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Well, the first days are the hardest days, don't you worry any more.
'Cause when life looks like Easy Street, there is danger at your door...
--The Grateful Dead, Uncle John's Band
***************
I don't even know how to start this one, really... thoughts coming in too fast to be coherent, let alone artful. Mouth dry as the Sahara, twitching slightly from time to time. I am fumbling at the keyboard slightly, as I attempt to type as fast as I can think-- but with fingers made of putty. Leaden feet, rooting me to the ground even as my head feels as though it might pull away from its moorings and float off into the sky. I'm not hyperventilating, but my heartbeat still thunders in my ears as if a crazed timpani player had taken up residence in my chest...
This is all too-too weird... I checked my look in the mirror, and was startled by the sight: hair disheveled worse than usual, giving me the look of a man who has just had a grenade go off in his head, while somehow failing to blow his skull to smithereens. Eyes looking fierce and resolute... they do not roll with horse-like fear or the furtiveness of a man seeking a hasty avenue of escape, but instead burn steady as coals, irises blazing with bright green and flecks of orange instead of the usual bored, murky hazel I tend to view the world with... white hot sparks in my pupils twice as large as normal, pupils slightly dialated, eyebrows forming a slight V-shape above them. Jaw clenching and relaxing of its own accord...
I am feeling very crazy right now, and the tale of it is all over my face.
Oh, my friends! This is not good-- not good at all! For this is my War Face, and is the look that always seems to come over me when I am about to launch into something that will be literally life-altering, maybe even life-ending.
Worst of all is the unmistakeable, electrified feeling of a steady adrenaline drip turning my blood into red nitrogylcerine... spinal cord loaded like a spring... coiled, ready to strike. And when I laughed with fatalistic dismay just now, it came out as a low, vicious chuckle... clearly, I am on the move.
I laughed yet again as I thought to myself: all I really wanted was a submarine sandwich... but no: instead what I ended up getting was to be hit by a thing we like to call the thunderbolt...
I'm doomed!
***************
Better back up now: gonna tell my buddies what is going on in a way that they will understand... a bit of background is in order here... so here it is:
Right before I left for New Orleans to celebrate the Feast of All Saints, I went to a local grocery store whose deli offers very nice submarine sandwiches. Waiting there to serve me, I found a fair-skinned woman with natural blonde hair and pale blue eyes. She was slender lady in her late thirties to early forties, and she possessed a certain unmistakeable grace and Galadriel-like elegance all her own. Her legs and fingers are long, and the rest of her is sculpted in a way that Michelangelo would have envied... absolutely gorgeous... and I wanted to abduct her on the spot, and to roar off into a moonless night with her shrieking on the back of my Harley. Unfortunately, it was only about two in the afternoon, and the cops around here frown darkly on this sort of behavior...
Of course, she didn't know I was thinking such things-- at least, not at first. In fact, she was rather nonchalant that day. I must have been one of hundreds of people who came to her deli, and she barely looked at me as she took my order and began to assemble my sandwich.
About halfway through this process, she looked up to ask for further instructions with regard to my preferences in toppings. She halted, apparently startled to find me standing there looking at her with the calm intensity of a renegade monk. Most people don't look directly at one another, but there I was: soaking her up with a look of candid appraisal and approval scrawled on my face...
This was not good. After all, I am no cloistered monk, and was regarding her with about the same unholy interest with which a jaguar sizes up a game hen. She blushed, then looked down at my sandwich to escape that ferocious gaze and mumbled a question about which veggies I might want on my sub. Refusing to answer, I waited for her to raise questioning eyes to my own-- a thing that she did with obvious, prudent reluctance. But when she finally did look up again, she found me standing there smiling gently. Realizing that I might be scaring the poor girl, I had made a supreme effort to dim my lamps as much as I could to avoid spooking the game into full flight. Smiling gently, I told her, "You just put your favorites on there, and I'm sure I'll like it just fine."
She frowned, obviously puzzled by this baffling answer; I took advantage of her momentary state of confusion and asked, "So: do you have a boyfriend?"
She recoiled as if slapped. Blushing heavily, she snapped, "Do you?" in a peevish, defensive tone of voice that I found to be absolutely charming. I cocked my head slightly and smiled with delight even as her eyes turned into two frosty blue bullets. She glared at me as I replied, "Well, I did... but the bastard finally left me because my cooking is so bad..." I held my hands forward, palms up, and said, "So whaddya gonna do, eh? All men are scum."
