Sadie, became President of the local Hadassah, which was a popular local Jewish women’s organization.
In contrast, my parents were still wallowing in their steady, yet mundane existence. My dad was entering his 15th year in the same job at the same high school. Monotony has a way of killing more brain cells than any drug. Teaching the same historical information to what must seem like the same kids had to be tough.
On the flip side, there was my mom, Rose Feldman, the bored housewife. She liked her life in the suburbs - the nice house, a decent car, lunch with the girls, hanging around waiting for the kids after feeling like you just dropped them off. Day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year.
I guess it sent my mom over the edge one afternoon when she walked into her own house and overheard my dad talking to another woman on the phone. This wasn’t just any other woman, it was one of his ex-students. Sheila was a 22 year-old girl who had graduated college and was preparing to become a Social Studies teacher. She was trying to follow in the footsteps of her favorite teacher, Mr. Feldman. Oh yeah, she also had a crush on my dad. Yuck! That’s my dad with a girl half his age! Dude! Excuse me, I have to take a real, long shower!
Ah, that’s better. So, my mom walked into the house and, for once in her life, she didn’t let her mouth precede her body. Maybe she was just scarfing down the last bite of a double chocolate donut. Whatever the case, she successfully slinked down the hallway and listened closely as my dad spouted cute romantic statement after statement. My mother knew he was romancing someone, because she remembered some of the lines he was using. It especially hurt because it wasn’t directed her way; it had been many years since she had heard anything positive or romantic from his mouth.
That night, my dad said he had to drop off some papers to one of his colleagues and would be back in a few hours. Four hours later I was walking to the bathroom, awoken by the parental noise on the lower level of the house. Usually, if a bomb went off in the house I would have slept through it. However, there was something about the tone of their voices that penetrated my snooze defenses.
My mother was questioning my dad on where he had left their savings account book, not where he had been for the last four hours. He looked like he had just taken a shower, but his clothes still emitted the scent of an unfamiliar perfume. Her heart was broken, but she couldn’t tell that to her husband. The lines of communication had been permanently severed and their marriage was in a complete free-fall.
My dad was never the same person after that night. He seemed more carefree, but when I looked into his eyes I could sense a certain sadness in him. My mother must have had a minor nervous breakdown, because she immediately sought revenge for my dad’s indiscretion. I think if he hadn’t basically laughed in her face, they could have worked out their differences. It would have changed my life. It would have changed my life for the better.
The morning after my dad’s escapade, my mom knew what she had to do. She had her eye on this local real estate agent named Ted Markum. He was the most eligible bachelor in town and at 30 years old, his reputation with the ladies was almost legendary.
Mom saw in the local newspaper that Ted gave free home evaluations. This loosely translated into a free pipe cleaning for the women of West Barton. Like the pizza delivery boy who accepts flesh tips, Ted delivered the goods and also rendered a fairly accurate housing assessment. He gave women views of rooms they had never seen before. I always wanted to be just like Ted Markum, but now I realize the disruptive impact he had on people’s lives and the devastation that he caused to families probably wasn't worth all of the pleasure.
In essence, Ted really wasn't the problem; he was just a narrow-minded jerk who prayed on women’s weaknesses. Instead of helping women, he was leading them down the path of destruction. Look at me talking like I’m a saint.
FIVE
Life was never the same for us after those two days of adultery and indiscretion. We rarely did anything together as a family after that. We only went on one more trip with the Greenbergs, as it appeared that our cozy little was now permanently split up.
I was now 13 and only days away from my Bar Mitzvah. There was so much tension in the air that day that I was having trouble concentrating. Rabbi Strauss asked me what was bothering me. My reply took the better part of an hour and told the good rabbi everything he needed to know. The rabbi sensed something was wrong, but it wasn’t his place to meddle in people’s business unless they approached him. My family was breaking apart at the seams and I was helpless to stop it.
I was worried that the rabbi would get me in trouble if he talked to my parents. He promised me that he would not talk to them. He said something about Rabbi-Bar Mitzvah boy confidentiality. Looking back, I liked Rabbi Strauss as much as I could like a member of the clergy.
