Boat and Mr. Wrong

From the time we sat in Boat waiting for Mr. Wrong, how I feasted on gazing at him, Quiet Man, sitting next to me. The low glow of the bar lighting, perched on my comfortable bar stool; my back to the divider of the bar and the walkway between it and the dining room, gave me the luxury of looking at this handsome and complex man.

I looked up the bar, seeing its sleekness lend a sophistication to the patrons of Boat who leaned into each other, holding pretty drinks that caught the light and twinkled it about.

When Mr. Wrong arrived, he was donned in his usual uniformed turtleneck and dress slacks held up onto his slim frame with a conservative gold buckled belt. His sleeves worn up his forearms and his eyes behind rectangular oblong wire framed Ray- Bans. He rushed into this dark, sleek place still wearing those frames. He was like a swift gun shot, and I can’t say he made his way to the bar, but gunned for it. He did not see Quiet Man nor I, as he brushed by us, and took a place between other patrons when he ordered his reliable Rèmy: Louis XIII.

I poked Quiet Man, and threw my head in the direction of Mr. Wrong; Quiet Man twisted his mouth and wriggled his eyes to tell me he was just as surprised. He leaned over the expanse of the wide bar, and looked to his right and began to call over to Mr. Wrong to get his attention. It took about three to five calls for him to notice Quiet Man.

Mr. Wrong darted his eyes upward, his eyebrows forming inverted carats, grabbed his drink and injected himself quickly next to Quiet Man. He reached over to kiss my cheek and greeted me.

Mr. Wrong is truly odd. He moves so obviously with much cover and cloaking of his movement. For all his seemingly lack of effort, it is laborious to watch him.

He sat at the bar, with his Ray-Bans until he, for whatever reason, took them off. Quiet Man had turned to wink at me with a boyish grin to see Mr. Wrong still wearing shades in such a darkened room.

Quite Man proceeded to tell Mr. Wrong what went on at the country club and Mr. Wrong listened with his left ear; was he a spy in London, inconspicuously sitting at the bar, with all the aplomb of Maxwell Smart? As I watched Quiet Man tell him things, Mr. Wrong would every so often, ask a question, still facing the open kitchen of Boat which was behind the bar. I could see his lips move, his body remain still, except when he lifted his Rèmy to his mouth. He fastidiously remained still. He spoke in his usual low and whispery tone. It was as if he was perpetually in a darkened alley, avoiding detection.

Mr. Wrong, when the briefing finished, wanted to order dinner. It was by then about 7 pm. Quiet Man had just finished eating at about 5 pm, and he asked me what I wanted. I did not want anything, but after the cajoling of the two of them, Quiet Man and I decided to split meat; he preferred a filet and I preferred a strip. So strip it was because it was what I liked.

We kept drinking and I became more boisterous along with Quiet Man-Mr. Wrong was entirely unaffected by our merriment.

When our food arrived, Quiet Man and I ate with much likeness to the Lady and the Tramp if they sat side by side with each other and were eating a plump and sumptuous NY Strip.

Mr. Wrong seemed very intrigued in the most oddest of manners with his filet. It was as if it was something was getting away from him in the manner he used his utensils to eat the meat. He was furiously cutting and slicing and bringing it to his mouth, sometimes after sweeping the muscle speared at the end of his fork into the fluffy starch that accompanied it all. In and out, out and in, I had never seen such a spectacle.

Quiet Man was carrying on with laughter and jokes, addressing Mr. Wrong as if Mr. Wrong was totally with the program, which he was not.

“Muse, you no eat!”

“I am” I replied.

“No, you no eat. You shy?”

“NO. I just don’t feel like eating.”

In fact, I just wanted to drink my Cointreaupolitans and enjoy him. In fact, I was wishing Mr. Wrong would leave because I was uncomfortable with the fact Mr. Wrong was now privy to Quiet Man and I. It was weird.

Quiet Man continued eating the strip. He would glance at me from his left, as he was chewing, and look at me. He would wink at me, or chuckle while leaning towards me. I was swooning more from those mini interactions that all the liquor I had put into myself.

I heard the clanking of forks and knives on china. It was Mr. Wrong.

He was now slicing and dicing with such speed, the remainder of what he did not eat. His plate was becoming a repository for a mish mash of shredded and julienned leftovers of meat and vegetable, held together by the uneatened starch. What on earth was he doing?

He abruptly gets up, throws some $100 bills on the bar. He opens his Ray-Bans and places them robotically on the bridge of his nose, announces his curt goodbyes to Quiet Man and myself while turning on his heel and darts out of boat.

“What is wrong with him?” I asked Quiet Man.

“I no know, Muse,” he said.

I was just glad he left.

“That is Mr. Wrong,” he adds.

“I can see why people believe he thinks he is 007.”

“Ah, Muse,” he said as he squeezed my shoulder.

“Why,” I paused, “Why did he do that?”

“Do what Muse?”

“Oh my god, you did not hear that racket he was making right next to you?”

“Oh, the meat you mean?”

“Yes, what was that all about?”

“You no know Muse?”

“Why, I should?”

“Well, you know,” he told me, ”it is so that it cannot be reserved.”

“What?” I said, as I jostled my hair while throwing him a sideways glance just because I felt like it.

“So they throw it away.”

“Throw it away? Throw what away? What are you talking about?”

“Muse, Mr. Wrong no eat all his food. He cut it so that it cannot be re-served to someone else.”

“Are you kidding me?” I said looking at him in the eye. I turned to take another hit of liquor while in my robust state, threw back my hair and arched my neck to swallow. I then looked at him again with a rightward glance.

I looked down and then at him. He was looking at me, acting weird. Liquor weird.

“So Mr. Wrong thinks that this place will be re-serving a remnant of meat to someone else? Like no one would notice?”

“Muse,” he whispered, ”you not know how restaurants make money?”

“I don’t believe you Quiet Man, you are crazy.”

“I no crazy Muse,” he said while shifting his body to face me in his seat.

“Oh yes you are, Quiet Man, you are NUTS! Who thinks of stupid things like serving someone left over hunks of meat.”

“That is why Mr. Wrong cuts his meat he no eat, so they can’t give to no one else.”

“Oh my god. You are sick.”

“What ever you say, Muse,” he gurgled.

“It’s disgusting is what it is.”

“Ah Muse,” he laughed while looking at me.

It was then time to go. Quiet Man was always in a hurry to nowhere in my opinion. I cannot say whether he is actually going somewhere or is unable to not feel like he needs to go somewhere.

We finish our drinks and he ushers me out like actress on the red carpet. We saw unmeaningful chit chat to each other prior to saying our goodbyes.

He gets into his car as I get into mine and we act like school children laughing and making funny faces at each other while sitting in our vehicles. He pulls out and I follow him.

He turned left and I turned right.

I left Boat that early evening with a great satisfaction of spending time with Quiet Man, smiling on my drive home.

Calendar Boys

A welcomed break in the icy cold weather these last few days, for the snow has brought warmer temperatures that are not single digits.

The other day I was chatting with Fred. I was sitting in his office waiting for him to do whatever he was into at the moment.

“Muse, you no come to see me the other day,” he inquired.

He was talking about when I was meeting Ricky in the local Starbucks for tea. Ricky did not want Fred to see him because of some business they had going on and Fred wanted to extend something they had business wise.

“Well you were busy with customers,” I told him, not really wanting to get into why I did not go and visit him. “There was a blond haired lady in there.”

“Yes, but I also had the Benny in the back.” Benny was his insurance man. He was a short, squatty sort of fellow.

“Well, it all worked out then,” I said, “I was meeting Ricky for tea anyway.”

Fred did not like to drink anything much that he does not bring from home.

“Sweetheart,” he said as usual, “I have something to show you.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” he replied as he disappeared into the hallway.

I heard him rustling in the back and he returned with something I recognized.

“I already have one of those,” I told him.

“You do?” he said very surprised.

“Yes, Quiet Man gave me one about two years ago.”

“Oh, this is a new one!” he declared while opening the calendar to the page that had Ricky, Quiet Man and himself. They were March 2010. Benny had just delivered it to him.

There they all were in the antique convertibles. All with broad smiles.

“What you think, Muse?”

“Well, I am going to cut out this middle person here, and then I can hang it up on my wall,” I said sarcastically.

“Oh, Muse, “ he said rather flatly and began to talk about why I was there in first place.

“I am going to give this to Ricky’s girlfriend,” I interrupted Fred.

“I have more, you want another,” he said without missing a beat.

“Yeah, give me one. She will love it.”

Ricky’s girlfriend is Sister in Law #2, who is not really a sister in law. She is the girlfriend of one of my brothers.

Up he went and proudly handed me another copy of the two year calendar. The most boring calendar I have ever seen.


“Hey, what are you doing now?” was how I greeted Ricky the next time I spoke with him.

“HEL-OH. HOW are you?” he said in emphasized steps.

“Oh, I am fine, pin up boy,” I teased.

“What are you talking about?” he laughed.

So I told him. They took the photos about a month prior. He forgot about it and had not seen it.

“Don’t worry, you look good in fact.”

“I do?” he sang.

“Yeah. You notice yourself first, then Quiet Man,” I told him.

He said Quiet Man had insisted being in the front car which was red. I told him, well the way the photo was taken, Quiet Man was not the center of attention, something he likes.

So we had a good laugh between us cracking jokes about the calendar.

I really did intend to give a calendar to Sister in law #2, but I decided to scan it in and email it to her.

A few days later, during one of those frigid nights, I was leaving the office late and was warming up the car. It was five degrees out that night. She pulls up next to me. I was talking to Dick, and told him I had to get off the phone.

It was so cold that we did not get out of our cars and spoke through the partially rolled down windows.

“Well, did you get it?”

“Get what?” she asked.

“I sent you a photo of your BF Ricky.”

“YOU DID?” she cried.

“Yes. He is in a calendar, a pin up boy.”

“What month is he?”

“March 2010.”

She was laughing telling me she did not get it.

“Well, its a photo of all three of them, you know, Fred, Quiet Man and Ricky. They are all sitting in cars.”

“Topless?” she joked.

“Yeah!” I said after a split second, “They are sitting in convertibles!”

“Huh?” she said, then she broke out into hysterics.

We laughed, watching our breath create low lying clouds that were slow to dissipate.

The thought of Ricky and Quiet Man as topless calendar boys, well it was different.

I quickly said goodbye to Sister in Law #2, left her with oohing about looking for her calendar boy, topless.

Icy Cold

As of late, I have not had very restful sleep. Having slacked off attendance at the gym, barely going twice per week instead of the usual four visits, tonight it is very cold. Since last night, during my TV watching and internet surfing and talking on the phone, yes I do all three at once, I have been serenaded by the ice formations on the trees crashing onto the ice covered snow.

I have been retiring quite late, well, falling asleep during the wee hours of the morning and waking up late.

Is it the doldrums of the season that lure my ambition from me? I don't know, but it is getting quite tiring.

Earlier this week it was my birthday. I decided that I wanted to go out and enjoy myself even if I was not accomplishing anything useful of late. It is as if I am existing in another dimension, on the outside looking in. Quite odd, I know. How to shake it, I have not found a lasting and satisfying solution.

I decided that I was not going to deal with anyone for this birthday. The day before, Ricky was in my office for a visit. I brought him coffee and homemade cinnamon rolls that I had in the refrigerator for him. I knew I would see him that day since he usually arrives when I beckon him. We sat after hours and talked for a couple of hours, laughing and joking with each other.

"What are you doing tomorrow night?" I pointedly questioned him.

He looked up at me with his usually bewildered look when he can't figure out why I just asked him what I did.

"Why Love?" he said looking at me.

"What do you mean, why? Are you doing anything?" I snickered.

"Well, no, I am not," he said, wondering where I was leading him.

"Do you want to go out for a drink?" I said, looking at him in the eye.

"Well, yeah, sure, we can do that," he said with enthusiasm and glee.

I laughed to myself. He was flattered, and bewildered as well. He was smiling broadly and happy.

"Well, good. Good. We can relax and have fun, " I commented while still looking at him, trying not to laugh.

"OK, then. We are going," he replied, looking back at me.

"Well, Ricky, " I said, "I'm glad you are free. Tomorrow is my birthday." I said it as flatly as I could. I was wondering why on earth I just did what I did. I never mentioned my birthday to anyone until it was well past its due date.

"Your birthday!? " he cried, "Your birthday? I am going to buy you dinner, love!"

"You are?" I said with some surprise, because I was intending it to be my treat. I was thinking somewhat of some other friends who have taken charge on their birthdays and invited people to a party/event they planned and paid for as well. I wanted to be in charge and pay on my birthday.

"No you are not," I said to him.

"Yes, Muse, I will buy you a birthday dinner and drinks," he said. He is so sweet, as usual.

After a short pause, we made plans for the next day, my birthday. I was so exited, as if he remembered my birthday all on his own, which of course was impossible since I never told him when I was born.

We parted ways to go home. After retiring to my room that night, I got into bed and called Harry, who had called me earlier that day. He was a bit miffed when Ricky arrived at my office while he was on the phone. He took it in good humor, while on speaker phone, taking the inopportune moment to tell me if I was going to talk to Ricky, then don't bother to speak with him, with somewhat of a joking laugh to accompany that retort.

Harry is an odd macho man of sorts. He has a good heart, but despite his travails with me, the semblance of a veiled, unspoken relationship remains throughout the years we have known each other. He has his own way of thinking, which many times is not my own. The unspoken bond between us is regularly shredded and rebuilt in a flurry of manners, that I cannot rationalize.

So, despite the many years I have known Harry, he never once has remembered my birthday. I have reciprocated the same effect-though I remember his, I ignore it.

The conversation with him that night was animated, friendly and fun, while I thought all the while about what fun I would have the next night with Ricky. My family was forewarned to avoid at all costs any birthday mention or hoopla, to which they agreed.

Harry likes to chop wood for his fireplace. He actually strikes an imposing figure and is quite strong. He does not have any huge muscles, but his strength is quite potent. He can still easily lift a car motor into his pick up truck if he had to, without help. A stupid thing to do, but none the less he can do it when necessary.

So during his tell tales of his day which in the winter almost always includes the splitting of wood, he mentioned that the next day there was a winter storm coming.

"What?" I said to him.

"It's going to snow tomorrow, hard."

"Are you kidding me?"

"No. Why would I kid you?" Harry is a black and white thinker. Never minces words, or wastes them would be a better description.

That prompted me to turn on the weather channel on the television, I navigated to it on my laptop and then called it in on my phone. All report where the same: SEVERE winter snow advisory ALL DAY into the next.

My heart sank. We could not go out for my birthday. How could we venture out into the next state, in the city where we planned to go? Talk about sucky luck.

As the conversation with Harry lingered and actually took root, it eventually dwindled into many yawns and yeahs between us, having been completely tinkered out from talking.

"Well Miss Muse, " he said as he calls me when he is affectionate in the most antiseptic sort of way, "I will talk to you tomorrow."

"OK, Mr. Harry," I replied, mimicking his ridiculousness, "talk to you tomorrow."

Well, that was fine. Good, I thought. He failed to ask me what I was doing tomorrow, so, he can't complain when he finds out. Harry seems to find it in him, an indignation in complaining with whom I spend my time with. It is almost as if it was a right of passage for him, as a figure in my life.

So the next morning I rose late, and decided to not head into the office; it was my birthday after all. So I lounged with my laptop and television.

My cell phone rang.

Mambo Italiano filled the room. That was Ricky's ringtone.

"Happy Birthday, LOVE!" he says to me.

"Oh hi, Ricky!" I said happily.

We chatted for a short bit and he told me his agenda for the day and he would call me around 5 pm. He decided we would go to our usual watering hole that we had not been to in about two months. The last time we were there was in November after Fred's daughter's Sweet Sixteen. What a night that was, and is another story in itself.

