Long Made Short Read Online Free PDF

quickly but she’s still good with the distant
     past—she’s living in the same apartment where you first knew me, though with a full-time
     companion,” and she says “What a dear woman—I’m sorry she’s not well—please mention
     we spoke and give her an extra big hug from me next time you see her,” and I say “Will
     do,” and she says “I’m serious—tell her I still think of her fondly and give her that
     hug,” and I say “I’ll probably see her later today—I do almost every day for at least
     an hour, so I’ll do what you say,” and I will tell her though more likely tomorrow
     but won’t give the hug—it would seem too silly: “Here’s a hug from Ramona Bauer, woman
     I was engaged to almost thirty years ago, remember her?” and passing on kisses and
     hugs even to my own children isn’t something I like to do, and she says “What about
     the rest of your family—your brothers and sisters, they all well?” and I tell her
     one died in a bicycle accident twelve years ago last week, one’s a fully recovered
     alcoholic now a social worker in alcohol abuse, another moved to Texas to open a macrobiotic
     restaurant and we hardly hear from her anymore, the fourth has been married four times
     in the last twelve years and has seven children and now seems to have taken up with
     the future number five—“I don’t know what she’s got but it’s something that hasn’t
     slackened,” and she says “Wow, some rundown and such woe, and your father?—because
     you didn’t mention him,” and I say “Yes, seventeen—no, eighteen years ago this January,”
     and she says “I’m sorry, but I’m glad your mom’s still around—she was a doll, treated
     me wonderfully, comfortably, one of the family.” “And my father didn’t, I know—well,
     mixed marriage and all, which we almost had with almost mixed children. Not that it
     meant anything to us but he sure wasn’t keen on it—he was from a very religious family
     and was observant himself till just a year before I was born when both his parents
     died,” and she says “I understand, I’m not saying that—anyway, all in the past,” and
     I say “Right, in the past, but you have to know that much as he protested, you won
     him over without even trying,” and she says “Oh, I tried all right—that guy was tough
     to crack.” “What I meant was your high spirits, brains, good looks and humor and stuff
     and that you were an acting success so fast,” and she says “Oh yeah, a big big success,”
     and she laughs and I say “What’s funny?” and she says “Nothing, or success—just nothing,”
     and I say “Okay…and how’s Leonard What’s-his-name—Stimmell, because I’ve a funny story
     about him,” and she says “Good ole Lenny, one of my other dearest old friends—I see
     him whenever I come to town, practically—he’s such a gas, and talk about spirit? Nothing’s
     gonna stop him but everything will,” and I say “You mean he’s still plugging away
     at acting without much success?” and she says “Thirty-plus years of the best bit roles
     in TV commercials and walk-ons in soaps and occasionally small to fairly good roles
     in hole-in-the-wall theaters and summer stock, and same wife, no kids—they’d interfere
     with his constant auditions and he said they also couldn’t afford them, Laurie still
     doing temporary office work while pursuing her opera career,” and I say “My story
     about him touches on that—his commercials,” and she says “You saw him in a waiter’s
     uniform at a restaurant and asked him for a menu when he was actually performing in
     a commercial?” and I say “It was at the Belvedere Fountain Café in Central Park—eight
     years and a few months ago, and he was resting between shoots; I remember it distinctly.
     My oldest boy was still in that little carrying sack over my chest—a Snugli—and probably
     snoozing,” and she says “Oh, that’s lovely,