The day of my Bar Mitzvah, Saturday, December 3, 1975, was a day I will never forget. I got through my Haftorah with little difficulty, but that was just about the last thing that went smoothly. We were still in the temple when the temperature started drop as fast as a quarter drops off the top of the Empire State Building. Moisture that started out as rain was quickly changing to freezing rain, then snow. A few people even told my parents that they couldn’t go to the reception because the roads would be trouble.
My parents initially tried to put a face on for my day, but that was wiped out by the blizzard-like conditions. My mother’s suede shoes were ruined and so was my dad’s plan of seeing his girlfriend that night. I felt like I was alone on a desert island. In retrospect, being marooned would have been the best Bar Mitzvah present I could have received.
I don’t remember much about the rest of that night. I must have blocked it out. About a month later my dad said he was leaving and muttered something about the two of them needing their space. When I asked him if they would get back together again, he rolled his eyes and said “Yeah, sure kid.”
What the hell! I was 13 years old and my parents were splitting up. Within six months they were divorced, officially shattering our family into dysfunctional pieces. My sister turned to pot and other drugs, my dad still had his ex-student, my mom was in denial, and I was completely messed up with no idea where to turn to or what to do. I would become a time-release bomb waiting to explode. My heart and been ripped from my chest and I was really hurting.
There was really no time for me to stop and sulk. In the rough and tumble world of middle school, pimples, and sudden pubescent hair growth, life tends to move so fast. My world was much different without my dad in the house. In a weird way, I missed the yelling and the tension.
We saw my dad on the weekends and lived with my mom at our house during the week. My parents would argue all of the time when it came to dropping off and picking us up. My sister Pamela was about a year away from going to college. We barely talked to each other anymore, and when our paths crossed she would either sneer at me or walk straight past me like I wasn’t there.
I felt so alone, but I really did enjoy the weekends with my dad. Most weekends Pamela would stay at home, because she barely left her room or the company of her friends. I knew my dad was itching to go see his new girlfriend, Patricia. Patricia was another ex-student looking for a higher education. She would sometimes help me with my homework as I listened to every other word she said, while looking down her blouse. Hey, I was 14 years old and my hormones were raging. Besides, Patty was only seven years older than me.
SIX
The first time I slept with one of my dad’s girls was when I was 16. I remember it like it was yesterday, because it was one of the proudest moments of my life.
Ursula was a 19 year-old, former student of my dad’s, who was home from college on Winter Break. It was Saturday night and my dad had gone out to a local disco. Yeah, disco was his life. The gold chains, the polyester shirts and pants, the platform shoes, and that beat-stomping boogie.
He was a John Travolta, Saturday Night Fever wanna-be. He often spent the day with me and went out at night. It was a good deal for me because it gave me the chance to play with dad’s Atari games and rifle through his vast Playboy magazine collection. Nice.
It was about eight o’clock on that fateful Saturday night. There was a knock on the door and Ursula came walking in before I had a chance to say hello. She was visibly upset and raced over to the couch.
“Where is your father?” she questioned.
“He went out to the Main Event Disco with his friends.” I replied.
Ursula started crying and blurted, “I have no luck with guys.”
I jumped right in, “What are you talking about? You’re gorgeous! I would give my right arm to be with someone like you!
She wiped away the tears and said, “Really?”
I said “Really!” as she reached out and took my left hand in her soft right hand. I didn’t know if she had been with my dad, but I really didn’t care. She was a real, live girl and I was an extremely horny teenager. I couldn’t have found a more perfect scenario than that.
After an hour of furious action, Ursula kissed me on the forehead and left the apartment. I must have been dreaming, because he next thing I knew it was morning and I was now a man.
My father woke up a few minutes after I came back to life, and we met up in the kitchen. My dad couldn’t brew a pot of coffee fast enough, while I steadily munched on a bowl of Cocoa Krispies.
He mumbled, “How was your night?”
I replied, “It was okay. How was your night?”
“I hooked up with one of my ex-students,” he said.
My face became flushed at the thought that we could have been with the same girl on the same night.
“Who was the girl?” I said somewhat apprehensively.
“Oh, it was a girl named Margo.” Dad replied.
I breathed a huge sigh of relief, but was still a little flustered. I also wasn’t sure if I should tell him about Ursula.
In an instant, words were flowing from my mouth like water over Niagara Falls.
