Furious World Blog

Horses

May 1985, Manhattan

Last night, Migdalia, a beautiful Puerto Rican hooker was soliciting blowjobs on my stoop. This morning I see beard stubble coming up from under her makeup as she pisses in the tiny entryway of my Hell’s Kitchen apartment. Now inside, sunlight is glinting off what appear to be diamonds, millions of them. But on closer inspection, I see they’re just bits of glass. Somebody shot out my window again last night.

Out in the street, a car honks and I head downstairs. It’s a gold limo and my friend Wess is in the back in torn Levis, his knees poking through the holes. Today we’re going to the Caesars Atlantic City to meet with Jimmy Valenti. Jimmy’s heard my music and he wants to help. They say he’s got connections. The driver turns around.

“You guys need anyting you jus’ ask. We got shrimp cocktails and plenty a booze in the fridge”.

“Thanks” I say.

“Jimmy’s crazy excited to see the bot a yooz. He wants ya to know you’ll be flyin’ back in his chopper. That is, if weather permits”.

We arrive at the Caesars and four bellmen with small white towels draped over their forearms greet us at the door. Each towel is embroidered with my initials in gold. Wess and I trade looks as we ride the elevator to the penthouse.

“Enjoy your stay,” one of the bellmen says as he leads us into a room large enough for a soccer game. In the middle of the room, is a good-sized swimming pool overlooking the Atlantic. Draped over a lounge chair are a swimsuit and two enormous towels, both embroidered with my last name -spelled incorrectly.

Suddenly, the ornate double doors swing open and Jimmy Valenti enters.

“Sit down boys” he says.

I’ll have Scotty send up lunch. Do you like chops?”

He leads us to the chairs near the pool.

“You know the difference between a Stallion and a Gelding?
A Gelding is a horse with its fucking balls cut off.” he says, letting the thought hang in the air.

“Without capital you’re nowhere and I’d like to give you some. What do you need? 500k? A million?”

“Actually,” I say, “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

The doors open again and two long tables are wheeled in. There’s a platter on the first with a dozen lobster tails on ice alongside a trough of French fried onion rings. The other table has crystal bowl full of jumbo prawns, three Caesar salads and a tray with enough Porterhouse steaks to feed a dozen men. Jimmy spears a slab of meat with the tip of his steak knife and waves it in my face.

“Eat”, he says.

“Jimmy” I struggle to say through bites of steak, “I’ve already got a guy who’s helpin’ us out. He’s our manager.”

“Oh yeah? What’s he puttin’ in, -cash wise?”

“Well, considering his time and everything, probably around $1500.”

With a mouth full of meat, Jimmy laughs. In fact, he laughs so hard and for so long, I honestly think he’s going to choke to death but he catches his breath and says,

“I see you in a rock video with some big-titted broad walkin’ hand in hand near this giant globe they got at Epcot Center. You ever been down there? Epcot center? We shoot the thing for around a hundred, hundred fifty grand and then we pull some strings and get MTV to start playing the shit out of it. Whaddya say? Are you gonna be a Stallion or a fucking Gelding?”

Before I can answer Jimmy pulls out three cigars.

“Cubans” he says, and from under the table he removes a bucket of matchbooks. Each of the matchbooks has my name on them, embossed in gold. Each spelled wrong. He cuts off the tip of the cigar with the steak knife and asks,

“Peter are you a horse with balls -or no balls?”

As the questions lingers, I can see myself being forced at gun point to appear at Jimmy’s every wedding, every birthday, every Christening, every wake. Clearly I have no balls.

“Jimmy, I say, “It sounds amazing, I’ll just need a day to think it over”

He reaches for the phone.

“Scotty, can we fly these boys back to the city in the bird or is the weather too rough?”

Suddenly, a crash of thunder.

A week later, back in Hell’s Kitchen, I compose this letter:

Dear Mr.Valenti, thank you for your graciousness and your generosity. This past year I’ve been contemplating a new career as a stockbroker and today; regrettably, I’ve made a final decision to go that route. Should I ever decide to pursue a career in music again, please know you’ll be the first person I call.

Sincerely,

Peter