Dreams of Harry Martini a Chelsea Hotel Fiction

Dreams of Harry Martini
by S. Francis Berman
Blew Karma Media Copyright 2003
Harry Martin, lurked in the shadows of Serenity, a yawning, New York hot spot, located down below the notorious Chelsea Hotel. Harry stood there each and every night like a dark dense nebula of thick dust silhouetted against the wall, unseen amid the throng of splendor and festivity corralled on the dance floor.



Pie eyed, his face became quite the common occurrence and always a welcome sight. In fact, he was the only patron who'd made his attendance present 463 straight evenings since the opening without paying a single tab. That's a record that even he at times whimsically thought should have earned him a plaque or at the very least, a drink named after himself.

"I'll have another Harry Martini"

He would think amusingly to himself envisioning the gaggles of attractive New York women that frequented Serenity purring his name softly.

Upon their lips he fancied, would be the world's most expensive lipstick "Cherry Shine KissKiss Gold and Diamonds," created by his good friend, Olivier Echaudemaison the famous French makeup artist who began his career by traveling with the Duchess of Windsor when he was but 17 and went on to do royalty and celebrities.

(The lipstick retails for $62,000 custom designed in France, adorned with 110g of solid 18-carat yellow gold and 199 diamonds. When not in use, the lipstick is housed in a black lacquered wooden case, where it can be properly worshiped on your altar of makeup.) …


"H-A-r-r-r-r-Y M-A-R-r-r-r-r-T-I-N-I."



Chelsea Fiction New Fiction Release
Dreams of Harry Martini
by S. Francis Berman
Blew Karma Media Copyright 2003


And why wouldn't they purr and moan his name with such reverently erotized undertones?

After all, Harry had been a man with which to be reckoned. He once had lots of money and plenty of good friends in high places. Harry was the toast of the town, a man of renown, a giant among men, so to speak.

Harry came up clawing from the alphabet streets of The lower east side tenement, 1967 anarchistic up against the wall mothers.

His parents were apart of the seething mass of Jewish immigrants seeped in the Progressive's attracted to labor and socialist movements

New York City was slowly burning, garbage filled the streets, the city slipping into a deep recession and then eventually bankruptcy. Harry found that the way to take refuge from the mayhem and chaos, was with something that came to him quite naturally.
Stand Up Comedy!

You see, the whole gazillion dollar industry was still in its infancy and Harry was extremely well liked, a good looking kid and he had the gift of gab, he told a real tall tale.


When he first moved into the Chelsea Hotel, he had a gig at The Ed Sullivan Theater, on
Broadway near 57Th Street, a few bit guest slots on TV and Harry started getting a fair following. Before you know it, Old Harry was out doing the circuit. He was on the road head lining skid-lid clubs around the country.
The stories he told were legendary. Now, this one in particular I hold very dear to my heart.

A very plain but pretty girl, from Elmira Minnesota, told it to him while they both waited all night one late August for buses out of Saint Paul after a severe bizarre early snowstorm.

The girl was a tiny little thing with boobs so small she needed scaffolds to hold up her bra.

She had come from a very poor family with a distressed farm and wanted to go live in New York City.

Arriving at the Port Authority with a couple of dollars and 31 cents in her pocket certain that she would get a part in a Broadway play The Phantom of the Opera.



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