The Blue Ladies

                Joe DiGilio

Readers and Followers...you are going to be amazed at Joe's second contribution to  "Tales of Relentless Pursuit."  It's a twist on a familiar theme:  The relentless pursuit of fame and fortune, gone awry.  This story reads like fiction, but then again, you'll have to decide for yourself-- I have my suspicions!  In New York City, perhaps anything can happen! 

Note each of Joe's tales has a color in its title.  I see a pattern developing.  Honestly, if anyone has any connections to the Publishing world, Mr DiGilio could use an Agent!  He has many more stories in his bag of tricks!

For now, enjoy "The Blue Ladies" and Joe's superb photography. (Remember, if you click on a photo, it will enlarge for you.)  By the way, I could not find a single word to cut, and I think you will find yourself wanting more! 

Oh...and if you click on one of the green circular icons (one above Joe's picture, and one on his Biography below), you can write a "Stumble Upon" review, recommending this blog.  It'll help create more readership!

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Thanks for stopping here to see the latest post.  I'd love to know what you think of the "Relentless Pursuit" series. Please leave a comment below or email me with your suggestions on what you'd like to see on this blog. 

If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me. And be sure to take a look at my Photography site. I'd love to hear from you!  Also, consider forwarding the link to "Relentless" to your friends and family.  Thanks again!
--
Michelle Alton

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The Blue Ladies

34th Street Entrance to Penn Station

Part One

Lenore and Irene are identical twins, real head turners, tall, thin, blonde, blue, well put together.  Like many girls they have dreamed of becoming models since childhood but the odds of making a good living as a fashion model are as long as the odds of making a good living as a professional photographer.  Undaunted, they were going to give it a shot anyway because you never know if you don’t try.  So one morning it was off to Manhattan’s Garment District on the Long Island Rail Road with their makeup and whatever else girls put in those annoying little suitcases on wheels they drag through the streets behind them.

It was at a modeling agency on 7th Avenue that they made the acquaintance of a sultry 40ish brunette named Lotta, who, unbeknownst to them, would soon change their lives forever.  Over a cup of trendy coffee Lotta told the girls she would hook them up with a friend of hers who needs models all the time and, pays well.  And all she wanted in return was their promise to model for her, at the going rate until they found someone willing to take their places.  Lotta took the girls to meet her friend Jasper.  There was a lot going on at his studio, a photo shoot for a well-known label was in progress.  The twins were overwhelmed and instantly began to fantasize about getting started on the road to success.  They were so anxious they said “yes” to everything and signed the contracts Lotta placed before them without reading the “fine print."

 

That same day they posed for photos wearing some of the latest fashions, after which they were paid handsomely in cash.  Lotta congratulated them, took them to Tony’s Napoli off Broadway for dinner and then back to her loft in the Garment District to do a little modeling for her, as per their agreement.  When they arrived Lotta opened a special bottle of wine from her private stock which paralyzed them almost immediately after the toast that Lotta made to their success.  They were conscious but they couldn’t move or speak.  Lotta then explained she was a witch and, as it said in the “fine print” they hadn’t read, they were obligated to model for her as mannequins in Manhattan stores and show windows until such time as they could convince, entice, and trick someone to take their place.  Then they watched in horror at their reflections in a large mirror as Lotta stripped them of their clothing before they hardened into chalk-like, lifeless, human forms.

After the Wine

Part Two

I’ve been commuting from Long Island to Manhattan Island on the Long Island Rail Road  longer than I care to remember.  I walk from Penn Station to my office on West 46th Street and back daily; camera at the ready.  The walk is the best part of my commute.  Although my destination remains unchanged I vary my path just to keep things interesting. 

I know it’s time to make a change when I start recognizing the people in the street.  I’m always on the look-out for targets of opportunity. I find something or someone almost every day.  Most of the time I keep the shutter in sports mode because I shoot from the hip a lot. The majority of the images get deleted but some become favorites of mine.

Trendy

I get a kick out of some of the get-ups people wear.  Sometimes I notice trends before they catch on because I walk through the Fashion District often.  I see lots of tall thin models dragging their ubiquitous  little suitcases behind them. They always spot my lens, they almost never smile and I rarely shoot them.  They’re not my kind of target.  I like funny, strange and unusual more.