She didn't want to laugh and tried to suppress it, placing her fingers over her lips to hide her smile. Her shoulders heaved once and her mirth was expressed by a single, cute little squeak. Grinning wolfishly I continued, telling her, "I was very upset at first, but now realize I'm better off without him. He was a slob anyway, and a bum. Even the day labor place won't list him because he's so incredibly lazy... he stayed drunk all the time and he used to beat me."
She broke into open laughter at this, but then attempted to disengage by looking back down at my incomplete sandwich once again. Suddenly remembering that she still didn't know what veggies to pile onto the sub, her mouth opened as she readied herself to ask what I wanted-- but I cut her off by demanding to know, "So what about you? Do you have a boyfriend?"
Her mouth dropped open further, then clapped shut as her nose wrinkled up with annoyance. She looked so sweet right then that I wanted to vault over the counter like John Dillinger and nail her with a kill-you-dead, Gomez Addams-style, deep-six tango smooch... ah, but that would get me busted! Momentarily thwarted, but not at all daunted, I merely raised an insistent eyebrow instead.
"Well..." she stuttered, "Uhm... yes... I do."
"Damn! Why are the really good ones always taken?" I asked myself out loud. But inside I was saying, "What the hell are you doing, you damned fool?"
Seriously, brothers: this is NOT my style when it comes to the business of sideswiping the opposite sex, and more: I generally don't come on to women in such places as grocery stores, usually confining my depredations to the sort of wenches I find in the worst dives possible. Like any other scavenger, I tend to prefer my meat just a little bit rotten and I don't like to work too hard for it. In short: I am a bit of a cad, and a deliberate one at that.
But the episode apparently had its own momentum, and frankly, I was confused by my own uncharacteristic behavior. Nonetheless, I smiled at her again and giggled as I finally told her what else I wanted on my sub.
She fussed with the sandwich in silence, as I stood there wondering what had come over me. I am by no means a lonely person, am not emotionally needy at all, and am usually more or less indifferent to all women unless I've had a snoot full and am in the mood to put up with one for a little while. And so I decided to step away from the situation-- to let it slide so that she could think it was some kind of weird joke; out of defensive habit, I allowed that bored, complacent mask to slide back over my features yet again. But I couldn't stop my eyes from blazing, and my heart raced like a trip-hammer. The floor dropped out from below me, and my soul soared away...
She handed me the sub in silence, and I casually thanked her. I had turned half away from her when she suddenly blurted, "You better come back here and see me!"
Surprised, I turned my head back to look at her, but found her already turning away from me, her face a bright scarlet. She was in full flight before I could even respond, and I watched with dismay as she darted into the safety of a kitchen area where I couldn't see her, let alone to mess with her any more. Leaping over the counter to run her down was distinctly out of the question... but that is what I really wanted to do.
What a surprise! What had happened to my well-practiced indifference? I was aghast!
And so I weaved out of the place feeling somewhat confused. I am usually guarded with all women other than bar flies, bartenders, strippers, and hard-core biker chicks, and was thus terribly surprised that I had been so forward with this demure, total stranger of a woman. But by the time I reached the parking lot, I had already rationalized it away. I wasn't serious back there, I told myself-- I was just practicing, the way my Siamese cat likes to scratch at a post or pounce on a toy. No way was I really after that poor woman... bless her little heart!
But when I reached into my pocket to fish out my keys, I suddenly realized that my hands were trembling... beads of sweat dotted my forehead...
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I asked myself angrily. This chick wasn't my usual type... not even quite as pretty as some I've run with in the past... and she was somewhat shy instead of raucous, with no visible scars, marks, or tattoos... and yet, I could picture her on the back of my scooter, leaning against me from behind, like a good putlette does...
In fact, she'd look perfect back there...
"You are absolutely out of your mind," I told myself. And so the case was closed... onward!
***************
Which brings us to today... about five hours ago...
I went to the grocery store again, as I have several times since our fateful encounter. One of my co-workers at the airport actually works at this same grocery store, but when I asked him about the girl-- whose name I didn't even manage to get-- he dummied up and refused to yield any useful information. This guy has been butthurt and mad at me ever since I nailed one of the admin secretaries he lusted after a few years ago, and I can tell that he'd rather die than help me get a line on this sandwich-making woman... the loser.
And so I hadn't seen the girl since that first, very strange moment I shared with her, almost two months ago. Actually I had almost half-forgotten about her because I was busy messing with a local bartender chick who found me to be a suitable score with the additional virtue of being easily and willingly disposed of. But who cares? This world is full of chicks, and I have been single for several years now, never wishing to surrender even one speck of my freedom. No way would I want to hook up with a halfway decent woman... it would cramp my style... I always laughed at the boys who found a good one and settled down... the poor chumps.