Now I must clarify-I have not any romantic interest in Ricky. I still struggle to classify how I think of him, meaning what kind of friend he is. Harry has thrown in his opinion which see-saws from ok to bad; Dick has made similar assessments. Fred and Quiet Man chimed in with suspicions of their own from time to time, despite their knowledge of the truth. Sister in law number 2 openly speaks of her attraction to Ricky and I gladly pass along that information to him with guttural laughs and many winks.

I have had more than one talk with Ricky about this and he agrees. He never contradicts, he champions the same position. But, alas, in all his fortitude of seeing eye to eye with me, the genuineness of feeling seeps out in the sweetest of ways; the grasp of my waist, the greeting with a kiss nestled in my hair, the stroking of my hair with apologies for having pulled it taught. The diplomacy of it all does not venture past socially acceptable norms, but as its recipient, I see the hidden intention and accept it solely as that of a dear friend.

So, in the midst of all these hidden agendas, openness of purpose and feelings, the simple offering of happiness on my birthday, was such a rich and warm gift on an icy cold morning.

The air was still and cold. As I was talking to Ricky, I was trying to think of an way around the weather, should he have mentioned it; he did not-he continued to talks as if no storm was imminent. He probably never even looked at the weather.

Arriving late at the office, around noon, I sat to work until the phone rang at 4:30 pm.

"Ok, Love, be ready about 5:30" he said while he was driving home to get changed.

"How about 6?" I suggested.

"Between 5:30 and 6, closer to 5:30," he told me.

"The weather is supposed to be bad tonight, but now its not going to start until maybe 12 am" I confessed, "Do you still want to go?"

"Yes, woman, I don't care," he said emphatically.

"OK, Ricky. Pick me up at my house?"

"Yes, Love, see you later."

So I leave the office. Ice had started to form in a thin veil, while it felt too warm for ice.

I enter my home, turn on the television for company and heat the rollers. I had a short time to get ready, because Ricky is either on time or late, its hard to tell when he will do which.

I have cut about 4-5 inches of hair this past year, but it is still past my waist, and it still can hold a good curl, aided by some spray. Twice I had rolled and unrolled and brushed and sprayed.

Choosing a BCBG track outfit that is bejewled to the hilt and zippers nicely, meaning the zipper stays put where I leave it, not having to worry about it being riding open on me without my knowledge, I wanted to wear my new suede high heeled boots. They have quite pointed toes which I am not very fond of, but they are suede, unusual and striking to a degree.

I douse myself with a light scent after having glittered my decollate as usual. I powdered my face with DIORSKIN FOREVER, which I now think makes me look chalky, and then smokey eyed myself with DIOR's eye compact, which name I now forget. I then wore a solitaire necklace stud that was on a silver chain, completing my silvering for the evening.

It was around 6 pm, and Ricky was late. I was trying to get the hang of walking in those boots. I was getting worried about the ice forming on the ground, having heard the pounding of the salt trucks and sanders while the heavy blades scraped the blacktop.

I hear Mambo in the distance, coming from the livingroom where I left my things. I then hear my home phone ring. I had heard Ricky's big truck pulling in the driveway as well. Impatient.

As I stood on my front porch to lock the door I was amazed at the forming ice. I had to walk on ICE to get to Ricky. I walked slowly and as sure footed as I could. I open the truck door and Ricky extends his hand to me. I stood on the ice.

"Ricky, its getting bad out, lets do this another time," I told him.

"Oh, Muse, it's nothing. Get in the truck and let's get going."

So I did.

We arrived wihtou incident in the other state and I chose to ignore the hard slush on the highway, ignored my innate fear of crashing after sliding uncontrollably on ice.

Now since drama enters my life to lodge itself whenever I don't need it, I won't recant what happened prior to us arriving at the restaurant.

Once we arrived, we were warmly greeted. We sat in the dining room and our host was glad to see us, despite the craziness the last time we were there.

We had a nice meal, with good wine. I had initially ordered a vodka and cranberry like an idiot and when the appetizer came, I realized how such a drink made my pallet sour. Immediately another drink was ordered, a nice Chianti, Leonidas I think it was called. It ended with split serving of Tiramisu, mine with a pink and white candle, and two handsome waiters serenading Happy Birthday.

Ricky called his son to join us and he came in the ice. it was about 10 pm when he arrived and informed us of the road conditions. Within a few minutes his mother called his father and demanded to know why he called his son out on a night like that. It was to meet a girl. The bar tended was his age and was a most striking blond. She was Bosnian, she said, with the face of a tea cake-tall and slender with a sweet round face surrounded by an almost white blond dye to her hair, which peeked a velvety champagned brown from her roots.

So Ricky gets me home by 11:30 pm.

I retired that night to the tap dance of ice forming on everything it fell upon, with the backdrop of pounding steel making way for the salt backer as the plows made their way throughout the icy night.

And despite the weather, I fell asleep, sound with contentment of a friendship so warm and comforting that he would never know how he for me, made that day the most memorable of all birthdays, free of guilt, comparison or the requisite melancholy.

Dance!

I was just sent this via email a few days ago. I never heard of him, but when I watched the video, I fell in love with this song; and I want the freedom to travel to wherever I want to go. Enjoy.

Nazi Sex

WWII. France. Germany.

Who would have guessed?

A new book is coming out regarding the sexual romps of the French women and the Nazi soldiers they entertained.

"A new book which suggests that the German occupation of France encouraged the sexual liberation of women has shocked a country still struggling to come to terms with its troubled history of collaboration with the Nazis.

Like a recent photographic exhibition showing Parisians enjoying themselves under the occupation, the book’s depiction of life in Paris as one big party is at odds with the collective memory of hunger, resistance and fear.

“It is a taboo subject, a story nobody wants to hear,” said Patrick Buisson, author of 1940-1945 Années Erotiques (“erotic years”). “It may hurt our national pride, but the reality is that people adapted to occupation.”

Many might prefer to forget but, with their husbands in prison camps, numerous women slept not only with German soldiers – the young “blond barbarians” were particularly attractive to French women, says Buisson – but also conducted affairs with anyone else who could help them through financially difficult times: “They gave way to the advances of the boss, to the tradesman they owed money to, their neighbour. In times of rationing, the body is the only renewable, inexhaustible currency.

Cold winters, when coal was in short supply, and a curfew from 11pm to 5am also encouraged sexual activity, says Buisson, with the result that the birth rate shot up in 1942 even though 2m men were locked up in the camps. "

You can read the rest of Matthew Campbell's article in the UK Times here.

The Week's End, Quiet Man

On Saturday, I had plans with my sister in law and my other brother’s girlfriend who wants to be my sister in law. We were going out drinking. We never went out together before.

I had invited Ricky the day before and he seemed tepid about going. I reminded him that Dane was more enthusiastic.

So my two sisters in laws were very exited to go out. I was drib drab about it; I did not hear from Quiet Man, though I realized he must have arrived around 2 am. I put it out of my mind, endured the sister in law scolding of not making any excuses to not go, and made time to get some things done.

I decided we where going to go to a restaurant with a fantastic wine bar. Or that is what I heard. I knew Quiet Man knew the owner, but he had never invited me to go to this particular place.

One sister in law was happy to get out of the house and dress slutty. She is CD’s mother. The other is more of a beer girl and I was surprised she agreed to go to an upper crusty type of place.

We arrived at Boat which for the elegance it has, is in a freaking mini strip mall type of place which does not even face the road.

We look around at the amount of luxury cars in the lot while one sister in law smokes. She was dressed in a drab longsleeved black sweater and jeans. She did nothing to herself to improve her look. CD’s mother wore her usual lowest of the low cut shirt, skin tight. I on the other hand was the odd girl out-I wore an olive green spaghetti stretch dress with low slung mules and a bright yellowish waffle type of spring jacket. The dress was low cut and I adorned the neckline with a thick gold necklace that detracted from the garish gold glitter dust I mistakenly dumped on my décolleté.

As I was waiting for the smoking girls, since CD’s mother joined the other, I was being eyed up and down by two well dressed country club type of men, except they were not WASPs. One was nice looking but the leering made me sick.

We enter Boat. It was incredibly modern in dark chocolate brown, white and varying shades of yellows.

The ambience was sleek and sexy. The wine bar was illuminated glass which shone one each and every bottle that made up the color in the glass walls from which they laid.

We found our way to the long wide bar. It was crowded but we found three seats together which we claimed. The men from outside where near us. They were again staring, but I turned my back to them.

The bar seats where huge low squares with four wooden bar stool legs. They where woven in nylon and leather and were comfortable.

We began to drink. After a few, I called Ricky, even though he seemed so disinterested in coming. He answered the phone quickly and to my surprise I thought I heard him that he would join us. It was so noisy in the bar area I could barely hear him.

There are two parts to Boat. One was the white linen dining area and the other the bar area. In the bar, there were long high tables also in dark chocolate brown with matching high chairs. People who were not together were sitting with each other cafeteria style, but high up. Every seat was taken. The chatter and noise in the place was electrifying and exiting. People where enjoying themselves.

I was drinking Belvedere on the rocks. It is my drink, but as of late, I was having a hard time with it. I was on my second or third when Ricky showed up.

Being a little tipsy, I stood up and yelled hello to him in glee, and he hugged me so tightly, I thought, the perv, wanted to feel my chest on his.

So Ricky, who is jubilant, joins us. My sisters in laws, both Aquarians, greet him as they do everyone-they are friendly and accepting, in the Aquarian manner. Ricky is a wine drinker so he orders himself something, a red.

We were already swooning somewhat from the liquor, as CD’s mother is proud to say, “Liquor is Quicker”, and Ricky was joining in on the antics. CD’s mother was getting drunk and more loud, the other was almost done speaking with someone she knew that she saw on the way in-the ex husband of her friend who was meeting up with us later.

CD’s mother is a wanderer-and so she goes around the bar, to the bathroom, poking her head into the open space kitchen and any other place she finds greetings.

So Ricky places himself next to me. He takes the liberty to squeeze me, kiss me on the side of my head affectionately, bury his face in my hair or stick his thick hand up against my neck and up into my scalp. Sometimes he would play with the hair lying on my back.

I was not happy with my make up that night. I chose to wear false eyelashes that did not look right and I should learn that if there is difficulty in applying them, I should not wear them. The eye shadow was a bit harsh in browns, tans and whites and did not complement my chosen lipstick in a deep fuschia pink. I had bronzed my cheek lines to ward off the pale, monochromatic effect of the foundation combination created by SMASHBOX Photo Effect and BARE MINERALS.

My hair also had a hard time, probably due to its length, to keep the curl tight, despite the shellacking I gave it with hairspray, especially around my face. It looked fine when I left the house, but then it tended to hang like a china girl’s thereafter.

This what was going through my mind when Ricky was attempting to be amorous during my intoxication. He apparently did not notice not one flaw of the many I was sporting that night.

So, I was drinking my vodka, and letting Ricky get his thrill. By this time he was sandwiched in between myself and one sister in law. I decided that this was an appropo moment to call Quiet Man and goof on him. Ricky did not want any part of it-of course not, he would prefer to be the only man with us. This revelation on my part woke him up to stop for a while the groping and stroking he was doing.

So I dial. No answer. I let it ring. I continue to talk with Ricky and one sister in law. I know the phone is still on, but I did not know if he picked up or went to voice mail. My sister in law tells me my phone is on. Oh, is it? So I shut it.

We continue drinking. My beer drinking sister in law decides she wants to meet Quiet Man and takes my phone and call him. He does not answer and she tells him where we are and what we are doing.

Ricky and I are now sitting at the bar side by side. He has a new glass of wine. My sister in laws decide to do shots of Jack Daniels. Do I want one? Why would I want one when I am drinking straight vodka at this point? Ricky does not want one either. They are doing shots whooping it up, so I am ignoring them thinking I was so glad the bar was at capacity so their barroom behavior was not noticed at Boat.

CD’s mother was pinching my rear end all night in an effort to get a rise out of me. Both sister in laws wanted me to take off my jacket to show off the dress. I was not interested, and besides it was not so warm in the bar area.

Ricky and I were sitting head to head because otherwise I would not hear him. I was trying to ignore the sisters in laws.

I feel someone touch me and I turned to think I would find CD’s mother who was not quitting bothering me.

As I turned, I saw who it was and I screamed. I did not expect to see Quiet Man.

He came to see us, eh, me. He was out with Sal. Sal was very proud to have the porn star from Las Vegas out on the town with him and Quiet Man was with them because Sal wanted to use the Rolls Royce, but was not allowed to use it on his own. A Rolls to impress a porn star; apparently, according to Sal, she was a famous porn star. Man are truly idiots.

Quiet Man was telling me the story and I was laughing. He was helping Sal out by posing as his chauffer, because Sal is not allowed to drive the Rolls. Also Sal paid Quiet Man quite a handsome sum in the thousands of dollars for this service. He showed me because I did not believe him. He had his pockets stuffed. He quickly put the envelopes back in. I stuck my hand in his pocket and pulled out the envelopes stuffed with $100.00 bills. I then reached into his back pocket and grabbed what was in there. I opened his wallet and Ricky poked his head in and tsk, tsk-ed me about doing that. So I put it back, but was annoyed with Ricky’s interference. Quiet Man did not care, he was amused. He probably liked that I stuck my hands in his front pockets, too. It was a platonic sticking, by the way.

Quiet Man then spoke to my two sisters in laws and then went to speak to a man whom he brought over and introduced me to who owned Boat. He also owns several other swanky places in the city and the surrounding wealthy suburbs.

I shook his hand warmly, he seemed friendly. My sisters in laws who smoke, took turns going out for a cigarette with Quiet Man. They came back to report that he let his friend, owner of Boat, to take the Rolls to pick up one of his girls who came into the restaurant. She must have kept him busy since I did not see him after that.

Quiet Man came back and I went to him. I could not resist. He came to sit with me while he was chatting with my sisters in law and he put his hand on my left knee. Ricky was on my right and he was chatting with me, his eye focused on Quiet Man’s hand on my knee. It was an odd combination, but being liquored, I did not care.

Quiet Man and I then left our seats and we went to lean on one of the long tables behind us. I could feel Ricky boring eyes into my back. Quiet Man, was half sitting on a high chair; one leg on and he stood on the other. I found myself between his legs. He held my hand and we held each other around the waist. I was talking his ear off in the noisy bar. Being nore relaxed, I felt the urge to touch him. I would put my hands on his waist, or nearer to his chest, and then would remember myself. I would then find myself rubbing his upper thigh a little above his knee. I would then realize what I was doing and then would just lean on his leg.

I was becoming weak at being so near him. I felt the warmth of his body on mine. The warmth of his neck, as he leaned into me when his face would brush my cheek, would make me swoon. Well I was drunk and he had to catch me a couple of times from falling backwards.

“Muse, I must go,” he started.

“I am not keeping you,” my voice revealing a curtness displaying my unhappiness he had to leave. In fact, I get annoyed when he does that. I tell him I do not stop him, so why does he act like I am telling him not to go. Go!

He had to go and fetch Sal and the porn star from the Hilton or wherever they were. They were going south into another larger city. It was probably around 12 am when he left.

I followed him outside after he left the bar. He was parked in front.

I went to the car and he rolled the window down. He apologized about leaving. I told him I understood and that I was not stopping him. Geez.

Then CD’s mother comes out to see what I was doing. Talk about having a chaperone.

Then the next thing I know, Quiet Man gets out of the Rolls and opens up the trunk. What is he doing?

He pulls out a perfume box and puts it in a bright red gift bag and hands it to my sister inlaw. I was flabbergasted. She got a gift? He then gets another for the other sister in law. CD’s mother is whooping it up she got a gift.

