Recent Stories: Fiction

March 16, 2015

Back in the day, living with my family in East Hampton, I had neither the right vehicle, despite the efforts of Mr. DiSunno, from whom I had purchased my Dodge in Amagansett, nor the expertise to drive back and forth to Queens College twice a week, where I was teaching in their Adult Education master’s program in philosophy, winging it as usual, just one page ahead of my students.

March 10, 2015


Star staff
March 5, 2015

The Star welcomes submissions of essays for its “Guestwords” column, of between 700 and 1,200 words, and of short fiction or memoir, of up to 2,000 words. Please send submissions for review by email, in text or Word format, to

March 5, 2015

After I graduated “stew school” at Capitol International Airways on June 18, 1971, I got to fly all over the world. It was during the glamour days of flying — little white gloves, shoulder-padded blue skirt suits, coiffed hairdos, and broad smiles. At 22, I was fearless and faced turbulence and unruly passengers without blinking an eye.

February 24, 2015

What does it take to make my day? What brings a lilt to my step, half a smile, perhaps an amused preoccupation? These admittedly cliché experiences in and of themselves feel foolish and at the same time perfectly all right. Will anyone care, really?

Today, it is a fox sparrow. I see it from my bedroom window. My heart skips a beat. I’ve seen a few others, but only one before in my backyard.

February 17, 2015

Bob and Carol Goodman had taken their summer vacations down on the Jersey Shore for the past several years. It was always a pleasant time with their three children. This year, however, on the suggestion of a mutual friend, they were thinking of trying something different. The Hamptons.

Carol’s friend Sally, who was there the night Siegfried and Roy got attacked by the white tiger — blood was everywhere, Sally said — had a friend who wanted to rent his place in the peaceful hamlet of Amagansett.

Star staff
February 12, 2015

The Star welcomes submissions of essays for its “Guestwords” column, of between 700 and 1,200 words, and of short fiction, between 1,000 and 2,000 words.

Authors can email their pieces (in text or Word format) to, with “Fiction” or “Guestwords” in the subject line.

Submissions must be sent in their final versions. Rough drafts will not be accepted. A very short biographical note must be included.

February 10, 2015

A long, exposed T-beam cut the room in half and was covered in tacked-on dollar bills. “K+D, WANY” was written on one in thick black Sharpie. All of the other bills were covered in similar markings of blue or black ink.

February 3, 2015

Wednesday, January 28, at 8 a.m., after excavating the last chunk of formidable plow wake at the end of your driveway, you’re once again conferred the privilege of taking your wheels out on the neighborhood for a — thankfully we’re speaking metaphorically here — spin. It all goes down quite steadily and safely — and sunnily, oh the wonder of a drive after not having had one for a day! Refound freedom! A machine-operating renaissance! A second honeymoon with your Honda!

January 28, 2015

Part Two
My husband and I never missed a rent payment. The money was always deducted from our checking account by the landlord. Eight months into my pregnancy with the twins, maternity clothes sized in extra large no longer fit me. My bottom half was spared — I could still wedge myself into my black cotton maternity pants. Shirts were another story, nothing covered me properly. Bits of my bulging belly would stick out, revealing a brownish line extending from my belly button down to the stretchy panel of my pants, like an arrow pointing to an exit sign.

January 20, 2015

I heard a joke a long time ago that reminds me of my mother. It goes like this: Two cannibals are eating a clown and one says to the other, “Does this taste funny to you?”

I could never decide whether I was the cannibal, sitting with my mother, the cannibal, discussing the taste of the funny clown. Or perhaps I was the clown being chewed up by my mother. For the longest time I couldn’t figure out why it reminded me of her, but something about our relationship felt funny.

Star staff
January 14, 2015

The Star welcomes submissions of essays for its “Guestwords” column, of between 700 and 1,200 words, and of short fiction, between 1,000 and 2,000 words.

Authors can either email their pieces (in text or Word format) to, with “Fiction” or “Guestwords” in the subject line, or mail them, preferably on disk and saved in a text format, to The Star, Box 5002, East Hampton 11937. A very short biographical note should also be included.