So I wasn't even thinking about her as I made my way back to the delicatessen today. But as I rounded a corner, there she was... standing next to some sort of display stand, apparently assigned to try and promote or peddle some sort of food item... and completely unprotected by any sort of counter, too. A wicked smile flashed across my face as I realized that this was a golden opportunity to engage the enemy. A battle royal was about to commence. Too bad I didn't foresee that it was I who would be vanquished...
I came in with uncharacteristc speed and directness, totally abandoning my usual leisurely saunter for something more like what one sees when a werewolf spots a lame yeoman in the middle of the night. I didn't even have time to tell myself to knock it off, that I was acting crazy-- I didn't even seem to care that I had just tossed my whole Joe Cool routne overboard like Jonah in a storm. Instead, I was going in for the kill, and nothing could stop me. My, oh my...
She saw me when I got within about twenty feet of her, and I saw a brief flicker of a smile and recognition on her face. But then she looked away as if she didn't recognize me or even notice that I was coming in, a torpedo to her pocket battleship. Still, I could tell she was tracking me via her peripheral vision and watched as she stuffed that smile down into her collar. The game was ON!
She turned to look directly at me when I drew within about eight feet. She smiled, and began to tell me there was a sale on sirloin steak, but I instead took her hand and said, "It's so very nice to see you again..." I was startled by the gentility of my tone. And fear came upon me, to see that I had basically stripped myself naked for her inspection, and was allowing myself to be both emotionally vulnerable as well as accessible... oh, this was so very bad!
She went for a bluff, saying, "Oh, have we met?" Realizing that I was now fencing with her, I played dumb myself and said, "No, but there's no time like the present."
She smiled with delight, as the woman in her rose to the challenge of dealing with the bizarre hairball who was still holding her hand. She didn't yank it away immediately, either, but let me caress it for a moment before finally gently pulling herself free to gesture vaguely at the meat counter. She said, "We're having a sale on steaks today, and it's nice outside... a perfect day to grill a steak, don't you think?"
I wanted to tell her that the only thing I really wanted to grill at that moment was her-- but my tongue was suddenly as thick as any of those steaks and I had to fight hard not to swallow it. Meanwhile, she had a delighted look on her face, realizing-- as any woman would-- that she had just pawned me as surely as Esmerelda once routed Quasimodo. Meanwhile, my words were about as slurred as those spoken by the unfortunate, love-stricken hunchback of Notre Dame... the chick knocked me silly... I just can't get over it.
***************
Meanwhile, the tactical computer in my head was going bonkers. Red warning lights blazed into life, and I heard a voice in my head screaming, "You idiot! This woman is dangerous to you! She is poison! You LIKE HER TOO MUCH! She's not your type! She's--" but I cut it all off by yanking the power cord right out of the panel, and tossing it into my mental trash heap.
Screw it. Life is too short not to take the occasional questionable chance. Meanwhile, the girl had gotten hold of my ID tag and was reading what it had to say about me.
"Oh! You work at the airport with Mikey!" she exclaimed, as I nodded like an idiot, as though my head was mounted on a spring. She went on to tell me what a nice guy ol' Mikey is, as I stood there agreeing. Actually, I'd like to throw him into our industrial trash compactor and turn him into a little red cube, but that was beside the point. Also: this fair wraith of a woman might not approve of such expedience on my part and I didn't want to offend her. It's been a long, long time since I cared what any of them thought, and I told myself, "You really are doomed, you imbecile..."
Meanwhile, she had taken one of my hands with both of hers, and began asking me questions about myself. Somehow or other, we got onto the subject of spiritualism, and I began to describe some of my adventures in the cemeteries of New Orleans. My tongue had shrunk back down to its normal size, and I found myself speaking almost eloquently, despite the fact that I was about ready to pass out.
The store manager trundled by at some point in there and frowned his disapproval at our young lady, who was still squeezing my hand. I shot him my patented promise-of-death look, and he scuttled away. Bastard better not get on her about it, because there's room for two in that trash compactor of mine...
And then it was my turn. With total artlessness, I asked, "So! Do you still have a boyfriend?"
Without batting an eye she replied, "Well... he's not really a boyfriend per se. I've been seeing him for four years, but he's really more like a buddy than a romantic interest, you see, and..."
And so I translated this. What she was saying is: yeah, she's got a boyfriend, but after four years of it going nowhere, she is ready for a change of pace. No big deal, either, because she's the one in charge of this relationship. In the back of my mind I began to wonder exactly how to bring about the untimely demise of their friendly relationship-- a thing that might well prove to be a piece of cake. She's already pretty sick of the boy, I think... and though this is a rotten piece of business, she was worth it.
More than worth it...