Quiet Man turns to me, Muse, you no want; they are only half full bottles and they are not a good perfume. In fact, they were not perfume at all, it was only Victoria’s Secret, but still.

So he kisses me on my head goodbye and I wave him off.

I enter the bar to see the second sister in law with her red bag, sitting with Ricky. I sit down and she is complaining about her gift. CD’s mother, pretty drunk by now, tells her that the gift was originally mine and I said I did not want that crap, so it went to her. That was not even remotely true. CD’s mother was cracking herself up hearing the interchange.

The only way I could convince sister in law number two was to have her call Quiet Man and ask him directly. I can’t remember if he answered or not, but I think he did and she felt better about the gift.

I turn to Ricky and tell him what kind of nerve did Quiet Man have giving them something and not to me. He said, Muse, that is cheap, sample stuff-he has something entirely different reserved for you, making a sexual reference.

So I began to feel sick. I could not drink the vodka I left earlier and shared half with Quiet Man. I had my head on the bar hoping I would not puke. Ricky did what he did earlier and put out his palms indicating he would let me puke in his palms. Quiet Man heard this earlier and was not very amused.

Sister in law number two and I went to the bathroom and she asks me about Ricky.

“He is so cute!” she tells me, “Why don’t you go for him? He really likes you.”

“I don’t like him like that, and he is married anyway.”

“OMG, he is?” she said, sounding shocked.

“So is Quiet Man,” I told her.

I think she found Ricky attractive. That is all I need, my brother’s girlfriend falling for my married friend.

So we are back at the bar. This time, sister in law number two used my phone to call Quiet Man. I was beginning to wonder about her.

Earlier, when Quiet Man was talking to his friend, I sent her over to ask him what she wanted to know.

The bar had many notices about it would be closed in about a week for a day because a Hollywood movie was going to be filmed there. And what a cast-and one of the famous male leads is gorgeous. I would love to meet him. That is why I sent her over to ask if we could be allowed there on filming day.

She runs over and I see her yacking away. She returns quickly and is squealing with delight. The owner said he would if there were tables opened. Damned, I thought how cool would that be?

Quiet Man came over and instead of addressing sister in law number two who asked, he said to me that if it was possible, his friend would tell him and he would tell me. I think he wanted to avoid anything with sister in law number two.

So this was the prelude to what she did when we returned to the bar after the bathroom, which by the way was a model of exquisite KOHLER sleekness, or some other luxury bathroom brand.

I let her use my phone to call Quiet Man. I hear her say disgusting thing to him about riding his cock and wanting to fuck him, she then tells him her name is CD’s mother. OMG- I reached over and grabbed my phone from her. What was I going to tell him when I saw him?

One sister in law, CD’s mother, was pulling down her top to reveal what she did not reveal by the use of clothing and Quiet Man ended up pulling down her shirt for her, while looking at me to see how I would react. I was not happy about that. She did it in good fun, but I still did not like it. She was about the bar telling anyone who would listen how she could not wait to get home and have sex with my brother, which grossed me out. And now, number two was leaving filth sexual messages for Quiet Man. This is what happens when you leave two girls to their own devices and after about two hours of drinking, to do Jack Daniels’ shots. Multiple ones at that.

Ricky is still at it trying to hug me and kiss my on my head like Quiet Man. I then make the decision to leave the bar since I noticed that we were the only ones there. No one was asking us to leave either. I found out later on it was courtesy of Quiet Man.

So we head out to the diner with Ricky at the wheel. We ordered our eggs and coffee and then headed back to our car. Ricky expected me to ride back with him, but I declined and went with my two sisters in laws. Poor Ricky. He picked up our bar tab and then our diner tab.

On the ride home, they commented that both Ricky and Quiet Man were both fighting for my attention.

“Oh, they always do that,” I said. CD’s mother tells me that in some weird way, I cannot remember how she said it, that it would be OK if I had a relationship with Quiet Man, even if he is married. I wonder why she said that. I think she wants me to be happy and if it comes in that form, so be it. I found that odd, because my brother, he husband who is very handsome, riles her jealousy of other women who are attracted to him. I believe they both saw my attraction for Quiet Man or vice versa.

CD’s mother drove pretty good, I did not even realize she was still drunk according to my brother who told me the next day why did I let her drive, and the other was passed out on the back seat.

I awoke the next morning. I did not leave the house until about 1 pm. I went to see CD who is a joy. His mother was throwing up all day and was a mess. CD’s mother wants to go out with them again, because they “rock” and they are “awesome.” She is twenty something, that is how she expresses herself.

While I am holding CD who is talking more and he is looking at me saying in his sweet high pitched baby voice, “Hi”, my cell rings. It is Quiet Man. I take CD out with me to sit on the lawn. His mother is behind him, wide eyed, going “UM HUM!” at the call.

I sat in an Adirondack chair with CD in my lap. He was saying “Hi” intermittently into the phone as I was trying to talk to Quite Man. He only slept three hours and was at the office with Fred for some reason. He refused to go to the southern city with Sal because he drank too much with us and did not need a DWI, so poor Sal had to find another way to send his porn start to the airport. It was now about 2:30 pm. He sounded exhausted. He just wanted to know how the rest of my night went and if I got home safe. Odd, he never asked this of me before on nights I stayed out with him until the sun rose. So I answered him. He had pulled over in shopping center to talk to me on his way home because once he passes that center, he loses reception. So we say our goodbyes. I longed to see him, having heard his voice, but he was going home to sleep.

I hung up and kept him roaming in my thoughts for the rest of the day.

What a Week, Quiet Man, Part II

The next morning, Tuesday, I was on my way to Trudy’s to meet her to go to the casino. First I had to suffer her bowling league. I rang Quiet Man, then hung up. I had my DD coffee I was trying to drink, drive and call. It was too much, so I hung up before he answered.

While I was in the car with Trudy, her husband and her sister, while having to look at where Flat Foot lived when he was young, Quiet Man rings. I ended up hanging up on him by mistake. I dialed his number. The cell timer was moving, but I did not hear him. Trudy’s sister decides to show me baby pictures of her first grandchild. I was talking to her while looking at my cell with the initial indicating who was on the line. I hung up since I think the phone was hanging.

I did not want to call him again because I did not want Trudy to know I was talking to him. She already asked him about me at New Years.

When we arrived at the bowling alley, GTD called me, so I made my excuses to not go in to bowl, having business with which to deal.

I then used GTD as an excuse to call Quiet Man back.

He told me that he was listening to my conversation with Trudy’s sister. We spoke for about 40 minutes during two phone calls since he had to have me wait for him to call me back and then had me on hold for a long time.

I was happy to talk to him, my speech running rampant since he elevates my adrenaline. He is a good tonic for me, uplifting and exiting. It must be the laughter. His laugh is deep, resounding and genuine. It feels good to hear him.

While at the casino, I spoke to him, while leaving Trudy to bet on the horses. I could hardly hear him, but he was on his way home and his cell service would cut off soon.

On Wednesday, he rings me to find out how my night was at the casino, what I played etc. He called to invite me to have coffee with him later on that afternoon since he was driving to Michigan to fetch another luxury car he had purchased or Fred purchased, I cannot keep track.

I reminded him I had a lunch date with a friend and we made plans to see each other after 5 pm.

When my lunch date TR came, he surprised me with his new purchase he made a week ago. A cute bright red Porsche Boxter. He took me for a ride and I brought him to Quiet Man’s office. Quiet Man and I discussed me bringing TR to see the cars, which so many men find fascinating. We arrive, and he is no where to be found. I ring him. He was in the next town and would return in an hour.

“Too late,” said TR, “but what about this Mercedes SL?”

Like I know nothing about cars, so I passed him to Quiet Man and they chatted. TR said he was interested and would return. We then went to the country club to sit outside and have some cocktails and appetizers. We talked for a while and I rang Ricky to come and meet us. TR and Ricky liked each other, which was nice. TR had to leave and I was left with Ricky.

“So, Doll,” he told me, “what are you doing now?”

“I am waiting for Quiet Man because he is going to Michigan and he wanted to have coffee with me before he left.”

Ricky looked at me.

“Do you want to join us?” I asked so that he would not think anything else about it; he agreed.

I can’t help but think that Quiet Man is right about Ricky. He hugged me hello so hard, I felt my chest squash into his.

Ricky and I went to my office where I finished a few things. He sat on my couch waiting for me to deal with clients. It was a little after 7 pm and he decided to go home.

I myself headed back to my house and around 8 pm, I rang Quiet Man to find out what happened to him.

“Allo Muse!”

“So what happened to you?” I said dryly.

“Muse, I no have chance. I am already on road.”

“Why?”

“My wife send my son to go with me.”

I laughed. Heartily.

“She is a smart lady-my mother used to send all her children with her husband if she was not going,” I replied.

He laughed.

“Muse, I call you later, when my son is sleeping,” he said.

“OK.”

“After 11 pm OK? I call you to talk so I no fall asleep.”

“Yes, Quiet Man, that is fine; I will be up.”

I did all I could to not fall asleep. I had the feeling he was not calling. Sleep summoned me more strongly than my desire to speak with him.

The next day was Thursday. I supposed he made it to Detroit. I was not sure. The day passed with my only gossipy companion was Ricky. Poor Ricky, I always engage him in girl friend conversations-he does it because he likes me. I do it because I don’t like him like that and he is sweet enough to give me girl friend advice because then he is in the know about what I do.

Friday, my cell rings around 7:30 pm. It was he. He was driving back home. He was in a Black 1976 SL convertible. Enjoying the top down.

It was hard to hear him but I teased him relentlessly and he laughed. The banter and exchanges I enjoy with him are just that: Pure folly. It is the prelude to either something more or the becknoning tide between us that separates us with good measure.

I said something to him about being a man. He volleyed with a response and I chided him for having forgot he was not a marshmallow of a man. He is roaring with laughter.

“I AM A MAN!” I heard him scream into the wind, while driving. It made me laugh, thinking of him driving in the dark, with the top down and the heat blasting, holding his cell phone to talk to me while proclaiming his manhood to the open road.

I did not speak to him long when his cell went out-he warned me it would and I promised to call him back in ten minutes.

When I rant him back, the reception was much poorer. I decided to tell him I had to meet someone and would call him when I returned. He immediately stopped the conversation abruptly and told me to go. No problem. I would, and would call him when I returned.

I called him about 11 pm, just enough time to let him stew.

He had about two more hours to arrive home. He was tired but would not admit it. He was cold because he kept the top open and had the heat on. How exiting it sounded to drive the car home on the open road. I wished I went with him. He told me he stopped to eat dinner and walk around before heading back on the road. He did not ask me whom I met or what I did.

I told him that Sal called me that morning looking for GTD and asked me how my time at the casino was; funny to me I did not remember telling him I was going. He then told me he was going later that afternoon and was staying over. Funny, I thought; wasn’t Quiet Man and I supposed to go with him?

“Muse, he call you to ask you to go with him,” was Quiet Man’s response.

“No, silly, he did not ask me and if he did I would not go-I don’t know him.”

“No matter, Muse. He is gentleman.”

“Please. He is also ugly.”

We chatted about a few other things until his cell gave out.
After trying to ring him twice, I decided to go to sleep.

What A Week, Quiet Man

I have seen and spoken to Quiet Man a lot this week, and in so doing, it has an odd feeling. Why the flurry of activity with him?

It was Monday, and Fred had made his way on his vacation but within the first two hours of leaving home, he sliced a tire at 90 mph at 1 am and almost killed everyone in the vehicle. He had to sit on the side of the highway with Marsha, their kids and their friends. When Triple A showed up they only had a doughnut for a spare so he had to hobble his way to the next major city to get a replacement rental car, at five in the morning. Poor Fred. When Quiet Man told me, I could not stop laughing.

In the late afternoon Monday, I saw him at his office.

I walked into the room and saw the door was open to the warehouse where all the most expensive cars are stored.

I called out hello and saw him come around with someone.

“Hello Beauty!” he said in his thick, strong accent.

How embarrassing, I thought; but with the sexiness in which he called to me, lingered as it sent a shiver to me.

He was with Sal, to whom he introduced me.

We ended up chatting after I brought my friend GTD whom I was with into the office. This man, GTD, would be able to help Sal with his problem that they called me about over the weekend.

We sat for a while listening to Sal’s woes. I sat in front of Quiet Man’s desk, as usual. I felt him stare at me. He was clean shaven and looked handsome. He told me he was at an auction or something like that earlier in the day. Every time I glanced over at him, his eyes darted away, for he was looking at me.

The Swinger showed up and Quiet Man had to deal with him. He just bought an antique car from Quiet Man, he had a problem with some paper work the Friday before, now he was back. He is annoying.

So as we were leaving, Quiet Man had mentioned something about Sal and the casino.

We say good bye, I drop the man I was with at his car and I headed home. I changed out of the slinky knit skirt I was wearing with BCBG heels in Olive shined leather and a wooly top since it was still chilly. I had tanned my legs so that I did not have to wear stockings. No sooner did I change at home, my cell rings. It was Quiet Man.

“Muse?” he said.

“Well, Quiet Man, how nice to hear from you in such a long while,” I teased.

He laughed.

“What are you doing now, Muse?”

“Why?”

“Can you meet me for a drink tonight?”

“Why?”

“Mr. Wrong wants to talk to you and I forget to tell you.”

Why he did not tell me this when I last saw him less than thirty minutes prior. I had to then redress.

[The next day, I had found a message from Mr. Wrong about forty minutes from when Quiet Man called me. Mr. Wrong did not mention anything about meeting with him. I did not mention that to Quiet Man.]

So we made arrangements to meet at his office. He then rings me to tell me he had to diesel up a truck he had to use because the dealer plates where being all used that night for deliveries of vehicles.

I was to meet him at the gas station. So I did.

I pull up and he was walking around the station. I smiled broadly at him and he smiled back. He was going to pick me up across the street in front of Fred’s store where I would leave my car. I told him I would park across the street, rather than drive around the lot to Fred’s store.

I pull out before him and park my car. I see him directly across from me and am walking on lump grass towards him, thinking he would pull out and onto the shoulder to pick me up in that large truck. He whizzes by me toward’s Fred store. I was so annoyed. How could he not see me? I try to get back to the pavement, get my high heels stuck in the dirt, almost toppling forward on my face, while looking for my cell phone to call him. I see he raced to Fred’s seeing the yellow light on the top of the Ford F350 dooley he was driving. I ring him.

“Muse, where are you?”

“I am by the grocery store,” I said.

“What you do there Muse, you are supposed to be at Fred’s ?”

“Just come and pick me up,” I told him.

“OK, Muse.”

So I see him looking for me despite telling him where I was.

He swings the door open for me and extends his hand for mine. I grasp that strong masculine hand and he pulls me into the enormous double cab. I was like a giddy girl being fetched by her cowboy.

We drove to meet Mr. Wrong in the next state. When he parked the truck amongst the luxury cars in the lot, I was wide eyed. There was something very macho about a man picking up his girl in a truck. Not that it was the first time a man collected me like this.

I open the passenger door and I had my right calf swinging in his view, accented by the gorgeous shoe I had on. I knew he would see it as he rushed to help me from the cab. He held my hand while holding the door and stepped close as I descended so I would not fall forward.

He always grasps my hand in the same manner into his warm one. I offer my hand and he firmly holds my fingers and the top part of my palm, like a princess.

We laughed and he held my waist as we walked to the front door. I put my arm around him, resisting burying my face into his side.

We enter and we saw Mr. Wrong by himself in his predictable black turtleneck. He is handsome in his own way, but does nothing for me at all. He was sitting at the bar where Quiet Man and I had done a few nights before.

Quiet Man wanted me to sit between the both of them, which I did not feel comfortable doing, being we were at the bar. I finally convinced him that I would sit next to him and he would be in the middle. He mentioned some weird thing about me not sitting at the end of the bar because I would not marry if I do; a weird thing to say.

