Azita--Short Story-The penultiimate Draft. Hooshang Danesh

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    Azita

    Short Storyhooshang danesh

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    Copyrights 2010.All Rights Reserved.

    All characters in this story arefictional, any resemblance to real

    people is coincidental.

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    Chapter One

    Her apartment had Tiffany-styleLamps hanging from ceilings, andposters of Graffiti art and what

    seemed to be absurd but formidableposters of robots, things entirelyinhuman-a dcor that seems nothingbut insipid to me now. But back then, however, it seemed the epitomeof all worldliness. I wanted to bask in its uncommonness, and in theunusual complicity of our meeting,a little longer .-1-

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    But I felt bold enough to try my own

    observations: I wouldnt hangthose posters of anthropoid metal; itreally might scare some people off.And then for the dumbest reason inthe world I added: You should getmarried, and only if youre in love.

    As if pictures of androids necessarilymeant the absence of love!! And asthough one of them might pop outthe poster and propose to her.Azita looked at me dourly, as if trying to determine if I was being

    ironic or smart. In fact she calledme smart from time to time, in-2-

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    her quiet style of undermining me(being smart doesnt cut in her notvery clever outfitted world). But I

    must have looked innocent enough.She said without emotion: Well,sometimes girls have to get married.We have to. You know that.Oh, yeah, I said. She was right.How many times had I myself

    wanted to do just that-get marriedfor the sake of observances. Or the-biologic- clock- is- ticking -awaynotions. To be feminine in that way.Someone has said women wereGods second mistake, if so then they

    are more human than the firstmistake! (Some of you will get this,some of you shake your head andcurse this writer instead.)-3-

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    The conversation was beginning toget interesting. I persisted. Who

    tells the men its time to getmarried? It should be mandated.I think I had unconsciously wishedfor such command, just so as not tobe so forlorn anymore. It would benice to have to be forced into it!

    Biology allows us men to go on asthough were supermen. ( told youwere less human than women.)

    You really are a twit, you know?I am not.

    But everyone knew someone wouldmarry Azita. She had once been alawyer, and now was called acommunication expert. Whatever-4-

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    The hell that meant. I never was

    bold enough to ask. She knewattractive prospects-she had hereyes on some wall-street or IT type,she really measured them by the sizeof the Manhattan flat their incomecould provide. And of course

    Persians were number one on herlist, she adored her father, and of course Freud would have had a fieldday with that But I was certain heridentity to her friend had been likethe bio on her companys web site:

    Hyphenated American,is she being clever?-5-

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    I hated cleverness. Base. Common.Insects. All the evil in the worldmust be looking for clever people,they attract one another.They say Hitler went around saying:Isnt it great that men dont think.

    Isnt great.He must have meant: clever: Isntit great that men are clever, isntit?

    Clearly, if she were to have been

    hyphenated anywhere, it wouldbeen hyphenated Iran!-5-

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    I had digested her banner/bio withcertain unequipped silence: as in I

    wasnt certain how to react. Frozen.I had really been looking for an oldcollege girlfriend also named Azita,and had clicked on every Azita inthe registries without prejudice. Andhad ran into this one. The web lacks

    speed, and compensates by offeringfoolish wisdom, disguised asequilibrium as exchange as in:How about this Azita, - she will do,wont she?Yes master, but she says she is

    hyphenated?She is being clever Sir.-6-

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    Yes itd seemed possible that my oldgirlfriend from college who hadreally majored in microbiology, tohave gone off to law school ?The world as I saw it was always fullof unpleasant things anyways.

    We became friends over cups of curiosity. Thats the thing with theweb: curiosity unlimited issupported by apps. Things didntseem impossible. I lived in Paris at

    the time, and shesang the praises of where shelived: somewhere in Tribeca, a place-7-

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    had bought a few cheap things

    which looked even cheaper and lessgratifying once they were removedfrom the stores. It was near thesunset when we headed to herapartment. I think we felt at thetime a little shy about having

    enjoyed each others company somuch, so early,

    When we reached her building,something tall and ominous. With adoorman in a suit that opened the

    glass door with a big tall smile.-9-

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    Everything seemed perfect andstill...We got in the elevators, she pushed

    the 11th

    button, Everything smelledlike someone had just sprayed theelevator with a refreshing scent. Iam allergic to everything theysecretly put in them. And wasblowing my nose. I felt comfortable

    to do that. There was a level of intimacy. We arrived at herapartment, everything smelled of New York, New York?For all the enormous the buildingoccupied her apartment was small.

    Very little relativity.-10-

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    The unwell-lit apartment wasorganized in an obviously sensibleway. There were large wooden solid

    desks, old-fashioned things, but theirsurfaces were crammed with tinylittle drawings and water colorworks that were all compulsivelytiny, and huddled against oneanother-like their swarm was to

    keep each others company for thesole purpose of creating meaning,meaning. The wooden floor waspolished and bare. A hyphenated-Persian rug was conspicuouslyabsent!! There was a computer set

    up just exactly where you expected itby the TV set; looking more-11-

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    important, almost regal. There

    really wasnt a couch in the livingroom. And I thanked God for thatbecause I didnt want to have tosleep on one. She showed me thebedroom which has this unusuallylarge beige bed, something too high

    off the floor and looked attended tolike a shrine. Small pink yellowishpillows, with embroidered symbolsrepresenting femininity, and harvestwere visible.I decided thats probably where I

    sleep as well. It looked outrageouslycomfortable. Girls were always-12-

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    taking good care of their beds, I

    think it had more to do with hominginstincts than anything else. (Andthey are more human,, if youremember.)And it really wasnt that I wanted

    to sleep with her for sex, in fact the

    opposite had been on my mind allthe way from Paris. It wasnt thatshe was unattractive or undesirable-

    just the opposite in fact. She had abrooding small face like a Persianminiature, features that were all

    dainty, still and, delicate like aporcelain dolls. And they way shebrushed her dark easy hair off her-13-

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    face with just one quick tilt of her

    head was almost endearing too in asome forgotten tribal way? But theblooming apartment looked like anart class in some old air-locked high-school building.. Even though thesummer night bloomed around us

    outside the shut windows like someenormous blue-black rose. Eventhough over the dust of theapartment I could smell itsfragrance. Though everywhere inthe invisible world locusts must have

    shrilled and swelled. The apartmentlooked like all it needed was a-14-

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    swarm of cats. I believed shed be a

    cat lady in her later years. She hadthose features: the leave-me-alone-until- I -call -you look. Oh, I am soindifferent look.From the 11th story above, all theNew York seemed to be not readying

    for sleep, but sunk in a dream of summer. You could feel this city hadsomething special going for it.Something surreal too, somethinghard to describe. But may be thatswhy I was there.

    I practically tied my tongue in knotstrying to be enthusiastic and-15-

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    the corner place. The order arrivedin nearly minutes and we almost atestanding up. I had known a lot of her psych. features fromcommunicating with her. . Id

    known she could be cold to a lot of different emotions. But Idimagined too that all she needed