NYPD

In midwinter, Manhattan’s early morning light is generally poor.  The long shadows cast by the city’s concrete, steel and glass monoliths make it difficult to take a clear image on the move without using a flash.   It’s cold too and prime targets of opportunity are scarce for the sidewalk photographer, but you never know what you might see in this town so I try to keep my camera ready and my fingers warm in my woolen mittens, with the slits in the palms.

The bitter wind whistles and moans its way through the canyons formed by the architecture, creating eerie sounds as it blows around corners, through alleys, cracks and crevices .  Raw conditions cause more people to opt for the subway in winter but there are still some stalwart commuters who pull their hats down and turn their collars up as they “hoof it” to their Mid-Town offices from Penn Station, Grand Central Station and the Port Authority Bus Terminal.

The Avenue of the Americas, 6th Avenue to native New Yorkers, is one of my favorite hunting grounds; it’s also Manhattan’s North Wind corridor.  Early one gray, windy morning while passing a dress shop near the corner of 6th and West 46th, I thought I heard a soft voice call to me.  Without breaking stride I looked over my shoulder but there was no one there.  I didn’t

Lenore

give the moment a second thought until the following morning when, while passing the same shop, I heard it again.  This time I stopped for a few seconds to see if I could figure out what had caused the sound, but I couldn’t.  There was only the mannequin wearing the latest fashion in the window.  I dismissed it as one of those innocuous sounds of the city and continued on my way. The next day I fixed my gaze on the mannequin in the window as I approached and kept my eyes glued to it until I passed but as soon as I turned my head forward I thought I heard a faint “Hello.”

This time I stopped, dead in my tracks, slowly turned and looked all around . Clearly no one was there but us-- err … me.  I gave the mannequin a closer look than I had previously but there was nothing else there to see.  As I was turning away I decided to take a picture of the mannequin in the window. I made some adjustments for the light and pressed my lens against the glass to eliminate the glare of the city lights.  Then I fired a burst or two  and went on my way.

Lenore

Late that afternoon, on my way home, I deliberately passed by the shop where I thought I’d heard the voice but the atmosphere was different.  The Sun was up, it was warm and the street was full of people. I heard and saw nothing extraordinary.

 
The wheels in my head were turning now.  Soon after I got home that night I sat down with a “cold one” and downloaded the images I had taken that day.  I deliberately didn’t go straight to the series I had taken of the mannequin because I didn’t want to admit to myself that I seriously considered the sounds I heard could have come from the sophisticated looking figure of a woman in the show window.

The face was aesthetically pleasing.  It had an intelligent, alluring look, high, wide cheek bones and narrow cheeks, small chin and nose, perfectly shaped lips, large eyes and high eye brows, ears and hair close to the head and a long, thin neck. I wondered if the artist who sculpted this face had someone in particular in mind or if this was the face of his dream girl.

Irene

The next morning was typical for the season, windy and raw.  I made a bee line from Penn Station to the dress shop.  Intellectually I knew nothing was going to happen but deep down inside I was hoping something would.  When I arrived I stood directly in front of her.  This time I spoke, “Good  Morning pretty lady. What’s your name?”-- but there was no response.  “I hope you don’t mind if I take a couple more pictures today.  You have very interesting features.”  I focused on her face and took a few shots from different angles.  Then I looked up at her, said “Thanks” and turned to walk away.  That’s when I heard the name “Lenore” whispered softly by a gentle voice.  I looked up,-- she hadn’t moved. I felt strange but I spoke to her any way.

“Hi, I’m Joe.”

"Hi Joe, I see you almost every day. I guess you work around here.”

“Just around the block,” I said.  “I know I’m not dreaming and I don’t think I’m crazy so tell me how it is that I can hear you?”

“A few years ago I made a deal with someone I shouldn’t have and sold my humanity for what I thought would be success, fame and fortune.  What you see before you is what remains. I can only communicate in the presence of one person and only when the sun is down. At this point in time you are that person.”

“Why me?”

“I can’t say, besides day is breaking.  Please come see me again.”

Then there was silence.

It was pretty hard to concentrate on my work that day.  I passed her window on the way home but there was no exchange between us.  That night I looked at the images I had taken of her and wondered what I was going to do.  I didn’t sleep well and took an early train so I’d be able to spend more time with Lenore

. 

Time passed quickly that morning as she explained how she had become the slave of a Garment District witch who routinely tricks young aspiring models, into signing contracts that result in their transformation into mannequins. Then the witch rents them to upscale stores and shops all over the city.