Quiet Man had filled me in on what Mr. Wrong wanted to speak to me about. Quiet Man ordered drinks for us. Screwing with Mr. Wrong, I acted as if I did not know why I was summoned that night. He stumbled to bring up what he wanted to tell me.

So, I briefly spoke to him, but Quiet Man and I had begun to entertain ourselves, laughing, drinking and commenting on the man who was trying to pick me up the last time. He was at the bar with one of his six girlfriends. Blech, was all that I could say. It ended up that she left with another girlfriend of hers. What kind of girlfriend does that? A fake one.

“Muse, you see he try to impress you tonight,” said Quiet Man.

“No, he is with his woman. She looks exactly as I told him she would.”

He laughed into my ear. We were huddled, leaning into each other, whispering to each other. We sort of forgot about Mr. Wrong.

When Mr. Wrong was done discussing, he noted he had to immediately leave. Quiet Man asked him if he would drive me back to my car. I did not want to go with him though I told Quiet Man when he picked me up I would.

“You know, Mr. Wrong, I don’t want to make you go out of your way. I can call for a ride and if I can’t get one, I am sure Quiet Man will drive me back.”

“But of course, Muse, I would,” Quiet Man responded.

Mr. Wrong just looked at me and tried to convince me it would not be problem. I tried to convince him it would.

So he left and I was happy to finally be there alone with Quiet Man. We continued to talk in our own little world. He drank about three tumblers of rum and coke, and ate the salami and Percorino Romano cheese chunks with which it came.

We decided to leave. I felt bad he had to drive all the way back to my car, being in the opposite direction in which he lived.

“I no mind, Muse,” he assured me. I was glad to spend time with him since it flies by when it is he and I.

We pull into a space next to my car and we continue to converse, laugh and feed off of each other for about two and one half hours.

I was surprised when he turned off the engine. I thought he would leave immediately to go home. He did not.

As I talked with him, I wondered the same thing I did earlier in the evening when I would whisper in his ear to get nearer to him. Would he try and kiss me again? What would I do should it happen? I shuddered to think about it and put it out of my mind until it creeped back in by something he said or how he looked at me.

He reached over the seat to clutch my face between his fingers, like an affectionate pinch. Beauty purred from his lips. He kissed the air towards me. He did this as we spoke about random topics. I sat with my back up against the door. My legs crossed toward him, looking at him first under the street light and then the moonlight when the lights went off. I studied his handsome face and listened to the lilt in his deep strong accent as he spoke to me. I flirted with thought of moving into his lap. He was turned towards me in his seat, but I remembered who we were and just kept the conversation flowing with laughter.

We said our goodbyes. He looked exhausted in the cab light that came on when he reached over me to open my door. Gallant and sure is he.

We follow each other down the road until I need to turn off. I flashed my lights goodbye and he taps his brakes in response.

I entered the house resisting the urge to call him and chat while he drove home.

The next morning, Tuesday, I was on my way to Trudy’s to meet her to go to the casino. First I had to suffer her bowling league. I rang Quiet Man, then hung up. I had my DD coffee I was trying to drink, drive and call. It was too much, so I hung up before he answered.

While I was in the car with Trudy, her husband and her sister, while having to look at where Flat Foot lived when he was young, Quiet Man rings. I ended up hanging up on him by mistake. I dialed his number. The cell timer was moving, but I did not hear him. Trudy’s sister decides to show me baby pictures of her first grandchild. I was talking to her while looking at my cell with the initial indicating who was on the line. I hung up since I think the phone was hanging.

I did not want to call him again because I did not want Trudy to know I was talking to him. She already asked him about me at New Years.

When we arrived at the bowling alley, GTD called me, so I made my excuses to not go in to bowl, having business with which to deal.

I then used GTD as an excuse to call Quiet Man back.

He told me that he was listening to my conversation with Trudy’s sister. We spoke for about 40 minutes during two phone calls since he had to have me wait for him to call me back and then had me on hold for a long time.

I was happy to talk to him, my speech running rampant since he elevates my adrenaline. He is a good tonic for me, uplifting and exiting. It must be the laughter. His laugh is deep, resounding and genuine. It feels good to hear him.

While at the casino, I spoke to him, while leaving Trudy to bet on the horses. I could hardly hear him, but he was on his way home and his cell service would cut off soon.

You Are a Gambler, Quiet Man

It was Saturday. I was running around all day with my sister in law and CD. We were going to have a BBQ for dinner for myself, my brothers, their others, CD and CD's father's friend, who is interested in me: Rick.

I dropped off CD and my sister in law at their house. I went home to get things for potato salad and some hamburger meat and Sabrett's hot dogs. I also had to go to the store to get some corn on the cob. I decided to buy fresh hamburger meat.

Darting around the store, I was able to get the things I needed rather quickly.

Quiet Man was on my mind and I was wondering what he was doing. I said out loud to myself, "I wish you would call me, Quiet Man!"

Approaching the exit to get on the main road, my cell rings. It was Quiet Man. I was so shocked.

"Allo Muse!" he said, "what you doing?"

"Hi Quiet Man," I purred, even though I did not want to at all.

He called to have his friend ask me a question to help him out with a problem.

This was the same man that liked Carolina at the bar. What was interesting was that Dane told me this guy lived in a basement. Quiet Man says he is wealthy. So odd.

This was what I was thinking when Sal was talking to me.

He tells me, "Quiet Man speaks very highly of you Muse."

I was taken aback.

"He does now, does he?"

"Yes he does. Very highly."

Hmmm. I wonder why he is doing all that he is doing lately. Instead of being giddy an happy hearing this as most women would, I get suspicious. Maybe that is my problem; I don't know.

I finish with Sal and ask him to pass Quiet Man to the phone.

"Allo."

"Hi Quiet Man," I said and continued to tell him what I needed to help his friend.

"Muse," he started, then paused, "You like casino?"

"You know I am going on Tuesday with Flat Foot's mother."

"No," he said, "Sal take Carolina to casino, you remember Carolina from bar?"

"Yes, I remember her." Ew, that Scorpio woman.

"Muse, you want to go?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes, I will go, I would love to," I said barely believing he was asking me and surprised I am saying yes.

"Muse you come?" he said, also surprised.

"Yes, I told you."

"Carolina comes," and he went into some explanation about her and Sal and what they were all about.

"I don't care what anyone else does, Quiet Man," I told him, "I only care what I do."

"You come Muse to keep me company," he stated.

"You are going tonight?"

"No, not tonight."

"I hope I am not on speaker phone," I warned him, after I went into a big explanation of how I won't care about Carolina and Sal and I don't gossip etc etc etc.

Whatever. I don't get him. I don't even know when we are supposed to be going. How weird is that?

"So Muse, what you doing?"

"I am sitting in front of my brother's house," I began to tell him, and then filled him in about the BBQ.

"How was the club last night?"

"Oh, it was OK," he said unenthusiastically. It did not sound like he had a good time.

"You know where I was yesterday?" I told him about Dane and being near his house, at the Inn. He was so shocked.

"You were at Inn with Dane?'"

"Yes."

I figured Dane never mentioned he picked me up for a ride. That Dane is too much.

"OK, Muse, enjoy your BBQ and your boyfriend."

"He is not my boyfriend Quiet Man. He just is interested in me. Not my boyfriend."

Geez. Why does he jump on every mention of any man in my life. I don't harp on him and his wife, but when I do, I do.

"OK, Muse."

So I bid him a nice evening with his daughter, he planned on having dinner with her before she had to go back to school. He did not spend any time with her. And I was thinking, so what are you doing with Sal at a bar in a restaurant in the next state? Hmm? What? But I did not nag him about that, since it really is not any of my concern.

I cannot get it out of my head that he invited me to go couples gambling. I can't believe it. This strange seductive man has captivated me. He said I was to keep him company. What could that mean?

Today, I could not help but window shop for an appropriate outfit to wear. But I did not know if we would arrive during the day or at night, so I settled in buying more lip wear. How would we travel to get there, what will we be doing? How sexy it is to go to the casino. It is high paced, and fast living. Exiting.

Starbucks, Quiet Man?

The next day I called Fred at about 3 pm. I had just read the follow up story about him in the paper. Not so good. Looked like a supposed ally threw him under the bus. Well at least to me. And every other rational thinking person.

He was down in the dumps. He had to get off the phone to put through a credit card order he was taking at the time.

I rang Quiet Man about the article. He did not answer. I rang him a bit later and he picked up.

“Allo?”

“Hi Quiet Man,” I said cheerily to throw him off since I usually am pretty dour with him.

I also wanted to act as if the night before did not happen, though I was reeling from his behavior with me.

“Are you busy?”

“Ah, yes Muse, I busy now.”

He was with a customer or something. He told me he was going to see Fred around 4 pm. I told him I would see him there when I was done.

I ran around to finish what work I needed to do that day at a minimum since I was so unfocused thinking about the night with Quiet Man.

I was high strung and unable to concentrate. I did not have much sleep nor restful sleep. My mind was racing going over and over what happened between us.

He kissed me. I could not believe it. He was married I told myself. He is married. I could still feel him when he grabbed me and placed me between his legs. Racing through my mind was the excitement of his being attracted to me and the worry of that this is a married man. I was high strung which is unlike me. I could not stop thinking about him or the night before.

What on earth did Ricky think? I did not know. I do not even remember seeing his reaction. I know Ricky would just keep things to himself. He is very loyal to Quiet Man. I do not believe he would do anything to hurt me.

So I make my way to Fred’s after I finished for the day.

I walk in and he greets me from the back door and motions me in.

Poor Fred. He seemed stressed.

I walked into the office knowing Quiet Man was already there. My heat raced.

I looked at him sitting in his usual chair in Fred’s office. He looked tired to me as well. He was wearing the same damned clothes. Eew, was what I thought. Then I noticed that Fred was as well, or at least the same shirt. He had on a silk royal blue shirt the day before and it was the same one he had now. I don’t get this wearing the same clothes two days in a row.

“Sit Muse, sit,” motioned Quiet Man.

He still made my heart jump.

We chatted for a while and Fred was all crazy because he had to pick up his rental SUV or whatever it was for his trip with his family. He was worried about his mom who fell and broke her hip while she was with her other son. She lives with Fred, but went to his brother’s because she could not go on the trip. Fred was freaked out that the first time in 16 years his mother is not in his house and she breaks her hip. He was going to cancel his trip but his girls got very upset. Quiet Man told him she would be in a hospital in the city, so what would he be doing anyway? He might as well enjoy himself.

On top of that we were there to discuss the paper and his getting thrown under the bus.

He seemed not so pre-occupied by it, though.

“So, what you think, Muse?” he asked me.

“I think he threw you under the bus.”

“No, he did not. I don’t think so. You think so Quiet Man?”

“Muse is right.”

And after a while, Fred decided he was thrown under the bus and became angered when his ego realized it. He was mad, but had to forget about it because he had to make the rental place for his trip.

So we rise and he locks up his store. I was standing on the sidewalk with Quiet Man. He towers over me and makes me feel safe. He has this manner about him that is assured, macho and strong. People do not know how to take him, his first impression is that strong. You get the feeling he is so standoffish that you do not get near.

Quiet Man was going to drive Fred to get the rental vehicle. He looks down at me and I ask him if he was free after he helps Fred. He looked tired to me. He was free and agreed to call me when he was done. I asked him if he got any sleep the night before.

“What you say, Muse?” he told me, “We only have couple of drinks.”

“What? You had more than a couple!”

“It was nothing, Muse. Just a couple of drinks, nothing big.”

I guess liquor does not affect him so much.

“I come to work at 8 am I buy paper and I go to see why they say that about Fred, but no one was at office.”

“Wait, you were here in town at 8 am? I got home at 4 am. What, you had three hours sleep at most?”

“No Muse, I am fine.”

Well he looked tired to me. We got in our cars and filed out into the street. Fred was first, driving like a mad man and Quiet Man was behind me driving like a turtle.

At the intersection for me to turn to go home, Quiet Man was in the second lane next to me. Feeling giddy, he was looking at me, smiling. I honk my horn and roll the passenger window down. I had stuck my tongue out at him like a teenager.

“Hi Muse,” he said.

“Hi Quiet Man,” I replied, “You are going to call me later, right?”

“Yes, I call you Muse.”

And then the traffic moved and we waved goodbye.

The night went on and I did not hear from him. I figured he probably was so exhausted or some ridiculous thing was going on with Fred, as usual. Fred was supposed to leave on his trip at 7 pm.

The next day I did some work from home and I called Ricky. He is always happy to hear from me.

“Hi Love!” I hear on the other end of my cell phone, “So did you recuperate or what?”

“OMG, I am still so TIRED Ricky!” I said.

“Well, I got home and was up at work at 7:30 am and worked all day.”

Geez, I began to think I must be weird. I was so tired. I can’t function without sleep. Or a restful sleep.

Ricky was with his Dad and said he would call me later on.

During the conversation with Ricky, Quiet Man calls.

I did not answer but called him after I hung up with Ricky.

He did not answer, so I paged him and left him a curt message about calling me two seconds before and not answering the phone.

He rang within a couple of minutes. I was still sitting in my driveway.

I was happy to hear his voice. I did not even ask him what happened the night before. I got the impression he was just exhausted. I am not one to nag a man if I am not in a good position to do it-so little things like this in light of the big picture does not merit from me any complaining.

Quiet Man wanted to meet me for coffee. Sure, was my answer. I was talking to him while driving to my office and I joked with him. I was going to lose the cell signal and we did a bunch of can you hear me? When I could not hear him, he heard me; and when I could hear him, he was losing me.

“I lose you Muse!” he said.

When he heard me, he would say, “I get you Muse.”

“You get me?”

“Yes, I get you.”

“Now I don’t get you,” he said.

“Well catch me, then Quiet Man.”

I laughed. He cracked up.

“I will catch you Muse!”

“Oh you will, won’t you?” I teased him.

“Yes!” he said laughing, “I will catch you.”

So we decided to meet at Starbucks. I told him I was going to get my DD and drink it in Starbucks.

“You no do that Muse,” he chided.

“Why? I do it all the time. I don’t like that burnt coffee taste.”

“No Muse.”

“Since when do you care what anyone thinks?”

“You know I no care what anyone thinks.”

“So what is the problem now?”

It did not matter, he was not budging, so I agreed to go to Starbucks without a DD coffee.

I waited for him unusually long for a two minute ride. He got out of his Lexus and looked so dashing. It was a beautifully warm and sunny morning. He was clean shaven, his hair glistened like black diamonds in the sun and was dressed very nicely. I was impressed. He also looked well rested.

He walked towards me and he led me to Starbucks. I was a bit annoyed since I don’t like Starbucks coffee and he likes their latte. So in dire need of caffeine that I was not going to get, I reached into the cooler and pulled out an orange Izzi that is really called Clementine.

We get our drinks and we sit on the cushy chairs. He likes those chairs. I feel like they swallow you and you have to practically yell to speak to the person you are with and more often than not, I am sitting on the edge of the chair which gets uncomfortable after a while.

We sat with our drinks and we looked at each other. I studied his handsome face. My hair was still very wet that I wrapped it to sit along my neck down my chest. I was worried about what I looked like since wet hair does what it wants. I was getting self conscious about it that all I ended up doing was playing with my hair, wrapping and re-wrapping it. He did not seem to notice or mind. He was also looking directly into my eyes. I did have the Dior pink lipstick slathered on again.

“Last night, Freddy no leave until 11 pm.”

“OMG, are you kidding?”

“No, I no kid Muse,” he replied.

Fred had taken a nap and was up at 11 pm and decided to start his trip with his family and friends of his kids at 11 pm.