“Ursula stopped by last night.” Then a huge smile spread over my glowing face. My dad slowly picked up his head until our eyes met.
He exclaimed, “You chip off the old block!”
I put my hands up and replied, “She was upset that you weren’t home and well… things just happened."
My dad was laughing hysterically when he said, “Did you tell her she was beautiful?”
“No, I said she was gorgeous.”
We both broke down in laughter as my dad reached over the table and slapped my hand. He then said, “I wasn’t going to sleep with her anyway. She was too young for me.”
Those were fighting words! The war between the Feldman males was on.
SEVEN
It was hard to keep up with Jeff Greenberg in high school. He was Senior Class President, captain of the soccer and lacrosse teams, an Honor Roll student, and his girlfriend was the head cheerleader. Conversely, my life was not quite as spectacular.
I guess there was something to be said for a healthy home life. My dad and I had a bit of a fallout after I slept with another one of his girls. He told me I had gone too far, but I told him that he wasn’t the right person to tell me what "far enough" was. Ben Feldman was a man who preyed on innocence and inexperience in order to satisfy his big man urges. I was sick of the whole thing between my parents and I wanted nothing more to do with it! Graduation was only a few months away and I couldn’t wait to be free!
My grades weren’t exactly stellar. The 82.3 average that I had accumulated placed me in the center of my graduating class. Somehow, I scored a 1240 on my SATs - I walked in there without even studying - must have hit a good brainwave day.
I applied to a few New York State schools, Albany and Oneonta, but decided against them even though I was accepted. I also applied to the University of Miami, on my grandma’s recommendation, and U.C.L.A., the University of California Los Angeles. Yeah, I was trying to run as far away as I could, but I wound up at the University of Miami. Grandma’ Tessie was old and shriveled up but she really cared about me. At least somebody cared about poor old Rory.
Grandma’ had put money aside for me to go to college, so it really didn’t matter where I went. Miami seemed warm and so did Gail, one of my dad’s ex-students, who was a freshman at U of M. Gail and I had met through my dad, who had little success opening the Gail vault after I figured out the combination. Before I made my Miami decision, I called Gail to see if I could visit. Call it on-campus research, if you will. I hopped on a plane, and one thing led to another… man, I got an instant education from Gail and her roommate Courtney. The University of Miami, it was.
To put it mildly, Jeff Greenberg was a pain in my ass! I never really saw him as a threat, but he certainly had his eye on me. He used every opportunity to put his successes in my face. I had seen enough of this political jockeying. To say that I felt like an outsider at my high school would have been an understatement. My mind was already at the University of Miami, and there really wasn’t anything left for me in West Barton. At least, that’s what I thought.
Before I go any further, let me tell you a little bit about myself. I’m about 6’ 2” and I weighed 175 pounds in high school, and about 210 pounds now. I don’t work out much but I have a decent, strong body. A few hundred push-ups and sit-ups every now and then, combined with a healthy sex life, makes for a functional frame. It must be my deep blue eyes and my light brown hair that gets me over. I’ve been told that I have an honest face, which obviously does a good job concealing what is actually going on behind the scenes.
It was early May and people were signing up for the prom. Since I was spending most of my time with older women, I was as likely to go to the prom, as Hugh Hefner was to remain celibate inside of the Playboy Mansion.
I didn’t really fit in with any group at school, so I pretty much hung out with my friend Paul. Paul didn’t talk much, but he had a car and a few dollars in his pocket. By the end of our senior year, though, Paul also had a girlfriend named Tina who didn’t like me. There went my ride.
As the days passed, Paul kept encouraging me to go to the prom. To tell you the truth, the prom was one of the furthest things from mind until I accidentally walked into the girl’s locker room one day. I was in gym class and, for a change, the sliding door between the girls and boys side was open. We were playing basketball and the ball rolled across the gym and into the girl’s locker room. Before anyone could react I had volunteered myself to go where no man had gone before.
The first thing I noticed was how nice the locker room smelled. In fact, it even smelled nicer than my mom’s bathroom. The balled rolled at least ten feet into the depths of the locker room. I turned right at a row of lockers and was shocked at what I saw. A girl was standing in front of me wearing only a white bra and panties, and a smile.
