Camille and I had dinner with Ted, a mutual friend of ours who wanted to introduce us to his new girlfriend. Delighted for him, we were more than happy to go.
Ted has been auditioning women for some time now. I know that sounds a bit cynical but it’s true. He’s on more dating sites than anyone else I know vigilant in his search for the perfect mate.
When we heard that he had actually found someone we couldn’t wait to meet her.
We met at Orsay, a French bistro in the 70s on the Upper East Side. Being the first to arrive I made sure we had a great table. Camille flew in next looking as if she was attending a christening.
“Where are they?” she asked breathlessly.
“They’re not here yet.”
After waiting a few minutes we ordered cocktails. A few more minutes after that we called Ted.
“Where are you,?” asked Camille masking her irritation. She, more than anyone else I know, hates being kept waiting. “What do you mean Ginger isn’t ready, we’re both here waiting for the two of you.”
After a few more empty exchanges Camille hung up. “You’d think she’d want to make a good impression on two of his oldest friends.”
“Maybe that’s why she’s late Camille. She’s fussing.”
Forty-five minutes later they swept in like Fred and Ginger (couldn’t resist).
Let me just say Ginger was not what I had expected. Ted is a bit on the stuffy side – a broker, Harvard grad. I expected a young Jackie Kennedy to come waltzing in, not Miss Mezeppa from Gypsy with glasses no less.
Ginger, towering over Ted, has the body of an action figure. Make no mistake when I say, she’s built. Camille, who’s not exactly flat-chested, looked like a boy in comparison. And forget about me. I suddenly felt like Olive Oyl.
Ted was beside himself with adoration not taking his eyes off of her for a second.
“Omigod,” Camille whispered, “This is the potential mother of his children?”
After introductions all around I was the lucky one to have Ginger to my right who kept smiling like she was in the Miss Universe Pageant. I couldn’t help wondering if her jaws ached.
“Meet the girl of my dreams,” gushed Ted.
“We’ve been so anxious to meet you Ginger,” I said, immediately taking the high road. I learned this from my friend Ali who always says it’s a wiser route since there’s less traffic on it.
Camille, who was still annoyed she was kept waiting, wasn’t as charitable.
“You look fabulous, the two of you,” she said, “but you should, you were at it long enough.”
“Blame me,” said Ted, “we got a little sidetracked while Ginger was dressing.”
“So it’s your fault we’re already on our 3rd cocktail,” said Camille teasing with an edge.
“I just can’t keep my hands off of her,” Ted said.
I’ll bet (my new mantra).
While Ted and Camille had a conversation over stock prices I got to talk to Ginger, in theory that is. It seemed as though I was speaking to her chest more than to her. Ginger’s boobs were huge and I couldn’t tell if they were enhanced or not. Implants are not always so perky – they look more like sculpture fastened on a torso.
“What are you blind?” Camille snapped when I mentioned this. “If she was born with those then I’m Rin Tin Tin.”
Come to find out Ginger works in the garment center for some company I had never heard of that apparently makes western wear. “I model for them,” she said proudly.
From one model to another the images that were coming up were not standard. I saw her in chaps and a bustier then boots with a see through vest; lariats were everywhere and suddenly there was Ted, naked, riding sidesaddle. My mind turned into The Best of Penthouse without passing Go.
I truly tried being open and cordial but Ginger had very little to say. She did tell me how Ted said how much we had in common.
“Yeah, ya know, cause we both model.”
“Aha, yes of course. That is true.”
I really wanted to like her and be happy for Ted but it was challenging. He looked as if he got hit with a tw0 by four.
Camille, who excused herself to go to the ladies room, flashed me her emergency eyes that said, you have to go too.
“What is he thinking?” she said behind the safety of a stall. “His mother’s going to die when she meets her. This ditz will be sitting shiva passing around macaroons.”
I forgot that Ted was half Jewish.
“He’ll snap out of it Camille. It’s those boobs, they’ve hypnotized him like new toys, but you know how quickly he gets tired of things. Remember that jeep he bought during his Indiana Jones phase? It’s now at a garage in Jersey. No no, he’ll get tired of those two. You know the two I mean, right?
“I get it Susannah.”
The evening went on as if Camille and I weren’t even there. I think Ted, who waved off dessert, couldn’t wait to pay the check to go home to have dessert in private – I’m going to go with Ginger Snaps (did I just say that?)
I realize I’m a woman of a certain age but I know that looks go just so far. Initially they’ll get you in the door but after a while there has to be something more. A little dialogue is mandatory and I’m talking more than OOH-LA-LA-LA.
This young lady had absolutely nothing to say. All her thoughts were in her sweater. Ted, who’s such a brilliant guy, couldn’t really be serious…
now could he?
Out of all the women he met for coffee and quick drinks this is the one he picks.
Camille said he’s overworked and isn’t thinking.
I say he’s sexually smitten and will snap out of it.
When I don’t know…
He could be dead from a stroke by then.
I’m just saying.