Only at Bemelmans would a man shimmy up to the bar where your demurely seated and say, “Have we met?”
It seemed to go with the rest of my disturbing day that pushed me right off the wagon.
I haven’t been drinking, and haven’t really fallen off…it was more like dangling my feet off the side, while it took a sharp corner.
It started at my trusty hairdresser’s when I went to get my color done and said, “Not too dark, okay?” Then came out like Pocahontas. 
From there, since yes, it was beauty day, I had my nails done, and said to the little girl, please don’t cut my cuticles…just trim, and now they’re biblically bleeding.
TAXI…76th and Madison…and HURRY.
So I’m at the bar, me and my black hair, my nails wrapped in cocktail napkins, when this man in a tweedy suit sashays over like Douglas Fairbanks fresh from the grave. 
80ish, but well-preserved like Tut did the embalming…hair slicked with so much pomade moths could ski down his forehead. I’m not kidding, he was a dead ringer, for dead Dougie.
He even had one of those pencil thin mustaches, like John Waters, and oh, why couldn’t he be John Waters because, boy did I need a laugh. 
So as he arranges his crotch like a catcher for the Mets, before sitting on the stool next to me, without asking…not that I had any claims on that stool, but between his cologne and Rolex the size of my head, a booth was looking real good.
The barmaid said after I ordered my 24 dollar glass of wine that should have come wrapped in mink, “Are you celebrating?”
“Yes Laurie, I kinda am. It’s the first drink I’ve had in quite a while and boy, do I deserve it.”
Before you judge me as one grand spendthrift, there’s a method to my vino madness. By ordering one glass that expensive, I know I’ll only have one glass.
But back to,”Have we met?”
“NO, we haven’t.” (he clearly hadn’t heard about Matt Lauer)
“Well why not?”
BECAUSE YOU’RE DEAD?
No of course I didn’t say that. But he did look like an apparition from another time. Even his nails were buffed like hubcaps picking up the light, and Ling Ling didn’t machete his cuticles, I can tell you that.
“Potato chips?” asked Laurie with a wink, knowing I’d crawl for Lays, as long as they came in a bowl and not a bedroom.
But before I could claim them for my own, whose manicured mitt do you think shoveled in first?
My fuse was now lit.
“You know chips put weight on a girl,” said dead Dougie, munching away, little scraps of fried potato clinging to his furry lip.
I decided I’d just ignore him hoping he’d fade away, but no…he persisted.
“Hey doll, how bout a refill.” He was drinking straight scotch like it was water, and calling Laurie doll made me think, he thought, he was at the Copa.
“I like aloof women, they really turn me on.” Did his brows just do a little tango, or was it the price of the wine?
TEN-NINE-EIGHT-SEVEN-SIX…
“I just want to sit and sip my drink…okay? Don’t want to be rude, but my store’s closed.”
“Well, let’s open it?”
“Let’s not.”
Then Laurie comes back with more chips, places them on my other side and says,
“Did you dye your hair?” 
CHECK!
SB
Ok, you got all the December bad stuff out of the way early! They are not supposed to cut cuticles! You may die of something. Perhaps you could have gotten Mr. Slick’s manicurist’s info.
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Why didn’t I think of that? Could hadda a V-eight kinda moment. 🙂
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I would have said November but it’s over. Better to be ahead of the game!
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You have to admire his optimism, though perhaps not his presumptuousness. Well fielded, Susannah!
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Love being well fielded. Who knew. 🙂
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I did, for sure. Like you, I spend much time watching people. The behavior of (some or most) men in the presence of a beautiful woman is entertaining (so long as you’re not the woman). It is inevitable that a professional model will either acquire the skill set or perish. I think it’s sad but I don’t see it changing any time soon. Post-Weinstein, I suspect the only change will be more will have the skill to field.
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I’m curious about the up and coming Cosby trial. Talk about timing. He must be packin for the pokey. I’m no mystic, but Harvey and company may have sealed his fate.
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It’s been mentioned in the news here but I doubt we get the coverage that you do. Weinstein is going to be universally hated: by his victims, by all women (as potential victims and in sympathy with his actual victims) by honest men (the perceived heightened threat stifles innocent fun), by dishonest men (their potential victims are forewarned, pre-armed and more likely to blow the whistle). I think that’s everybody!
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Harvey was the tip of the iceberg. It’s as though vermin is running out of the walls. Every day a new scandal to behold. It’s truly amazing.
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I’m at a loss here. You mean to tell me that Douglas Fairbanks is still walking around—and he’s full of scotch embalming fluid? Does the mortuary know?
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If they did, think of the business.
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I wonder if they have an embalming fluid that comes in beer? 😀
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Or scotch.
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LOL 😀
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You said it pal…:)
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He was around 300 when he died if I remember correctly.
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You’ve still got it, Susannah. I read the whole thing with a smile on my face, appreciating your inimitable style. I think this is one of my favorites.
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How nice are you. Love, Pocahontas
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Susannah, I can picture the entire scene so easily.
I think I know what part of the problem is. You know how as we age we can’t really believe THAT MUCH time has actually passed? We think of ourselves as a younger version than we are, until some bit of reality clunks us on the head. Well, these oily guys, and a good supply of women too, ignored the clunk. Douglas still sees himself as the suave player he was 60 years ago, and he can’t believe you turned down your chance at a little piece of his heaven, ha ha!
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I made skid marks. Not that I’m the femme fatale of yore but, I was just unable to respond any other way. But got an essay out of it. 🙂
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Reblogged this on By the Mighty Mumford and commented:
CUTE! YOU’RE a great story teller!
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Thank you. You’re kind to say that. Like my late, great friend Jackie used to say, when you get lemons, make lemonade, so as I sat there like I had wampum in my purse trying to be polite, but failing miserably, I took out my trusty, little .69 notepad, and made notes. Thank God it’s still legal. Appreciate you writing.
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Poerry-shmoetry…stay a story teller! I’d like to be one, but haven’t necessarily the patience…or skill! Any time you can survive a situation—and get a story or poem out of it—that’s superb! 🙂
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Love your line…any time you can survive a situation…AMEN TO THAT…:)
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You live in a different world! I love reading about it, even when it sounds fictional.
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Oh Anne. I’d love to live in your peaceful surroundings. Sometimes it feels as if I live at Disney. All I need is Mickey and the 7 Dwarves to join me for breakfast. 🙂
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That would make a wonderful scene!
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It would. 🙂
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Can’t totally compare to your night (I would not be so pleasant to a Man who came on to me), but the other night I took Mom to Cracker Barrel (we both love the coffee and the staff) and we ordered. I found I had lost my sugar meds and so couldn’t eat much of the food (used a “go to” container). Mom looked around a bit and I went out tot he car. I found my meds (they had fallen out of my satchel and were under the seat. i took the “to go” water and promptly nearly-chocked on the pill. Adding to that we were both so tired we barely made it to the restaurant, the night was, not so great. We all have horrible days, but they don’t have to be. I kept my positive attitude and, pretty much, remained happy. So, “smile”, I would not have plopped down beside you like that. I would have asked nicely if the seat were taken and tested all waters before jumping in. And, I don’t look like a dead celeb…point for me.
Scott
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That’s good to hear. That dead celebrity look is kinda scary. 🙂
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Ok, since my blood pressure was rising just reading about this experience, I think we should all take a moment to be happy that we did not hear about this on the news.
Hope your color has faded back to its natural glow by now.
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Alas, I still look as if I’m using wampum to pay for groceries instead of cash.
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Hahahahahahaha!
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You wouldn’t be laughing if you saw me. HOW! We’d both simultaneously say. Aye
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