I rarely think about my last boyfriend anymore which makes me want to send Father Time a dozen roses. When you’re told you’ll get over your heartache and want to hit the 50th person who said it, it never rings true. Of course in hindsight I think I was mourning the allowance he gave me every week more than him. Yeah, he was like my father folding crushed fifties into my blazer pocket while I was weeping in the shower. I think he felt this bought him the abuse he shelled out and at the time, money talked, nobody walked…the nobody being me, until, as I like to say…
Cinderella got a divorce.
What brought him to mind were some old pictures I found. They took me back to the night before they were taken. These were photographs I was paying someone to take for a new composite I was compiling. For those of you who may not know, that’s a card models hand out to clients with images of themselves doing various things. Being a commercial model now, which simply means I’m considered too old to do much glamor anymore, my card shows me doing things like, raking the yard, playing golf… cooking.
Try to imagine me in an apron making juice.
We had gone to dinner, something we did most nights, and as usual he had had too much to drink. I was in sullen mode while he was acting like Oliver Hardy. When we got to his building he, for whatever reason, started to tickle me, something I loathe expressly known to him, which caused me to fall and slam my knee on the Italian marble floor.
Yes, ouch indeed. I can still remember the pain. I wanted to kill him. Then when I tried getting up, I fell again.
He was horrified and slightly more sober but my rage was off the charts. Our relationship at that point was in dire trouble mostly due to his drinking. I grew up with alcohol so my buttons were so severely pushed that it eventually threw me into a 12-Step program (Al-Anon)
He ran and got ice, told me how sorry he was but I knew if he wasn’t drunk this would not have happened.
I was scheduled to take those pictures and if I had cancelled that late, I’d owe a steep fee. Ollie offered to pay of course but I didn’t care. Determined to press on I still went all the way down to the tip of Manhattan to where this photographer’s studio was and put in a very painful few hours.
To be honest, I wish I could think of only the good times I had with this extremely unhappy man but alas, that can’t always be the case.
The pictures weren’t my best but they were okay. Just goes to show what a little determination can do.
I limped for a month resulting in greater respect for my knees, that just looked up and smiled.