The family decorator
Part one-------------

The
company sold very beautiful furniture and had a sewing studio in Virginia with
a stable of illegal Vietnamese women, probably tied to their workstations who
sewed the most fabulous creations.
As time
passed, they trained me to be a good decorator, and I did a lot of very
beautiful homes on the North Shore Gold Coast of Long Island. This was when
McMansions were going up all over the place and people needed a lot of home
furnishings and drapery to fill their 12,000 square foot houses.
We had
quite a variety of customers coming to our establishment. I was required to
greet everyone that walked into the store with a script and then write their
names and information into my black and white marbled composition book. There
were the Jewish ladies from Great Neck, the Waspy country clubbers from Locust
Valley, the “browsing only” people from mid-island, Greeks, Persians, and
Italians. You never really could peg who was going to spend a lot and who
wasn’t
One
afternoon a little old woman walked in and I greeted her. She was a tiny woman
elderly woman who still dyed her hair blond and wore it in a hairdo that was
last in style in 1975. She had skin as thin and transparent as tissue . She
spoke with an English accent and said her name was Mrs Ianniello , but everyone
called her Betty, “London Betty”. She was a sweetheart, and we took to each
other immediately. I had the feeling she was going to be a “browser “, but I
took her around the store and started asking her the usual questions as I
jotted her info into my book.
Betty
said she wanted to do her house from top to bottom. From her appearance, I
assumed her house was going to be small. She said her husband had been away and
she wanted to fix it up for his return. I asked her, “Oh, ok...where has he
been?” she looked at me and
repeated he’s been “away”
Still not getting an actual place from her, I set up an
appointment to see her house and do design plans. She gave me a Westbury
address and we set a time for me to go there. The next morning i drove to her
house. I was in a neighborhood that had enormous homes on large lots of at
least 2 acres. Driving up the street, you got a clear idea of who lived in each
house. There were the slightly shabby chic white shingled colonials that
screamed, old money. These were the neighborhoods that once housed Morgans and
Whitneys. Nothing much had changed in these houses. There are long stretches of
fences with horses grazing and women in Lily Pulitzer dresses and tennis
whites. But there were also houses with large electronic gates, fountains and
lots of statuary. With every house I passed I mentally played the guessing game
“Don or Deb”
I got to
Betty’s house with the gigantic fountain in the middle of the circular driveway
and no shrubbery around the perimeter of the building. The outside not as showy
as some of the houses I had driven by, but what was awaiting me inside can only
be described as Awesome!!
London
Betty greeted me with all of her bubbly effusiveness and walked me in. She felt
the house needed freshening, but her pride of home was still obvious. The place
was very large and there was an open floor plan. The spacious entry opened into
the living room and wide hallways led in different directions. All of the
floors were covered in a plush pile of Pepto Bismol colored carpeting. Every
wall, in every direction had a different finish....straight ahead was a
flagstone wall, to the left a wallpapered wall, to the right were floor to
ceiling mirrors. And there was artwork.... reproductions of Renaissance
masterpieces on velvet, nudes that had poses with all the subtlety of Screw
Magazine, still lifes from adult night-classes and clowns. So many clowns...reclining
clowns, happy clowns, a close up with a single tear clown and clowns on
bicycles.
Betty went to
the kitchen and left me alone in the living room. There, on the baby grand
piano were framed photos....so many there was no room for even one more. I
looked and there was Betty and others with Frank Sinatra, Joey Bishop, Dean
Martin and men in hats with cigars ...there were also pictures of Danny
DeVito and Robert DeNiro on the
set of a movie.
Betty walked
back in and said , “Ohhhh! Don’t you love those pictures?” she said something
to the effect that her husband helped with “research” on the set of “Hoffa”. I
was beginning to understand that he was not by trade in the movie business....
....and by “AWAY” she didn’t mean that he had been on vacation.
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RECIPE:
Linguini with Little Neck Clams, Shrimp and Bay Scallops
10 cloves whole
2 T pesto
1 large can Marzano tomatoes
1/2 t fresh oregano
1 sprig fresh thyme
1/2 cup chopped flat leaf parsley
1 large pinch crushed red pepper
3 oz olive oil
3/4 c dry white wine
5 lbs clams
1/2 lb cleaned deveined shrimp
1/2 lb scallops
1 box linguini ....cooked according to box instructionssaute garlic in olive oil til fragrant....add all ingredients except seafood
bring to simmer...throw in clams, cover and simmer approx 5 minutes or till all are open
add shrimp and scallops cook another 3 minutes at a simmer
toss with pasta
Ruthie! Strong, writing; extraordinarily confident! This sets the stage for a series of vignettes featuring how real people live, how they recognize they need a bursdt of creativity, which is when they bring in The Pro! Some minor details....put one of them "Bookmark This Here Page" at the bottom; also, I'd try for a snappy headline for each new one; they'll look forward to it! For some reason, I kept thinking "My Work For A London Derriere". And "My Kitchen Design Was Something She Could Get Behind!" Congrats on this, shveetiepie. This is The Real Deal. Keep the writing coming and ye shall be rewarded thusly!
ReplyDeleteSo, to follow up, here's...
Danny Boy (Londonderry Air)
by Oscar Peterson AND Ben Webster
Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side.
The summer's gone, and all the roses falling,
It's you, it's you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow,
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow,
It's I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow,
Oh, Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so!
But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying,
If I am dead, as dead I well may be,
You'll come and find the place where I am lying,
And kneel and say an Ave there for me.
And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,
And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be,
For you will bend and tell me that you love me,
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me!
You have me captivated! I'm eagerly awaiting for part 2, but something tells me the husband is on an "all expenses paid sabbatical"...
ReplyDeleteEveryone wants to love their job. My job is the taster of these recipes... Never disappointed!
ReplyDeleteLooking forward to Parts Two, Three, Four......and more stories from The Book of Ruth. Now if I could just find someone to make me the recipes.
ReplyDeleteYou make the uninteresting fascinatingly worth a second look, and despite the fact that some of it remains uninteresting, the rest of it is alluring, even enchanting. You know, you charm us, Ruth, if I may call you by your given name; after all, my recommendation is that you run for president. In that scenario, interesting as all hell, I would, of course, readjust my thinking and call you Madame President, or, at the very least, Madame Ruthie. Perhaps the best part of my lowest of expectations, is that your writing is superb, so you could talk garden slugs and dying weeds, and I would be right there, chanting: Re-Elect Ruthie, Now More Than Ever! Brava!
ReplyDeleteWow! More!
ReplyDeleteI savored every word….and every ingredient that followed…!!!
ReplyDelete