Hyphenated American

8/14/2019 Hyphenated American

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Copyrights 2009.

All Rights Reserved.

All characters in this novel are

fictional, any resemblance to

reality is purely

accidental..blah..blah blah..


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Chapter One

Her aparttment had Tiffany-style

Lamps hanging from ceilings, and

posters of Graffiti and what

seemed to be absurd pictures of

robots, things entirely inhuman-a

dcor that seems nothing but

insipid to me now. But back then,

however, it seemed the epitome of

all worldliness. I wanted to bask in

it, and in the unusual complicity ofour meeting, a little longer.

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But I felt bold enough to try my

own observations: I wouldnt

Hang these pictures of anthropoid

metal-it might scare some people.

And then for the dumbest reasonin the world I added: You should

only get married if youre in

love.

Anita looked at me dourly, as if

trying to determine if I was being

smart. In fact she called me smart

from time to time, in her quiet

style of undermining things. But I

must have looked innocent

enough. She said without emotion:

Well, sometimes girls have to getmarried. You know that.

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Oh, yeah, I said. She was right. I

knew about that. How many times

had I myself escaped being caught

by this one and that. Theconversation was beginning to get

interesting. I persisted. Who tells

the boy he has to get married? Is

there a law or something. I think

unconsciously I had wished for

such law, just so as not to be s

forlorn much longer.

You really are a twit, you know?

I am not.

But everyone knew someone

would marry Anita. She had-3-


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Once been a lawyer, and now wascalled a communication expert.

Whatever that meant. I never was

bold enough to ask. She knew an

attractive prospect-she had her

eyes on some wall-street or Ittype, she really measured them by

the size of the Manhattan flat their

income could provide. And of

course Persians were out of

question, we were beastly, brazen,

conceited, arrogant. Though she

took care not to use those

descriptions, I was certain her

promise to her folks had been like

the banner on her twitter site:

Hyphenated American, whereclearly if she were to have been

hyphenated anywhere, it would

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been hyphenated Iranian.

I had digested her banner/bio on

twitter with certain silence. I had

been really looking for an old

high-school girlfriend named alsoAnita, and had clicked on every

Anita name without prejudice.

Yes itd seemed possible that my

old girlfriend from high-school

had gone off to law school

somewhere. The world as I saw it

was always full of unpleasant

things.

We became friends over twitter. It

wasnt quite that impossible. I

lived in Paris at the time, and she-5-


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sang the praises of where she lived

somewhere in Tribeca, a place I

had never been to myself.

I had flown to New York city from

Paris-shed picked me up-we hadbought a few cheap things which

looked even cheaper and less

gratifying once they were removed

from the stores. It was near the

sunset when we headed back to

her apartment. I think we felt at

the time a little shy about having

enjoyed each others company so

much, especially me who

pretended to have no kinship, and

seeing everything as representingsome tribal barrier.

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When we reached at her building,

something tall and ominous. I

noticed men squatting on a

doorstep not a hundred yards onthe other side of street. They

werent black ; they werent even

old or unclean. But remember: Id

lived the life of being sheltered. I

was a city boy only in a technical

sense. I wasnt inured to street

games, and had no stock of tough

words to save our pride.

I looked at Anita to mirror her

street wise response. But she was

going to ignore them, the only-7-


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tactic that came naturally to herwhen she was confronted with

those on the margins of life,

unseemliness, directness, etc. and

that meant that she was going to

ignore me too. I set my face likehers and matched her step. There

was nothing else for me to do.

We climbed the wooden stairs and

didnt speak on the way. She had

her own apartment and didnt

share it with anyone. Shed

already informed me of this little

bit in the taxi, and in a hushed

reassuring tone. The unwell-lit

apartment was organized in an

obviously tangible way. Therewere large wooden solid desks

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old-fashioned things, but theirsurfaces were crammed with tiny

little drawings and water color

works that were all compulsively

tiny, and huddled against one

another-like their swarm was tokeep each others company for the

sole purpose of creating meaning,

meaning. The wooden floor was

polished and bare. A hyphenated

Persian rug was conspicuously

absent. There was a computer set

up just exactly where you

expected it by the TV set looking

more important. There really

wasnt a couch in the living room

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And I thanked God for that

because I didnt wanna have to

sleep in one. She showed me the

bedroom which has this unusually

large beige bed, something toohigh off the floor and looked

attended to like a shrine. I decided

thats probably where I sleep in as

well. It looked outrageously

comfortable. Girls were always

taking good care of their beds, I

think it had more to do with

homing instincts than anything

else. And it really wasnt that I

wanted to sleep with her for sex,

in fact the opposite had been-10-


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On my mind all the way fromParis. It wasnt that she was

