Chapter 1
Hell on earth is a crowded subway train at 6:00 a.m. in the morning, Adele thought, looking at the bent heads and blank faces of her fellow straphangers. She rode the number two train downtown to 23rd Street, where she played executive assistant to her psychotic boss: Mindy Corentini.
Mindy was a trust fund baby. The only child of Apollo Corentini, she had silver spoons in her diapers and enough money at the age of one to buy Manhattan. The Corentini's derived their fortune off the asses of millions. However, Mindy acted like her shit didn't stink. Bequeathed the family business in Apollo's will at the age of twenty-seven, she beat her chest with proclamations of her status at every turn.
The gentle rocking of the train vanquished thoughts of Mindy out of Adele's mind. With a case of lock-elbow, Adele grappled with the trains "oh shit" handle, situated painfully out of reach for her five-foot-two frame. Chivalry and its brother, common courtesy, died in the dark pits of the New York City subway system, the culprit, the irascible third rail.
Every man for himself meant acquiring seats, as well as, boarding the train in an orderly fashion gave way to an underground cage-fight free for all. The winner acquired a seat or least some prime real estate against a solid train surface, preferably one which did not open. Adele widened her stance and moved closer to a smartly dressed gentleman reading a newspaper. She gawked at a picture of the most attractive man she had ever seen.
Sporting a dark and brooding Mediterranean look, piercing eyes, sculpted high cheekbones coupled with a commanding nose which served to highlight instead of detract from his attributes, the man in the newspaper displayed an amazing cohesion of hard lines and soft features combined with the vulnerability in his black-inked eyes. Adele wanted to trace his lips with her tongue.
Adele unwittingly bumped into Brooks Brothers who sneered at her before devouring the rest of New York Time's financial section. Adele wrestled with the urge to smack him upside his head with it. Instead, her eyes skimmed through the different shades of people resembling an open box of Crayola crayons. She found it was hard to see through the steaming pot of passenger soup, consisting of arms, legs, briefcases, strollers and bikes.
Rule number one in the New Yorker's Survival Handbook: refrain from direct eye contact. Adele quickly lowered her eyes
"Next stop on this Brooklyn bound number two train is 34th street," announced the train conductor. Seconds later, the subway doors opened. Adele hunched over in a quasi squatting position like a catcher waiting to capture a ball.
A gust of stale air from the dank platform blew a wispy curl into her face as people spilled out of the doors.
"Excuse you."
"Stop pushing."
"I'm not getting off."
"Get your hand off my ass." Adele batted at each of her assailants as she fought the strong current of passengers leaving the subway car.
"Shut up and get outta the way," a passenger said.
"I hate New York," Adele sighed.
She was the rope in random strangers tug of war between the train and platform, the precarious position left her frazzled. After fighting her way back onto the train, Adele assessed her reflection in the graffiti-etched windows.
She straightened her dark curls, the product of a salon mishap, left in disarray from her subway battle. The mass collection of spiral curls atop her head resulted from Adele's attempt at livening up a basic chin-length bob. With her wool coat unbuttoned, she smoothed out her charcoal gray pencil skirt.
She liked the way she looked in it even though it emphasized her curvy hips and ample backside. A black lace camisole peeked out of her matching blazer revealed a scant amount of cleavage. The harsh New York winter hated Adele. Her normally radiant, dark skin looked dull and lifeless. The deep pockets under her eyes held weeks of sleepless nights.
Chapter 2
Adele shivered at the picture she painted. At that moment, she realized she was the lone passenger on the train, an odd occurrence at this time of the day. She focused on her surroundings. Upon further inspection, she noticed a homeless man had draped himself on the fold-away, handicapped seat at the other end of the subway car. His gray beard sprung out from his face as if trying to escape from its captor.
A haphazard collection of seasonal accessories hung on his bloated frame. Opened at the waist, a soiled coat publicized a pair of well-faded green swim trunks and hairy, pale chubby legs. Their tongues hung out like a dog in search of water in the Arizona desert, pink Timberlands with the laces missing capped off his ensemble.
Breaking the most cardinal of rules again, Adele's eyes, spotlights fixed on the star of the show, widened on Homeless Guy when he made his move from the fold-away seat, sending the bench banging heavily against the wall. Homeless Guy fiddled with the string on the front of his shorts. Adele immediately ran to the doors connecting one train car to the next when Homeless Guy whipped out his penis and started peeing.
"Sir, could you put penis away?" She said displaying calmness she did not feel.
"I have to water the flowers," he said while holding his penis like a water hose, sprinkling urine on everything in his path.
"He's bat-shit crazy."Adele tried to open the doors.
"The flowers are dying," he said as the dark urine pooled at his feet.
In search of the red emergency break, she moved away from the doors and happily reached up to pull it when she remembered they were between stations. She could be trapped without help with this psycho for God knows how long.
"Fuck," she mumbled under her breath.
"Pretty flowers need water to grow. Someone has to water the flowers or they'll die." Homeless Guy lumbered down the middle of the train car, despite her pleas.
"No, you keep watering the flowers over there. They're still dying," she said.
"Where? Over here, but I already watered over here." The homeless man looked around him in a daze.
"They haven't been taken care of in a long time and need lots of water. Stay there and keep watering the flowers.
They're growing very nicely over here," Adele said.
The homeless guy stopped peeing. He stood at the far end of the car turning from side to side. Undeterred, Homeless Guy readied his water hose for attack, just as the automated voice announced the next stop. Nearly colliding with the opening subway doors, Adele ran out into the platform and straight into the arms of a tall police officer.
"Ma'am." He steadied Adele with both hands.
"There's a rogue penis lose in the subway car," she said.
"What?" His thick eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.
"Officer, there's a homeless guy spraying urine all over the subway car. He's been watering imaginary flowers with his penis/hose since 34th Street." Adele directed the officer to the train car where the homeless man stood with his trunks around his ankles.
"I'm gonna need some backup, Flower Guy is at it again," the police officer said into his radio.
"He's done this before? Why isn't he in jail or a padded cell?" Adele asked.
"You're lucky he didn't do anything else," a hefty officer replied from behind her. "What a comforting thought," she said.
Two more officers appeared on the platform and then disappeared into the train. A few moments later, the police officers emerged with the now handcuffed and urine-soaked homeless man in tow. Not done tormenting Adele, he turned his head and winked in her direction before ascending the stairs.
"He winked at me. Did you see what he did?" Adele asked.
"He's off to the Psych Ward. Maybe, he'll do some time for indecent exposure and public urination, maybe not. Unfortunately, there's no law against winking, Ma'am," the hefty one said with a smirk.
"Where's your cop side manner? I'm the victim here," she said.
"Excuse him," the tall officer answered.