She looked herself and the ball over and said, “Are you looking for this?”
This chick was a knockout. I walked up to her and touched her smooth stomach with the back of my right hand, while cradling the ball with my left hand. I bent down gently kissed her on the neck, as I heard her sigh. It was strange but I hadn’t noticed her before with her clothes on.n However, this encounter definitely made a lasting impact on me. It made such an impact that I had to wait a minute to walk back in the gym, as the bulge in my pants subsided.
I sat in class after class the rest of the day and relived that awesome encounter. I needed all of my books and notebooks to cover up my obvious excitement as I left each classroom.
It took me a while to find my locker room girl. My mind was so clouded that I had trouble seeing my own hand in front of my face. I was at my locker between seventh and eighth periods when a familiar voice awoken my senses.
”Tag, you’re it,” the female voice said as she brushed up against me.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” I replied.
“You didn’t look in the 400 wing,” she purred as I thought to myself, “The 400 wing? Only tenth graders…”
The thought then came out of my mouth, “So, you’re a tenth grader?”
“We prefer the term sophomore,” she said.
I turned around and said, “You’re still the hottest thing these eyes have seen in some time. My name is Rory.”
“Hi. My name is Allison, and you’re not so bad yourself.
I was sure of my next move so I said, “Do you want to go to the prom with me?”
She said, “Yes,” then smiled and kissed me softly on the cheek. I had never been so turned on by such a simple gesture. This girl named Samantha Siegel was rocking my world and I didn’t care that she was two years younger than me. All I cared about was the fact that she made me feel so alive. As she walked away, I couldn’t wait to see her again. Now that I knew where to find her, “again” would be as soon as school ended.
EIGHT
Has come to the conclusion that Jeff Greenberg didn't bother me anymore. I was was done with him and his reindeer games. Just because he got a stretch limo and his parents volunteered to throw a pre-prom party, that shouldn’t have affected me. Should it?
Samantha and I were invited to the party, but we decided tbecause the festivities because I had to walk over to the body shop. My mom’s beaten-up Mercury Zephyr was two miles away from home and I had to pick it up. This Zephyr was anything but a gentle wind from the west. It was more like a humid, no breeze, muggy, hot summer day from hell. I still can’t believe my mom got a car without air conditioning, but I guess we all have to make sacrifices in life.
Once I got the car, I sped home and got ready for the prom. My mom thankfully wasn’t home - she said something about going out with the girls for Happy Hour. I’m not even sure she knew I was going the prom. I was 18 and my parents were acting more like teenagers then I was. At least it was quiet in the house. It gave Allison and I more time to become better acquainted.
I don’t think Sam's parents were thrilled that we were going out. Maybe they were still to grips with the fact their 18 year-old daughter was kissing an older man. Eventually they got more used to the idea, but it took a lot of sneaking around to satisfy our urges.
Speaking of urges… after I picked up the amazing looking Samantha from her house, I looked over at her and said, “My mom’s out tonight.”
We both smiled as I pushed the Zephyr to its limits. We were out of our formal attire just about the time that the hors d'oeuvres were being served at the prom. We were in the shower when the cocktail ended and everyone was piling into the main room at the catering hall. Life had finally slowed down for me. I had, in Samantha, a person that gave me a center and a reason to open my heart again.
We took our time getting dressed and then, for a change, the Zephyr actually felt like the cool breeze running through our hair. We arrived at the prom just as dinner was being served. This was excellent because we were really hungry after building up quite an appetite.
The funny thing was that I felt like Samantha and I were the only two people in the room. I'm sure people started talking about us... oh no, we came to the prom late! Who cares? We were in heaven, not suburban hell like the rest of those teenage robots.
I can't even remember if we talked to anyone while we were there? We ate dinner al fast and then zoomed out the door, oblivious to prom king or kings holding court. I figured that I paid for the prom so I might as well get at least a meal out of it.
Within minutes, our bodies were intertwined again like time had stood still. Thank you, mom! You made life livable for that moment without even knowing it. On the flip side, however, you also made my life a living hell b losing control of our family.
I'll never forget that prom night. It was definitely the high point of my life to that point. Our emotions were so pure and nothing else around us mattered. We were one with the universe, alone for all of the heavenly bodies to observe.
