sits down with Jamie his manager to discuss the current financial state of the Streamside. She was Pete’s first hire, charming him with the story of how she was conceived at the Woodstock Festival. Her mom and dad, a sandal-maker and a weaver, lived out the hippie myth. Their summer of love ended in a car crash on Route 28. Baby Jamie survived and was adopted by very strict Catholics from Saugerties. She became emancipated when she was sixteen, a single mother by the age of twenty. Her son, Jackson, the guitar wizard from the pizza parlor, never met his father, a horn player from Memphis.
Jamie, forty-one, is a ball of energy with a radiant smile. “I’m a people person,” she told Pete when he hired her. She started out cleaning rooms and within three months was managing the place. Pete concentrated on the renovation; she was the front person and the reason there were so many repeats. She’s excited when Pete tells her about the writing job. “You were letting your talent go to waste, boss.”
“Jamie, I’m proud of what we’ve done here. Writing is a con.”
“Don’t be negative, Mr. Stevens.”
It’s drizzling when he returns to the house and redials Annabeth. “Is your mother actually dating David or am I inventing?”
“You always said you wanted mom to be happy.”
“Not with my agent.”
“I’m glad you’re working again.”
Everyone is happy Pete is writing but only he knows it will probably end badly. “What’s owning and operating a 23 unit motel supposed to be?”
“Honestly Dad, the motel business is so not you.”
“So how long has it been going on between David and your mother?”
“Ask mom. Bye dad.” She disconnects.
“Ready to work?” It’s Cleo, sneaking up on him. She’s wearing the Red Sox cap again.
“I need couple of hours for personal hygiene, yoga, chores, that kind of thing. Are you from Boston?”
“I know one of the players, he gave me the hat.” She jogs out of the parking lot, across Sully’s Bridge, turns left and disappears down the road on the other side of Mill Stream.
Kevin Youklis’ uncle owns a bar in Tribeca. Cleo must have fucked Youk, the Red Sox third baseman. Pete drives to the local video store and finds two more titles starring Desirée, bumps into Brother Ray in the parking lot, schlepping grocery bags from the health food store. The Buddhist monk is eighty, looks sixty, retains a child’s sense of wonder and does Tai Chi every morning. They say he walked out of China during the Cultural Revolution, took five years, but he rarely talks about it.
“Brother Ray, need a ride?”
“If you like.”
“I like.”
Pete takes a right at the piazza, passing the Colony, a Spanish style three story stucco building built in the Twenties as a hotel catering to rich swells up from the city for a weekend of debauchery. Padlocked for years, it’s a struggling music venue now.
He stops at the blind intersection up the road. “They say Dylan had his motorcycle accident right here. Some people think he faked it to get out of the limelight.”
“Did he succeed?”
“It only added to his mystique. Do you think a person my age can change, Brother Ray?”
“What do you seek?”
“To live in harmony, not want things.”
Brother Ray smiles. “That’s progress.”
“But then along comes something I want.”
“Change not easy.”
The pickup bounces its way up a narrow gravel road and stops at the foot of a steep path leading to a modest cabin with a big garden.
“A lot of work living here by yourself, I admire your vitality.”
“Ready to move on. I have occupied this body long enough.”
“Time for a new one.”
The old monk laughs merrily. “You a wicked boy.”
Back at the Streamside, Jamie is on the phone with her son. Jackson has been busted for dealing grass. Her baby is being held at the Ulster County Jail.
“How old is the kid?”
“The kid is 19, an adult, not a juvenile offender. I need to get him out of that
Jamie, forty-one, is a ball of energy with a radiant smile. “I’m a people person,” she told Pete when he hired her. She started out cleaning rooms and within three months was managing the place. Pete concentrated on the renovation; she was the front person and the reason there were so many repeats. She’s excited when Pete tells her about the writing job. “You were letting your talent go to waste, boss.”
“Jamie, I’m proud of what we’ve done here. Writing is a con.”
“Don’t be negative, Mr. Stevens.”
It’s drizzling when he returns to the house and redials Annabeth. “Is your mother actually dating David or am I inventing?”
“You always said you wanted mom to be happy.”
“Not with my agent.”
“I’m glad you’re working again.”
Everyone is happy Pete is writing but only he knows it will probably end badly. “What’s owning and operating a 23 unit motel supposed to be?”
“Honestly Dad, the motel business is so not you.”
“So how long has it been going on between David and your mother?”
“Ask mom. Bye dad.” She disconnects.
“Ready to work?” It’s Cleo, sneaking up on him. She’s wearing the Red Sox cap again.
“I need couple of hours for personal hygiene, yoga, chores, that kind of thing. Are you from Boston?”
“I know one of the players, he gave me the hat.” She jogs out of the parking lot, across Sully’s Bridge, turns left and disappears down the road on the other side of Mill Stream.
Kevin Youklis’ uncle owns a bar in Tribeca. Cleo must have fucked Youk, the Red Sox third baseman. Pete drives to the local video store and finds two more titles starring Desirée, bumps into Brother Ray in the parking lot, schlepping grocery bags from the health food store. The Buddhist monk is eighty, looks sixty, retains a child’s sense of wonder and does Tai Chi every morning. They say he walked out of China during the Cultural Revolution, took five years, but he rarely talks about it.
“Brother Ray, need a ride?”
“If you like.”
“I like.”
Pete takes a right at the piazza, passing the Colony, a Spanish style three story stucco building built in the Twenties as a hotel catering to rich swells up from the city for a weekend of debauchery. Padlocked for years, it’s a struggling music venue now.
He stops at the blind intersection up the road. “They say Dylan had his motorcycle accident right here. Some people think he faked it to get out of the limelight.”
“Did he succeed?”
“It only added to his mystique. Do you think a person my age can change, Brother Ray?”
“What do you seek?”
“To live in harmony, not want things.”
Brother Ray smiles. “That’s progress.”
“But then along comes something I want.”
“Change not easy.”
The pickup bounces its way up a narrow gravel road and stops at the foot of a steep path leading to a modest cabin with a big garden.
“A lot of work living here by yourself, I admire your vitality.”
“Ready to move on. I have occupied this body long enough.”
“Time for a new one.”
The old monk laughs merrily. “You a wicked boy.”
Back at the Streamside, Jamie is on the phone with her son. Jackson has been busted for dealing grass. Her baby is being held at the Ulster County Jail.
“How old is the kid?”
“The kid is 19, an adult, not a juvenile offender. I need to get him out of that
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