Then she told me she wasn't big on relationships, because they always end badly. Consulting my woman-talk translation device yet again, it spit out a tape that read: she was married once, and the guy was a jerk. He hurt her badly, and she's being very careful now. And that's why she keeps some loser she doesn't really care about on the line. She is only human and feels lonely sometimes... and at all this I almost smiled, realizing that whoever the poor bastard is, he will indeed be easy to dispose of. Had the prize not been so great, I might even have felt sorry for him. But then: all's fair in love and war...
Then she was pawing at my arms, wanting to know why I had a praying mantis tattooed on one forearm, and a Chinese dragon on the other. She got to lifting my shirt sleeves a little so she could take a peek at some of the other stuff I've had drilled into me over the years and was saying something like, "Gosh, how many tattoos do you have, and what do they mean?
And I was thinking, "Oooh, you're a slick little girl ain't ya? Caught yourself a big, mean shark this time around, and you're all happy about it..." I wondered vaguely how badly it would hurt, when she finally gaffed me and then hit me over the head with a big mallet. I hadn't felt the harpoon at all...
She wanted to know what the Shovelhead motor on one arm was all about, and I had to explain my affinity for Harley-Davidson motorcycles. She seemed very interested in this, and told me that she had always wished to ride on the back of one but never got a chance. "Marvin has a moped," she pouted, "but there's only room for one on it, and they seem a bit silly to me anyway" and when she said that, it took all my power to keep from dancing like Snoopy, right then and there.
I flashed onto a vision of her on the back of my FLH, maybe at the Gulfport Blowout, laughing crazily with a wine cooler in her elegant hands, long legs wrapped around my waist with her daintly little feet planted on the gas tank. Oh yaaaaassss...
I thought about poor Marvin and his moped once again, and shook my head with sympathy at the thought that he might end up disappointed. But then, he could always find another woman, I think... maybe he could ride her around on the handlebars of his moped or something... he sounds like one wild son of a bitch, that Marvin...
Eh!
***************
So that's it, boys. I think I might have a few woman problems cropping up on me in the near future. I was thinking that I have to come up with a way to cajole, coerce, or maybe even bribe ol' Mikey into telling me what hours the lady is working so that I can ambush her, with it seeming to be a coincidence to her...
Before I left her, I waxed serious for just an instant by telling her, "Listen: I am gonna be looking for you, sweetie, because I think we can share some wonderful times together."
She looked almost scared for a moment, and I realized that I must have allowed that very intense look of mine to crop on my face. I laughed to ease the tension, and said, "Oh, that sounded terrible, didn't it?"
Her face was thoughtful as she said, "It should have sounded terrible, I think... but somehow, it did not. But do you always accost women in such a dreadful manner as this?"
Truthfully, I told her, "No, I do not. As a matter of fact, I haven't done anything this crazy in at least thirty years..."
"So why me?" she wanted to know.
All I could do was shake my head stupidly. I was finally able to say, "It beats the hell out of me, dear. I simply couldn't help myself."
She rewarded me with a smile that made my ears hot and said, "I'm at work tomorrow from 7am to 3pm. Please stop by if you get a chance."
I took that as a command. I'm not going to fool around with this one, and instead mean to blitz her mercilessly, unless I can find a way to talk myself out of it. I really do dote on my freedom, love my eccentric lifestyle, and really am not lonely. What the hell am I doing, chasing some woman like this all of a sudden?
Seriously: I think I might have lost my mind...
***************
Years ago, in a very charming novel called Moses, Man of the Mountain, the great Zora Neale Hurston put words into the mouth of Zipporah, the wife of Moses, as he pursued her...
Moses seemed a bit complacent about the business of wooing Zipporah, and so she thwarted his design because his approach was lukewarm. Then she told Moses, "Even a barnyard chicken must be pursued by a rooster, Moses. Do you think I am less than a chicken?" and the old man had to really put the hotfoot on to keep up with her after that. By and by, he finally got her though...
So I do not plan on a lukewarm process as I go after this sandwich-making sweetheart of mine. I won't nuke her, no-- but she can expect to be firebombed and then overrun... and too bad about poor Marvin, but that boy has got to go...
And so I left her after that, and hopped into my car. I chewed on the steering wheel all the way back to the airport, and I am still fulminating somewhat, even now. Man, I gotta be out of my mind tonight.
Please: pray for me, that I might come to my senses by tomorrow! I like my life on Easy Street, and am afraid that it will be horribly befouled by something as dangerous as this White Queen I have found...
Dammit! What does everything have to be so crazy?
I'm scared, man. This chick hit me like a ton of bricks, and I fear that I might even be in danger of losing my Roberteaux-ness...