The summer following m graduation from West Barton High School went so slowly that I barely remember it. I recall sitting around a lot at the local town pool. Samantha's parents sent her away to sleep away camp for seven weeks. With little money, no car, and no girl, it was no wonder that I took my dad up on his proposal to go away with him for two weeks. I was having such deep separation anxiety from Samantha that I had to get out of West Barton.
The weird part of the trip with my dad was that we actually enjoyed ourselves. We got into the car and drove from New York to Canada. Montreal was our destination, and I had absolutely no idea what to expect the entire way up there.
It seemed like we were driving all day and, in fact, we were. I kept my dad company for most of the drive, save a few hours when I dozed off. I had this dream that he and my mom got back together, but my sister was still a flame-spewing cow. Well, at least the cow part was accurate! It was a peaceful sleep until I woke up and saw the Playboy bunny-shaped air freshener dangling from m dad's Camaro Z-28 mirror. Yeah, it was a mid-life crisis car, but it really could eat up some ground.
When we arrive in Montreal, we peeled ourselves out of the car and I followed my dad down a darkened street. It was 10 pm and we were definitely ready to party! I didn't have to ask my dad where we were going, because the sight of naked women dancing on platforms told me everything I needed to know.
We were bit quite popular on that trip. Girls at ever club became instantly intrigued with the whole father-son outing, and were more-than-willing, an able, to show us the finer spots of Montreal. That hotel room was rocking ever night. I figured out on the trip that my dad and I had one very simple thing in common: we liked to sleep with a variety of women. It was like a sport to us - a recreational outlet, if you will.
That trip to Canada helped dull the pain of being away from Sam. I always remember a conversation I had with my dad on the trip. It stuck in my mind not only because of the content, but all because it was a conversation at all. That was as rare as a monogamous thought for a Feldman man.
"So, I heard you went to the prom."
I replied, "Yeah, it was great. How did you find out?"
"Your mother told me," he regrettably uttered.
"She told you? How did she find out?" I questioned in an irritated tone.
Dad understood, "She was yelling at me and accusing me of knowing and not telling her."
"How did she find out?" I questioned.
We both said a the same time, "Sadie Greenberg."
I'm sure Sadie Greenberg was simply talking about their pre-prom party to m mom, and then spilled the beans about my participation in the annual high school ritual. My mom had met Samantha a few rimes, but I don't think she realized that she was my girlfriend.
My dad continued our discussion by saying, "So, who was the girl you took to the prom?"
"I took my girlfriend, Samantha," I quickly replied.
My dad chuckled, "Girlfriend? Since when?"
I shook my head and said, "We've been together a few months."
"You gonna' stay with her when you go to college?"
"She's gonna' be a junior at West Barton next year."
I went on to tell him the story of how we met, and then I bragged a bit about our prom experience. It was as if I was talking to my buddy, not my dad. You would never tell your father that you were having sex in the house while your mother was out.
My dad then said, "The biggest mistake you can make in life is being loyal to one woman. But, by the look of things on this trip, I can see that you already knew that."
We both laughed out loud and shared our pension for variety. While I missed Sam, I definitely missed contact with the female form more.
It seemed that my parents were leading me down the path of their mistakes. Instead of learning from the disasters of their lives, they were dooming me to run a continuous shallow loop. I guess my ticket was punched in advance and there was no way for me to change the plan.
NINE
I predictably broke up with Samantha for the first time at the end of the summer when she returned home from camp. It was sort of a mutual break-up, being that she had hooked up with a few guys at camp, and you know my story.
The break-up was quick and I wish it was painless. After another one of our marathon sex sessions, it was goodbye for now. It was a soft break-up a best, leaving the door wide open for potential future action. Looking back, I could see that we both were hurting and didn't want to prolong the agony. There was no was way to say goodbye in those days... boy, have times changed!
The University of Miami was an excellent choice of college for me. B the middle of my freshman year, I had become quite an enterprising young man. Honestly, it was more out of necessity than genius on my part. My mother didn't exactly send me to school with much spending money. Maybe she thought I was going to Abe Lincoln University, because two hundred dollars for the year didn't even cover my porn tab.
I went to a bar one night and starting talking to a Junior named Barry Levine, who just happened to also be a salesman. We hit it off really well and seemed to be soaking the same language, if you know what I mean.
