Come. I'm going to tell you the tale of a lover from days of yore.
His name...let's call him Jeff. Let's say I was much, much younger. Maybe not much, much. Let's say I was old enough.
I was out on the town with, let's call her Bernadette. I hadn't realized that I'd been so isolated. Let's say I was a mother.
I wore my long black velvet skirt and a black velevet top. Let's say it was late September, Indian Summer. My hair...was long and curly. With nary a gray tendril.
I was inappropriately crushing on an ex, let's call him Steve, a friend of the family. Sadly (for me), Steve was falling in love with the woman he would eventually marry. Right before my eyes.
How could I fault him?
I was married.
Bernadette was taking me out to get my mind off it. The last time I'd seen Steve was at Bruno's, so of course that's where we went. I was wallowing in nostalgia and self-pity while sipping excellent cocktails.
This was back in the day. When Bruno's first re-opened and was so elegant in a madmen sort way. Like Vegas in the 50s. It was way out on Mission and 20th, though, which was run down and scary. Entering Bruno's was like entering another world, with a giant aquarium and leather booths and jazz. You had to make an effort to get there, so people got dressed up. It was that kind of place. Everybody looked good.
After a drink or two, when I was sure that Steve wasn't going to appear, we went to another bar where Carl was bartending, one of Bernadette's sugar daddy's. It was brand new. It was in a shitty part of town, too, and it was empty. I sat down at a table while Bernadette went up to hustle free drinks. I admired the austerity of the room that was also surprisingly warm. I put my hair up in a twist and leaned back so the wall would keep it off my neck. I was warm and maybe a little bit tired. It felt like the night was going to be a bust.
When I opened my eyes Jeff was setting down a bottle of champagne. He poured us each a glass. We hadn't spoken one word. I understood he was a friend of Carl's.
"Prost!" we said and each took sips and put the glasses down.
He leaned over and kissed me. I was totally caught off guard.
It was good.
I didn't know his name yet.
Then he got up to greet someone who walked in.
He was tall, I noticed, and had broad shoulders. He had a square jaw. He wore some kind of dog tags around his neck, and clogs. And yet he was hot. It intrigued me.
He drove a red 1969 Pontiac GTO.
His name...let's call him Jeff. Let's say I was much, much younger. Maybe not much, much. Let's say I was old enough.
I was out on the town with, let's call her Bernadette. I hadn't realized that I'd been so isolated. Let's say I was a mother.
I wore my long black velvet skirt and a black velevet top. Let's say it was late September, Indian Summer. My hair...was long and curly. With nary a gray tendril.
I was inappropriately crushing on an ex, let's call him Steve, a friend of the family. Sadly (for me), Steve was falling in love with the woman he would eventually marry. Right before my eyes.
How could I fault him?
I was married.
Bernadette was taking me out to get my mind off it. The last time I'd seen Steve was at Bruno's, so of course that's where we went. I was wallowing in nostalgia and self-pity while sipping excellent cocktails.
This was back in the day. When Bruno's first re-opened and was so elegant in a madmen sort way. Like Vegas in the 50s. It was way out on Mission and 20th, though, which was run down and scary. Entering Bruno's was like entering another world, with a giant aquarium and leather booths and jazz. You had to make an effort to get there, so people got dressed up. It was that kind of place. Everybody looked good.
After a drink or two, when I was sure that Steve wasn't going to appear, we went to another bar where Carl was bartending, one of Bernadette's sugar daddy's. It was brand new. It was in a shitty part of town, too, and it was empty. I sat down at a table while Bernadette went up to hustle free drinks. I admired the austerity of the room that was also surprisingly warm. I put my hair up in a twist and leaned back so the wall would keep it off my neck. I was warm and maybe a little bit tired. It felt like the night was going to be a bust.
When I opened my eyes Jeff was setting down a bottle of champagne. He poured us each a glass. We hadn't spoken one word. I understood he was a friend of Carl's.
"Prost!" we said and each took sips and put the glasses down.
He leaned over and kissed me. I was totally caught off guard.
It was good.
I didn't know his name yet.
Then he got up to greet someone who walked in.
He was tall, I noticed, and had broad shoulders. He had a square jaw. He wore some kind of dog tags around his neck, and clogs. And yet he was hot. It intrigued me.
He drove a red 1969 Pontiac GTO.
Finally.
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