The Mystery of the Missing Dog...

On our living room wall hangs a 60 inch mounted plasma HDTV. Truly a sight to behold. My giddiness could barely be contained on seeing this spectacle for the first time. As not to arouse attention, I excused myself to the restroom, there I could privately use my sleeve to dab the drool dripping from my awed opened mouth. A selfish and possessive lover of TV, I'm sure you can guess where I am each and every free minute of the day...Love in the Afternoon, Must See Thursday, Primetime, Daytime, Latenight? If you said crammed in my dark bedroom, sitting on the floor, squinting painfully at my embarrassingly small 5 inches of black and white portable TV, you would be correct. But why, Paul-David, for the love of God, why not watch the big miracle of a TV? Located on this now cold behemoth's upper left corner, a small quarter inch crack can be found. A tiny, unnoticeable, lilliputian screaming banshee of a crack, challenging me everyday to a till the death staring contest. While watching my stories, the crack is all I see. Comedy or drama, sci-fi or porn, all shows star but one cast member...Cracky McCrack. And like any other true Diva, it demands full attention.

Like a smack on the head, Heather Mary's screams to answer the phone woke me from a most pleasant dream. In the past, I begrudgingly allowed sleep, knowing slumber brought terror and terrible sights, but these days, sleep is welcomed, for now it brings but one sight...one face...Kristina.

I answered the phone and I heard her voice and I pinched myself, "Am I still dreaming?" I wondered. Kristina laughed and I knew it was no dream, just my beautiful reality. She thanked me again for last night's dinner party and told me again she had a wonderful time. "Good," I said, "I couldn't be happier." And truer words have never been spoken...I couldn't be happier.

She said she left her camera behind last night and wondered if it would be OK to drop by and pick it up on her way to work. "Of course," I said. "Come a little early even so you don't have to rush out," I added. She laughed, "Won't you get tired of seeing me?" "Make me tired," I begged, not really knowing what that meant, but it sounded sexy at the time.

I hung up the phone and started looking for Kristina's camera. It wasn't in the living room, not in the kitchen, maybe she just said she left it behind, an excuse to see me again? Then, like another smack on the head, Heather Mary's voice disturbed yet another most pleasant day dream. "Paul-David! Get that skinny white ass of yours in here. Now mister!"

The room was dark. To Heather Mary's side, a bump, also known as Edgar DuHaven, wrapped in a Hello Kitty blanket, lay snoring loudly, blissfully passed out, deaf to Heather Mary's overly loud outside voice. As I entered, she clapped two times, signalling her bedside lamp to light, ending the mystery of Kristina's missing digital camera. Heather Mary had it and my first thought, "Oh good, Heather Mary found Kristian's camera.", quickly led to the second, "why is Heather Mary looking through all the pictures?"

"What are you doing?" I asked. "Those are private." Heather Mary looked up, eyes so serious and said, "If this was a movie, I would reply to that question in some witty fashion, like "something stinks here, and it ain't Edgar's feet" or "if a picture is worth a thousand words, one of those words would be, that girl is fucked up." But this isn't a movie and you're my best friend and..." "And you couldn't think of anything witty?" I interrupted. "No I couldn't, and I've been trying all morning, but you are my best friend, and I have to tell you this...there is something seriously wrong with Kristina." I sat down and listened.

"I found her camera this morning on the floor. I wanted to see the pictures of last night, to see how fabulous I looked, cause I did look good, and looking through them, I was right. Hotness! I think I'm gonna post some of them on my blog. But after I got through the ones of us, I wanted to see some pictures of that dog you guys are always talking about, so I started going through them. One after the other, picture after picture, Christmas, Easters, that girl has taken hundreds of pictures, hey chick, print a pic once and a while, geez, it's not that hard. But in the hundreds of pictures she has on this camera...hundreds of them, not one...not a single freakin one is of that damn dog of hers." "So what," I said. "So what?" She cried. "Look around this room, can your eyes go for more than in inch without seeing a picture of Mr. Jingle Maryweather. Jingle by himself, Jingle with a stuffed animal, Jingle with me. It's all Jingle, all the time. When you got no one else to love and you got an animal, trust me, you take pictures of that animal. You take pictures and you hang them up and you look at them and they prove you are loved...by something in this world. Not a single picture of that dog, Paul-David. Not a one. "