January 12, 2015

Paul gave me a good old-fashioned radio for Christmas this year. My request. I love the idea of turning on the radio and having NPR or a local station for my audio backdrop as I putter about.

January 6, 2015

Early on a Sunday morning on Delancey Street on the Lower East Side of New York I accidentally met my father on my way to work at Max Hosiery on Orchard Street. I was 14 and hadn’t seen him since I was 10.     

Max Hosiery was located on this famous street and sold ladies, mens, and children’s hosiery and underwear, pajamas and nightgowns, wholesale and retail.

December 30, 2014

I am a coward. Yesterday, when I found the 20-year-old, unsent letter, I threw it away without opening or reading it. Why scrape at old wounds? You were lost to me then, as was our shared homeland, the Big Island of Hawaii.  Would sending the letter have revived our early love? Was I careless in forgetting to mail the letter, or fearful of your answer? I fear pain. I am a coward.

December 22, 2014

Mom says don’t go, it’s too dangerous at night.
“C’mon Ev, let the kid see it, “ Dad says.

December 18, 2014

I looked down and noticed red poking through the tip of my sock. My near four-score, crimson lacquered toenail had worn a tear in the aqua fiber. I would have to darn it.

It made me think of the convent.

Earlier that morning, I had wasted 2 minutes and 16 seconds looking at a “precious” YouTube clip of “cute” dogs longing but looking away from people food. Again I thought of the convent.

It takes so little.

December 9, 2014

Jenn says that Tucker is her dog with special needs. “Yeah,” says Bryan, her husband, “he hit the jackpot when he got us as owners.” Jennifer and Bryan are both veterinarians. Tucker is their 7-year-old oversize golden retriever. He weighs 95 pounds. If he was human, he would receive a diagnosis of anxiety disorder and lack of impulse control with chronic depression. Tucker is afraid of walking on wooden floors, which is unfortunate because most of the main level of Jenn and Bryan’s house has them.

December 2, 2014

Breaking out of prison isn’t hard, you’ve just got to be patient, watchful, and lucky. If you can get those three stars aligned, eventually your time will come.

My time came just before midnight on Dec. 31, 1932. That would be eight months, one day, and seven hours ago, if my little brother’s pocket watch is still keeping proper time.

November 26, 2014

Did we start on shaky ground? 
You bet we did, three children, my husband Marty and I, pulling into the driveway of our new East Hampton home (we bought from the Barrys). We were packed with our belongings in his bright yellow Checker taxicab.

November 18, 2014

In the old days of the garment center, if you walked into Dubrow’s cafeteria on Seventh Avenue for your morning coffee, you would enter a world of cutters, pressers, and pattern makers, all unemployed or laid off. You would hear the stories of the discontented: The bosses are unreasonable, the unions are corrupt, the buyers are compromised.

November 11, 2014

If you saw Will on the street in his early 60s, you would think he looked like an aged James Cagney after nights of heavy drinking and little sleep. He was a small, wiry, angry man. Indeed, anger consumed him: a fire he could not extinguish. Offhand comments were a provocation to him. Look at him askance, and he might bark a curse at you. A friend of his said that Will had more than a chip on his shoulder; it was a rattlesnake. His provocative manner was an invitation to a challenge. He was quick with his fists, but also with his mind.

November 4, 2014

It’s 1961. Castro has taken over Cuba. My parents have a lot of discussions about the Communist Party. I hear what they’re saying, but the truth is I don’t think about it much. When they’re talking and talking, I think about ballet. I hear music in my head and the sound of my feet landing on the wooden planks of the dance studio floor.

October 28, 2014

When I was a child, the grass in our backyard was a vivid shade of green, and the sky a deep blue. Our family life was like living in a colorful water globe that changed hues with each passing year.  The modest brick ranch we lived in was our castle, placed inconspicuously on a dead-end street in a content world. Towering bushes encircled our home like a moat, keeping us safe.