You won't believe what this guy sold? He was a representative form Eros-Glo, Incorporated, a purveyor of colorful, glow-in-the-dark pleasure accessories. M eyes almost popped out of my head when I first saw Barry's line of pastel-colored, glow-in-the-dark condoms! It was a rainbow the likes of which I had never seen. When I tried out one that night, it was one of the most spiritual experiences of my life. My new best friend, and business associate, Barry Levine, also had a line of color-complimentary and edible undergarments. It was like I had died and gone to sexual heaven. Wait, that is probably just heaven.
Within two months of signing on to sell Eros-Glo products, I was pulling in about $2,000 per month. In the beginning of my sophomore year, I bought a two-bedroom apartment overlooking the ocean. One bedroom was for me and the other was for my product line - so much for living in the dorms on campus. Barry was so pleased with my production that he gave me the entire U of M account, which more than doubled my monthly nut. The co-eds couldn't get enough of the products. It was cool to 'glow and show' in the early 1980s.
I used the money I got from my on-campus room refund to buy m grandma' season tickets to the Miami Dolphins football games. Actually, I got a ticket for myself, too, so we could sit on the 50 yard-line together. That was one of her dreams she always told me about when I visited her. We had an amazing time together for two seasons before she passed way. It was definitely one of the greatest experiences of my life.
After my parents divorce, I used to sound at least one mont each summer with Grandma' Tess on the twelfth floor of Ocean Beach Towers. I gained a strong appreciation for both her and Miami between the early bird specials and days of hanging out by the pool and talking while strolling near the ocean.
Grandma' Tess was my mom's mother and she really paved the way for me to have a better relationship with my mom in the later years. I obviously carried a lot of anger toward my parents and she really tried to focus my energies toward more positive and constructive pursuits.
I created quite a stir at Ocean Beach Towers when I was 16. There was this hot 15 year-old granddaughter of Maxine Goldfarb, who was flaunting her bikini down at the pool one day. Jenny Goldfarb was quite developed for a high school freshman; she even sent 78 year-old Milton Strausman to the hospital when he complained of chest pains after watching her apply some suntan lotion.
Jenny stared me down from across the pool, primarily because I was the only male under 70 in the whole complex. She was baiting me all day with her top undone, sunbathing and using excessive amounts of oil. I sat in my lounge chair like a lion coolly tracking is prey in the tall grass, waiting for an opportunity to pounce.
After hours of anticipation, Jenny got up to shower off before returning to her grandmother's apartment. The outdoor shower was behind a large concrete wall to protect the privacy of the bather. I quickly looked around and walked casually to take advantage of this rare moment of privacy.
A barely got to the shower when Jenny pulled me n and said, "What took you so long?"
We were making out for at least three minutes belief we were stopped by "Jenny, are you coming to the room now?"
Mrs. Goldfarb was a nice old lady, but she stopped me within ten seconds of rounding the bases.
A worked up Jenny whispered to me, "My grandma' goes to sleep at 9:30. She never wakes up, so I'll leave the door open for you."
Those five hours went by as slowly as watching sap drip from a tree. My grandma' was making idle chatter a Peking Palace, but my mind was focused wontons and my egg roll. Tess and an extra burst of energy that night and didn't call it a night until 9:35. The second her head hit the pillow I was racing downstairs to the eighth floor. I was in such a hurry that I took the stairs instead of waiting to travel the 20 floors in the elevator.
Jenny was in the shower when I walked in - probably trying to pick up where we left off - so I joined the soap-festival once I made sure her grandmother was sleeping. The sound of loud snoring gave me the ultimate green light. After about 45 minutes in the shower, we dried off and continued round two on the couch where Jenny slept.
We were going at it hard for at least an hour until, with my white butt in the air, we heard "You have to pick up m dry cleaning," Maxine said while sleepwalking and standing not three feet away from our sweaty, connected bodies. We stopped moving, hoping that she would sat asleep and find her way back int bed.
A few seconds later, we heard a thud and a loud scream, "What's happening?"
I got up and frantically searched for m shorts and t-shirt on the carpeted floor.
When I heard, "Jenny, are you up?" I knew it was time to make a run to the door.
