Audrey Hepburn's Pearls: Part I

Chapter 34.1: 1967, Georgina

Chapter 34.1: 1967, Georgina

 

"Its WINTER! WHY ARE YOU RAINING?!" Paulie made a growling noise at the sky as Frankie and I struggled to keep him upright under my black umbrella. 

"Because the sky is an asshole," I sighed, looking around for Paulie's car. Like cotton candy in a sea of black licorice, I spotted his pink Cadillac a ways down the street. So goddamned far away. 

"Damn right! Just like Avi! Where's he?!" Paulie shouted.

"Shh, lower your voice," Frankie warned, but there was no shutting up a shit-faced Paulie. He was too far gone. 

It was right after our Christmas show. So fresh that Paulie still had bits of eyeliner on the edges of his eyes. How he hadn't cried it all off I'll never know, but I had tried my best to wipe all the make-up off of his face. I had the rest of his drag in his fake Pan Am bag slung over my shoulder right now, and he was on my other shoulder. I'd iron his stuff later to make up for it, but this was an emergency situation.

And why was it an emergency? Well, you don't scream at the son of one of the city's top Jewish entrepreneurs in front of everybody, causing the most scandalous public break up Greenwich Village has ever seen and it not be an emergency. And done while in drag, for heaven's sake. People would be talking about this one for ages.

"He ran away with his tail between his legs," Paulie whispered menacingly, "because he is a dog. A little bitch."

"Of course he ran away. You screamed at him through a microphone in front of everybody. He wasn't even supposed to be here tonight," I said to him, then groaned because I realized what had just come out of my mouth. My dumb mouth.

"ARE YOU ON HIS SIDE, GEORGINA?!" Paulie shrieked, jerking us backwards because he had stopped walking.

"Jesus," Frankie winced at the sound. It had hurt his ears.

"No, I'm just a little drunk, Paulie. I'm sorry," I sighed, and pulled at him to keep moving.

"Damn right. You wouldn't be on his side," Paulie retorted angrily, mercifully moving his feet towards his car. 

After a ways, I struggled to open the passenger door of the Cadillac and then realized we'd have to somehow get Paulie inside the car. After a bit of maneuvering, Frankie forced himself into the small backseat and by laying Paulie on the wet hood for a minute I was able to then shove Paulie into the passenger seat. He was so bombed he didn't even care that his entire front was now soaked.

I handed Frankie the Pan Am bag between the seats after getting the car keys out of it. It had not been an easy task, my hand slipping through velvet and glittery sticky materials. Somehow I was able to get the car into drive. 

"Fucking stick," I muttered under my breath. 

Immediately, Frankie started up and I realized I had to pace myself because the alcohol was making me much more annoyed than I should have been. I was already apologetic to him, because I had broken our two drink rule pretty badly when Paulie had refused to drink if I wouldn't. Paulie had called me "reformed" and that had made me so angry. We'd done shots, and I told myself this was a one time thing because I had to get Paulie to not care anymore. I had to get him to stop crying. It had worked, but now...

"Where are you going? This isn't the way to Paulie's apartment," Frankie said from the backseat.

I breathed deeply twice and responded, hoping my voice was controlled. 

"We're not going to Paulie's apartment," I said. Thank god my voice seemed kind.

"Where are we going?" he asked, sounding confused and a little panicked.