Filiz Turhan

“Already Almost Over: Part Three” by Filiz Turhan

NEW FICTION

(image c/o forgotten ny)

I met Dizzy Gillespie once. No joke, it was really him. Who could mistake him for anyone else? The charming smile, French beret, puffy cheeks and yes…the famous trumpet. My friend Freddie and I had wandered into the Village Gate on Bleecker Street one night. I was an underaged teenager and thrilled to be in a jazz club at 1am, even if it was just around the corner from my college dorm.

 A hostess led us to a little table and asked resentfully (the place was empty and obviously she wanted out of there) what we’d have to drink. We ordered a round (a beer and a coke) and then poor Freddie nearly plotzed when he saw Dizzy standing by the piano, trumpet at the ready.   

I had always been a fan of old music and old movies, so I, too, recognized Dizzy immediately. In fact, it wasn’t my first such celebrity sighting: just a few months earlier, I had been in Los Angeles for the first time, staying at a friend’s parents’ house. One night they hosted us at Spago, a restaurant so famous that even I had heard of it. Once we were seated, I began scanning the room for famous faces. Right away, I spotted one and gleefully stage whispered to the table: “Look! There’s Louis Jourdan!” My friend’s dad was impressed. Why? because I was 18 and it was 1986 and Louis Jourdan’s last big movie, Gigi (I know, cringe), had come out in 1958. Had I seen Molly Ringwald and Judd Hirsch making out in the corner, I couldn’t have been more excited.

So there we were: a coke, a beer and… Dizzy Gillespie! 

I don’t have words to describe the music. Actually, Dizzy was wrapping up this unofficial gig in an empty club and so this magical moment was already almost over. We asked if we could speak to him, and when Freddie explained that he was a professional saxophonist, Dizzy graciously chatted about the business with him for a few minutes. He then kindly turned to me and said, “You look a little bit kind of familiar.” He asked me a couple of questions and when he heard I was Turkish, he said, “Oh, yeah that’s it. I remember…in Constantinople….” His voice trailed off and his eyes fluttered to the ceiling. 

I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just followed him up to the ceiling, gazing at the something I could only guess at.

Filiz Turhan is a writer and community college English professor, living on the North Shore of Long Island. Her work has appeared in The Sonora Review, The Threepenny Review, The North American Review, Litbreak.com, and elsewhere. She likes cats.

“Already Almost Over: Part Two” by Filiz Turhan

NEW FICTION

I was attending the opera with my friends Jenn and Melissa. Before going in, we ran into an acquaintance of theirs. As they chatted, I was thinking, “Gosh, this man looks so familiar!” Later, it came to me. He resembled the actor John Lithgow. I meant to mention this to Melissa, but in the rush of people getting in to see Madama Butterfly, I forgot all about it. 

After the show, we were in the corridors under Lincoln Center on our way to the subway. We approached a doorway and they went first; as I entered behind them, a man tried to dart through from the other direction so that we were both in the doorway at the same time. I am very short and the man was very tall.

It was John Lithgow. The REAL John Lithgow. 

In that moment of proximity, he asked, “Excuse me, do you know the way to the stage door?” 

Time stopped as I was already calculating the wild improbability of this encounter. I wished I could have explained to him all about the Lithgow look-alike, how, in my opinion, real-Lithgow should have waited for me to pass through the door first, that we had a cool six-degrees of separation thing (I had briefly known his Third Rock co-star, Kristen Johnston, back in 1986 when she was the summer roommate of my best friend Meredith), that in fact, I had no damn idea where the stage door was (why should I), but alas, this was already almost over because neither of us had ever stopped moving. 

What I actually blurted out to the perplexed man was: “I’m sorry, I can’t talk to you right now.”

Part 3 coming in three days.

Filiz Turhan is a writer and community college English professor, living on the North Shore of Long Island. Her work has appeared in The Sonora Review, The Threepenny Review, The North American Review, Litbreak.com, and elsewhere. She likes cats.

“Already Almost Over” by Filiz Turhan

NO. 1: MOMOA MAMA

New Fiction: a story in 3 parts

(image c/o uhdmaxdotnet)

A storm was expected and the ocean was already churning. I had been walking along the shore for a while, leaving behind the blankets, frisbees, and guys hawking ice cream cones crowding the beach. All my senses were engaged by my surroundings: the sight of the sea foam bubbling on the shore, the roar of the surf, the smell and taste of the salt sea air, and the feel of scratchy hot sand underfoot. A wide-brimmed hat and Italian movie star sunglasses protected me from the beating sun. 

Walking toward me was Aquaman star, Jason Momoa.

OK, it wasn’t really him, but a guy who looked just like him, a gorgeous man with perfect hair, a beautifully sculpted six-pack, and photoshopped pecs (except, wait, this was reality!) I mean, just wow. With him was a little girl, maybe three or four years old, tight dark curls above a lovely little face. Dripping wet, they must have just emerged from those pounding waves.

As we came abreast, the little girl side-eyed me a few times. I realized she was going to say something to me. What could it be?

“Mama,” she goes, “Is that you?”

Time stopped as I played through several alternate realities, the primary one of which involved me saying: “Yes, my darling, yes, I am your mama, and this man, this aquatic man, is your daddy, my husband!”

And then Jason, Ariel and I would dive under those insane stormy waves and swim away to our underwater palace.

Alas, no.

Jason Momoa laughed and said, “Sweetie, that’s not your mama.”

Then he called to me over his shoulder (because none of us had ever stopped moving and this was already almost over): “Sorry about that!”

Oh, no, Jason. Please, do not apologize.

(NO. 2 coming in two days.)

Filiz Turhan is a writer and community college English professor, living on the North Shore of Long Island. Her work has appeared in The Sonora Review, The Threepenny Review, The North American Review, Litbreak.com, and elsewhere. She likes cats.