Just as I flashed through the doorway, the hall light reflected off my white ass and nearly blinded an already-startled Maxine. As I raced to the stairway I could hear her say, "Jenny, was that young man naked in my apartment?"
I never heard the answer to that question, and obviously didn't see Jenny Goldfarb again.
TEN
By the time m senior year of college rolled around, I was a full-year Miami resident. Business was going so well that I thought about quitting school. Two events stopped an thoughts I had about turning 'pro' early. The first occurrence was the death if my grandma'. She made me promise her that I would finish school. I only had a few classes left, so it really wasn't a major commitment on my part.
Oh yeah, how could I forget to tell you about the second major happening? One sultry August afternoon, my doorbell rang and I answered by opening the apartment door. Before I could focus, the girl walked through the door and we were kissing passionately. A few minutes later, when we came up for air, I was finally able to concentrate on the person I was happily exchanging fluids with. It was none other than Samantha, my high school girlfriend and prom date.
I was totally surprised to see Sam. We had talked a few times over the years and I had seen her over the Christmas break when I went back to visit my mom in West Barton. At that time, we had rekindled our old physical bond, and I told her that she could stay with me any time she was in Miami. I also showed off my line of Eros-Glo products, and even was so kind as to give a live demonstration. Man, I love those live demonstrations!
After the smoke cleared and we were sitting in bed, she told me that she had transferred to the University of Miami and that she didn't want to live in the dorms. I couldn't argue with her, or think of a better person to be m sakes associate in sin.
By the end of my senior year, Eros-Glo, Incorporated was sold to an adult entertainment company looking to expand it's product line. I could sense something was different when I received my first batch of products from the new company, which was called Adult Entertainment Distributors.
The vibrant Eros-Glo colors were replaced by softer colors that barely glowed in the dark. Samantha and I tried some of the lotions and we broke out in a rash. We marked the new boxed "Return to Sender" and then sold the remaining inventor we had in the extra bedroom. Since I had been paying in advance for products we sold, we could make a clean break from the new company. The shipment we sent back was complimentary, but we wanted nothing to do with defective handouts.
A few weeks later, I graduated from the University of Miami with a degree in business and a ton of real-lie experience. I sent my mom a plane ticket and she came to my graduation. My dad, as usual, was busy doing someone and couldn't make the trip.
Aft graduation, I told my mom that I was thinking of returning to New York. She told me that she wanted to leave New York, so we looked at each other and came to a mutually beneficial agreement. I would pay off the mortgage on the Miami Beach condo and give it to her. She, in turn, told me I could sell our West Barton house and keep the money.
I made over a half-a-million dollars hustling for Eros-Glo, Incorporated, so money was not the object. Besides the condo, I had bought a Nissan 280ZX and a Mazda RX-7 for Samantha.
The house I grew up in was worth about $200,000, which was $150,000 more than my parents paid for it more than 20 years ago. My condo cost about twice as much as the house, but I planned to send my mother half of the house proceeds.
Man, that was one of the hottest summers in the history of the country! My family had accumulated so much crap over the years that it took months to finish the cleanup. Near the end, my mother returned to West Barton for a few weeks to help Sam and I complete the task.
Our decision on where we wanted to move was becoming more and more clouded each day. The plan was to live in New York City, but the house in West Barton was starting to grow on us. The real question was, were we ready to settle down and plant our roots in West Barton?
The answer was a resounding, No! We definitely weren't ready to settle down and I don't think that West Barton was our first choice of places to live. After spending time in Miami, the W.B. was just another average town in suburbia.
So, off to New York City we went with a pile of cash and absolutely no direction, besides Sam attending NYU. That was a dangerous combination in the 'city that never sleeps.'. We bought two inexpensive adjacent apartments in a co-op on 79th and Broadway. The New York City real estate market had been in the doldrums for a few years, and we were the beneficiaries of good market timing. We saw West Barton as a few steps down from our usual lifestyle.
That September, word got out that Adult Entertainment Distributors was being sued by a whole bunch of literally irritated people. It seemed the customers were getting bad rashes like Samantha and I got when we sampled the product line. In hindsight, it was a good thing we decided not to sell the products because we would have been sued and lost all of our money, too.
