Almost Lisa: Pt 12, “Almost bit the Apple”

 

Almost Lisa: Pt 12, “Almost bit the Apple”

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“If I can make it There, I’ll make it Anywhere!”

It was suggested to me online that I revisit my journey in New York City leading up to my early career in music. NY has always been such a vibrant, exciting city, full of energy and so much culture. Understandably, it's enticing to hear about. I've been giving that a lot of thought because it's unhealthy to dwell in some of the events surrounding 9/11 and what ultimately ended my singing and Broadway aspirations. But I've also remembered countless individual experiences and conversations leading up to and during that time in my life which have been interesting to revisit.

To get to New York State initially was quite the undertaking and began my senior year of high school. Dr. Jim Bane, director of Band at Cleveland Heights High School, was a strong positive influence in pursuing my music ambitions. Jim was incredibly supportive and encouraging of my musical pursuits. When I was accepted into Eastman, Jim allowed me to spend my lunch time, every day, in his office, dialing for scholarship applications and grants so that I could attend. Without his help, I surely would have gone to Baldwin Wallace in Ohio, which offered me a full ride (boy, was that a conversation with my parents, lol). It was also Jim Bane who introduced me to the Cleveland Youth Wind Symphony where I served as principal flutist for the three years. The CYWS was the symphony I later sang with, post 9-11, in Severance Hall. The last performance of my career before ultimately losing my voice.

In 1997 (whoa...!) I graduated from the distinguished Eastman School Of Music with a BM in Voice and began driving every week from Rochester to Manhattan for one hour lessons with the incredibly revered and talented John Mace and Richard Dorr. How I survived this year-plus, exhausting pilgrimage is beyond me. I suppose youthful determination was the key. But what wasn’t happening was my ability to find a permanent place to live in NYC.  Here I was, with opportunity in front of me, but no where to live in one of the most expensive cities in the world. I was marching all over Manhattan- on foot- looking for work with my self-manifested modeling portfolio and fashion designs (the ones I was penning during rehearsals) in hand. At some point, I briefly befriended a restaurant owner who was good friends with the then uber-popular fashion designer Elie Tahari. He got me a meeting with the designer. Wow!

I’ll never forget, after waiting nearly an hour for our meeting, the sight while sitting in Elie Tahari’s offices, when the elevator doors finally opened to Ellie with three of his staff flanking him, all on phones and scribbling things down, sweeping through the foyer and into a nearby room, filled with fabric bolts. I was called to go in and meet him, ready to show my fashion designs. Elie motioned for me to sit next to him as a fit model in a nice pair of denim jeans paced back and forth in front of us. I knew he was squeezing me in and I was happy for it. Then he asked for my book and leafed through my designs, still conducting business with his team. A few “mm hmms” later, he handed me back my book and stated “you’re an illustrator”. Now, granted my designs were more intricate than the modern, streamlined brand he was famous for, but I did fancy myself capable of designing what I penned. Elie asked me to stand and turn around for him. Said maybe he could use me as a fit model. But- fit as I was- I was only 5′5″. Oh well. A few years later, I’d begun framing and selling my fashion illustrations to private collectors and fashion enthusiasts. Thank you Elie! But I’d still love to do something with the thousands of original designs I’ve created which- currently- live in volumes, in boxes.

Through the restaurateur, I was also introduced to a statuesque and shapely trans-woman named Octavia. She was sassy, very New York, and a hoot to behold. She invited me to what would have been my first drag show (don’t worry, I enjoyed many once I got to Hollywood), but I stopped spending time with them after the owner did a line of coke behind my back with his buddy. Not my scene.

Also in New York, I was interviewed at FHM Magazine as an emerging talent. I did my face and hair nice, put on a cute outfit and marched up to the building just as the door opened and an entourage of 13 or so poured out, surrounding another up and comer, Jennifer Lopez. When I got into the room, the interviewer was already making decisions to print her interview. He sat in front of me, half paying attention. The wall behind him displayed photos of The Spice Girls, tacked on it in a row. They would be printed in the next months publication. I was clearly “no one”. This is one of those memories which make me angry over missed time. I got a late start on my dreams. Had I broken free of that despicable, controlling boss years earlier, who knows if I would have been walking out of a major magazine interview, with an entourage, launching my own singing career/empire.

I just found a note to myself entitled “the German” and giggled remembering this next part of my New York  experience. While subletting a room in a railway apartment on the upper West Side, my “roommate”- a fun, quirky voice over talent also named Lisa- and I shared a few interesting moments together wherever the third roommate subletted her room out to subsidize her portion of rent. On one occasion, the subleasee was a German man (maybe early 30′s) who was in the States on a grant to research Death. Some institution had bestowed financial resources upon this already odd and terse man so that he could sit bedside and watch people pass away, and involve himself in things which brought him closer to understanding Death and the Human condition as it deals with it’s own demise. Needless to say, I avoided conversations with the guy (as did Lisa 2.0). Sometimes, they were unavoidable, and there we're no witnesses.

 

(Credit, unknown. NOT my photo)

One night, German dude caught me solo in the apartment and began to discuss his research. He told me of an art exhibit he’d attended where the entrance way was flanked by two naked people (a man and a woman). You couldn't enter without turning your body to the side. He enjoyed (too much) speculating about which way I might turn to enter, sizing me up and down to see how I might react to his inquiry. Then he mentioned another, earlier, exhibit by a controversial performance artist who publicized a disclaimer that whatever happened to her during the performance was her will. Upon a long table in the room were various items attendees could “use” to interact with her: scissors, rope, paint, a boa, various knives, tape, a loaded gun... The German declared he would enjoy using the knife on this artist, and explained his fascination with her Work, while moving uncomfortably closer to me and making slashing gestures at my torso with an imaginary knife. I did not move a single muscle. It was at this moment that Lisa 2.0 came home and walked into our living room- eyes wide- and asked “how’s it going?”. Both Lisa’s were thrilled the next night when The German called to say he wouldn’t be coming home because he was arrested for jumping a subway turnstile. Guess that’s legal in Europe.

(For the record, that Artist he adored was the infamous Marina Abramović. The work was “Rhythm 0″ which - I recall- ended with a loaded gun pointed at the artists head.)

Ahhhhhhh... I Love New York.

      (To be continued...)

 

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