She handed my the camera, and against my better judgement, I started going through the pictures, and no surprise, Heather Mary was right...no Lil'Bit. Kristina loves that dog. We've spent the past month searching everywhere for that dog. Why no pictures? Not exactly a crime so what was Heather Mary accusing Kristina of, and why was I so all of a sudden uncomfortable? I sat for a moment in Heather Mary's room and a familiar feeling crept into my bones...sadness. I didn't quite know why. I didn't know what any of it meant, but it didn't matter. In a few minutes, Kristina would be here and I knew no matter how hard I tried, her long straight red hair, her freckles, her lovely thin lips, those too big glasses, would be invisible now. When she walks through that door, I will see nothing but a crack in her upper left corner. A small crack...an almost invisible shrieking monster of a crack.

The doorbell rings.

We Are Family...

I remember eating alone. Every meal, I would take my tray filled with hospital slop and sit at the empty table by the door, my face, daring anyone to join me. Somewhat stabilized, I was no longer aloud to eat in my room, a privilege reserved for the truly mental. Now I was forced to walk among the living, listening to their conversations and worse yet, encouraged to join in. A silly, stupid game I didn't want to play. I'd heard it a million times before, "Social interaction on the ward provides great lessons for the real world. A dress rehearsal for life, if you will." I understood the concept but it filled my with anxiety. Knowing other's secrets but hearing lies in group, admitting my own secrets and having them used against me in group, and telling my story so many times in so many hospitals to so many people only to find myself, every time, searching the ward for that new best friend who just got released or slit his wrist or was sent to another floor or interested in someone else's story, and again and again, I am alone. But I knew, if I ever wanted to be released, I had to play the game. I had to pick up the ball again and start kicking it down the court or hitting it in the goal or whatever you are supposed to do with balls. I'm really not into sports. I do remember what Dr. Goode used to ask me at my table for one, "If you could imagine yourself happy, what would it look like?" An idea unimaginable...until tonight.

The lights in Casa de Phindior were dimmed, candles lit and the dulcet voice of Amy Mann floated gently about the room. The kitchen, now clean, showed no signs of the hysterical cooking done only hours before. Mr. Jingle Maryweather promised to keep his mouth shut, and the dinner table lodged half in Heather Mary's room, half in the hallway eagerly awaited its four guests to be seated in its four empty chairs. I could tell Heather Mary was nervous, it was easy. From the time she woke up this morning, "I'm so fricking nervous," was all she could say. I wanted to go to her, to put my hand on her shoulder, to tell her everything was going to be OK, but I just couldn't...there was a huge dinner table blocking my way. In her room, I could see Heather Mary looked lovely, lovely Heather Mary and I looked as good as I possibly could considering I don't look that good. And when the door bell rang, we both smiled.

Edgar DuHaven was the first to arrive. His contribution to the pot-luck; four Subway Foot-Long subs, one vegetarian...Delightful. Edgar turned to Heather Mary's room as she poked her head out the door, she saw the subs and started to laugh, "You remembered," she said. "I remember everything," Edgar replied. I guess Subway was there "place" years ago, so I'll say it again...Delightful. Edgar joins Heather Mary at her door when the bell rings again.

Kristina looked excited to see me, at least I think it was excitement, I'm not real familiar with that look. She brought spaghetti and meatballs which will go great with my lasagna and hey, Edgar Duhaven's subs were on garlic bread so, Abbondanza!

We sat, we talked, Edgar fittingly said grace and we ate. Kristina pulled out her camera and all night, snapped off pictures of the evenings festivities. She also brought a bottle of wine, though since she was the only one in the room not on some anti-psychotic or anti-depressant medication, she was the only one who drank.

By the end of the night, half the wine was gone as was half the lasagna, most of the meatballs and every bit of watergate salad I had made for dessert. Kristina's pictures showed what I had already known - the night was a great success.

Before I walked Kristina home, we moved the dinner table out of Heather Mary's room. Inside, Edgar DuHaven smiled and shut her bedroom door. I heard them both laugh...Delightful.