unattractive or undesirable-just the

opposite in fact. She had a

brooding small face like a Persian

miniature, with her features allstanding up still and delicate like a

porcelain doll. And they way she

brushed her dark easy hair off her

face with just one quick tilt of her

head was almost endearing too in

a tribal way. My tribe. But the

blooming apartment looked like an

art class in some old air-locked

high-school building.. Even

though the summer night bloomed

around us outside the shutwindows like some enormous

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Blue-black rose. Even over thedust of the apartment I could smell

its fragrance. Everywhere invisible

in the world locusts must have

shrilled and swelled. But the

apartment looked like all it neededwas a swarm of cats. I believed

she be a cat lady in a year or two.

From the four story above al the

New York seemed to be not sleep,

but sunk in a dream of summer.

I practically tied my tongue in

knots trying to be enthusiastic and

complementary as if one big slab

of bed was that different from any

other. I think things were going

swimmingly that I wouldnt have12-


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Been surprised if she were goingto prepare us some dinner. It

would have been a great scene .

We would have had a chance to

show how polite we could be to

another, and how pleasant , and todemonstrate that people of

different backgrounds can learn to

transcend stereotypes and

communicate, and all that warm-

hearted human affirmative-jazz.

But what she really did was order

Chinese from the corner place.

The order arrived in nearly

minutes and we almost ate

standing up. I had known a lot of

her psych features fromcommunicating

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On twitter. Id known she could be

cold to a lot of different emotions.

But I suppose Id imagined that

all she needed was for someone to

poke under the hood like a dentistchecking someones mouth and

things would whiten or re-arrange

themselves and we be on our own

romantic way. It still hadnt

occurred to me that some human

engines might not get fixed at all.

She let me sleep by her side in the

massive bed that night. In the

morning I woke up before her and

walked into the living room to see

if things had changed at allovernight.

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But no, everything was quite as

impersonal and indirect as last

night. My neck was stiff from all

night trying to stay away from her

side of the bed. And I must havesmelled like the crushed flowers

shed spread all over the covers.

But I put on my straightest, most

noncommittal clothes (clean jeans

and a striped cotton shirt), and I

thought I looked unremarkable, if

not exactly unobtrusive.

I wanted to go snooping through

her things. On twitter her character

Had always been built on some

bedrock of exaggeration, andmystery,

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She either only sang her own

praises indirectly, tirelessly, or

would withdraw from

communicating for weeks in the

false pretence that her tenderfeelings had been trounced. She

made these dramatic departures

from scenes regularly. In trips

most shrinks would have called

hysterical. I really had made the

trip not to enamor her, but to

unravel her falseness to the core.

But this was probably an

unnecessarily mean thought. But it

had occupied the recesses of my

mind. Anita always seemed torequire this sort of shifting of

equilibrium from me, guilt

replaced by scorn

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With fondness leaking through

seams.

Her sketchbooks were packed withwater colors of people one must

have heard of somehow, but

couldnt have had for they

apparently had to have obscurity

in common to be sketched. They

appeared to have some unhappy

communion of ailments. Ones

breasts hung low like a leaked

balloon. Another titled: George

Kloonny resembled him if he had

to have suddenly aged 20 years.On and on. Were these somehow

her fellow sufferers and how were

to recognize each other from

another.

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Anita was beginning to stir. I

could her the massive bed making,

sounding bells. Instead I started tolook out the fourth floor buildings

window. Something innocuous.

There was a cigarette and

magazine stand down in the corner

of the street-even a fruit and

vegetable stand, frightened with

pumpkins and bushels of apple. I

began to feel mildly hopeful. Live

in the moment! Visualize joy.

New York from a distance looked

like a place where age andimperfections are cherished

tributes. Where beauty shines best

when its slightly faded.

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Its timeworn elegance felt more

like Paris or New Orleans, and not

at all like Los Angeles, the city I

preferred to all these others.I barely heard her bare footsteps

behind me, lingering by the door

to kitchen to really observe me. I

doubt that she entirely trusted me

now. What with sleeping with her

and not having even touched her,

with nothing having been tactile

and still apparently waking up in a

good mood she clearly found my

behavior odd then.

How about some coffee? Shesounded flat, self-possessed and

indifferent as a cat.

