Intervention

By Philip Lear

Intervention

By- Philip Lear

9/2002

I walked in the door of my apartment and threw the keys on the table. There was a large yacht sailing up the Hudson past my window. 'That view makes it worth $4000 a month.' I thought. It was a special place that I could come back to after the most trying day and forget. The apartment at a beautiful fireplace, brick walls and natural wood floors with Persian rugs scattered about. And then there was the spectacular terrace overlooking the Hudson. From the 24th floor you could see up the Palisades all the way past the George Washington Bridge. In the summer I'd sit out there for hours and watch the boats go by. The furnishings inside were comfortable too. My favorite spot was on the velvet sofa in the living room. After work I'd plop down there and watch TV or take my pen and do the Times crossword puzzle.

Fazzio, my English bulldog came waddling up to me. He was drooling and his breath smelled like fish. I gave him a tickle under his chin and said,” How ya doing big fellah?”

He licked my hand.

But if “Yea, that feels good doesn't it?”

Then I got his woven leather leash and we walked up Columbus Avenue to his favorite place, the dog run by the Museum of Natural History. For the next half an hour as I sat and watched as Faz romped with his friends the Jack Russell and the basset hound. It looked like they were running races back and forth across this length of the park. Three overweight dogs in a race. One was slower than the next. When he was exhausted Faz took a breather sat next to me.

“Faz,” I said, “I've never seen a dog in such bad shape. You're snorting, and huffing and puffing like an old man.” We sat there for a while longer as he recovered. Just watching that wide red tongue hanging out tickled my funny bone.

Since Elena, my ex, left, it was just him and me. I liked that fine. Faz had the qualities I wished she'd had. One day Elena had announced that she was tired of our routine lives and moved out. She liked eating out at a different restaurant every night. After dinner, she'd meet friends and go to the theater or to clubs. She never stopped running. I was content to sit home with Faz and do the crossword puzzle or read. On Wednesday nights at 10PM I'd watch my favorite show, Law and Order and on Sunday nights I'd watch the practice. There was tranquility in my routine life.

I named him after my close friend, Louie Fazzio. Louie and I had been law partners for over 15 years. He was one of those great old trial lawyers who never retired. He could stand a jury on its ear. One time I even saw him sing to the jury “Everybody Needs Somebody”. The tears were rolling down their cheeks. Finally at age 75 he had packed it in and retired to sunny Florida. Faz looked like Lou with the same loose skin and dark wrinkles and the sad wide-jowled expression. He even waddled like Lou.

After the walk we returned to the apartment and I fed Faz some Pride Nuggets, his favorite and I mixed myself a Dewars and water and flopped down on the couch. After finishing his nuggets and a bowl of water he curled up in his favorite corner.

Then I stir-fried some salmon and veggies for myself. This was my routine. I'd whip up some not too complicated meal: steak, fish or maybe a salad. On those rare occasions when I didn't feel like cooking call Shin's and order takeout.

The apartment next to mine was occupied by the Greens. They had been living there for three years . Bart was a big guy with a ruddy face. He was well over six feet and must have weighed 250. He looked something like a steroid king with the wide jaw and the gravely voice that was four octaves lower than a base. He looked more like what I imagined a longshoreman to be like than a Wall Street trader. Grace was tall and voluptuous and she wore her dirty blond hair up revealing a long neck. Her face was hard and heavily made up and she had a high screechy voice.

Like all the people in my building they were bringing in the big bucks. Occasionally I'd see them on the elevator or in their matching leather jackets and we'd exchange nods. But I really didn't know that much about them.

But because the Green's apartment abutted mine and the walls were on the thin side, I could hear some of what went on and I knew that they fought a lot. They sounded like Stanley Kowalski and Stella and would have fitted in better in Kearny or in Jersey City. Every so often I'd get an earful. But I never said anything to them about it because generally speaking after a short time it would stop. From those short outbursts I got the idea things might not be going that well. I tried to be tolerant because I knew from my own experience that living with another person even under the best of circumstances wasn't easy.