He was not more than an hour or hour and a half from home and at 1 am, since he was speeding at 90 mph, he somehow ripped up a tire and almost lost control of the car and saved himself from killing everyone.

“He drives like a maniac,” I commented.

“He drive fast. He no know how to drive, he never did.”

What Quiet Man meant was that Fred never drove any kind of long distance and did not know how to manage such a long, arduous trip. He decided to drive because to fly everyone would cost over $10,000.00 for such a short flight, along with a host of other problems that only would apply to Fred.

Quiet Man the Aquarian is never long without someone calling him. His cell phone kept ringing. He spoke to his wife then to his daughter. He tells me what he spoke about with them, since he spoke in his native tongue. I am able to catch the jist of some words, not knowing his language, enough to know he was telling the truth. He then spoke to some customer friends.

In between we tried to chat. We did more staring at each other than talking. I was surprised at myself that I was not cringing looking at him knowing his behavior of the night prior. Apparently my non reaction to him was not enough for him to not want to see me again. He must have some ego, larger than what I have noticed so far.

After a call, he tells me it is someone I know. He has to go to his office and would be back.

“Muse, I so sorry. I was late coming to meet you because he called and said he wanted to come and pick up papers.”

“Who?”

“So and So. You know him.”

“Oh, him. He is annoying.”

“It is business Muse.”

“I know, but for me it is not and I can say what I want.”

“Of course, Muse. You are right.”

He laughed because he knows I find this person distasteful. He is an old man and he swings. I can’t get into how I know that about him, but to see him, you are surprised that he can stand up by himself.

“I will be back soon Muse. You stay here, I will return quickly.”

“OK, you are coming back, right?” I doubted him for a split second.

“Yes. I come back.”

So I watch him rush out. I was sitting by myself. He left his coffee cup. I picked it up. It was still half full. He would come back I then thought.

I put on my sunglasses to look outside where it was bright. I was wearing an odd outfit. A battleship grey long sleeved shirt with a round neck at the base of my neck. It was pretty loose. I had it paired with a royal blue pair of yoga slacks that had slits on the sides that where about four inches long, exposing my ankles when I walked. I was wearing a pair of bright orange BCBG mules with a two inch black heel.

I was swinging my shoes as I sat crossed legged. I was barefooted in the mules. A woman came up to me and admired my shoes. I thanked her.

After a while, I see Quiet Man rushing into Starbucks. I act as if I did not watch him arrive.

He smiles at me broadly as he resumed his seat. He sighed. He did rush to return to me.

His phone starts ringing again. When he was done, I complained.

“Every time we try to talk together, we are interrupted by someone dropping in or calling. I find it annoying.”

“What you do Muse?” he pondered. He meant what could he do about it. Nothing much, I knew, but I still wanted to lodge my displeasure.

He told me some funny stories. I particularly liked the one about his almost octogenarian customer-friend who he takes to the strip club I guess as a business thank you or something like that. These old men go crazy for these girls who ripped them off. One spent FORTY THOUSAND DOLLARS, yes you read that right, $40,000.00 on one girl or giurrl. Quiet Man asked him why he did that when he did not even get any sex out of it? I could not stop laughing. What an idiot.

Another decided he needed Viagra. A magnum of Viagra as Quiet Man told the story. This aging man, who apparently was very wealthy, took a magnum of Viagra one night and called Quiet Man at home very late at night. He had to talk to Quiet Man. He was worried about the Viagra kicking in since he had heart trouble. It was not working, even after taking a magnum of it.

“You are kidding right? These men call you with their Viagra problems and why they are not getting an erection?”

“Yes, Muse,” he manages to get out while laughing.

Oh, these people are sick.

The phone rings again. He looks at his caller ID and rolls his eyes. It was Dane.

“Let me answer!” I pleaded. “I want to goof on him.”

“Hello,” I said.

I hear nothing.

“Hello!” I repeated.

Nothing. We looked at each other and tried not to laugh.

I hear Dane’s tiny soft voice, “Hello?” he said weakly, confused about who he called.

“Who is this?” I teasingly demanded.

“This is Dane,” he answered, the dope.

“Who is this with the beautiful voice?” he asked.

“Who do you think it is?”

“Oh, Muse, I would recognize your voice anywhere!”

My voice is pretty deep and sultry most times, but I would not call it beautiful.

Quiet Man rises to use the men’s room.

I told Dane I was with Quiet Man and wanted to tease him by answering his phone. Dane just got a “new” antique car and was calling Quiet Man to pick him up and go for lunch.

“Muse, I will pick you both up and buy you both lunch, do you want to do that?”

I did not know what to answer, knowing Quiet Man had to go and pick up his daughter. I only knew he was meeting a friend at 8 pm.

When Quiet Man returned, I gave him back his phone.

“No, Dane, I am sorry. I pick up my daughter. Yes, I be at club tonight at about ten THIURTY,” he says.

Hmmm, the club. Earlier I mentioned what was the fascination with the club. He said it is a part of business, something for the men to go and enjoy. I understand this, but I did not totally believe him either.

After a while, we rise to leave. He wanted me to walk across the way with him to the bank.

The sun was bright and shone down on us. I loved walking with him, being near him.

We get into the Bank and he is as gallant with me as he always is: holds the door, is attentive to me, acknowledges me and just makes me feel good all around.

We are then waiting on the road edge to cross. We get back to Starbucks to talk to the UPS man who just happened to have his package. He sent it back because it was the wrong item.

We started to walk towards our cars. He had to go and bring his daughter back from school. It was awkward saying goodbye since we both just stood together, seemingly difficult to part.

He put his arm around my waist. He was standing close to me so that I almost fit under his shoulder. I put my arm around his waist as we laughed and walked towards the parking.

He stood for a while in the sun with me. He looked down and arranged my hair that had been moved by the strong spring breeze. That small, kind gesture spoke volumes. It was the second time he has arranged my hair for me. To his liking, probably. It was very loving and sweet.

“OK, Muse,” he said and startled me at its abruptness, “I keep in touch with you, OK? I see you.”

Keep in touch with me? What was this, a parting of long duration? It sounded so odd. His abruptness was odd, but it is something he does on occasion. It seems as if he is forcing himself to leave and does it in this manner.

“OK, Quiet Man. I am not keeping you.”

He got into his Lexus while he watched me stand there. He smiled and I smiled back.

I go back to my office. I was fidgety again. I could not do much work. I decided to call Dane. I had heard from another friend who was supposed to help Dane with something. Dane mentioned earlier that he never got a returned call. It was because he was busy. We made plans for him to come and pick me up in his new convertible. I was going to show him how to use his new digital camera he is going to use on his two week European tour. He was going to call me when he was on his way so I would not have to wait for him to arrive.

So, being full of some weird energy, spurring the need to converse, I call Ricky.

“Hello Ricky,” I imitated Quiet Man’s pronunciation of his name.

“Oh, Muse, hello Love,” he says pleasantly.

We chatted for about an hour until Dane called me.

I could not help but ask him about Quiet Man and the night before. I could not help but ask him and besides, I felt safe asking him, for I do not believe he would betray my trust.

He saw what happened. He was hesitant to explain what he saw. His explanation was that Quiet Man was showing me in his way he cared about me. I was playing Devil’s Advocate and not telling him what I actually thought. It was also not the first time that Ricky explained that in their culture, “cheating” on their wives was not uncommon or looked down upon or something crazy like that. It does not mean they do not love their wives, he explains. I never understand this when he tells me. So I left it at that. I had to go and meet Dane.

I pull into the parking lot of the plaza on a hill overlooking the highway. I sit on the edge of the cement edge next to my vehicle. In a short while, I see this monstrosity of a convertible in the distance. I knew instantly it was Dane.

He pulls up, I jump in and kiss him hello on his cheek. He was trying to get a kiss on the lips, not a gross one, but a somewhat closed, friendly kiss on his lips.

He got himself a DD and we were off. We headed towards the next state and he wanted to keep going. We ended up driving very close to Quiet Man’s home. Dane was not sure exactly where it was and I told him I was not going to get into that with him, where the house was.

So we head back, pass a lake and see an Inn over looking the water. We pull in and the car faces the lake. Dane was wishing for something to be open on the water. There is only one restaurant on the water and it was not going to be open until April 26, said the sign I reminded him.

We watched the wedding for a while, I showed him how to use his camera without the benefit of the manual and he wanted to walk out towards the water. We returned to the car and I wanted him to call Quiet Man and goof on him to tell him where were where.

“Let’s goof on him. We will tell him we are here at the Inn and decided to elope and get married, because we were watching a wedding here today to inspire us, or something stupid like that,” I told him.

Dane did not bite. In fact, he relishes taking me out I have surmised. Quiet Man told me when I first met Dane that Dane does stuff like that to Quiet Man. He will go behind his back and talk directly to someone about business that Quiet Man knows and does business with as well. Quiet Man does not get mad at that he said, “It’s just Dane,” is his explanation, “He is old man, what I care? He is like that.”

So Dane is Dane. He did not want to joke around with Quiet Man.

So we continue on, sit by the edge of the lake at another point, and then he drops me off.

I bid him farewell and wished him a fun time at the club.

“You want to go to the club, Muse?”

“No I don’t Dane.”

“You went before,” he said.

“Yes, because you said Quiet Man and Ricky where going to show up, but they did not,” not wanting to tell him he tricked me.

“I treated you like a gentleman, didn’t I Muse?”

“Yes, you did Dane.”

“You stayed almost to the end that night, Muse,” he rationalized.

“Ah, because you were my ride, Dane.”

He stopped trying to convince me. He likes going to the club to see the beautiful girls he told me during our ride. I told him, no, he likes to see naked girls and the girls I saw at the club where ugly, not beautiful.

I don’t understand this with these men and wanting me to go with them to a strip club. I will never figure it out at all.

And with that, I jumped out of his gigantic convertible and went to work out at the gym.

Uh-OH, Quiet Man!

Yesterday was Wednesday April 16, 2008. It was a long day. Very long.

Fred’s problem was festering in the midst of getting resolved. He was optimistic, and I was suspicious. Quiet Man was just pensive.

To start the day, I was in my office. I was just finishing with someone who asked me if I saw the paper. I did. My brother called me in the AM.

“Did you see the paper today?”

“No, why?”

“Just read it,” he said and hung up.

I read the paper on line and I see Fred made it’s headlines. Uh Oh, was what I first thought.

I had called Fred at the store, he did not answer. He usually arrives at 10 am and it was well before.

I ring Quiet Man. He did not read the papers. He was jovial and optimistic. He tells me that Fred is still home.

So I emailed him the article and we agreed to meet later for coffee.

It was around 1 pm and I called Ricky about something.

“Hello, Love!” he says, “I was just going to call you!”

Ricky is very sweet.

“You were?”

“I just passed your office and noticed you were there.”

“Well, where are you now?”

“Can I come over?”

“Yes, why not?”

And he keeps me on the line while I notice him in the parking lot.

“What is wrong with you Ricky, you are in the parking lot and you are still talking on the phone? Why don’t you just hang up and come on in?”

He started to laugh. “You see me, eh?” he said.

So Ricky comes in and he has this thing about keeping our chats to ourselves, meaning do not tell Quiet Man. I think it has something to do with Quiet Man telling me Ricky likes me.

“No,” said Ricky, “I will tell you what they think. They think we have something going on.”

“WHAT?”

“Yeah. That is what they think,” and he laughs.

Quiet Man and Fred asked Ricky if he knew where I lived. He said yes, he drives by almost everyday.

“Do you ever visit her?” they inquired of him.

“No,” he said.

But that was not juicy enough for them. Ricky said they are in some kind of life crisis or something like that thinking about sex all the time and imagining other people having sex.

Well I did not know if I agreed with that or not. Probably not.

I told Ricky I was dying for a nice smooth coffee. I was pretty tired and Quiet Man did not call.

“Do you want to have a coffee Ricky?”

“Yeah. But I have to go and see Fred first. I will meet you at Starbucks.”

“I want DD.”

“OK, but how are we going to do this?”

“Do what?”

“Don’t tell them we met today.”

“OK, no problem.”

“Let me call Quiet Man first and see if he answers,” I told Ricky.

I rang him and it went to voice mail. I made Ricky hang out for a few minutes while we talked the logistics of getting a coffee and he called Quiet Man for me on his phone to see if he answered. He did after a good long ring. I rolled me eyes at Ricky and he rolled them right back to me.

“Ok, see you at Fred’s,” he said.

“OK, I will get my DD and you can go to Starbucks.”

So I go back into my office, come out again and get into my car.

I decided to go to McDonald’s for an iced coffee. I go around the drive through, wait on line and then started to drive out.

I see Quiet Man in a Lexus in front of me. What on earth was he doing there?

I got behind him and started honking the horn and yelling out the window at him to stop holding up the damned traffic. He is waving his hand out of the driver’s window. I laugh heartily, easily amused by my childish antics.

I follow him to Fred’s store. I park next to him and he gets out of the car laughing.

“Hello Muse,” he said rolling the R’s in my name in that deep guttural speech of his.

“Hello Quiet Man,” I replied, “You don’t answer the phone?”

“Oh Muse, I no answer because I am busy,” he started. I debated whether I should point out I knew he answered for Ricky about ten minutes later and decided against it because I told Ricky I would not divulge his coming to my office to say hello.

So we laughed. It was good for me to see him. I can’t help but let him be a tonic for me, a source of pleasantness I need.

“So what were you doing at McDonald’s?”

“Oh, Ricky tells me he was here buying coffee, but he was not, he at Starbucks, so I was leaving, Muse, to see Fred.”

“Oh,” I replied not really believing it. Why can’t he just admit he was probably eating lunch at McDonald’s? Such information certainly cannot be harmful, can it?

We go into Fred’s store and we go in to the sanctity of the back office. Ricky is there with him and he greets me as if he had not seen me ten minutes earlier.

“Hi Ricky, how nice to see you.”

“Hello, Muse, very nice to see you,” he says as he rises so that Quiet Man and I can sit together and he can continue on with Fred.

“So Muse, what you think?” is the first thing Fred wants to know.

So we discuss his dilemma while they drink Starbucks and I down my DD.

We decide we will go to support Fred later that afternoon with his problem as it was displayed in the local paper.

So Fred has to leave in a hurry. Quiet Man tells me to meet him at his office.

I arrive there and he is in the parking lot with Ricky. They are admiring a luxury car that Ricky was contemplating purchasing, noting he already has one in black.

“Quiet Man, Fred said we have to be there by 4:30, not 5:00 pm like you wanted. We will miss it.”

“No Muse, they start later.”

“No Quiet Man they are not.”

So after waiting for the bantering about this car between Quiet Man and Ricky, I drove with Quiet Man in my car to go and support Fred.

It was a boring conversation during the fifteen minute ride.

We arrive at where we were supposed to go. We sit in the back as planned and we see Fred walk down the aisle. Then we see the rest of them follow.

“Ah, Quiet Man, we missed it.”

So we go outside and see Fred. A reporter is there to speak to him.

The problem was not solved, it got worse.

So Quiet Man drives with Fred back to the store were we agree to go and talk. Fred was visibly upset.

Upon arriving at the store, we sat in the back, talking about what happened. We hash and re-hash it all around.

It was a little bit beyond 7 pm and we leave the store.

The three of us are standing on the sidewalk. It was kind of awkward. Fred was down in the dumps and Quiet Man was unsuccessful in bringing him out of it.

“Do you guys want to go and have a cup of coffee or something?” I asked, trying to see if Fred wanted to keep talking about it more.

“No, no, Muse, I will go home,” he said, ”You go with Quiet Man.”

“No, Freddy,” said Quiet Man, I go with you to give me ride to office.”

“Do you want me to give you a ride?” I asked him, seeing how Fred was not so enthusiastic about it.

“Yes Quiet Man, let Muse take you.”

“No Freddy,” began Quiet Man.