--R
'Cause when life looks like Easy Street, there is danger at your door...
--The Grateful Dead, Uncle John's Band
***************I don't even know how to start this one, really... thoughts coming in too fast to be coherent, let alone artful. Mouth dry as the Sahara, twitching slightly from time to time. I am fumbling at the keyboard slightly, as I attempt to type as fast as I can think-- but with fingers made of putty. Leaden feet, rooting me to the ground even as my head feels as though it might pull away from its moorings and float off into the sky. I'm not hyperventilating, but my heartbeat still thunders in my ears as if a crazed timpani player had taken up residence in my chest...
This is all too-too weird... I checked my look in the mirror, and was startled by the sight: hair disheveled worse than usual, giving me the look of a man who has just had a grenade go off in his head, while somehow failing to blow his skull to smithereens. Eyes looking fierce and resolute... they do not roll with horse-like fear or the furtiveness of a man seeking a hasty avenue of escape, but instead burn steady as coals, irises blazing with bright green and flecks of orange instead of the usual bored, murky hazel I tend to view the world with... white hot sparks in my pupils twice as large as normal, pupils slightly dialated, eyebrows forming a slight V-shape above them. Jaw clenching and relaxing of its own accord...
I am feeling very crazy right now, and the tale of it is all over my face.
Oh, my friends! This is not good-- not good at all! For this is my War Face, and is the look that always seems to come over me when I am about to launch into something that will be literally life-altering, maybe even life-ending.
Worst of all is the unmistakeable, electrified feeling of a steady adrenaline drip turning my blood into red nitrogylcerine... spinal cord loaded like a spring... coiled, ready to strike. And when I laughed with fatalistic dismay just now, it came out as a low, vicious chuckle... clearly, I am on the move.
I laughed yet again as I thought to myself: all I really wanted was a submarine sandwich... but no: instead what I ended up getting was to be hit by a thing we like to call the thunderbolt...
I'm doomed!
***************Better back up now: gonna tell my buddies what is going on in a way that they will understand... a bit of background is in order here... so here it is:
Right before I left for New Orleans to celebrate the Feast of All Saints, I went to a local grocery store whose deli offers very nice submarine sandwiches. Waiting there to serve me, I found a fair-skinned woman with natural blonde hair and pale blue eyes. She was slender lady in her late thirties to early forties, and she possessed a certain unmistakeable grace and Galadriel-like elegance all her own. Her legs and fingers are long, and the rest of her is sculpted in a way that Michelangelo would have envied... absolutely gorgeous... and I wanted to abduct her on the spot, and to roar off into a moonless night with her shrieking on the back of my Harley. Unfortunately, it was only about two in the afternoon, and the cops around here frown darkly on this sort of behavior...
Of course, she didn't know I was thinking such things-- at least, not at first. In fact, she was rather nonchalant that day. I must have been one of hundreds of people who came to her deli, and she barely looked at me as she took my order and began to assemble my sandwich.
About halfway through this process, she looked up to ask for further instructions with regard to my preferences in toppings. She halted, apparently startled to find me standing there looking at her with the calm intensity of a renegade monk. Most people don't look directly at one another, but there I was: soaking her up with a look of candid appraisal and approval scrawled on my face...
This was not good. After all, I am no cloistered monk, and was regarding her with about the same unholy interest with which a jaguar sizes up a game hen. She blushed, then looked down at my sandwich to escape that ferocious gaze and mumbled a question about which veggies I might want on my sub. Refusing to answer, I waited for her to raise questioning eyes to my own-- a thing that she did with obvious, prudent reluctance. But when she finally did look up again, she found me standing there smiling gently. Realizing that I might be scaring the poor girl, I had made a supreme effort to dim my lamps as much as I could to avoid spooking the game into full flight. Smiling gently, I told her, "You just put your favorites on there, and I'm sure I'll like it just fine."
She frowned, obviously puzzled by this baffling answer; I took advantage of her momentary state of confusion and asked, "So: do you have a boyfriend?"
She recoiled as if slapped. Blushing heavily, she snapped, "Do you?" in a peevish, defensive tone of voice that I found to be absolutely charming. I cocked my head slightly and smiled with delight even as her eyes turned into two frosty blue bullets. She glared at me as I replied, "Well, I did... but the bastard finally left me because my cooking is so bad..." I held my hands forward, palms up, and said, "So whaddya gonna do, eh? All men are scum."
She didn't want to laugh and tried to suppress it, placing her fingers over her lips to hide her smile. Her shoulders heaved once and her mirth was expressed by a single, cute little squeak. Grinning wolfishly I continued, telling her, "I was very upset at first, but now realize I'm better off without him. He was a slob anyway, and a bum. Even the day labor place won't list him because he's so incredibly lazy... he stayed drunk all the time and he used to beat me."