We spent enough on the co-op apartments to make you cry like you were slicing unions. It was a good investment, or so I was told. We were going to knock down the wall between the apartments and convert it into a three-bedroom, three-bathroom space. The building was fairly vacant, so we chose the top floor for it's great Hudson River views, high ceilings, and roof garden. Looking back, it was a pretty mature purchase at the time.
Life was so much simpler in the 1980s. I worked hard, made lots of money, and really enjoyed myself. It didn't get an simpler than that. I had a few financial sales jobs once we moved to New York, until the 1987 Stock Market crash, at which time I decided to leave corporate America and return to my entrepreneurial roots.
I figured that if the 1970s and 1980s were all about sex, then the 1990s would be focused on health and protection. To me, it was the same story as the 1980s with a slight twist.
Sam and I searched in vain for the founders of Eros-Glo, Incorporated. We thought that it was a great rime to resurrect the Eros-Glo product line. It has been five years since Adult Entertainment Distributors had taken over Eros-Glo an destroyed the mini empire.
As fate would have it, I still had Barry Levine's business card and home number. Barry was the salesman that introduced me to the line when I was a freshman in college. I called him up and we had a grew conversation about the old days. He had since moved on to mainstream corporate America, and was the Chief Operating Officer for Amway.
Barry stopped selling Eros-Glo products about six months before the sake of the company. I asked him if he knew whom I could contact to buy the rights to the company's original patents. Once he gave me the number, I was off and running!
Two months after the idea first sprouted, I bought the rights to the former Eros-Glo product line. Nine months later, I secured factory space and upgraded production to mirror the original Eros-Glo line. Our advertising campaign was focused on SAFETY, SAFETY, and more SAFETY! We even changed the name of the company to Neon-Guard Corporation, so there wouldn't be any negative association with the defective products sold by Adult Entertainment Distributors.
M strategy was to follow the same formula that worked: hit the college campuses hard! That exactly Wha Samantha and I did, starting on the East Coast and working our way across the country. Remarkably, our sales were a bit slow at first, but then the good word spread like wildfire. We became so busy that our factory was open for nearly 24 hours per day, before we moved into a large manufacturing and distribution facility. This transition took place over a nine month period. We obviously had to hire additional staff and continued to enlist willing and able college students to sell the products.
The formula remained the same - our representatives bought the product in advance then reaped the benefits of volume-buying and marked-up selling. It was a good time to be back in the business we loved, and it did wonders for our relationship.
ELEVEN
Jeff Greenberg was finishing his residency to become a heart surgeon. The Greenbergs had become West Barton's post family, and my family was so fractured that you could have made a puzzle, not a poster, of us. Yeah, the glow of being a millionaire really took some of the pain of dysfunction away from me.
In the years after high school, my relationship with Jeff Greenberg had been one of the positive constants in my life. In fact, I helped Jeff get through NYU Medical School. We had remained friends probably because I was doing well and he was struggling. It was a weird dynamic, but it worked at least it worked for a short time.
After a few years of dependence, Jeff was ready to move out of his struggling phase. It was time for him to make the kind of money he dreamed of when he decided to become a doctor. Jeff would also be able to move out of our apartment, where he had been living rent-free for over a year. I never thought of asking him for rent of food money, because all I was asking for was his friendship in return. I liked the fact that he had to lean on me, and I think my parents gained some enjoyment from it, too.
The Greenbergs, on the other hand, knew little about their son’s struggles because Jeff was too proud to bring his parents down. Ben and Sadie Greenberg were living large, but one of the drawbacks of Ben’s job as executive director of the National Plumbers Union was his extensive travel schedule. Sadie would often tag along on these trips because it gave her a good excuse to get out of West Barton. It also gave her an opportunity to catch up with the other yentas associated with the national Hadassah organization. Sadie’s house was quiet since Jeff and older sister Hannah moved out. She never had a need to get a job and was quite content with structuring her life around her loving husband.
It’s always disturbing to see people acting all happy on the outside when they’re really sad on the inside. Sadie had every reason to be sad on the inside. She was a concentration camp survivor and her parents were shot right in front of her. Sadie’s older brother fought with a Nazi guard and also met with his demise. Somehow, Sadie managed to survive… she must have known that a better life awaited her.
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