“Why not Quiet Man?” interrupted Fred.

Exacerbated, Quiet Man says, ”I have to talk to you about something.”

“What is your problem, Quiet Man?” I demanded, “Why don’t you just say that to begin with so we don’t have to guess?”

He smiled at me.

“Muse, I may call you to go have drink with Mr. Wrong later,” he said under his breath.

Whatever. That was my reaction.

“You no have date tonight, do you?” he continued?

“No, I don’t have a date tonight,” I said sarcastically.

So I hugged Fred goodbye because he was leaving on a trip the next night and I did not think I would see him the next day.

I get into my car and I was famished. I did not eat all day. I was supposed to go the gym, but decided I was too tired. I decided to go and get a grilled chicken snacker at McDonald’s without cheese. So I did.

I was going to go back to the office to do some work, eat my snacker and then decide what to do next.

I just pulled into my parking lot and my cell rings.

It was Quiet Man.

“Muse?”

“Yes, Quiet Man?” I said, “Too bad I have not heard from you in so long.”

“Oh, whatever you say Muse,” he laughed.

“You want to have a drink with me?” he asked.

“Well why did you just not say that when I just saw you?”

“I no want Freddy to know. He ask questions.”

The second man today to keep a secret with me.

“OK, where do you want to go?” I had to now put my snacker in the fridge at the office because I did not want to take the time to brush my teeth.

We made plans to go to the next state to a nice place I have not been to, or at least since it changed hands. I was happy to be the guest of a man at an upscale bar. I drove to his office were he was waiting for me at my request so we could drive together. I hate walking into a bar to meet a man. I much rather arrive with him.

We arrive at the place. We park in tandem and he leads me to the front door. There was a man waiting to greet us as we enter.

“Good evening,” he says to me with a wide smile.

“Hello Gianni,” said Quiet Man to this person. He knew the blond haired man with a thick wave to his hair. He actually kind of reminded me of Kirstie Alley’s ex-husband, I forget his name.

“Gianni, this is my friend, Muse,” said Quiet Man.

I reached out to Gianni and firmly shook his hand as is my way. He had a wide and broad smile as he took my hand to greet me.

“A table, tonight, Quiet Man?”

“No, Gianni, we here for drink,” said Quiet Man, who is very gallant. He holds the door for me and he ushers me as if I was a delicate doll.

We seat ourselves at the bar. Quiet Man waits for me to seat myself on the barstools before he retires on one. Why does this man have to have such impeccable manners? Why is he so attentive to how to treat a woman as a lady? It confuses me, knowing him the way I do.

The bar also has a white linen restaurant. The lighting is seductively low, sleek and modernly attractive.

The bar is dark, shiny and sexy. There are three people present across to our right. An older couple and a man who appears well to do, sitting by himself. He is white haired and donning a cream sports coat with a pink striped open necked Polo long sleeved shirt. It was stiff with a buttoned down collar.

Quiet Man knows the bar tender.

“Allo, Carolina,” he says, “this is my friend, Muse,” he emphasizes.

She held her hand to mine. I was open, happy and forced myself to roll with this crap introduction. I was annoyed that I did not want a night of meeting people. I wanted to sit with him and drink. Talk to him and enjoy my friend, to whom I am utterly attracted.

“What you order, Muse?”

Earlier that day I had mentioned having Captain Morgan for the first time and was amazed that it was very smooth. I told him that my brother’s friend, who is interested in me, introduced me to the soothing stuff.

“I don’t know, Quiet Man, maybe Vodka, you know, it’s pretty much my drink.”

“You want Captain Morgan?”

“NO!” I scolded him, knowing his implication.

I ordered Belvedere on the rocks with a lemon and lime. He finally orders Bacardi and Coke and had to settle for Bacardi Gold and Coke.

We sat under the soft glow of the bar lights. He tells myself and then verified with Carolina various mish mashes of information about Mr. Wrong wanting her, or that the Dentist (who is repulsive to me) likes Carolina.

“Is her second job a stripper?” I interrupted him.

“No. She probation officer.”

So he leans into me to assess the other patrons. I sense he knows all of them. Of course he does. He is an Aquarius. They know all sorts of people. Carolina told us she was a Scorpio. No wonder she kept her distance with the inquiring Aquarian.

“Muse, you been here before?” I already told him this when he picked the place, but when it had a different name and owner. It was a while ago, about two years or more.

“Yes, I told you that.”

“You come here with boyfriend, no?”

“Yes,” I whined, “I told you that before.”

The Vodka was running through my veins at a rapid pace; not having ate, it took a good hold.

He wants to order something to eat.

He calls Gianni over to tell me what they had. I did not want anything I told him.

“How you no want, Muse? It is very good. Prosciutto, you want Prosciutto?”

“No. Get what you want.”

So he orders some elaborate dish. It comes with two tiny crostini with a bruschetta like topping, but it was not runny and the parsley, tomatoes and onion was so neatly and finely chopped it looked like teeny tiny building blocks.

“I no touch Muse,” he indicated to the tomato.

“Oh, I see,” I said to him, ”I will eat it for sure and then breathe on you.”

He despises onions. I informed Gianni of this who was quick to want to remove them so not to offend Quiet Man.

“No, Gianni, you leave here. I no touch. Muse eat.”

So he ate the thinly sliced ham with his fingers.

I pushed it around with my fork. He was encouraging me to ingest it, but if I ate anything, the Vodka would return it, I told him.

We were getting quite drunk at this point. My Vodka glass was a wonderful globe like work of art. It was delivered to me filled to the brim, with delicate ice cubes floating in it as it they were created for the glass. I was poking the bottom of the glass with my red swizzler stick, piercing the lemon and lime rinds floating around in my glass.

Quiet Man was to my right. I was wearing high heeled boots with flared pants with embroidered patterns around my hips and my ass. I had on a crew cut butter yellow long sleeved top that was loosely cut after it tapers from the around the waist line. It hugged my bust line nicely, showing it off. The yellow matched the yellow in the embroidery that graced the sage color of my pants.

I mostly sat crossed legged at the bar. He was mostly standing next to me.

He dialed Mr. Wrong, who I did not in particular want to see. Earlier in the day I had questioned Quiet Man about what was the fascination with he and Mr. Wrong? I accused him of being gay, which usually gets to him.

“Muse, Mr. Wrong is nice man,” he said, “He is good, good man.”

“So what. Why are you always with him? It is kind of sickening that you both go to the strip club.”

“No, we go different places Muse. Last night we drink at bar and he had fun telling me stories from college and he sing songs.”

“What, he sang songs to you?”

“He has nice voice, Muse.”

“Do you hear how you make it sound?”

“We drink and he sing.”

What he meant was they were rip roaring drunk and they sang god knows what, like two drunken sailors.

“You know, Mr. Wrong wishes he could divorce wife. But he has no chance.”

“Why? Mrs. Wrong has no clue either that her husband apparently feels this way.”

“The girl, she is still young. He no want to hurt her,” he said as he gutturally pronounced the ‘u’ and rolled the ‘r’ in hurt. The wrongs have a teenage daughter. Quiet Man calls her the girl.

So Mr. Wrong answers.

Quiet Man then puts his head to mine so our faces are touching so I can hear Mr. Wrong talk to Quite Man, who thinks his conversation is private.

I cannot help but notice how soft his face felt on mine. Wisps of his hair brushed against my forehead. I was not that interested in what Mr. Wrong was saying until I heard that he was unable to meet us, er, Quiet Man.

Quiet Man tells me he will not come because Mrs. Wrong is home and expects him to be as well. Little does she know how much Mr. Wrong does want to come and see Carolina, you know, the object of his current desire.

I asked Quiet Man about Belina, the other object of his affection, supposedly. He had this big explanation about it but it was not that interesting, and in the middle of it I interrupted him.

“Well, according to Dane, Quiet Man, you had something with Belina.”

He stepped back to look at me. I was giggling.

“Muse!” he said “Belina is my friend.” And with that I had to rehear about how they became friends, she knew no one and he helped her find her way. He had to remind me how much Belinda likes myself and my mother.

“Yes, yes, I know Quiet Man. I am not saying I do not like her, I do. You know what I mean.”

“Whatever you say Muse,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. When he says that, whether in jest or in annoyance, it usually means he will not argue with me and let me make any and all accusations to which he will pleasantly agree.

As the banter between us grew, we laughed hysterically together. We feed off of each other like moths to flames. He is a welcoming recipient to my issues, my barbs in jest, my one up on you remarks. He laughs and in intervals, returns my volleys.

So we are interrupted by the man in the Polo Shirt.

“Quiet Man, how are you tonight?” he shouts over.

“I am fine, Jules,” said Quiet Man, “I want to introduce you to my friend, Muse.”

“What are you doing with such a beautiful woman?” demands Jules. He was quite large, but with a nice face.

I rolled my eyes. These gratuitous remarks between men, a showing of respect. The top dog game.

Quiet Man holds his hand towards me as if he was on the Price is Right, showing off his wares.

“She is beautiful, no?” he said proudly.

So after the fanfare, the peacock show, the couple sitting next to Jules, seemed odd. Quiet Man whispers to me he will tell me later who they are. Which he did. It was the sister of the woman who cuts his hair.

“You remember Muse, the boy I had call you? That is aunt.”

Geez, what a freaking side show. I am thinking his wife is going to find out and get the wrong impression, well at least about me. I don’t even know if those people know Mrs. Quiet Man. I decided to not think about that.

Quiet Man taps my forearm gently.

“Muse, I go out. I come back.”

He was going to for a smoke. He is a chimney, poor thing.

“So, I heard what you do for a living,” pipes in Jules.

We learned prior that he was a Taurus. Quiet Man said, “Muse, you believe in that?”

“No, I just like to see if the personality trait is on or off, and it usually is on. It has served me well.”

He did not believe. So I said, listen, I will tell you what that Jules is like.

The love of food for a Taurean can be legendary. I explained to him I dated one for a very long time and went into explanations about dating one.

“You call boyfriend Muse, he no like me, no Muse?”

“No, Quiet Man, he does not like you, but I am not dating him.”

As we were chatting, we see the kitchen send out plates and plates of food. They placed them around Jules.

I poked Quiet Man and we laughed. He could not believe it. I told him to watch the way he ate. It would be delicate and deliberate or shoveled in. It was delicate. Jules was savoring every morsel. His eyes rolled in his head.

“Oh Muse, you are right,” laughed Quiet Man. We tried to keep it between ourselves, but Quiet Man was pretty loud.

We interrupted Jules’s eating, which is not a good thing. I was annoyed with him that he was trying to hit on me when Quiet Man was out smoking.

“Muse, you have a card?”

“No.”

“Well I do. I will give you two,” he said, you can write your information on the other and hand it back.”

So I did, because Quiet Man was not there and I needed something to do.

When Quiet Man returned, I filled him in. “I know, Muse, when I go, he talk to you. I know.”

Jules was not my type. He boasted about his wealth. Like I cared. He flattered himself. For all his efforts, which any effort on the part of a Taurean man towards any female, be sure it is energy not wasted. If they like you, it is obvious. And Jules was obvious.

Jules was also pretty controlling, believing I should be going along with him and his idea of me or whatever he was trying to discuss with me during the short smoke breaks Quiet Man was taking.

Knowing how to anger a Taurean, I snapped hard at him, directly and bluntly. He rudely throws his hand up at me to tell me, you don’t bother me and I won’t bother you.

Fine, I said to him, I am not the one trying to talk to me, you are. Like I would back down from him.

He turned his immense girth to the side so he was not looking at me. The poor chair was all I thought.

Quiet Man returns and we ignored him. I told Quiet Man that always happens to me. I always attract that type of man. If there is a Taurean male within eye shot of me, be sure they will trot their immense chest like figures towards me.

So Jules become emboldened. These men are quite stubborn when they want something or someone. There is not much difference in their minds.

“Ah, you know, Muse,” he geared up to try and trample me, the typical Taurean male reaction to not getting their own way when they care to do something about it, ”I am not the one here who is with a married man.”

He thought his aim was sharp and deep.

“Since you failed to understand it the first time, I will explain it again to you: I am his friend,” I said loudly while looking directly at him. “You don’t know me from Adam, and you think you can tell me about myself and him? You yourself just boasted you are married with six girlfriends, and looking at you, god know what they look like.”

He just looked at me. So I continued on.

“If you can’t understand the concept of a friend, which obviously cannot, since you find it acceptable to have six girlfriends when you have one wife, keep your unwanted assumptions to yourself.”

“I speak from experience,” he bellowed, “I know what I am looking at here.”

Of course Quiet Man is outside smoking and he comes in and Jules stops. I tell Quiet Man and he laughs. I told him I can handle myself.

So Jules decides to talk to Carolina. Quiet Man and I are watching. We continue to drink.

Jules seeing me and Quiet Man enjoying each other, just talking and laughing, decides again to address me.

“Carolina is one of my girlfriends,” he announces, quite proud of himself.

“Really?” I mocked.

“From the neck up,” he motions using his hand, trying to be charming.

“Prove it. Ask her,” I told him.

“Ya, ya, Muse,” I hear Quiet Man comment.

So he asks her and she blandly agrees with him. He found satisfaction, so he thought.

“But she will never be your girlfriend from the neck down!” I yelled over to him.

After that, he left me alone.

“Allo?” I hear.

“Who are you calling now?”

“Ricky,” he said with the heavily rolled R.

“Oh.”

I was getting very drunk by now, the Vodka was strong.

Quiet Man had long finished his Barcardi. He then found out from Carolina that there was no more Bacardi in the place. He decided to drink what I was drinking. He previously took a taste.

He gets his and is disgusted. It has a bad, strong taste, he said. Well, it is straight Vodka pretty much. You need to squirt the citrus in there, I told him as I did it for him.

“Sorry, I put my fingers in there, by mistake,” I told him.

“I no care, Muse. Put your whole hand.”

“Oh, you are sick,” I told him, smiling sideways to him.

He took another sip and it was not to his liking.

“Well what kind of woos are you? I can drink this and you cannot?”

“Ok, I finish Muse.”

So he did. When it was time to get the next drink, after much fan fare, he orders the Vodka again.

I was putting on my Dior lipstick in light pink. Carolina seems fascinated by it, why was I doing that?

“It is very moisturizing,” I informed.

I slathered it on for effect.

Jules was watching me across the bar.

“It is very light, but it makes your lips sparkle,” said Carolina.

It must have caught Jules’ eye.

Quiet Man’s phone is ringing. He talks for a while and says, here, you talk to her.

I motioned to try and find out who it is, but he shoved the phone at me.

Freddy, mouthed Quiet Man. Fred called in; Fred who Quiet Man did not want to know we were together.

“Oh, hi Fred, “ I said, trying to not be obvious, “How are you?”

“I am Ok, Muse,” he said.

“I wish you were with us,” I said to salve his ego and make him feel better.

“I do too,” he said.

And then I gave him back to Quiet Man. The weirdo.

Jules decided to leave the bar with his numerous doggie bags. He made a quiet exit.

Ricky then rang and he was lost. Carolina was trying to get Quiet Man’s attention when he was chatting with me, but he ignored her. I had to tell him, they were changing bar tenders, she had to go home.

So Ricky arrives and we have a chatty male bartender, who Quiet Man also knows. It is at this time that Quiet Man is very drunk and loud and attentive to me. The bartender was hanging out with us when I wished he would leave. Ricky orders a merlot. Quiet Man teases him about it, being a girly drink. It was well past ten at this point.

During the night, especially when Jules was entertaining us with trying to hit on me, Quiet Man was making me crazy. I had to act like nothing was going on. I had to ignore his hands running their way around my back. He gripped the ends of my hair that sat hovering over my ass, in his fingers, stating he loved that head of hair. To whom he was talking to I don’t know. He was just talking.

