“Track Four:” The Queen of Lower Chelsea

Did you grow up lonesome and one of a kind?

Were your records all you had to pass the time?

Mae has been drawn into a peculiar want ad in the Sunday Paper. She’d been sat there for ages, re-reading its curious list.

Did you grow up dreaming of a different era, and a time to live?

Mae still enjoyed getting the paper delivered on Sunday’s, despite the world around her going fully digital. Even before she started doing this, Mae found something familiar in the routine of putting on a pot of coffee and sitting in the nook of her sunniest room with the print spread out on her lap.

It reminded her of childhood.

Was your imagination what you had to get you through the day?

Of course, it didn’t remind her of her childhood. But of what childhood must have been like for other little girls. Reading the paper with pastries and her parents were never part of her family’s weekend tradition.

Mae was beginning to think that this want ad was speaking directly to her.

Does this sound like you?

If so, please come to 801 Whisper Dr.

Mae surveyed her apartment. She took a critical eye to the bland walls, her half-filled closet, and the fridge that contained more condiments than actual food.

She could use the money.

Call to confirm appointment: (212) 581-6584

***Payment adjusted to scale based on experience. No Squabbling.***

            Or what of it they were willing to pay.

            Mae turned her eyes back to the newspaper. She doesn’t even read the want ads, and yet she happened upon this one. She scanned the section; there were dozens of ads searching for part-time help, dog walkers, volunteers, and even lovers. But most were just postings from landlords searching for tenants in need of a spare room.

This ad, in particular though sang right of the page. This ad was her.

FROM THE BALCONY OF HER STUDIO APARTMENT, Mae sipped from a plastic cup, filled with cheap wine. She let the sounds of her record player filter out her open window onto the Chelsea streets below her. It was a Friday night, and her block was buzzing with familiar faces. She saw groups of her friends chatting carefree, deciding at which bar to have their post-work drinks.

            One, a dapper boy dressed in blue jeans and a white tee shirt like something out of The Outsiders, called up to Mae.

            “Mae! Can the queen come down have a pint?”

            Mae’s friends had taken to calling her the ‘Queen of Lower Chelsea.’ Externally Mae blushed each time they called her that. But inside, she loved it. She couldn’t believe she’d found friends and a like-minded group of people.

Let alone a nickname.

            Mae glanced back at the paper, the want ad circled in red marker. She looked to her phone, checking the long route she had mapped for the morning, ultimately forced to shake her head.

Mae tapped her small, elegant wristwatch. “Not tonight all, I have an early morning adventure to prepare for! Same time tomorrow, and I’ll tell you all about it?”

            The group sang out in a chorus up to her balcony, “Until tomorrow Queen Mae!”

            Mae grabbed her cell phone and dialed the number listed on the Want Ad.

MAE AWOKE EARLY, UNABLE TO ARRIVE AT 801 WHISPER DRIVE UNTIL NEARLY NOON. After a series of insufferable rides; one subway, a bus, and two taxis… (the first driver dared not venture up the winding road), Mae finally got to the peak of the street that 801 Whisper Drive sat at the top of.

            She was beginning to wonder if the travel fare would be worth the payout. The woman on the phone had outlined a steep sliding scale, but there was no guaranteed amount. Still, Mae had a suspicion her participation was going to be worth something big. She reminded herself that had they published the fee in the paper, everyone would lie about their past. And so, Mae kept her fingers crossed that the cost in travel fare would be worth it in the end.

            Mae arrived at the end of a wooded path, lead by the worn matted dirt in front of her. Mae took the previous traffic on the path as a good sign that others had successfully ventured this far before. She clenched her fists into little balls, something she only did when she was determined- and terrified. Mae made her way to the door of 801 Whisper Dr. and blew out a subtle breath, readying herself for whatever came next and knocked.

THE INSIDE OF THE PALATIAL ESTATE WAS MESMERIZING. Mae had stars in her eyes, instantly blinded by the retro beauty of the foyer. She took in the smell of the books she eyed from the next room, the scent of fresh roses on the entryway table, and the sounds of old vinyl crackling on the stereo from a room out of her eyesight.

She wondered if this place was built just for her, out of the catalog she kept in her mind. The advertisement, the fixtures throughout the home… Mae wondered if she had found a job listing in heaven.

“Mae Black?” The hair on the back of Mae’s neck rose to a spike. She tried to recall a time when someone had called her by her full name when it didn't make her skin prickle. Mae often wondered what that meant.

Was she uncomfortable in her skin?

Not proud of where she came from?

Or just a fraud?

“That’s me. I’m Mae Black.”

A stunning woman greeted Mae. She wore a sleek black dress and dark-framed glasses. The woman had her blonde hair pulled back into a high ponytail on the crown of her head.

“I’m Elsie. I’ll be doing your intake. Would you follow me to the parlor?”

MAE WAS SEATED IN A LARGE LEATHER SOFA. A record player and racks full of vinyl lined one wall, while the other wall was lined with velvet drapes and floor to ceiling windows.

