Queen of Williamsburg

July 8, 2004

Everyone knows the Queen of Williamsburg. And now, I do too. I met her at Vera Cruz. The row of stools by the open window that faces the street is usually packed with an after-work crowd, but last night was different. Who knows why, but the seats were empty. I sat next to Lola Belle, sipping cocktails and sharing a bowl of chips. It seemed as though every other person who passed by stopped to say hello.

"I've lived here eight years," Lola told me. "I know everybody."

It seemed to be true. We talked about her kickball league and her bicycle gang. She told me about her appearance on the Jerry Springer Show.

"What was the show's theme?" I asked.

"Love triangles."

She talked about her stand-up comedy act and her recent stint on a reality TV show about a restaurant called, strangely enough, The Restaurant. She explained the tattoo on her back, a tribute to her stolen low-rider bicycle. Its name was "Billy," and after it was stolen, she named its replacement "Billy" also.

After her impressive monologue, she told me she had to go. "I can't drink tonight," she said.

"Okay, well, it was nice to meet you. Maybe I’ll come by on Sunday and check out the kickball game."

"Okay, but don't be mad if I can't talk to you. I'm in charge and need to stay very focused."

I just shrugged and said, "Don't worry about it. I'm just curious about the game, is all."

"I mean, if I see you, I'll come over and shake your hand and say hello, but I'm just telling you..."

"Whatever."

"Are you taking the subway?" she asked. It turns out that she lives in a loft very close to mine.

"Yeah," I said. "You?"

"Nah," she said, and pointed down the street, "Bus."

When I got out of the subway, I stopped into my neighborhood coffee shop for an Iced Tea. I took a seat on the couch and watched the DEVO video that was being projected on the wall. A few minutes later, I saw the irrepressible barrista, Jen, and waved to her. She came over, sat down next to me, and we hugged hello. I hadn't seen her around and told her I missed her.

"I miss you too," she replied. She sat there for all of 20 seconds before telling me, "You smell like a big ol' margarita.”

“I just met someone for dinner and had one.”

She scrunched her nose and bopped away.

When I'd finished my tea and had seen my favorite DEVO song, I left the coffee shop and took a peek in the bar next door. I noticed my neighbor sitting inside, so I decided to stay for a nightcap. When I sat down, the bartender recognized me.

"You're the Jersey boy," she said.

"That's me."

"Sorry about my friend the other night," she said. "He gets a little out of control."

"Yeah, well. Did you know he tried to kiss me?"

"No," she covered her mouth and laughed, "I didn't know that." She wiped down the bar in front of me and put down a cocktail napkin. "What can I get you?"

“I had a margarita earlier,” I said. “Where do you go from there? Can you make one?"

Of course, she could.

"Oh my god," she said as she put the drink down in front of me. "I can't believe he tried to kiss you."

I gave her a shrug, picked up my drink, and headed to the back patio to join my neighbor. I sat on the narrow bench next to her and held up my glass.

"Cheers," she said.

"Cheers."