I went to the room in Great Jones Street, a small crooked room, cold as a penny, looking out on warehouses, trucks and rubble. There was snow on the windowledge. Some rags and an unloved ruffled shirt of mine had been stuffed into places where the window frame was warped and cold air entered. The refrigerator was unplugged, full of record albums, tapes, and old magazines. I went to the sink and turned on both taps all the way, drawing an intermittent trickle. Least is best. I tried the radio, picking up AM only at the top of the dial, FM not at all."
The industrial loft buildings along Great Jones seemed misproportioned, broad structures half as tall as they should have been, as if deprived of light by the great skyscraper ranges to the north and south."
Transparanoia owns this building," he said.
She wanted to be lead singer in a coke-snorting hard-rock band but was prepared to be content beating a tambourine at studio parties. Her mind was exceptional, a fact she preferred to ignore. All she desired was the brute electricity of that sound. To make the men who made it. To keep moving. To forget everything. To be that sound. That was the only tide she heeded. She wanted to exist as music does, nowhere, beyond maps of language. Opal knew almost every important figure in the business, in the culture, in the various subcultures. But she had no talent as a performer, not the slightest, and so drifted along the jet trajectories from band to band, keeping near the fervers of her love, that obliterating sound, until we met eventually in Mexico, in somebody's sister's bed, where the tiny surprise of her name, dropping like a pebble on chrome, brought our incoherent night to proper conclusion, the first of all the rest, transactions in reciprocal tourism.
She was beautiful in a neutral way, emitting no light, defining herself in terms of attrition, a skinny thing, near blond, far beyond recall from the hard-edged rhythms of her life, Southwestern woman, hard to remember and forget...There was never a moment between us that did not measure the extent of our true connection. To go harder, take more, die first.
Tag: 1970s bowery east-village houston noho
You loved her, but you let her marry some other fella? Why’d you do a fool thing like that?”
“Because it was best for her.”
“How do you know it was best for her?”
Houston swiveled his head and captured his brother’s gaze. “What?”
Austin shrugged. “What if what you thought was best for her wasn’t what she wanted?”
“What are you talking about?”
Austin slid his backside across the porch. “I’m not learned in these matters so I don’t understand how you know what you did was best for her.”
-Houston and Austin
Tag: houston austin lorraine-heath texas-destiny
He skidded to a dead halt and stared hard at Austin. The boy’s chin carried so many nicks from his first shave that it was a wonder he hadn’t bled to death. He was a year older than Houston had been when he’d last stood on a battlefield. Sweet Lord, Houston had never had the opportunity to shave his whole face; he’d never flirted with girls, wooed women, or danced through the night. He’d never loved.
Not until Amelia.
And he’d given her up because he’d thought it was best for her. Because he had nothing to offer her but a one-roomed log cabin, a few horses, a dream so small that it wouldn’t cover the palm of her hand.
And his heart. His wounded heart.
Tag: houston lorraine-heath texas-destiny
Tag: houston amelia lorraine-heath texas-destiny
Her delicate brows drew together. “As a rancher, surely he knows how to ride a horse.”
“He can ride just fine. He took it into his head that he could break this rangy mustang, and it broke him instead.”
-Houston and Amelia
Tag: houston amelia lorraine-heath texas-destiny
Austin stood. “All right, I will.” He walked to the door and stopped, his hand on the latch. He gazed back over his shoulder. “That woman you love . . . Do I know her?”
Houston forced himself to meet his brother’s gaze. The boy only knew one woman, if he didn’t count the whores in Dusty Flats. “Yeah, you do.”
“She never left your side, not for one minute.”
“She should have.”
“Well, I’m not learned in these matters, but I’d like to think if a woman ever loved me as much as that one loves you ... I’d crawl through hell to be by her side.
Tag: houston austin lorraine-heath texas-destiny
He pulled her mirror out of his other pocket. “You left your mirror on my table.” He extended it toward her.
“You can keep it,” she said quietly. “We have lots of mirrors here.”
“I’ll keep it, then.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
He’d never rushed headlong into a battle, but he figured this time, it might be the best approach. “I spent a lot of time studying it. The back is real pretty with all the gold carving. Took me about an hour to gather up the courage to turn it over and look at the other side.”
“And what did you see?”
“ Aman who loves you more than life itself.”
Closing her eyes, she dropped her chin to her chest.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me. I haven’t held your feelings as precious as I should have.”
“I don’t hate you,” she whispered hoarsely. “I tried to, but I can’t.”
-Houston and Amelia
Tag: houston amelia lorraine-heath texas-destiny
Maybe in time, once your feelings for Dee deepen—"
"That's my problem, Houston. I think I've fallen in love with her and I've got no earthly idea how to make her love me."
-Dallas and Houston
Tag: houston texas-glory dallas lorraine-heath
She described to us six lanes' worth of unadulterated fear, populated exclusively by motorists whose driving education had been paid for by the blood of pedestrians.
Jeff DeckNew York is a granite beehive, where people jostle and whir like molecules in an overheated jar. Houston is six suburbs in search of a center.
Nigel GoslinTag: new-york-city houston
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