When I first feel his hand slip into my waist band, I almost jumped. The waist band on my slacks sat on my hips. His hand was smooth. He would run his hand in and out of my waist band and sometimes run it up the side of my exposed hip to my waist, as we spoke to each other. He would pivot his fingers on the small of my back, then open his palm to place it on my skin. His hand was smooth and rough in a manly sort of way. It was kind and gentle. He massaged me with his hand, by gently running his hand back and forth. It was not sexual in any way, but comforting and protective. He was so comfortable with it, as if we were together.

I enjoyed the smoothness of his hand. I enjoyed when he grabbed my shoulder and would pull me towards his side to hug me. I enjoyed looking into his eyes and laughing. I was just enjoying this man pay attention to me by holding onto me as if I were his.

I know I cannot be nor could he be mine. I am fine with that, but because he shows me affection, does not mean I have to reject it.

Whether that changes ever, will be an incontrollable, guilty act. This is the temptation I try to over come.

I do not know what he was thinking because I acted as if he never touched me. I continued on as if he was keeping his hands to himself. He continued on the same. It was like the white elephant in the room about his desire to touch me.

So Ricky is with us and we begin to joke with each other. We squeal at a cleverness only drunks know about. Quiet Man begins to speak about me.

“Muse, I wish you were my wife!”

Holy shit, what is he doing?

“Muse is beautiful giurrl. No Ricky?”

“Yes, she is!” agreed Ricky.

Quiet Man then tells Ricky what Jules was doing.

“What you do, Ricky, if you were here?”

“I would have told him to stop insulting my wife!”

And they squeal with laughter. I laughed too.

Quiet Man admits he was attracted to me the first time he laid eyes on me. He tells me that Bobble Head asked him what he found attractive about me.

I was pissed. He never told me he spoke to Bobble Head about this at all. I quiz him and he tells me it was probably during New Years.

“I say to Bobble Head, Ricky,” he told Ricky, “Muse is very sexy woman. I like the way Muse’s body is, it is very sexy. I like Muse’s way of moving. I like way Muse looks, I tell Bobble Head.”

Ricky is laughing. He is humoring his drunk friend. He gives me an acknowledging wink.

I start to interrogate Quiet Man. I was furious he was creating an impression I did not want. I am sure his reasons for telling Bobble Head this was to direct his remarks about me to Flat Foot. So does he think how does it look for a married man to be saying these things? Well, according to him, in that group, they all check out each other’s wives and they have a favorite they want to bang. It is sick, so they may not think anything of it at all.

“Muse,” he says, feeling emboldened. He had his hand in my waist band again. He began to gently squeeze my skin.

“What!” I say back to him.

He then grabs me from my seat, he pulls me towards him, his grip around my hips and runs his hands across my stomach. I was shocked. I could not believe this man.

He places me between his legs. I am sure he wanted me to press up against his groin. Not that I did not think of that myself.

I had to keep reminding myself I am just his friend. His friend.

I wanted to lean into him, hold his head in my hands and relentlessly tease him to the point where he would take charge and make me pant by anticipating his kiss. At the thought of his breathe on mine, I began to swoon.

Collecting my thoughts, I laughed. He was staring at me. I had Ricky to my left. He did not raise an eyebrow to my current position between Quiet Man’s legs. His thigh was feeling pretty good to me right then and there, but I had to eradicate any erotic thoughts. How I longed to touch him back, to touch his cheek to mine, hold his face and look into his eyes, letting him do whatever he wanted. I didn’t let it happen.

So I decided when I was finished thinking things I should not, I stepped back and he let me out from between his legs.

I stood next to him. We began to argue like two bantering lovers. The suggestive rants where thrashed back and forth. The sexual electricity was firing from end to end.

Ricky shook his head and told us, “I don’t know how you two don’t love each other.”

We continued to tease each other. My hand was leaning on his leg or his was on mine. He would laugh and grab my head and look into my eyes, his forehead on mine. He would then release me to look at me.

I had on more of the pink Dior lipstick. I was wondering if he liked it or not. I certainly did. As I was thinking of what it would be like to kiss this man, I had my lips slightly parted and my eyes slinking into a sultry state.

Quiet Man who was standing up by now, looking at me, without warning, grabs my head with his hands. He pulls me towards him and kisses me open mouthed.

I felt his lips part as I refused to open mine. He was kissing me with my mouth closed. I could not believe he was doing this. He kisses me none the less. I felt his moist and soft lips on mine. He then pulls back.


Uh OH.

All I could do was act like it did not happen. Ricky saw it. The bartender saw it, but I did not care. It did not happen.

After a while, Quiet Man, who took a sip of his drink, looks down at me, and says “Muse! what kind of lipstick you have?” as he wipes his mouth, apparently not liking the taste of Dior pink.

“The kind you wanted,” I told him laughing. What can you say to a man who just grabbed you and kissed you like that?

He must think me so odd; he makes a move and I stand there like a dead woman. I refuse to open my mouth, or kiss him back.

I think that if he did that in private, it would have been a different story. I do not know if I could not kiss him back. If I did, I know it would not end there. So, in a way, it was good the way he did it-so it would not get worse.

We end up leaving the bar since they were closing. Ricky was our designated driver. He has a big truck with a full back seat. We both sat in the back.

“Ricky, you must really feel like a taxi man,” I said.

“Guys, can someone please sit in the front!” pleads Ricky.

“No, Ricky, I stay with Muse!”

So we sat. Quiet Man had busy hands back there. He finally decided to lay his head on my lap. I could not help but hold his chest or stroke his soft hair. I wanted to kiss him as if he was my child. An innocent kiss. But I did not. He held my hand on his chest for a while, until he decided to answer Ricky’s pleas for where we were headed.

To the strip club of course!

I told him I was not going there.

“Muse, where else can you get drink in this city at this time of night?”

“I don’t care.”

By this time, Ricky had his truck parked in the lot for the strip club.

Quite Man pleads with me to go in. I would not budge. We run through my reasons. He pleads, “Muse, you will be with two men, they no think nothing of you.”

“I don’t care. I am not going. Ricky, will you please explain to him what I mean?”

So Ricky explains. Quiet Man is now out of the truck. He explains he just wants a drink. I don’t care.

He begins to pull me out of the cab by my feet until he can grip my calf.

He finally understands I will not go.

“You stay in truck then, that is what you are saying?”

“Yes, I will stay in the truck. You go in.”

“No, I want you go with me. We have a drink and we leave.”

“No.”

So he gets back into the truck and we decide to go eat eggs at the diner.

The diner. Do you think we had a fun waitress? No. We get the freaking ugly assed miserable pork chop, for those of you who don’t know, it’s a Portugese.

Quiet Man is still a little drunk and he sits next to me. He has his arm around the top of the booth above me. He runs his hands up and down my thigh that is closest to him. He plays with my hair. If my legs are crossed he slips his fingers between my thighs just enough so they are held. I continue on as if he is not doing any of these things, regardless of all the old bitties watching him caress me. Some of those women decide to flirt with my handsome Quiet Man. Well, he is not mine, but he is in a weird way. I felt comforted while his arm was around me, my head, if I so chose, fitting snugly underneath his arm into his armpit.

He is polite to those ladies, but he like I, does not care to be interrupted by strangers when we do not want to talk to them.

So on the way back to get our cars, he sat in the front seat. He reached his hand back to grab onto my legs. He reached further and gripped my thigh, squeezing it. He was conversing with Ricky who probably knew what he was doing. He kept driving and talking. Mainly, he was holding my hand, rubbing my palms, intertwining his fingers in mine, rubbing my fingertips between his or holding my cupped hand in his. He was feeling the smoothness of my fingertips. I would run my smaller hand into his palm. The soothing relief it was to have his hand in mine was a good tonic for me. It released my worries for the moment. It upped my confidence, knowing his attraction to me. Regardless of its consummation, I know he wants me and for now, it is enough.

After a while, I would reach over him in the front seat. He was now speaking politics to the point Ricky and I could not stand it any more.

So I place my hands gently over his mouth as if to make him stop talking. He holds my hands with his while kissing the inside of my hands. His lips and soft and velvety. I remove my hands from his mouth and I stroke his hair as we are riding down the highway to where we had our cars.

We pull into the parking lot next to where we parked. We continued to talk for a good while. Quiet Man kept his grip on my hands and legs. When I felt him release, I knew he was ready to go.

To my surprise, he leaves the truck and gets into his car. He does not wait for me to finish talking to Ricky. He has his door open and says goodbye to me from there. How odd. I smile and wave goodbye. He smiles back.

As I follow Ricky to the highway, I see Quiet Man drive away in the opposite direction. My cell rings.

It is Ricky. He talked to me until I was safely inside my home.

He is a sweetheart all around. That is why I tell Fred and Quiet Man I ‘love’ Ricky.

Fred & Quiet Man

So the next morning I arrive at the office and I am sitting at the conference table that is piled with mountains of paperwork and things I currently work on, for since I have a rapid, scattered, mind, so is how I work.

I had made myself a cup of coffee since the stress present in my life currently has still taken hold of me, showing it’s ugly self on my face. It’s abhorrent.

I hoped the coffee would at least enliven me to the tasks ahead of me.

Furiously, I begin to tackle the pile of work. I am speaking on the phone and my cell begins to ring. As usual, I am searching the piles to see where the sound is coming from, really just trying to find my buried tiny purse that I seem to keep believing I can cram every piece of crap I need to carry: check book, lipstick, overflowing wallet carrying receipts and currently an inordinate amount of coin, slim mirror and two sets of keys on two key chains, the slim lock for the gym and a pen.

As I am speaking, the annoying cell tone is continuing to repeat. I find the phone and look at the caller ID. It is Quiet Man’s number.

As the person I am speaking to is continuing to talk, my mind is wandering to the caller ID that displays his initial. Should I answer, should I not? The phone is continuing to ring. Subconsciously I shove the phone back into the purse. It eventually goes to voice mail. Thirty seconds later, the phone pager goes off. An off, and off. I did not realize how long that could go on.

I complete my phone call and then mull around in my mind what I was going to do: call him back or not?

While I was deciding, I continued to work. Less than fifteen minutes later, he was back at it. I did not answer the phone.

Over two and a half hours later, I decided to ring him. Quiet Man is not one to call more than once, so I was wondering why he did and paged me to boot which he never did. He is very assured in that manner; slickly assured, which was why it took him two months to call to see what had happened with me. My curiosity was stronger than my female rebuff.

“Allo,” he says confidently.

“Well?” I ask.

“Muse, Allo.”

“Hi Quiet Man.”

“Where are you Muse?”

“Why?”

“We are celebrating!”

“You are?”

“Since last night!”

“Why?”

“Freddie, his problem is solved,” he said firmly, flatly and definitively.

“Are you kidding? How?”

So he tells me and I am in disbelief.

“Well, I told him to do that a long, long time ago, but of course, since I am female, none of you listen to me,” I said firmly, but I was happy for Fred and shocked he finally did something.

“No, no Muse, we listen to you.”

“No you don’t because if you did, this would have been resolved a long time ago. “

“MUSE! It is I, Fred!” I hear him bellow into the phone. He must have grabbed it from Quiet Man.

“Hi Fred, I am so glad you finally decided to listen to me. I am so glad for you anyway. So what happened?”

He and Quiet Man take turns grabbing the phone from each other and filling me in on this coup. They were also drinking. It was now early afternoon and Quiet Man first rang me at 10:30 am. But I don’t blame them, if I were Fred, I would be singing in the streets too.

So we change over from cell phone to land lines since they had so much to tell me.

Quiet Man eventually explains why he was unable to speak to me since he was ina bar the night before awaiting the news of what resulted from the meeting where all this goodness for Fred took place. He told me he was with Mr. Wrong. The only connection I see with Mr. Wrong and Quiet Man is strip clubs and money. That is it.

Fred also announces definitively he will be running for publicc office.

“Really Fred? You decided to go for it?”

“Oh yes Muse! Will you help me?”

Quiet Man had already told me this and I repeated my strong support and I told him I would do everything to help him.

“You know Fred what I will do for you?”

“What Muse?”

“I will interview Marsha and let her tell people what she thinks of all your infidelity.”

They laughed and laughed.

“Don’t think I won’t do it!” I jokingly warned them.

“Oh Marsha won’t do it,” said Fred.

“That is what you think, Fred. She would do it in a heart beat.”

Quiet Man told me of some of Marsha’s tactics, such as sitting in the parking lot across the street from where Fred’s store was which was probably like a football field length away or more, with binoculars. At Christmas, she was watching the store and caught Fred having a drink with two twenty year old floozies, but to Fred’s defense, that is all he was really doing, was having a drink. Of course, Quiet Man and I would howl over Fred’s woes with Marsha.


So Fred’s land line was also for his store, and he put me on hold, but I hung up because I was also working. So after doing this twice, I hung up on the third hold and called Quiet Man on his cell. By this time we must have been talking for an hour and a half to two hours.

“Allo Muse.”

“How long are you going to be there?”

“I will be here,” he said which was his way of saying for a while.

Fred pipes in and wants Bobble Head’s phone number. He is hot after Bobble Head and since they were drinking, Fred thinks his chances are prime, since Flat Foot left her. I was howling thinking about this.

We talked about why on earth was he so interested in that Bobble Head? Quiet Man and I in the past mused about it that she was Fred’s size. Fred in his mind is a towering hunk of a macho man. He is not.

Fred goes on about myself. He is trying to be flattering, he is trying to cajole. He is getting no where.

“Fred, Fred, stop,” I told him, “don’t you know by now that what ever comes out of your mouth has not any effect on me?”

Quiet Man pipes in, “Muse, it is Quiet Man. You are on speaker phone, there is no secrets between us.”

These two are like two school boys.

“Well the same goes for you too,” I told him.

“Muse, Ricky has soft spot for you Muse,” Quiet Man said.

“What?” I demanded, and I really did not hear him correctly.

“Ricky likes you.”

“OK, Quiet Man, I am SO SICK OF THIS,” I started, ”first it is Fred, then it is Flat Foot, then it was Berman, then is was Dane, now it is Ricky.”

“It is true Muse,” he said firmly.

“Now why do you think that?”

“Because you talk to Ricky and he no tell me. He never tell me you talk to him, that is why.”

“You are ridiculous.”

What I should have said is that the only man who is interested in me, is you, Quiet Man. But I did not. He would have his slick answer of “I love my wife”, despite all the stripper girls he “befriends”.

So he tipped his hand to me again, because he would never care a lick if Ricky spoke to me 24/7 without his knowledge. In his mind, during the two months I had not any contact with him, I had contact with Ricky and Dane. In his mind, that must mean something, even if it was within the last two weeks and the only time in two months I first spoke to any of them.

As to Fred being interested, perhaps because Fred likes what he cannot have, but Quiet Man would never say that about Fred, for it would ruin whatever financial interests lie between he and Fred, and Fred holds the cards on that one.

So back to Bobble Head.

The last time Fred saw Bobble Head was during the Wrong’s party.

“OK, I will bring her cell number to you. I have to go to the bank first, though and I will be down. I have to see this first hand, Fred telling her he want her, on the phone none the less.”

“Ok, Muse, see you,” gurgled Quiet Man.

In addition to drunk dialing Bobble Head, these two where sharing the love with others.

I could not resist that they were drunk dialing people, of course with adult reasons. They were calling the uppity office of the person who was taken completely by surprise that Fred’s problem was resolved. They were calling to thank him for his help. To invite him out for a drink or dinner, for all his kindness in resolving the problem. In truth, this man was the root of all of Fred’s problems and this man was caught by surprise when the problem was solved without his knowledge. The fury was immense from this man. Fred and Quiet Man were fueling it steadily and with much comedy.

For some reason, speaking to those two opened the flood gates to relieve the stress I was harboring. I felt free and happy. I was laughing and enjoying their craziness.

