I lied. Interesting things happen to me quite regularly. Not only when I’m with Bennett. (You first met him in Adventures Happen.)
Like the other night, when Cassie, Alex and I were kidnapped.
Monthly Archives: July 2012
In the Circle of His Arms
The door opens into an almost empty room. Wednesday night at the Rec Room (remember this spot from The Cougar Pack?), and only a few drinkers are seated under the fluorescent light of the bar. The dance floor is empty; truly empty with bare board walls, scratched and dented tables pulled together in the center of the room and a lonely deejay lost behind his equipment, spinning his discs out into the void.
We head toward the deejay, and my companion asks, “Do you have any swing music?”
“Swing? What’s that?” the deejay asks.
“Oh, you know, you must know, ‘50’s and 60’s rock and roll.”
“Like Elvis Presley?”
I say, “Yep, you got it, Elvis Presley.”
My companion looks at me, scrunches his face up and says, “I hate Elvis Presley.”
“I don’t like him, either, but if it gets us danceable music, who cares if it’s that silly old Jailhouse Rock.”
“I’ll look,” says the master of the music, while he puts on a tune by The Byrds.
It’s a cheek-to-cheek number, so I head for a table and pull out a chair. After all, the rule with this companion is that we never touch each other (You met him in Toying). He’s married, so this is the deal. No swaying slowly to the music, no cheeks or anything else pressed together. Not with this guy. Not about to happen.
An Air That Kills
I stole time away from work on Friday for lunch with my friend, Patrick. Last month, when I encountered him by chance out strolling in my neighborhood, I dug into my pocket and gave him The Vixen Divorcee’s business card. After we parted I thought, “Georgia, are you insane! What were you thinking? Now he’s going to think you are the biggest bit of inane mental fluff imaginable.”
You’re So Beautiful
Words that ring with such sweetness and light in the ears of any woman; “You’re so beautiful.”
Words that ring with particular sweetness and light when falling on the ears of a woman whose 60th birthday looms closer than she’d like to acknowledge.
That would be me.
The words only work their magic under two conditions. First, they need to be sincere. They can’t be lies or exaggerations. They certainly can’t be manipulative; spoken to achieve a desired result.
Not So Humiliated
Guess who I called Monday morning after Sunday night at The Comedy Club? (read Public Humiliation) Marlys, of course.
“You won’t believe the mess you got me into last night!” was how the conversation started.
She, of course, found it hugely entertaining. Had way too much fun laughing at my public humiliation.
Thursday evening she called me. “Hey, I talked to my friend who works at The Comedy Club. They loved you! She said, ‘That woman was your friend? She was great. The other guy on stage was a jerk, but your friend was hilarious. We loved her. We wanted to bring her back up on stage. We were so disappointed when she and her date left.’”
I could go either way. Become a comic like Lily Tomlin, or an actress like Meryl Streep.
Public Humiliation
It was all Marlys’ fault. The idea was hers; a double date, Marlys and her husband Peter, and my date, Bennett, and me at The Comedy Club. A young friend of hers had just gotten her first acting job as a member of the troupe. A Sunday evening of improvisational comedy and beer sounded like fun.
Then Marlys and Peter cancelled at the last minute. Bennett and I went anyway, only to find out that Sunday wasn’t just improv night. It was also trivia quiz night. Almost everyone was in teams of four to eight, except for the two of us.
The improvised skits are clever and Bennett and I laugh heartedly. That is, until the topic for the quiz segment is announced: Movies and Television, topics about which we know little. When the questions are read, we know few answers.
Speaking of Sleep
Sleep. That must have been what we were talking about. I can’t think what else would have gotten this particular group of women talking about this particular topic.
I was meeting with six colleagues, all women, ages 35 to 65, all professionals. Our leader was late, so we chatted idly in the way that co-workers who aren’t close will chat. One of them, I don’t remember which one, asked the question.
“What do you wear to bed at night?”
Lying in the Arms of Morpheus
Carrie planned thoughtfully for her first night lying in the arms of Morpheus, the god of dreams. Her husband moved out that day, so she knew the only arms waiting for her in that big brass bed upstairs would be those she conjured up in her dreams.
She covered the bed with fresh sheets. She sprayed those sheets with her favorite perfume, Escape, by Calvin Klein. Drew a hot bath and luxuriated in the old claw foot tub until the water turned chill. Rummaged through her grandmother’s wooden hope chest to find the tissue paper packet enclosing the nightgown she wore on her wedding night ten years ago. Slipped it on. Climbed in between the crisp sheets, inhaled the scent redolent of sensuality and love.
She made love to herself. Made love to herself because she knew she deserved it, even though she and love had been strangers for quite some time. Made love to herself because she was determined to keep that spark alive in herself, ready for when the time was right to invite someone else besides Morpheus to lie in bed with her.
Another Roadside Attraction
Do you remember reading this book? If you are of a certain age, and from a certain generation, it is emblazoned in your memory as clearly as it is in mine.
After driving around California for a week, I just may have to dig up a copy and dive back into it. California is the land of
roadside attractions. Some are tacky, some maintain a least a guise of good intentions to please and edify. Others are just plain beautiful.