 

Soon I realized I had to be a little more discrete or I was going to get picked up by the men in white coats and taken to Belleview for observation.  
I took the early train again the next day.

 

Things were very different when I reached the shop; Lenore was waiting for me but she had company; an identical mannequin stood beside her.  It was then that she introduced me to her twin, Irene, who had fallen victim to the same cunning witch. (A taste of fame and fortune in exchange for servitude for as long as it takes you to recruit your replacement) Irene was different though, pushy with a very seductive tone to her voice whereas Lenore was sweet and demure.

Irene and Lenore

“So Joe, do you and my sister here have a little something going between you?  We’re twins you know and we share everything, don’t we Lenore? "

Lenore didn’t respond.

“Why don’t you come by tonight after the store closes?  The door will be unlocked. I promise you you’ll get some extraordinary images.  What have you got to lose? You’re not afraid, are you Joe?”

I had no response.  That, you’re-not-scared stuff worked when I was a kid; now it just puts red flags up.

“I’m sure Joe has plans Irene.”

“I’ll give it some thought, perhaps I will, if not perhaps some other time.”

"Come back after closing, Joe"

Epilogue

For the next couple of weeks the sisters were side-by-side in the same window.  I walked on the other side of 6th Avenue and observed from afar.  I even looked through the long lens.  There was nothing unusual about the display but my instinct kept me from getting too close.  Then one morning only one of the sisters was there, but which one?  I took a chance, crossed the street and stood in front of her.  When she spoke, I knew it was Lenore.

"We're twins in the same fix, but we're different in every other way, Joe.  She will try to draw you in with promises of images enhanced with Lotta's craft so extraodinary they will make you rich and famous.  See that male model in the rear of the shop? Notice the camera hanging around his neck.  One of Irene's friends worked that scam on him and got free.  Irene has targeted you.  You can never come back Joe; Irene is verry cunning and resourceful and if she finds out I've told you, she will tell Lotta to gain her favor.  I will lose my head and you will be in danger.  There is nothing you can do for me but you can save yourself if you walk away and stay away."

There was a time when I wouldn't have heeded the warning, but that time has passed.  I said "goodbye," took one last picture and walked away.

From the opposite side of 6th Avenue the next morning, I saw two headless mannequins in the show window.  There has never been a mannequin with a head in that shop since, and I rarely get close as I used to but I may get one last series of shots tomorrow just to see if anything happens.

 Lotta's Revenge

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  All photography by Joe DiGilio

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Joe DiGilio’s Bio

Born, raised and formally educated in Manhattan and on Long Island, I could hear the fans screaming from my bedroom window when the Beatles played their first concert at old Shea Stadium.

I am a Viet Nam veteran. I have been married to Linda for 39 years. We have 3 children and 5 grandchildren. We still work but who knows for how long. At this stage of the game we take less and less for granted. Linda works in the accounting department of a non-profit organization and I manage a central monitoring station for a full service security company in Manhattan.

Photography has always been a part of my life. At times it’s played a greater role than it has at others but it has always been somewhere in the foreground or the background. At this juncture it’s fair to say photography qualifies as a passion. I’m self-taught but after 50 plus years of practice even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while. I took my first picture at the tender age of 7 with mom’s Brownie Box camera. A Nikon man, I use a D200 exclusively. I’d like to trade up to a D700 but I have to sell a lot more pictures to justify it.

The streets and architecture of Manhattan are favorite subjects of mine. Our grandchildren, sporting events, wildlife and the great outdoors are also favorites but I’ll try my hand at just about any subject if the spirit moves me.


You can see more of Joe's amazing photography at his website.

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*** I Need Your Story! *** { I'm Serious!}
If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me, please! We have a mere two weeks of stories on tap and I shall have to resort again to posting my own work! Please consider sharing your tales of Relentless Pursuit! And I'd be appreciative if you also take a look at my Photography site. I'd love to hear from you!
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Michelle Alton

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Joe's Bonus New York City Shots

Bank of America Tower

Bone Head!

Dream in Black and White

Lady and Sun Hat

Time Warp

New York City Reflections

Play it SAFE.  Don't Park!

Radio City Music Hall

White Sails on the Hudson

 



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Joe has submitted another story to Relentless Pursuits.  Here is a link to "The Green Light"

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The Green Light

 

A New Yorker, through and through, Joe DiGilio has a unique perspective on most of life’s experiences. You won’t want to miss a single word of his delightful story of a teenage baseball star/budding photographer Coming of Age in New York City. Then stay aboard to view some of his amazing shots of “The City” after the story's poignant ending.