Kristina and I walked hand and hand to her home and to that door on Bowery. "Everything was great," she said. "Goodnight," she said. A little surprised and even more relived, I understood her Bowery door was to remain closed to me for a while longer. I said goodnight and turned and felt a hand on my shoulder. She leaned in and kissed me quickly and all I could say when she walked through her door was, "Thank you."

Through the years, I have met many people - in schools, jobs and hospitals, but I have truly gotten close to very few. Tonight, with Kristina, Edgar and Heather Mary, I feel that has all changed. Three friends, more than I have ever had...a family, and I think about Dr. Goode's good words, "If you could imagine yourself happy, what would it look like?" Like this, I said to myself, standing outside that door on Bowery, exactly like this.

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner...

It was my idea but Heather Mary quickly got on board.
"A fancy dinner party?" she squealed. "The fanciest," I replied. And according to my friend L.E.S.ter's new blog, http://www.blackbookmag.com/nightlife/entertaining-at-home, home entertaining is all the rage, perhaps even, dare I say, the new black. Thanks to the recession, and who's more recessed than Heather Mary and I, more and more New Yorkers are foregoing those expensive nights out, opting instead to stay home with friends, throwing the most fabulous soirees. Who knew H.M. and I we were so cutting edge? How sophisticated. How adult. Now how do we fit a dinner table inside Heather Mary's room? Well, the devil's in the details so I will worry about that later, but for now, the guest list.

If The DQ can spare its loveliest queen, I wanted to invite Kristina. We've been spending our days together, searching for the dog, so I hoped this party might be a welcome distraction. Though I've only gotten as far inside as the closed front door on Bowery, I imagine her apartment filled with a hundred reminders of what continues to be lost. Every picture on the wall...Lil'Bit. Perhaps a fur filled blanket on the floor...Lil'Bit. An empty water bowl in the kitchen...Lil'Bit. I could give her this night, a respite from a lonely and now bark-less home.

Heather Mary had even fewer option than I. Either pray for a massive prison break, have a live-blogging dinner party with her Facebook, Myspace and twitter friends or man up and call Edgar DuHaven. Apparently, they used to date, and I'm still waiting to hear that story, but in the mean time, I told her to call the guy. She smiled, knowing all the while Edgar's name was the only name on her list.

Next up; the Theme. Heather Mary suggested a Hawain Luau having just purchased a new Muumuu from her favorite online Muumuu store - Muumuus4UU.com. While I do enjoy a good hula, I know Kristina is vegetarian and I don't believe our local Key Food carries Boar shape Tofurkey. I suggested something a bit more traditional...a pot-luck.

I remember my parents and their pot-luck dinner parties back in the 70's. Well dressed adults, women in flowered knee length dresses, high and even higher hair, men in brown suits with thick black ties and sideburns all crowed together in our newly paneled basement. The laughter and the unrecognizable hushed conversations drifting up the shag-carpeted stairs, finding my ears, filling my Happy Days pajamaed body with such excitement and a longing for adulthood. On the dining room table sat plate after casserole dish of wondrous food - deviled eggs, pot roast, green bean casserole, and the deserts, such awesome sweetnesses. And on the hutch, the forbidden liquor, recently released from its prison cabinet above the oven, dusted off, and sitting beside clear plastic cups and our brown paneled ice bucket. They say you can't go home again, but give me just one whiff of Canadian Mist and I'm there, baby...I'm there. I remember my parents smiling and talking and how I wanted that then...and I still want it now. A pot-luck...perfect.

We each made our phone calls. Kristina accepted and was looking forward to meeting Heather Mary. Edgar DuHaven said he would take the night off from preaching, stating God himself needed a day to relax. They were both given the evenings instructions and now I can't wait to see what they will cook up. It is all set and I can't wait till tomorrow. I haven't been this excited for a long time, it's like Christmas. I hope I can fall asleep.

The Queen and I...

I saw her across the street and I smiled, and when she smiled back, I stopped to appreciate that moment. I spent years waving to imaginary friends, standing on the corner, checking my watch, feigning anger toward my late make-believe chum. I've used so many fake minutes talking on broken cell phones to invisible voices, laughing at hilarious invisible jokes all in an attempt to prove to the world Paul-David de Phindior is normal. So when I saw her across the street, I smiled, and when she smiled back, I stopped to appreciate that moment.