She broke into open laughter at this, but then attempted to disengage by looking back down at my incomplete sandwich once again. Suddenly remembering that she still didn't know what veggies to pile onto the sub, her mouth opened as she readied herself to ask what I wanted-- but I cut her off by demanding to know, "So what about you? Do you have a boyfriend?"
Her mouth dropped open further, then clapped shut as her nose wrinkled up with annoyance. She looked so sweet right then that I wanted to vault over the counter like John Dillinger and nail her with a kill-you-dead, Gomez Addams-style, deep-six tango smooch... ah, but that would get me busted! Momentarily thwarted, but not at all daunted, I merely raised an insistent eyebrow instead.
"Well..." she stuttered, "Uhm... yes... I do."
"Damn! Why are the really good ones always taken?" I asked myself out loud. But inside I was saying, "What the hell are you doing, you damned fool?"
Seriously, brothers: this is NOT my style when it comes to the business of sideswiping the opposite sex, and more: I generally don't come on to women in such places as grocery stores, usually confining my depredations to the sort of wenches I find in the worst dives possible. Like any other scavenger, I tend to prefer my meat just a little bit rotten and I don't like to work too hard for it. In short: I am a bit of a cad, and a deliberate one at that.
But the episode apparently had its own momentum, and frankly, I was confused by my own uncharacteristic behavior. Nonetheless, I smiled at her again and giggled as I finally told her what else I wanted on my sub.
She fussed with the sandwich in silence, as I stood there wondering what had come over me. I am by no means a lonely person, am not emotionally needy at all, and am usually more or less indifferent to all women unless I've had a snoot full and am in the mood to put up with one for a little while. And so I decided to step away from the situation-- to let it slide so that she could think it was some kind of weird joke; out of defensive habit, I allowed that bored, complacent mask to slide back over my features yet again. But I couldn't stop my eyes from blazing, and my heart raced like a trip-hammer. The floor dropped out from below me, and my soul soared away...
She handed me the sub in silence, and I casually thanked her. I had turned half away from her when she suddenly blurted, "You better come back here and see me!"
Surprised, I turned my head back to look at her, but found her already turning away from me, her face a bright scarlet. She was in full flight before I could even respond, and I watched with dismay as she darted into the safety of a kitchen area where I couldn't see her, let alone to mess with her any more. Leaping over the counter to run her down was distinctly out of the question... but that is what I really wanted to do.
What a surprise! What had happened to my well-practiced indifference? I was aghast!
And so I weaved out of the place feeling somewhat confused. I am usually guarded with all women other than bar flies, bartenders, strippers, and hard-core biker chicks, and was thus terribly surprised that I had been so forward with this demure, total stranger of a woman. But by the time I reached the parking lot, I had already rationalized it away. I wasn't serious back there, I told myself-- I was just practicing, the way my Siamese cat likes to scratch at a post or pounce on a toy. No way was I really after that poor woman... bless her little heart!
But when I reached into my pocket to fish out my keys, I suddenly realized that my hands were trembling... beads of sweat dotted my forehead...
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I asked myself angrily. This chick wasn't my usual type... not even quite as pretty as some I've run with in the past... and she was somewhat shy instead of raucous, with no visible scars, marks, or tattoos... and yet, I could picture her on the back of my scooter, leaning against me from behind, like a good putlette does...
In fact, she'd look perfect back there...
"You are absolutely out of your mind," I told myself. And so the case was closed... onward!
***************Which brings us to today... about five hours ago...
I went to the grocery store again, as I have several times since our fateful encounter. One of my co-workers at the airport actually works at this same grocery store, but when I asked him about the girl-- whose name I didn't even manage to get-- he dummied up and refused to yield any useful information. This guy has been butthurt and mad at me ever since I nailed one of the admin secretaries he lusted after a few years ago, and I can tell that he'd rather die than help me get a line on this sandwich-making woman... the loser.
And so I hadn't seen the girl since that first, very strange moment I shared with her, almost two months ago. Actually I had almost half-forgotten about her because I was busy messing with a local bartender chick who found me to be a suitable score with the additional virtue of being easily and willingly disposed of. But who cares? This world is full of chicks, and I have been single for several years now, never wishing to surrender even one speck of my freedom. No way would I want to hook up with a halfway decent woman... it would cramp my style... I always laughed at the boys who found a good one and settled down... the poor chumps.