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I'd love to know what you think of the "Relentless Pursuit" series. Please leave a comment below or email me with your suggestions on what you'd like to see on this blog. If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me. And be sure to take a look at my Photography site. I'd love to hear from you!

--
  Michelle Alton

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The Green Light

Waiting for the B Train

I grew up in Queens, one of New York City’s five boroughs. The son of a New York City police officer and the oldest of five, I was a typical teenager of the early 60’s. I hated school, liked ROCK N ROLL, girls, TV, sports, photography and Mom’s apple pie. I dedicated most of my time to sports, especially baseball, my first love. By the time I was 16 I had become a fairly good high school varsity baseball player. I was so fast the coach gave me “the green-light” which in baseball terminology meant I had permission to advance / steal / take the next base any time I wanted.

Like most American boys I had grandiose visions of becoming a big league ball player someday but other dreams, such as those cultivated by raging hormones, began to compete for time between my ears. I began to notice girls, the girl who lived next door in particular. Funny how that happened, this was the same freckle faced girl I teased when we were in the third grade. The same skinny girl whose braces I’d made fun of and who I'd thrown snowballs at. And the same girl who told my mother that I cursed and smoked cigarettes. All of a sudden she had become interesting. How was I going to get her to forget about our history and become interested in the new and improved teenage me? I started by smiling, saying hello, and taking the same bus she took to school. One day I sat in the empty seat next to her. I felt like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar when she caught me admiring her ample attributes. But instead of admonishing me she cocked her head in a knowing sort of way and shot me a come hither smile. Instead of the dirty look I had been getting for years,she gave me “the green-light."

Young Love

Now the lines of communication were open and “the good neighbor policy” was in force. Our chance encounters became more frequent; taking pictures at the park, at the supermarket, soda fountain, the school dance, she even came to some of my games and photographed me as if I were a star.

As time passed our attraction to one another and natural curiosity became stronger. We were spending more and more time together and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by our parents. Her father, a burly hard drinking steam fitter with an attitude, had always said “Hi Joey” to me in the past. Now he looked at me cockeyed with a, “you had better watch your P’s & Q’s around my daughter” scowl when he saw us together.

The houses in our neighborhood were close together and our bedroom windows directly across from one another. Some nights we would sit at our open windows, listen to music and talk until it was late.Aand some nights we’d arrange to take out the garbage at the same time and steal a kiss or two under the stars. The heat was on.

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One night I noticed her blinds weren’t completely closed. I could see her changing, slowly into her pajamas. The show became a regular thing, more revealing and theatrical as time passed but we never spoke of it. I think she even had her father rearrange her bedroom furniture for my benefit. I was going to bed earlier than I had in years!

Behind the Blinds

On Saturdays we would tell our mothers we were meeting friends at the movies and rendezvous in the darkest row of the balcony where we would kiss until our lips were swollen with passion. One rainy afternoon, while sitting on the big wrap-around porch of my parent’s home, listening to music, looking at pictures, and discussing what we wanted to do with our lives, she told me she wanted to be a model and asked me to take a couple of B &W head shots of her with my Argus. She liked the way they came out and asked if I would photograph her wearing a two piece bathing suit too. She didn’t have to ask twice. I took my time, focused again and again and double checked my light meter too. They were all keepers. I can still see them through my mind’s eye bathed in the veil of the green-light.

Argus C3. An Oldie but a Goodie

One day when both our families were out she invited me in. The conversation turned to her modeling career. She told me she had a new two piece bathing suit for me to photograph her wearing. I had no 35mm film for my camera but she had a little Kodak that used 127 film and Blue Dot flash cubes. She changed and came out wearing a little number that was skimpy for the times. She was only 16 but she filled it out well. We kissed between pictures. It was getting very hot in there. She told me she trusted me and wanted me to photograph her topless. I thought I’d died and went to heaven. She had her father’s Playboy magazine and imitated some of the poses. I fired away with that little Kodak. Then without warning she turned around dropped the bottoms and posed with her back to me, just like the women in the magazine. It was only a 12 exposure roll; I was out of film in no time. She pulled the bottoms back up and turned to me, the “the green-light” brighter than ever. We embraced passionately and trembled with excited anticipation. Without breaking our hold we awkwardly climbed the stairs to her bedroom peeling my clothes off along the way. But before we could surrender to one another we heard a car door slam. Her mom and dad had returned home. We scampered around like frightened mice gathering our clothes, flew down the stairs and out the back door. We put our shoes on in
my yard then hopped the back fence and went around the block, buttoning our clothes along the way. Once we felt safe we laughed nervously about our close call and wondered when our next opportunity might come.