We had both just come from work so still in our uniforms. Black pants and white shirts seem to be all the rage in customer service fashion. I, a waiter, and she, a Jersey City Dairy Queen shift manager laughed at our reflection captured in a building's mirrored window. "Twins," she said. But I thought more like the couple visiting New York City, dressed in a cookie-cutter manner.

We went to the park...dogs love the park. We sat on a bench for hours. Squirrels we saw, but no Lil'Bit. We grabbed a burger and shake and past a man walking his beagle. Kristina didn't even look at the dog. Too painful? Perhaps, but maybe she chooses to grieve quietly, calling no attention to her strife.

The date ended, I mean the day ended once again, sadly, empty handed until I walked her home, to the door on Bowery and she placed her hand in mine.

As I walked to my home and past couples and friends waving to each other and holding hands with each other on the street, I didn't feel jealous because even though I was walking home alone, my hand was still warm...and I appreciated that moment.

So Is Edgar Janet or Mr. Roper...

EXT: APT. 14. THE BOWERY

Close-up of a hand as it knocks quickly on the door. The camera pulls back. After a moment, the sound of at least 7 deadbolts loudly unlocking echo through the dark hallway. Finally, the door opens as far as the tiny golden chain will allow, revealing two bespectacled eyes peering out.

KRISTINA:
(happily)
You're taller than you sound on the phone.

PAUL-DAVID:
(nervously)
I actually hear that a lot.

Kristina's eyes wander suspiciously to the left of Paul-David.

KRISTINA:
(annoyed)
And you brought a friend?

Edgar DuHaven smiles and gives a small wave.

PAUL-DAVID:
Six eyes are better than four and all that.

Kristina slams the door. Paul-David and Edgar DuHaven look to each other, not knowing what to make of their new "friend's" gesture, then finally, they hear the tiny golden chain unlatch and with a whoosh, the door opens, revealing an odd-looking but not unattractive Kristina, mid 30's, long straight red hair, freckles. She pushes up her too large Sophia Loren Collection glasses, and with a fake smile and deep breath, says...

KRISTINA:
Let's go, shall we?

CUT TO:

First, perhaps I should go back a bit.

Kristina, Lil' Bit's owner and I have been talking on the phone for the past couple weeks. She has greatly appreciated my efforts in finding her pooch. Everyday, a couple times a day, I check in, hoping my next call will be answered with good news, but sadly, all efforts have come up empty. Where is this damn dog? I've checked every animal hospital, kennel, police station, everyplace I can imagine, but nothing. And just when I think it may be a lost cause, I talk to Kristina, and her strength and positive attitude snaps me back into action. She's really something. The picture of calm under pressure. She must be going through hell, but in her voice, I hear only conviction and bravery. Sure, I enjoy our conversations, what's wrong with that? It's all about the dog.

Yesterday, I went to her apartment...to search for the dog, of course. We met face to face for the first time. Just me and her and Edgar DuHaven. Edgar, turns out, is not all that crazy right now. After our destined reunion at work last week and convincing him to skip our restaurant when making his Godly rounds next time, we walked home together and had a nice little talk. Crazy is relative and not always black and white. Folks like us can take our meds and can see the doctors but even with all that, we can still be a bit off. And that's where Edgar is now, just a bit off. He enjoys making people nervous, and nothing makes people more nervous than talking about God. He says he's doing all this for research, a script he's writing about two homeless guys who both talk to God. Is it truly the voice of the divine or just the voices in their heads? The working title is, A Pair of Deuses, coming soon to a theater near you. I'd like to read the script, but he says no one can till it's done.

The day was beautiful, the three of us, walking around the city, looking for Lil' Bit, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a little bit normal. I usually walk around New York alone and, I'm ashamed to admit it but jealous of the other people I see walking not alone. Sometimes, I follow a group of friends, walking almost with them, pretending I'm with them, trying to feel what it's like to be a part of...And what I've discovered is the real thing is much, so much better. Me, Kristina and Edgar DuHaven look, more or less, like anybody else. Three friends, walking down the street, looking for something.

In the end, we didn't find Lil' Bit, but I haven't given up hope. Kristina said she would like to look again and I agreed. And when we said our good-byes, she whispered in my ear...

KRISTINA:
Maybe next time, you can leave Edgar at home?

Paul-David nods his head in agreement.

FADE TO BLACK: