Street of Dreams · Book 1 · ~18 min read
Street of Dreams
by Gloria J. Miller
Chapter 1
Marie Aiello always loved the British Isles. She had a specific attraction to the castles and the countryside of the Highlands of Scotland. When she was just three years old, she began telling her parents that she wanted to go “back to Scotland.” For an Italian family, which had only been within a fifty-mile radius of Brooklyn, going “back to Scotland” made little sense. In school, she had difficulties in class because she always spelled things the British way, like ‘colour’ instead of ‘color’. When she wrote her number seven, it was with the little line crossing through it. These little things made her feel misplaced and yearning to be somewhere else.
At her young age she had no idea where or why this was the case. Under her high school yearbook picture was written, “Loves Anything British.”
In 1969, Marie was caught up in the hippie lifestyle. She had just returned to New York after an excursion to California with her boyfriend, Peter. In San Francisco, they had picked up Marie’s friend, Joey, and his girlfriend, Karen. It was a time of sex and drugs and rock and roll. She cherished the people she met, so many in and out of her life. Some were forgotten, but there was one man who haunted her for years. The second her eyes met his, she knew that she had known him in a past life.
Marie and Karen worked in a lower Manhattan insurance company. They hated office work, but needed the money. Peter was a guitar player with a struggling rock band and helped work the sound system at the Fillmore Theater. Joey was a photographer. This was good for Marie because she had recently started an interest in photography. Joey was helpful, but was not in any position to throw any work her way. Peter and Marie were having relationship difficulties. She guessed she loved him in an odd sort of way. The love, however, was not strong enough to conceal the moments she felt like he was something evil closing in on her and smothering her. Peter, if anything, appealed to the dark side of her personality. There was a split happening within the little group. Joey claimed it was reality rearing its ugly little head. He claimed the days of peace and love were over and the whole theory was an impossible dream. The future, of course, would prove him right.
It was in February of 1969 that Peter walked into the kitchen. “Hey, Marie. Party tonight,” he said as he clumsily dropped a bag of groceries and a bag of marijuana on the table.
“Don’t feel like a party,” Marie answered. One look at him and she knew he had already dipped into the bag of pot. “I had a shitty day at work and all I want to do is relax. Alone!”
“When you feel like that, a party’s just what you need. Besides, you have to go because I’m going,” Peter stated. “It’s a welcome the band to the states kind of thing at the Fillmore. I think you might find the lead guitarist interesting.”
“Why?” Marie asked. “Have I suddenly turned into a groupie? Or are you trying to get rid of me by introducing me to other men?”
“Neither one,” he said. “This guy Ian and I were talking about what he thinks about life on the road. Somehow, the subject of reincarnation came up. I mentioned to him that you are into all that shit. He thinks he has had a past life in Scotland, too. Besides, you gotta hear him play. He’s one fuckin outrageous guitarist.”
Suddenly Marie was struck by a feeling of anticipation. Peter’s voice became distant to her as he went on talking and began rolling joints from the bag. He would always line them up like little tin soldiers as he rolled them. It was a small habit of his, but one that for some reason annoyed the shit out of her. As if it were a cued escape, she started thinking about Scotland. She could feel the cold damp air chilling her body and warming her heart. A faint smile came across her face and she swore she smelled horse stables. She always smelled stables when she thought of Scotland. It wasn’t repulsive, it was a fond memory. “Clean dirt,” she called it. Looking out the kitchen window, she was no longer looking down on Second Avenue.
Directly in front of her she saw the open meadow that was lined by a forest of pine trees. The narrow dirt road leading into the wooded area was just wide enough for her small carriage to pass. Again, she was back on that road, racing against the oncoming darkness to return home. She had traveled this road many times and knew this wasn’t a safe place to be after sundown. As she approached the stone bridge that would take her over the river, she whipped her horse lightly to get him to move faster. She was anxious to get home, back to him, back to the small cottage they shared.
“Here,” Peter said, throwing a joint in her direction.
Marie attempted to catch the tiny marijuana missile but instead she watched, uninterested, as it fell into a crack in the floorboard. “Okay,” she answered. “Will you be working, or will you be there as a guest?”
“Guest,” he replied. “I want you to meet Ian. But he’s not someone I want to leave you alone with.”
“Why?” she asked. “Is he one of those off-the-wall dangerous rockers?”
“No,” Peter answered. “Maybe a danger to me. I know how captivated you get when you hear a man with a British accent.”
She half listened as Peter went on talking and searched for matches to light the joint. She was still thinking about her visions of Scotland. She never saw herself getting back. Always the same journey, but never an answer to who she was, or more important, who the man was that she was so anxious to return to. She assumed the man was her lover or husband and that the land was Scotland, but there was never a definite answer. She knew that the more flashbacks she had, the clearer things would be. It was a long and tedious process and required patience, which was not one of her virtues. She could forget this “Scotland Thing,” as Peter called it, for months at a time, but somehow the memories would come back to haunt her. Anything could set it off: a song, the smell of horse stables in Central Park, or the sound of a British or Scottish accent.
Bending over to pry the joint out of the floorboard, Marie tried desperately to bring herself back from the past before Peter noticed her absentmindedness. Why did he roll this for me? she wondered. He knows I don’t like to smoke pot. She would rather that he offered her some cocaine, which would give her the energy she needed for this party. Nevertheless, cocaine was out of their budget these days, so she leaned over and let Peter light the joint for her. She smoked a little because she needed to relax, but mostly because she did not want to get into another stupid argument.
Chapter 2
Marie’s first impression was that this party was just like all the other parties Peter insisted she attend. The room was bustling with wall-to-wall music industry people and groupies. They were only there about a minute when someone stuck a joint in Peter’s mouth. Feeling a little overwhelmed by the crowd, she walked over to the serve-yourself bar. Dropping ice into a glass, she heard a British accent ask, “Does the lady wish cheap whiskey or cheap beer?”
“The lady wishes Champagne, but will settle for the cheap whiskey,” she replied, turning to face a man with the bluest eyes she had ever seen. She was not prepared for what else she saw. There was an immediate feeling of recognition.
He wasn’t very tall, only about five feet ten inches and not a particularly good-looking guy. She was attracted to him in a strange way. His shaggy brown hair was just above his shoulders, and his nose was a bit big. He was British looking. She guessed that was what she found attractive about him.
As she held up her glass, she tried not to shake. He filled it to the top, ignoring her hand signal to stop halfway.
“Ian,” he smiled, holding up the bottle of whiskey then drinking directly from it. “And you would be?” he asked.
“This is my Marie.” Peter appeared out of nowhere, answering for her before she had a chance to speak for herself.
“I should have known,” Ian smiled the warmest smile Marie had ever seen. “Scotland, right?”
“Uh, right. Sort of.” Marie smiled back. “So I guess this party’s in your honor.” Her attempt to ask him about his reincarnation belief was interrupted by Peter offering Ian a joint.
Ian took the joint Peter offered him and the two of them started talking about sound systems. Marie felt like an unwanted third party. She didn’t understand Peter’s motives. He had told her he wanted her to meet this guy; now he was doing his best to make sure they didn’t talk. She noticed that whenever Ian’s eyes met hers, Peter’s arm around her waist would tighten. She excused herself to go talk to Karen, who was standing alone watching Joey across the room flirt with a pretty blonde groupie.
“Look at that bitch,” Karen said as Marie approached.
“Don’t worry.” Marie tried to be comforting. “He’s just flirting. He always plays games with you. Why don’t you do the same? Look around; there are lots of men here.”
“Well, I’m going to interrupt his little game.” Karen started walking towards them, her eyes filled with jealousy.
“No.” Marie grabbed Karen’s arm. “You’ll only make a scene and get Joey angry. Go talk to some guy, any guy. I’ll go interrupt them.” She realized that between Karen and Peter it would be near impossible to get the chance to talk with Ian.
“Joey.” Marie stationed herself between him and the girl. “So, when did you get here?” She looked across the room and noticed Ian wasn’t really listening to Peter. He was staring at her and winked when he saw that he had caught her eye. She blushed and thought, He’s going to charm me to death and I’ll love every minute of it.
“So, who’s your friend?” Joey asked, seeing the interaction between her and Ian.
“Isn’t that funny,” Marie answered, looking at the girl he was standing with. “I was just going to ask you the same thing.”
“Excuse us, honey.” Marie smirked at the girl as she took hold of Joey’s arm. “I know Joey’s cute, but why don’t you go find someone from the band or a roadie to fuck.” Joey laughed as Marie guided him to a corner table.
“Did Karen send you over?” he asked.
“No, I did that on my own,” she answered. “But unless you want to sleep on the couch tonight, I suggest you go find her and be nice, really nice to her.”
“Peter’s in one of his fucked-up moods,” Joey warned. “He’s pretty high, so don’t start flirting with that guy.”
“I’ll deal with Peter,” she answered. “You deal with Karen.”
As Joey walked away to find Karen, Marie noticed that Peter was no longer talking to Ian. She sat at a corner table, rested her chin into the palm of her hands, and sighed. She realized how drained she was from babysitting for adults. Ian appeared out of nowhere and seated himself next to her.
“More?” Ian deposited the bottle of whiskey on the table.
“No, thanks,” Marie answered, realizing that she had not even started her drink yet. Ian, on the other hand, was drinking straight from the bottle. Even though she didn’t know him, it disturbed her to see him getting intoxicated.
“We didn’t get a chance to talk,” he said.
Marie found herself staring into her drink. Suddenly she was at a loss for words. She wanted to avoid his eyes. The feelings that were stirring inside were confusing her. She took a huge gulp of her drink. It burned going down but gave her the courage to look at him. It took very little imagination to see the heather growing on the Scottish hills as she looked into his eyes. She wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him how lonely she had been without him, and how much she missed him. She feared he would have thought her crazy, or worse, he would have mistaken her for some stupid groupie.
“I think I know you,” Ian spoke, breaking the silence.
“I know,” Marie answered him. “But if I tell you from where, you’ll either play along and laugh, or get up and walk away.”
“Don’t be so sure,” he answered, suddenly becoming very serious. “After I talked to Peter this afternoon, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And that was before I even met you.” He took both her hands in his and lightly kissed her fingers.
Marie wanted to tell him everything about her dreams and flashbacks, but she was afraid to reveal herself. She wanted to believe he was from her past life in Scotland. But all she could see now was what was sitting in front of her, some drunken stoner rock musician who was coming on to her.
“I think you are from my past life,” she told him, feeling like she was really going out on a limb here.
“Exactly,” he smiled.
They started talking about their dreams and flashbacks. He described the cottage he lived in. He was a blacksmith, waiting for someone to return home. Their visions were similar. “Let’s go somewhere where we can talk quietly,” he said.
Ian was still holding Marie’s hands and waiting for her to answer when Peter, standing over them, interrupted the conversation. He was so stoned he needed to hold on to the table to support himself.
“Cozy little corner you two have here.” Peter glared as he pulled Marie’s hands away from Ian’s.
“Don’t start,” Marie said defensively. “There’s nothing going on.”
Peter started yelling. “I turn my back for two minutes and you’re off in a corner like a groupie with this guy.”
“Listen, mate,” Ian spoke up. “We’re not off in a corner as you put it. We are just talking. Why don’t you just calm down?”
“Fuck you!” Peter yelled. He was beginning to draw attention from other parts of the room. “I’m not blind.”
Marie’s eyes searched for Joey. He had a way of calming Peter down when he got like this.
“Listen, luv,” Ian said, trying to ignore Peter. “We obviously can’t talk with this bloody sot hanging about.” He wrote a phone number on a napkin and handed it to Marie. “Ring me up. I shall be in New York for two more days.” Getting up, he pushed past Peter to walk away. However, Peter lost control when Marie took the phone number. He turned on Ian and punched him in the mouth.
Marie’s worst nightmares were nothing compared to what was happening. Being punched was something Ian could not ignore, and he and Peter started exchanging blows. Joey and Andrew, the keyboard player from Ian’s band, halted the fighting before it got out of hand, but it seemed to go on forever for Marie. Peter was dragged off into a back room and Ian was pushed back into the seat next to Marie.
“I’m so sorry.” Marie was in tears as she wiped Ian’s bloody mouth. “Sometimes Peter’s a real asshole.”
Ian gently squeezed Marie’s hand. “We’ve done this before.”
“What?” Marie felt it too. As he held her hand, she felt a rush of distant memories flash across her mind. As she dabbed the blood off his mouth, she knew she had been in this situation with him in the past. She fought off the urge to kiss him.
“Forget it,” Ian answered, going into denial. Maybe he had gone too far with his dreams. He told her, “Leave him, Marie. He is holding you back; he will destroy you. Someday his temper is going to get the best of him. Leave him before he hurts you.”
Karen joined them now. Andrew suggested they leave before Peter came back for round two.
“Come with me,” Ian said, rising and taking Marie’s hand.
“I can’t,” she answered, seeing the cautionary look on Karen’s face. “God, I want to. But I live with Peter. I’d go home and find all my belongings on the street.”
“Well, you will ring me up,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. He started to walk away but turned and came back. He held her by the shoulders and kissed her passionately on the mouth, then looked into her eyes. Their eyes confirmed the thoughts they had about each other. “Don’t lose that number and always think of me.” He kissed her again on the top of her head before walking away.
Marie heaved a sigh and managed to speak. “I’ll guard it with my life.” She thought to herself, Think of him? I have already been thinking of him; I just didn’t know who he was.
As she watched him leave, she knew she would call him first thing in the morning. There was no way she was going to let this man walk out of her life, not again. Before he walked out the door, he turned and looked at her. His eyes told her they would be together again. A voice inside told her to go with him. “Ian, wait!” she yelled. However, he couldn’t hear her over the loud music. She started out after him, but Karen grabbed her arm, stopping her.
Marie and Karen decided to make their own way home. Karen was just as disgusted with Joey as Marie was with Peter. The walk home was silent. Marie’s head was spinning. Her mind was flipping back and forth between Scotland in the past and New York in the present.
“Don’t worry, Joey will get Peter home safe,” Karen announced, breaking the silence.
“I’m not worried,” Marie told her friend. “Peter’s safety is the last thing on my mind.”
“Well, you should be concerned. It’s not Peter’s fault he acted the way he did. He got jealous when he saw you off with Ian.”
“Save it,” Marie answered. “Peter’s fucked up, with or without drugs. That’s not my fault, and it’s certainly not Ian’s fault. So whose fault do you think it is?”
“Marie, don’t take sides with a stranger over Peter.” Karen waved her finger in Marie’s face like a mother scolding her child. “He’s the best there is and you know it. I know if I weren’t there to stop you, you would’ve left with Ian. Peter loves you. He got jealous, that’s all.”
“No!” Marie stopped walking to make her point. “That’s not all. Peter wanted me to meet Ian. Maybe he didn’t think we’d hit it off. Well, we did, and I have his number and tomorrow morning I’m calling him. He’ll be in town for two more days and it’s going to be the best two days I’ve ever had. And, by the way, Ian’s not a stranger.”
She didn’t say another word, and was grateful that Karen respected the silence with silence of her own.
When she got home, Marie went right to bed. Despite how horrid the evening ended, she felt a bit blissful. Not being able to fall asleep, she decided to meditate a little. However, her thoughts kept going into the past. Knowing that she desperately needed to sleep, she took a few hits from a joint Peter had left behind and eventually passed out.
Marie awoke to find Peter in his usual morning position. He was in a deep sleep with his arm and leg over her. His long black hair covered half his face. Brushing the hair from his face, she saw he had a black eye. She was instantly reminded of the night before.
Slowly and carefully, she pulled herself out from under his body. Waking him up was the last thing she wanted to do. She decided to call Ian as soon as she could. She thought, Now that’s someone I want to wake up next to.
She decided to go to the coffee shop downstairs and get coffee for everyone. She would call Ian from the phone booth there. As she went to get the telephone number, she felt her heart go into her stomach. Her purse was emptied onto the floor. Frantic, she fell to the floor and searched for the napkin with the telephone number. “Shit, shit, shit,” she whispered aloud.
“Looking for something?” Peter asked, turning his back to her. “Something like a phone number?”
“Bastard!” Marie cursed. “How dare you go into my purse.”
He quickly turned over. Grabbing both her wrists, he started to shake her. His eyes were angry and wild. “How dare I?” he yelled. “No, Marie. How dare you? I’ll tell you something right now and I’ll only tell you once, bitch. I have the number where your friend Ian is staying. If you get in touch with him, I’ll break his fucking fingers. He’ll never play guitar again. And when I’m done with him, I’ll come back and kick your ass. Got that, bitch?” Pulling her up and onto the bed, he straddled her.
“Get off me!” Marie yelled, struggling to free herself. But he pinned her arms over her head, making it impossible to get away from him.
“Now tell me,” he asked. “Did you leave with Ian last night? I want the truth.”
“No.” Marie was scared at first, but became angry at the accusation. “I was here all night. You were so fucked up when you came home you didn’t even know I was in the same bed.”
“I don’t believe you,” Peter screamed at her. “I think you left with him and I think you fucked him.”
“Believe what you want,” she yelled back. “I didn’t leave with Ian and I didn’t fuck him.” Out of control, she let the words spill out of her mouth. She was hurt and wanted to hurt Peter back. “But I wanted to leave with him and I wanted him to fuck my brains out, and I still want to. Is that what you want to hear, Peter?”
Normally, when they fought, Peter would yell and walk away from her, but Marie’s words stung him like a punch in his heart and he lost all control. He slapped her across the face. “Fucking bitch,” he yelled. “I’ll show you who you can fuck.” He ripped her nightshirt off.
“Stop it!” Marie screamed. She hoped that someone in the loft would hear her, come in, and stop him.
“Shut up, Marie,” Peter threatened, putting his hand over her mouth. “You’ll wake up the others. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to treat you like the little slut that you are. I’m going to remind you that you belong to me.”
But he did hurt her. The more she struggled, the more violent he became. He hit her again, so she finally just let him have his way with her. He cursed her the whole time.
When he was done, he rolled over and lit a cigarette, then reached out to hold her. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Admit it, you still love me.”
Marie turned her head to hide her tears. All she could think about was how to get in touch with Ian. She felt alone. She spent the next two days calling every hotel in Manhattan trying to locate him. She felt some relief in knowing the destructive relationship she had with Peter had finally reached its end. She remembered Ian’s words of warning to leave him before he hurt her. Well, she thought, better late than never.