So I wasn't even thinking about her as I made my way back to the delicatessen today. But as I rounded a corner, there she was... standing next to some sort of display stand, apparently assigned to try and promote or peddle some sort of food item... and completely unprotected by any sort of counter, too. A wicked smile flashed across my face as I realized that this was a golden opportunity to engage the enemy. A battle royal was about to commence. Too bad I didn't foresee that it was I who would be vanquished...
I came in with uncharacteristc speed and directness, totally abandoning my usual leisurely saunter for something more like what one sees when a werewolf spots a lame yeoman in the middle of the night. I didn't even have time to tell myself to knock it off, that I was acting crazy-- I didn't even seem to care that I had just tossed my whole Joe Cool routne overboard like Jonah in a storm. Instead, I was going in for the kill, and nothing could stop me. My, oh my...
She saw me when I got within about twenty feet of her, and I saw a brief flicker of a smile and recognition on her face. But then she looked away as if she didn't recognize me or even notice that I was coming in, a torpedo to her pocket battleship. Still, I could tell she was tracking me via her peripheral vision and watched as she stuffed that smile down into her collar. The game was ON!
She turned to look directly at me when I drew within about eight feet. She smiled, and began to tell me there was a sale on sirloin steak, but I instead took her hand and said, "It's so very nice to see you again..." I was startled by the gentility of my tone. And fear came upon me, to see that I had basically stripped myself naked for her inspection, and was allowing myself to be both emotionally vulnerable as well as accessible... oh, this was so very bad!
She went for a bluff, saying, "Oh, have we met?" Realizing that I was now fencing with her, I played dumb myself and said, "No, but there's no time like the present."
She smiled with delight, as the woman in her rose to the challenge of dealing with the bizarre hairball who was still holding her hand. She didn't yank it away immediately, either, but let me caress it for a moment before finally gently pulling herself free to gesture vaguely at the meat counter. She said, "We're having a sale on steaks today, and it's nice outside... a perfect day to grill a steak, don't you think?"
I wanted to tell her that the only thing I really wanted to grill at that moment was her-- but my tongue was suddenly as thick as any of those steaks and I had to fight hard not to swallow it. Meanwhile, she had a delighted look on her face, realizing-- as any woman would-- that she had just pawned me as surely as Esmerelda once routed Quasimodo. Meanwhile, my words were about as slurred as those spoken by the unfortunate, love-stricken hunchback of Notre Dame... the chick knocked me silly... I just can't get over it.
***************Meanwhile, the tactical computer in my head was going bonkers. Red warning lights blazed into life, and I heard a voice in my head screaming, "You idiot! This woman is dangerous to you! She is poison! You LIKE HER TOO MUCH! She's not your type! She's--" but I cut it all off by yanking the power cord right out of the panel, and tossing it into my mental trash heap.
Screw it. Life is too short not to take the occasional questionable chance. Meanwhile, the girl had gotten hold of my ID tag and was reading what it had to say about me.
"Oh! You work at the airport with Mikey!" she exclaimed, as I nodded like an idiot, as though my head was mounted on a spring. She went on to tell me what a nice guy ol' Mikey is, as I stood there agreeing. Actually, I'd like to throw him into our industrial trash compactor and turn him into a little red cube, but that was beside the point. Also: this fair wraith of a woman might not approve of such expedience on my part and I didn't want to offend her. It's been a long, long time since I cared what any of them thought, and I told myself, "You really are doomed, you imbecile..."
Meanwhile, she had taken one of my hands with both of hers, and began asking me questions about myself. Somehow or other, we got onto the subject of spiritualism, and I began to describe some of my adventures in the cemeteries of New Orleans. My tongue had shrunk back down to its normal size, and I found myself speaking almost eloquently, despite the fact that I was about ready to pass out.
The store manager trundled by at some point in there and frowned his disapproval at our young lady, who was still squeezing my hand. I shot him my patented promise-of-death look, and he scuttled away. Bastard better not get on her about it, because there's room for two in that trash compactor of mine...
And then it was my turn. With total artlessness, I asked, "So! Do you still have a boyfriend?"
Without batting an eye she replied, "Well... he's not really a boyfriend per se. I've been seeing him for four years, but he's really more like a buddy than a romantic interest, you see, and..."
And so I translated this. What she was saying is: yeah, she's got a boyfriend, but after four years of it going nowhere, she is ready for a change of pace. No big deal, either, because she's the one in charge of this relationship. In the back of my mind I began to wonder exactly how to bring about the untimely demise of their friendly relationship-- a thing that might well prove to be a piece of cake. She's already pretty sick of the boy, I think... and though this is a rotten piece of business, she was worth it.
More than worth it...