Elsie walked over to the hi-fi system, set the needle to the record, and walked away. Elsie took in Mae’s face, she watched her eye the large collection and waited for her ears to perk and her head to turn once the warm crackle of a bygone sound came through the stereo. A rockabilly crooner came raging through the speakers.

Mae’s eyes sparkled, and goosebumps lifted the blonde hair on her arms.

Elsie nodded to herself in secret delight before meeting Mae’s eyes.

            “Water? Sweet tea? … Old Fashioned?” Mae wondered if this was a test. Water was boring, and she hated sweet tea… would an Old Fashioned count against her?

            Elsie poured herself a cocktail. “It’s Saturday, so I know what I’m having…”

            Mae grinned. “And Old Fashioned would be perfect.”

Elsie turned her back to make the most perfect Old Fashioned Mae would ever taste. Sugar cube and bitters, whiskey and ice, and irregular clear ingredient, the garnish of an orange… the final drop of the cherry on top.

The drink perfected, Elsie slipped it into Mae’s hand.

            “Shall we begin?” Elsie raised her glass; a cheers to Mae who returned the favor. They clinked glasses, Elsie watched as Mae raised the tumbler to her lips, letting the cocktail slide into her mouth. The slightest ripple in her throat as the liquid made its way into Mae’s system let Elsie knew she was ready.

            “Let’s get started.”

MAE SET DOWN HER DRINK, brushing her hair behind her ear. “What exactly is the study? The compensation is fantastic, so thank you, but I’m still not entirely sure what this all entails.”

            Elsie waved her drink in the air, shocked with herself. “Forgive me, Mae. I haven’t explained.”

            “The advertisement was elusive.”

            Elsie raises an eyebrow, “But you connected with it. That’s why you called and made the journey all the way out here?”

            Mae’s mind raced back to the peculiar ad she couldn’t tear her eyes from yesterday… 

Did you grow up lonesome and one of a kind?
Were your records all you had to pass the time? 

            Elsie saw it written all over Mae’s face.

She had her, exactly where she and the company needed her.

“You answered the call, sweet girl. Now, all we have to do is chat about the past.”

Mae took another sip of her cocktail while Elsie handed her a pair of headphones. Elsie ran the lead along the floor, plugging the cord into the hi-fi system.

Mae adjusted the earpieces on her head. “Is this some sort of focus group or something?”

Elsie dropped the needle to the record on the turntable. “It’s- more of a study in nostalgia…”

Mae started to get more comfortable in the chair, taking another sip from her Old Fashioned. Her eyes and nose crinkled, “Should I hear something? There doesn’t seem to be any sound coming out.”

“You’ll hear something momentarily. So, you’re here so I can study the brainwaves of those who feel they don’t belong in the present.” Elsie winks at Mae and her drink. “Those who are a bit more- old fashion.”

Mae’s eyes suddenly begin to shift in and out of focus. The walls of the room around her weren’t spinning, but they were shifting, almost floating. It was like someone was pulling focus on the lens of her eyes.

“Could I get some water? I’m feeling-“ Mae repeatedly blinked, trying to shake the blur from her eyes. “I think I’m, I’m quite tired suddenly…”

Elsie shook her head coldly. “Oh I’m afraid that’s just the inhibitor I put in your drink. It’s a standard operating procedure for this sort of extraction.”

Mae shifts in her seat, trying to rise out of it, but barely moving an inch.

  “You won’t be able to stand for some time. I’ll ask you questions, you’ll answer honestly because of the inhibitors and paralytics in the drink. We’ll record your brain activity and your stories, which will later filter back into the recordings of the records. Instant memory and connection.”

Mae’s head was swaying now, trying to process Elsie’s worlds before all the light faded from the room. “You- you’re packaging nostalgia?”

“Oh sweet girl. You thought the goosebumps you get on your arms when the crackle from a speaker kicks on, or that feeling inside when the needle drops into the groove of a record was something you manifested?”

Elsie pulls an ipad from the drawer of the end table next to her. The wavelengths wiggle and spike. She grins, tapping a little red circle, initiating the recording.

“Your reactions to the sound we plant in the records are curated from those who came before you. Artisanal emotions, feeding a whole new generation of consumers.”
            Mae cringed, even half-paralyzed, and drugged words like ‘artisanal’ and ‘consumer’ made her want to vomit. But the fight in her eyes was fading now.

“Time to begin, first question-“
            Elsie adjusts the volume on the hi-fi up, letting the feedback ring out in Mae’s ears. Unsuccessfully, Mae tries to shake the headphones from her ears. “I want to go home. Please- you can keep your money.”

            “Oh sweet girl, there is no money.”

Elsie brushed the hair out of Mae’s eyes, which started to close against her will, just like the words tumbling out of her mouth that she can’t seem to slow. Her thoughts and dreams, and the designs of how she envisioned the past all escaped her. All of it recorded now for Elsie.

            Drifting off somewhere in her mind, Mae could just make out Elsie’s last words to her before her mind went quiet… “I know, I know…you think you should've stayed and been the Queen of Lower Chelsea.”

*Inspired by the song, “The Queen of Lower Chelsea” by The Gaslight Anthem