Nevertheless I made a snap decision to tough it out. I would continue my conversation with Estonia. But I couldn’t pretend that there weren’t two people fucking just inches behind us. I felt it would lighten the situation if we acknowledged what was going on. Better to stare the tiger straight in the eye.
‘Uh… so how do the three of you know each other?’ I asked.
Estonia moved her eyes upward from the floor and looked out through the windshield toward the tunnel in front of us. She was coming out of her trance.
‘In restaurant we work together,’ she said.
‘You’re a cook?’
‘No, no, am waitress.’ She turned her head and motioned in the direction of the back seat. ‘She is waitress also.’
‘And him?’
‘He is manager.’
‘Have they been going with each other for a long time?’
‘No, no, this is new.’
‘So you had no idea they’d be doing… this?’
‘No!’
So now I understood. Estonia was the unwitting accomplice of her sexually adventurous friend, as was I. With this shared reality I sensed that a small, yet perhaps meaningful bond had been created between us. We were both pawns in Blonde Number One’s game and we had to support each other. I felt a stirring of affinity within me. Did she feel the same way? I glanced over at her ever so slightly. Was she smiling or was this the way her face normally looked?
I considered the situation. I’m a man. Generally speaking, I am attracted to women. There are two people in the seat back there making love as if to say that everyone should be making love. The attractive girl sitting next to me seems to like me, maybe. I’m single again. Hey, this could be a gift from the gods. Should I cross the line of professional conduct and make a move?
At the end of the tunnel there is a toll to be paid, so I slowed down as we approached the booth. Blonde Number One and The Stud used this opportunity to take a brief rest, their faces popping up with grins on them that I would have to say could only be described as ‘shit-eating’. Then, as we picked up speed after the toll and were on the highway, they switched positions – The Stud now on top – and went back to work.
I knew I had only a short time to make a move if indeed a move was to be made because we would be at Seeley Street within five minutes. I tried to think of something to say or do that would give Estonia the idea that perhaps we should join her friends in this crazy, impromptu orgy. But I couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t make me come off as a complete jackass, so I did what in certain circles I am well known for doing – nothing. Nevertheless I felt that if I could somehow keep the conversation going, who knows? It might lead to something. So I turned toward her with the intention of making words come out of my mouth.
It was then that I noticed that Estonia had found herself a way out of the situation. She did what ostriches have been doing for millions of years. She closed her eyes, tilted her head to one side, and seemed to be pretending that she was asleep.
Apparently the orgy would remain in the back seat. I put my eyes back on the road, picked up some speed, and said to hell with it, I’d rather keep my dignity and my professionalism. But, then again, if she would just give me a sign perhaps I could regain my dignity and professionalism, uh, tomorrow.
But there was no sign. The ride from hell went on like this – Estonia pretending to be asleep and myself looking for something, anything – for a few more minutes until we finally did arrive at Seeley Street. Actually I had a feeling of relief when we pulled up in front of their building as, thank God, the ordeal was over at last. Blonde Number One and The Stud pranced from the back seat without the slightest hint of embarrassment, all smiles. The Stud then handed me a $10 tip on top of the amount on the meter, a worthy gesture that didn’t really make up for the stress I had been caused to endure, but it did make me feel a bit better about things. The best thing, however, was that I was rid of them and could get on with the complacency of my daily grind.
Or so I thought.
Like the trick ending of a horror movie where you think the psycho is dead but then somehow he’s coming at you again with a butcher knife, there was more.
After a brief conversation with Blonde Number One, Estonia decided to continue on with the ride. What she’d thought was going to be a night of hanging out with her friends had become a sex party for them but not for her. So what was the point of staying? She’d rather just go home. And home, it turned out, was several more minutes into Brooklyn.
I thought she would move from the front to the back and make the whole spatial arrangement more comfortable for the two of us. But no – she stayed up front with me! Now it would be just the two of us alone in the front seat. What had been perhaps the most awkward situation theoretically possible between a man and a woman who didn’t know each other had actually taken a turn for the worse. This was even more awkward.
I pulled out and headed for Ocean Parkway. It would be an eight-minute ride on that road until we reached Avenue P, where she lived. Once again, the tension of the situation gripped me. What was she thinking? Was her staying up front with me a clue that I was supposed to act on? What should I do? What should I do?
Well, I wish I could tell you that the ride ended in a mutually enjoyable fling that I could smile about when reminiscing about my sexual adventures. But the truth is a woman has to just about rip her clothes off and dance the hula before I get the message. Estonia and I continued to chit-chat all the way to Avenue P as if the debauchery we had just witnessed had not really happened. She paid me the additional fare and left with a slight smile on her face. At least it kind of looked like a smile.
But it wasn’t all for nothing. In the course of the remainder of the ride I learned that Estonia, the country, is bordered by Latvia to the south, Russia to the east, and the Gulf of Finland to the north; that the capital city is called Tallinn; that most people are Lutherans; and that it’s a great place to raise cattle.
Fascinating stuff. Really hope to visit that place someday.
Multi-tasking
Multi-tasking. It’s a concept that’s gained quite of bit of popularity recently. The guy with a cell phone in one hand, watching a computer screen, reading a report and eating his lunch – all at the same time – is an image of the modern age. Why should it be any different in a taxicab?
I was cruising in Hell’s Kitchen at around 1 a.m. on a cool, December night when a short, thickset guy – pale, white skin, slick black hair, about twenty-five years old – hailed me at 45th and 9th. A skinny, black girl, somewhere between sixteen and twenty, I would say, followed him into the back seat. I could see by the way they sat some distance apart that there was no great affinity between them.
I started driving down 9th Avenue expecting to hear what our destination would be, but there was nothing.
‘Where are you going?’ I asked.
‘Make your next left,’ the guy said.
‘Okay.’
I turned left onto 44th Street but hit some traffic halfway down the block. We came to a halt.
‘How long you been drivin’ tonight?’ he asked.
‘Since five o’clock.’
‘Busy tonight?’
‘Not