They would explode, yell and curse at each other, "you bastard, you pig, you whore … womanizer, bitch …you're always so disappointing… and I'm tired of this… I've had it." Then I might hear a door slam and one or the other would go out.

On this particular evening I had a fire going and was on my couch doing the Times crossword puzzle. Faz was curled up in his favorite spot in the corner. And then the war started.

At first I didn't pay any attention to it because I guess I'd gotten used to it. But when the dishes in my place started to rattle I took notice. The fighting went on for a while and even intensified. There was screaming crying hollering dishes breaking and unlike the other times the fight never ended. It continued for over an hour. After a while I saw Fazzio crawl under the chair. I'm sure if he could have put his paws over his ears he would have. I knew it was time to act.

The question was what should I do? Conflicts with neighbors can get ugly and can be very long lasting. If I called the police the Greens would suspect me and I don't have to tell you the kind of situation that would have created. If I went over and tried to confront them it would be embarrassing for them. I wanted to maintain civil relations and at the same time let them know that this would not be tolerated.

Then I backed off a little. Maybe if I'd called them and asked them to lower their TV they'd get the message.

I called them and their phone rang several times and then it went to their answering machine. I didn't bother to leave a message.

Then the storm intensified. The volume increased by about tenfold. The pictures on my walls began to rattle and I heard Mrs. Green screaming loudly. "You pig, you mother fucker, I'm going to kill you."

Then I heard some really loud bangs and what sounded like dishes breaking. It could have been their dishes. Then I heard her husband screaming, "Here's what you're getting." And then there's a loud thump and Mrs. Green was screaming and crying. And Fazzio started wining.

“These neighbors are too much”, I said to him.

Oddly enough when I saw them at the apartment Christmas party or at another neighbor's cocktail party they seemed very close and acted like normal people. They were even congenial. There were no visible signs of cuts or bruises or black and blue marks and I didn't detect any teeth or clumps of hair missing. I hated to hear them killing each other and I was trying to think of what to do next.

Finally it was showtime. My heart was pounding as I walked over and knocked on their door uncertain of what would happen. I waited a while but there was no response. I stood there for a little while longer almost relieved that nobody answered and then I turned and was about to go back to my apartment when it got even worse - more banging screaming and crying.

Son-of-a-bitch here I was paying $4000 a month for this place and I have to listen to these two lunatics killing each other. I turned and went back to their door and this time knocked loudly and rang the Bell.

After a little while Bart answered the door. He was wearing a Mets T-shirt and jeans. He really did look like Stanley Kowalski and he was sweating like him too. As I looked into the apartment behind him I could see Grace sitting on the edge of the chair in her terry robe. Her hair looked all stringy and was pushed to one side and she looked kind of pail..

"Yea Jack what can I do for you," he said.

"Sorry to bother you, Bart” I said, “but the walls in this place are thin. Can you believe that? We're paying $4000 a month for these places and the walls are paper-thin?”

“You didn't come over here now to discuss building construction, did you?”

I took a step closer so we were eyeball to eyeball. Then I said calmly,

“There's a tremendous amount of noise coming from your apartment. Do you think you can keep it down? I can hear everything."

He knew what I was talking about and glared back at me.

Then cool as a cucumber he said, "We were just watching this new action video, and I guess I had the volume turned up too loud. Sorry Jack."

“Jesus Bart, if you hadn't told me I would have thought someone was being killed in there. If it was some other neighbor they might have called the cops.”

“Don't worry, the problem is over,” he said as he stared angrily at me and slammed the door.

I went back to my apartment and for a few minutes all was quiet. Then I heard a thump and held my breath. I waited for more noise, but none came. Fazzio waited too. After a while he emerged from under the chair. He snorted and waddled over to the couch where I was sitting and gently butted my leg.

I reached down and tickled him under his chin, “At a boy big fellah. Good dog.”

We sat there together. I went back to the crossword. Calm had been restored.