You just never know when you’ll bump smack into your past, like a wall you didn’t see.
There I was stretching after my run, when I notice a man’s familiar face, with one too many age spots gracing it, coming my way. Speaking of age, the little devil…the last time I saw this guy, he looked like Gary Cooper.
You have to wonder how you must seem. Is he thinking…wow…she used to be so hot, now look at her. She weighs 8 pounds with bones that could impale me.
A little back-story: Charles, I’ll call him, is Dutch from a very notable, aristocratic family setting him up in business in the New York art world sometime during the early 90s, when money fell from trees as if the Mint just made more, a concept not lost on me.
We were introduced by my former friend and neighbor, Trudy, as we sat at the bar of an Upper East Side bistro waiting for a table. Charles, then in his 30s, was quite the looker. 6 foot 2, legs that wrapped around you like Christmas ribbon. Impeccably dressed with tawny hair he kept just a bit too long, a subtle hint he walked on the wild side. I was at once hypnotized by his British accent with just the tiniest hint of a Dutch boy’s. Me being at my hormonal highest, almost levitated at, hoo do you do.
Well, before the maître d’could say, right this way, Charles and I were in a cab heading to his place. Hey, when thin girl had an itch back then, she didn’t fool around, actually she did, and apparently, so did Charles. After the ploy of, hey…we’ll order in, we found ourselves fucking in the shower like football players after a big game. Of course in this case, the big game was our youthful, sexual appetites always having the first and last say.
But back to the present. “Hey, doon’t I new you, foom soom place?” he said, looking at me like an old stick of familiar furniture. One can’t be too insulted not being recognized after nearly 30 years when last seen, was naked as a jaybird, to quote Truman Capote.
“Yes, I believe you do,” I said, in full squat letting him know, though rusty, my flexibility is still intact.
He still can’t place me, so I say, “How bout I give you a coupla hints?…I was wet, wild and willing, a little hungry, and paid for the cab.” ho hum