The following day she gave me the film. I took it to school and developed it in the lab where I discovered it wasn’t ours. These were family party pictures. She searched for our film but couldn’t find it.

3

The next day when I got home from school I heard her mother screaming next door. I opened the window in my room to hear better. I clearly heard her mom ask her, “Who took the pictures?” The lost film had been found. She didn’t give me up right away but when I heard her mom yell, “JOEY!” I knew I was dead meat.

Then it became quiet. I saw her standing at her window. We looked at one another with tearful eyes. Our lips moved in silence and our young hearts broke.

Veil of the Green Light

I thought about her father too and what his reaction might be so I went down the block and waited at the corner for my own father to come home from work. Dad was a tough guy but he was always fair. The truth went a long way with him. I flagged him down and told him I was in trouble and we had to talk privately. I told him the whole story. He just sat there and listened.

When Dad and I walked in the house together Mom knew something was wrong. Dad told me to go to my room and to stay there until he called for me. A short time later I heard my mother crying. I also heard roars from the house next door. Her father had come home. About a half hour later he rang our door bell. Her father and mine went out for a walk alone. They returned about an hour later but there was no call for me until late that night, after I’d had plenty of time to think.

Dad was solemn as a judge and Mom wore a stern expression. I got the third degree punctuated by smacks to the back of the head when Mom felt it was appropriate. I was put on a short leash and my camera was taken away. In addition I received a steady stream of punishment jobs around the house to occupy my time. As for the girl next door, well she became taboo, strictly off limits. Our parents didn’t want us seeing each other anymore. Dad said if I didn’t stay away from her he’d let her father kick my ass. I never caught much more than a fleeting glimpse of her after that. “The green-light” was out “the good neighbor policy” history, and the blinds never opened again. The house next door was sold a month later.

I’m sure our story would have ended differently had we been born a little later, in the age of digital photography where running out of film is no longer a concern.

I will never forget the girl next door. She was part of my education in so many ways. I never saw the pictures either except through my mind’s eye where they remain to this day bathed in the veil of the green-light.


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Joe DiGilio’s Bio

Born, raised and formally educated in Manhattan and on Long Island, I could hear the fans screaming from my bedroom window when the Beatles played their first concert at old Shea Stadium.


I am a Viet Nam veteran. I have been married to Linda for 39 years. We have 3 children and 5 grandchildren. We still work but who knows for how long. At this stage of the game we take less and less for granted. Linda works in the accounting department of a non-profit organization and I manage a central monitoring station for a full service security company in Manhattan.


Photography has always been a part of my life. At times it’s played a greater role than it has at others but it has always been somewhere in the foreground or the background. At this juncture it’s fair to say photography qualifies as a passion. I’m self-taught but after 50 plus years of practice even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while. I took my first picture at the tender age of 7 with mom’s Brownie Box camera. A Nikon man, I use a D200 exclusively.  I’d like to trade up to a D700 but I have to sell a lot more pictures to justify it.

The streets and architecture of Manhattan are favorite subjects of mine. Our grandchildren, sporting events, wildlife and the great outdoors are also favorites but I’ll try my hand at just about any subject if the spirit moves me.

Michelle stirred my interest with this great idea of hers, a story to accompany a few of my images.
 
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Bonus Images


I have been admiring Joe’s growing collection of images of Life in New York City for several years now. They are wonderful, so I persuaded him to share a special grouping of them. Hope you enjoy the show!
--

  Michelle Alton


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Happy Birthday Mr. President



30 Rock

Lightning Striking Again

Peggy Sue

Break Time

Broadway

So Long!

Big Apple

Joe has posted another story to Relentless Pursuits.  Here is the link to "The Blue Ladies"

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Thanks so much for visiting "Tales of Relentless Pursuit." If you have a free moment or two, please check out my Photography Website, Your Best Shot, and sign up for the mailing list!

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All photography in "The Green Light" by Joe DiGilio

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