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Oh, youre going to fix some?

Somehow I slyly wanted to give

the impression that she were about

to order some from outside. I

hadnt yet forgiven her forcramming my stomach with

noodles the night before. But I

moved to the kitchen door to

watch her from behind. Shed

never revealed her age, but I

guessed she was in her early

thirties. And I thought if one looks

harder, one can see more lovers

than were strictly necessary

trailing behind her like a

parachute. The girl hadnt simplylived by her wits alone.

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The sight of her bare delicate feet

on the cold floor stirred in me the

way warm coffee in the morning

stirs the senses. I suddenly had a

longing for her: physical, lustful,indeterminable. The way she

moved quickly around her kitchen

would turn any man

domesticated. Nobody said

anything for a while. It was the

exact thing Id been afraid of. Her

physical sense, her steam, her

fragrance, her odors.

I wished with all my heart that a

branch or something would fall

and knock me out. I wouldnt like-21-


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being vulnerable with her. Instead

I heard myself saying: Do you

always look so sensual in the

morning? The words had escaped

my lips. It was what Id beenafraid of saying all along. She was

by the stove and didnt utter a

word. Didnt even turn her head.

Like shed always expected

them.But I know her body leaned

toward mine in the way a body

doesnt listen to a word. But

catches the scent of solace in the

air and follows. And I grabbed her

from behind, and she let me have

her lips. Which were moist andsoft as her other features and we

kissed the longest kiss.

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And then we kissed with little dips

and hesitations. Light hit her eyes

and they looked nearly liquid.And then I was already inside her

by sheer unstoppable propulsion.

Then she said: Eh. About 50

seconds late. When I lifted her up

and took her back to the massive

bed.

She cried when she came and it

made the pollens fly to its golden

cup. Something more stirred

inside her then, something

torrential, something tenuous inher arterial waters.

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And for some reason I felt I had

run through the fire and come

upon a wellspting. We had

separated now, our bodies had,and I felt the tang of this. Its

bitterness. And began to make an

atlas of her body with my

fingertips. Of her dew streaked

breasts, classic diamond mouth.

I think I know understand the

lines you draw.

It seemed as if we ought to be

having a conversation: it was part

of camaraderie of sex.

I thought you didnt like mydrawings?

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I loved them-I am here, amnt I?

You are here because you loved

my drawings?

Do you know in just one of yourblogs you use the words: erudite,

vexing and transfiguration in just

one sentence?

Did I?

And why that wouldnt that stop

you from coming over? From

making love to me like

possession?

What you think I havent thought

this through? Ive studied you

from every angle-there may not bea happy-ever-after option for both

of us.

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Im doing what I need to be doing

to write. So quit asking me. You

dont to have know everything.

Anyways it may just be a summerthing and not a way of life..

She quit asking, and the sweat

dried out on our skins. And later

on we made love again like one of

us was going to war next day.

I was beginning to fall in love and

hoped she knew nothing about it.

First she was kind of cranky. Two

she didnt know how to cook, the

second night wed lived on pizza

with bits of box stuck to the crust.-26-


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Three she went on putting blogs

that made no human sense at all.

They all read like the dialogues

inebriated people have in

expensive bars. Full of semi-professional conceit and things

generally no one cares about. And

us bloody Persians are supposed to

be metaphorical, but you couldnt

read in between her lines if an old

wise Persian sat by.

By the time I woke up next day-

she was cranking at the keyboard

like speed or intelligence is

measured by how quickly you hit

the board, and never mindmomentum or the powers of

uprooting.

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But I had to think positive. I had

to believe there was something she

was good at that may be nobody

else was, I took a look at themonitor for a quick inventory:

science fair projects, music arts

reports, nope, nope, nope.

Academic achievement, back in

the day, better not go there. Big

financial success, still coming up

for craps. May be they talked

each other into going out after

work each night for threes same

reasons.. Happy hour theyd say: I

think I could get all the way up tohappy.

It was getting to me, and I felt, no

lie, pretty dismal.

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All over her apartment you would

find these matches with some

fancy bars name on the cover. Thematches almost always had some

poor souls numbers. I could just

imagine the places, they would

steer each other into, little tables,

low lights a piano playing lush

cocktail music. She probably left

the matches around to piss me off.

I picked one of the matches off the

crowded table, and said: nice

place. I said being totally

sarcastic, but of course she didntget it. Yeah, very uptown.

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Do you want me to fix some

coffee?

Its already fixed pour yourself acup.

What are you exactly doing?