Then she told me she wasn't big on relationships, because they always end badly. Consulting my woman-talk translation device yet again, it spit out a tape that read: she was married once, and the guy was a jerk. He hurt her badly, and she's being very careful now. And that's why she keeps some loser she doesn't really care about on the line. She is only human and feels lonely sometimes... and at all this I almost smiled, realizing that whoever the poor bastard is, he will indeed be easy to dispose of. Had the prize not been so great, I might even have felt sorry for him. But then: all's fair in love and war...
Then she was pawing at my arms, wanting to know why I had a praying mantis tattooed on one forearm, and a Chinese dragon on the other. She got to lifting my shirt sleeves a little so she could take a peek at some of the other stuff I've had drilled into me over the years and was saying something like, "Gosh, how many tattoos do you have, and what do they mean?
And I was thinking, "Oooh, you're a slick little girl ain't ya? Caught yourself a big, mean shark this time around, and you're all happy about it..." I wondered vaguely how badly it would hurt, when she finally gaffed me and then hit me over the head with a big mallet. I hadn't felt the harpoon at all...
She wanted to know what the Shovelhead motor on one arm was all about, and I had to explain my affinity for Harley-Davidson motorcycles. She seemed very interested in this, and told me that she had always wished to ride on the back of one but never got a chance. "Marvin has a moped," she pouted, "but there's only room for one on it, and they seem a bit silly to me anyway" and when she said that, it took all my power to keep from dancing like Snoopy, right then and there.
I flashed onto a vision of her on the back of my FLH, maybe at the Gulfport Blowout, laughing crazily with a wine cooler in her elegant hands, long legs wrapped around my waist with her daintly little feet planted on the gas tank. Oh yaaaaassss...
I thought about poor Marvin and his moped once again, and shook my head with sympathy at the thought that he might end up disappointed. But then, he could always find another woman, I think... maybe he could ride her around on the handlebars of his moped or something... he sounds like one wild son of a bitch, that Marvin...
Eh!
***************So that's it, boys. I think I might have a few woman problems cropping up on me in the near future. I was thinking that I have to come up with a way to cajole, coerce, or maybe even bribe ol' Mikey into telling me what hours the lady is working so that I can ambush her, with it seeming to be a coincidence to her...
Before I left her, I waxed serious for just an instant by telling her, "Listen: I am gonna be looking for you, sweetie, because I think we can share some wonderful times together."
She looked almost scared for a moment, and I realized that I must have allowed that very intense look of mine to crop on my face. I laughed to ease the tension, and said, "Oh, that sounded terrible, didn't it?"
Her face was thoughtful as she said, "It should have sounded terrible, I think... but somehow, it did not. But do you always accost women in such a dreadful manner as this?"
Truthfully, I told her, "No, I do not. As a matter of fact, I haven't done anything this crazy in at least thirty years..."
"So why me?" she wanted to know.
All I could do was shake my head stupidly. I was finally able to say, "It beats the hell out of me, dear. I simply couldn't help myself."
She rewarded me with a smile that made my ears hot and said, "I'm at work tomorrow from 7am to 3pm. Please stop by if you get a chance."
I took that as a command. I'm not going to fool around with this one, and instead mean to blitz her mercilessly, unless I can find a way to talk myself out of it. I really do dote on my freedom, love my eccentric lifestyle, and really am not lonely. What the hell am I doing, chasing some woman like this all of a sudden?
Seriously: I think I might have lost my mind...
***************Years ago, in a very charming novel called Moses, Man of the Mountain, the great Zora Neale Hurston put words into the mouth of Zipporah, the wife of Moses, as he pursued her...
Moses seemed a bit complacent about the business of wooing Zipporah, and so she thwarted his design because his approach was lukewarm. Then she told Moses, "Even a barnyard chicken must be pursued by a rooster, Moses. Do you think I am less than a chicken?" and the old man had to really put the hotfoot on to keep up with her after that. By and by, he finally got her though...
So I do not plan on a lukewarm process as I go after this sandwich-making sweetheart of mine. I won't nuke her, no-- but she can expect to be firebombed and then overrun... and too bad about poor Marvin, but that boy has got to go...
And so I left her after that, and hopped into my car. I chewed on the steering wheel all the way back to the airport, and I am still fulminating somewhat, even now. Man, I gotta be out of my mind tonight.
Please: pray for me, that I might come to my senses by tomorrow! I like my life on Easy Street, and am afraid that it will be horribly befouled by something as dangerous as this White Queen I have found...
Dammit! What does everything have to be so crazy?
I'm scared, man. This chick hit me like a ton of bricks, and I fear that I might even be in danger of losing my Roberteaux-ness...
--R