I am planning our Sunday.

Didnt even blink an eye.

What are you exactly planning?

A visit to an exhibition about

robot-generated music!!

I can play guitar and piano!!

Thats not what this is about-its

about me-my interests!!

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Dont you prefer to go with oneof your boyfriends??

I thought you were my

boyfriend?

She looked daggers at me, like Id

complicated a simple arrangement.If I responded in any way. Id be

sleeping in some hotel

somewhere.

I am sorry about shooting off my

mouth, but robot music is just not

my idea of goodtime!!

Well, thats too bad because

youre coming with me.

What should I dress like?

Something inconspicuous.

I came up to her shoulder-31-


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I wished I was a little closer to eyelevel for what I was going to say.

You mean I should dress like I

dont exist, or have no gender.

You are simply being stupid

now.One thing, I said business-like.

If it doesnt work out we can go

to Central Park-or even stop by a

Persian restaurant and have

something substantial for dinner.

She smelled of starch and, very

faintly of perspiration.

I can cook Persian food quite

wellI was taught by my

mother.

Splendid.-32-


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By the way, when can I meet

your parents?

You are never going to meet

them. She said with a sneer and

got up from her chair.I am going in the shower-gotta be

ready in 45 minutes.

The sneering was the best front

she could put on. Hearing things

like that made me sick and afraid.

Just then the phone rang, it was a

friend of hers, it was a female

friend and they spoke in the most

convivial terms. That aroused a

suspicion in me. I was always real

keen to the way a woman dressed.-33-


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And Anita had greeted me at the

airport in a white shapeless shirt

and drooping black pants. I had

attributed this to the way

professional women dressed in amans world. I suppose I really

didnt want to think of her as

being bi-sexual or anything radical

like that.

I stopped listening to them, and

looked out the window not really

caring anymore what was there.

New York was looking at the

moment like one of those cities in

a monopoly game. I was

beginning to think I was nevergoing to get out of it.

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But small towns have a worsteffect on me, theres nothing in the

world quite as stupid-looking as

cattle.

She was in the bathroom, I could

hear the sound of water droppingon her head. And the apartment

which had managed to smell of

airlessness, now felt trapped with

perfumes and a dozen different

soaps.

Her eyes flicked sideways over me

when she walked out of the

shower. I think the usually sweet

after-taste of sex had left her, and

created a scary vacuum in there.

Something like she was about to-35-


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lose her identity in mine. And ofcourse every fiber of her body was

jumping to rise in some rebellion.

So what do you think I should

wear.

Why are you so set on pretendingyoure stupid? I dont think you

are, really.

Thanks. Why are you so set on

pretending youre smart?

She let that pass for now. I said, I

just think you havent met a lot of

men like me before, and you dont

want to admit it.

There didnt seem any pressing

reason for arguing with her. She

was being her indifferent person,indifferent and careless as a cat.

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If youve changed your mind

about things, I said, I mean,

about having me here and all.

Thats OK. Ill just get off here.You dont even have to take me

back to the airport, I mean Ill get

a hotel room, and hang in the city

for a while.

As soon as I spoke she swerved

herself over to her closet and

began to dress in the same

shapeless outfits.

Arent you going to wear a

dress?

I never wear them.?-37-


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Later on we were through the

other end of city. Listening to

robots playing music. I waited

while she spoke to nearly

everyone there. All alongmanaging to look sour. And her

friends pretended to be gracious to

me. Her female friends openly

flirtatious. I think I smiled

idiotically at everyone, the way I

smile at mirrors. I must have

peered into a million different

mirrors in my life with the same

stupid flirtatious smile. Some

things never change. I wondered

how I came to stand in front of-38-


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these people, rubbing my head in

my nervous fashion, I couldnt

think of a reason. Oh, I knew I

was there because of her and,

before that, because shed pickedme up at the airport, before that,

because wed made friends. But I

couldnt get much further. There

were a lot of small reasons that

branched off from one another, but

no grand design, no roots or heavy

trunks. I tried to remember why

Id wanted to leave home in the

first place, why I had wanted to go

out west. It had something to do

with Anita, the hyphenated--39-


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Persian girl, but I realized I hadnt

really thought much deeply about

her lately. She was just part of the

mess I carried inside my head. She

couldnt matter, not any longer. Iwondered if I would ever do

anything right.

Then I squeezed my eyes shut for

a moment, and when I opened

them, I had forgotten where I was.

(second draft-a novel)


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Hyphenated American

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