As I go to get into my car, my sister in law pulls in; she was supposed to call first, which she did not. It was my nephew’s birthday. CD was going to be a year old. I was to watch him for twenty minutes while she picked up the balloons.

So I told her to meet me in the parking lot of Fred’s store while I went to the bank.

She instead meets me in Fred’s store. Fred was very confused. I grabbed CD on my hip and she is handing me all this baby stuff, and I was like what is all this about? I was not going to baby sit him for hours. So instead of discussing it with her, I explained what happened to Fred and he did not have a problem with it, so finally my sister in law decides to go and get the freaking balloons. She has this odd fascination with having something to do with Fred. She knows he is wealthy and it bothers me she panders or whatever she does.

I enter the back office with CD on my hip.

Quiet Man looks up and at CD.

Fred is right behind me.

We sit and talk and Fred and I ask Quiet Man if he remembers CD. He was confused and I was confused. He remembers only a small baby and I don’t remember him seeing CD. We straighten out the stupid confusion, I not remembering my sister in law was with me the night after my mother was killed and Quiet Man not putting that 6 months had passed since then.

CD at first did not let Quiet Man touch his shoe. I was quite surprised at how gentle and sweet Quiet Man was with CD. CD could not stop staring at Quiet Man, while in my arms.

Fred, of course, not being center of even CD’s attention was unflattering to his ego. That is how large his ego is, truly.

Eventually CD made it into Quiet Man’s arms. I was amazed at the interest Quiet Man had with CD. CD made a friend that day and CD just could not stop looking at Quiet Man’s face. Quiet Man cooed and snuggled with him and spoke to him with that deep, thick accent in a baby talk sort of way, while I was speaking with Fred. He held CD by his waist, and paid such close attention to CD, I was shocked by his way with children.

CD is such a good baby, Fred and Quiet Man noticed. He is, he is a wonderful baby. And very strikingly beautiful for a boy. Never has this baby not commanded attention from strangers. He is going to be a handful when he is older we predict.

So when my sister in law arrives to pick up her son, I made the mistake of not bringing her son to her, so she came back and since she did not make any moves of retrieving her son, Fred asked her to sit down. I cringed listening to her banter on, trying to find a way to give her back CD and get her on her way. My brother would not approve and it bothered me.

So, when she left, we got on with our business, eh fun.

We re-hashed the coup that was torturing the man who tortured Fred and cost him hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Fred calls him again and he is not in his office. The news was spreading and the calls where coming in and Quiet Man and I enjoyed the speaker phone listening to those who did not know we were listening. One tells Fred to not stir the pot, and Quite Man and I laugh to ourselves, like it would be advice not taken.

Then a lull came in, and Fred’s insurance man arrived. A nice, older middle aged man who repeats himself beyond belief. It boring and engaged Fred and Quiet Man in at least a thirty minute conversation about how Fred should drive himself and his family to Florida. Finally it was over. Quiet Man told me that that was the topic of conversation for over a week between them.

So I had shown Fred the photo I of a single woman who is stunningly gorgeous that I know. I was teasing him that what the hell did he see in Bobble Head and why he wanted, a married man none the less, sloppy seconds?

So he sees the photo of the woman. He squealed. Quiet Man was impressed. He said, “Freddy, this woman has no problems, she have men after her continuously.”

I was laughing because this woman resides in Europe and would probably NEVER have any interest in Fred, who was planning chartering a flight there to meet her.

But, I discovered I did not have Bobble Head’s number in my phone. Fred said she gave it to him. So he looks for her number again. I told him the first three numbers. I eventually find it in my computer and he dials.

The phone rings and who answers? Flat Foot.

OMG, Quiet Man and I are dying laughing. Fred looks over to us and is flapping his hand, not knowing what to say, but he glides into a conversation with Flat Foot who ended up being unsuspected but quite confused at the call.

After the call, we scream laughing. I told him to watch the numbers since he and her have the same cell service and same area code.

So we eventually find the number and he calls her. The Bobble Head. She has no idea that he had already discussed with us all the amorous feelings he has for her, but does not want a girl friend. I mentioned she wanted to marry Flat Foot and have children. Fred was willing to give her a child. There was no stopping him.

The call to Bobble Head was funny for Quite Man and I and I would think embarrassing for Fred, but with his ego, he does not notice Bobble Head’s stammering and stuttering trying to get him off of her phone.

With his gratuitous sweethearts and lame explanations of why he was calling, he actually said he was going through his phone book and came across her number, she stops him mid sentence and says did he speak to Flat Foot? No, he said, he had not-which was a lie because he just called him

With a bunch of OH, OHs, Bobble Head who was at the airport heading towards Vegas, promised to return the call.

Fred truly believe she will call. We took bets. I said she thought Fred was calling on behalf of Flat Foot. Quiet Man agreed, of course Fred did not.

He was going to promise Bobble Head the sun, the moon, stays at luxurious hotels, flights to Europe, a turn in the sack, even it if meant at the local cheesy hotel.

As time went on, Fred asks if I wanted anything to drink. No, but Quite Man wanted coffee.

“You no want anything Muse?”

“No, I am fine.”

“Muse wants her orange drink,” he tells Fred.

“Yes, Muse, you like the orange drink,” replied Fred.

“Yes, but I don’t want one now,” I told them and we went around and around about my orange IZZI from Starbucks.

So to stretch my legs I went with Quiet Man to get his coffee.

We return and discussed things more and other items. I mentioned I had to go to CD’s birthday party and Quiet Man informs me of the time. He told me it was 6:40 pm, and I darted up, said my good bye and left. I found out it was only 5:40 pm, thank God the man misread the clock.

I left that store that evening with a bit lighter step. I felt re-freshed and good enough to continue to face the hardships that are before me that hopefully will end before the year is out. I have a long, toiled road to travel currently. Their company was a well tonic for me, as they always have been; that is why we have befriended each other, despite the resulting complications. And that is what I focus to enjoy.

You have Re-emerged, Quiet Man.

I have been exhausted to the point of mental collapse lately, meaning I have had so much to do along with the accompanying stress, that I tend to shut down and am incapable of doing nothing.

Yesterday, we had an examination of witnesses concerning my mother’s estate. It was a free for all and emotionally exhausting. If I could have stabbed one of the attorneys in his black, disgusting, filthy heart, I would have, dozens of times. It is this type of person that I would not save from the clutches of Hilter and to tell you the truth, I wished it was 1942 not 2008.

So, for since at least February, I have been running the hamster wheel type of existence. Moving a mile a minute, yet getting nowhere.

I have almost become a recluse only visiting my brother, his wife and my beautiful nephew week in and week out.

Now, I should be working on my taxes, but I can’t, though I am furiously working to get them filed on time. Anal that I am, I insist on doing it all myself and I am bleary eyed late into the night if I am not stressed out and unable to fall asleep until well past 1 am.

Why am I complaining you ask?

Well, since early February, some of you may have noticed that I have not written much, much less mentioned Quiet Man.

Since about the first week of February, I have not seen nor heard from him. In fact, I was so busy with my own things, I barely noticed or missed him.

During the examination yesterday I forgot to shut off my cell phone. In order to stop it from ringing I answered it and just said, “I am in the middle of an exam right now I cannot talk,” without looking at who called.

It was Quiet Man. After two months. What the hell.

So, it was about 12:30 pm when he called. I returned the call at about say 8:45 pm. He did not answer.

In addition to having been up since about 6 am the night before only having slept a few hours, and when I returned his call, I had not even been home all day, not eaten a thing, and only had two coffees to keep me going, I was feeling the exhaustion return in droves. I had arrived where my car was parked for the day and discovered after being dropped off that I did not have my car keys nor my house keys which were with the car keys.


I called a friend with whom I was with earlier who lives about 30 minutes away, and they had my keys, damned them, but it really was my fault for when I was with them earlier in the evening, I let my keys fall out of my bag, which I should learn to close regularly.

So having arranged for a ride to get my keys, Quiet Man rings me at about 9:45 pm. I was chatting with my other brother’s girlfriend at the time.

I see his initial on the caller ID. I have never put his name in the phone, just his first initial.

I sighed heavily while answering the phone, “Ah, hello?”

“Allo Muse,” the familiar voice flowed.

“Yes, Quiet Man, hello?”

I was not going to carry this conversation, for he paused as if I was to jump in there bestowing upon him an adulation for not hearing his voice in two months.

There was deadness.

“Ah, Muse, hello. How are you?”

“Are you there Quiet Man?” I said as if I did not hear him.

“How have you been?”

“Fine and you?” I decided to reply.

“I am well.”

“You are? Well I heard that a friend of yours committed suicide; Ricky told me when I wanted to confirm what Dane told me.”

“Dane?”

“Yes, he called me about a couple of weeks ago about something.”

I had not heard from Dane since I last went out with him. He is quite a character. I waited to call him back for about a week and a half. He did not notice.

I told him I was going to call him but when I found out it was not a family member, per Ricky, I was not going to call him.

It sounded like he was in a crowded bar, but what was I thinking? The likelihood was that this man was in a strip club.

I had a hard time hearing him and I was at a point in the road where the cell would go dead. So I told him this and the phone went out.

But not before I told him “I hate your guts!” And after a pause I laughed. He had just asked me something to which that was a reply in the opposite: he was wondering why he did not hear from me in so long, he suggested that his thought was that I was mad at him.

So I arrive home and called him. No answer so I paged him instead of leaving a message. After a while, I called him again. No answer. I did not leave a message.

That night, I forced myself to fall asleep at about 2 am. I was exhausted but unable to sleep.

Awaking still very tired and it showing on my face, I rang a few people, deciding to not rush into work this morning. Speaking with a friend, we tell each other our woes in a conversation that lasted about an hour. Then my phone rang.

“Allo,”

“Who is this?” I did not recognize his voice, then realized it was him.

“You caught me at home, Quiet Man,” I told him. I briefly filled him in on my reason for still being home at about 10 am.

So he pussy foots around since I remained obviously guarded with him, surprised he called after I told him I hated his guts.

Finally, he says what is on his mind.

“I no talk to you in two months, Muse.”

“So you have been keeping track Quite Man?”

“Yes. It is almost to the day.”

“Good for you.”

He continues on, unsure of why I admonish him and still speak to him. I am also thinking the same thing, and hating I am not hanging up on him.

I had truly not thought of him, not had time. And it was a good thing not having to have the temptation. I was grinding away in my mind why did he have to call me? I was in a routine in my life without him, now he is disrupting me.

I did not realize that when I spoke with Dane and then Ricky that they probably told Quiet Man. I was so busy with me, that it had not crossed my mind that he may call.

“Yes, Muse, yes,” he said, when the topic of the last time we met approached, by his own words.

“Well, Quiet Man, I was going to go to that party, but decided to not go. I was busy.”

“Yes, I talk to so and so about some problem Fred has, you know problem.”

“Yep. And what is wrong with Fred?”

Quiet Man paused. He knew what I meant.

“Yes, when I asked you to go with us to the party, I talk to Fred. I want Muse to go, I tell him.”

“You know Quiet Man, I don’t care. I was asked to go with someone else, as I told you, but I did not go.”

His speech was becoming more labored and rapid. I was becoming more judgmental.

“I want you go, Muse. But Fred no want Marsha to cause problem. He say that, Muse. That is reason.”

This was becoming such an odd conversation all because Quiet Man needed some soul cleansing, or he missed me or his ego was deflated since he believed I have ignored him, but not purposefully only because I was not thinking about doing anything at all.

“You know Quiet Man, I don’t believe you and it is not because I care about what you just said or about not hearing from you since then. Do you understand that?”

“Muse, Marsha has problem with you; she very jealous of you.”

“Well, I seem to distinctly remember you professing that Marsha was not jealous of me; she was only worried about what kind of career that I have because it threatened her, or so you said, and, as I distinctly remember the fan fare you made out of that on that day in Fred’s office.”

He did not say anything.

“Or, is it something else? Or was that lie?”

“No lie, Muse.”

So we continued on; he told me the story about his friend who hung himself; how he had been with him the day he killed himself. Quiet Man was visiting his family in Europe. His friend had spent and hour and a half with him the day he died the same day Quiet Man flew home. He then had to go back for the funeral.

“So, you saw your mother?”

“Yes, Muse,” and he went into a semi detailed account of his trip. He went by himself.

“Muse, you know I was going to Europe,” he threw in as an excuse as to why he was not around for fifteen days of the last two months.

“What?” I asked him. I was just listening to him and he throws in these gratuitous remarks. He must have imagined I was complaining where was he all this time. I never said a word.

In fact, he was supposed to go to Europe in January. But I did not remind him of that. In fact, he must believe I keep his itinerary. I do not. In fact, he must believe I was wondering where he was and missed him. I did not. So odd was it for me to listen to him chide me for knowing he was going. The best remedy is to completely ignore him, which I did. He got the hint.

So he brings up the man with the flat feet. He had made ridiculous predictions about me ending up with this person. I am not attracted to him at all. But, I relayed to him a story about how I thought of what he said, telling him he better not run with the story. He did.

“Muse, I predict and you will see.””

“Predict all you want. It won’t happen.”

I think he does this because he is jealous of the man with the flat feet, but why he thinks I am interested in him is beyond me. To egg him on, I tell him a few choice stories involving the man with the flat feet and how I was glad I did not see him nor Fred at the house parties in the last two months. It would bother him, that is why I said it.

I was going to inform him about Wimpy, but he would not see the humor in it, he would go and find out who he was. I don’t even know him, Wimpy.

“So what you hear about man with flat feet Muse?”

“Plenty. What have you heard?”

“Much.”

“So tell me.”

“No, you tell me.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Ok, Muse I tell you.”

His news: Flat foot packed up and left the bobble head and is living with his parents.

OMG!!!!!!! I did not hear that, so he had me hooked, and filled me in. So I told him now I understood why his mother called me on Easter to go somewhere with her and him. I was wondering why bobble head was not going with them.

“See Muse, I tell you truth not too long ago.”

“Oh, stop patting yourself on the back. I have to call his mother.”

So we fill each other in on other gossip we know. And we laugh. He then tells me news he thinks I want to hear and believes that I would believe he accomplished some coup for me. He did not, I know it and tell him so.

Despite the sharp responses, he continues on to speak with me, confused by my intermittent laughter and joking.

“Muse, I need to tell you something. You will be happy about news.”

“Really? Well tell me.”

He stammers and pauses.

“So, what is the problem you can’t tell me?”

He trips over his words and I don’t catch on right away.

“Oh, you mean you have to tell me in person?”

“Yes.”

“It figures. Okay,” I told him.

The conversation lasted about two hours. Believe it, it was that long.

So since my day was pretty much shot and I did not leave the house until well past 1:30 pm, I arrived at my office thinking I will RUSH through everything and call him to have coffee and find out what the hell he could not tell me on the phone.

It was a warm day today so I dressed casually. I wore my BCCBG sweat slacks with elaborate embroidery down the calf portion of the pant leg. I put on only mascara on my top lids and a glittery pink Dior lipstick.

I turned back towards my bedroom to splash on some perfume.

I am retarded. I was secretly, from myself, eager to see him. I was hating I felt that way and was too weak to not be pulled towards him.

I come back out of my office primped and freshly lipstick-ed.

I ring him.

“Are you busy?” I said laughingly.

“Ah, yes Muse.”

“For how long?”

“An hour?”

“Too long,” I said and hung up.

So it dwelled on me as I continued to waste away my day by not working.

Two hours later I rang him. No answer.

I went back to the office and put out a load of work trying to make up for taking a mental health break.

At about 6 pm I called him again. He answered.

“You are still busy?”

“I am occupied, yes, Muse. But I will call you.”

“What?” I barked.

“I will call you. Later, Muse, I call, Ok?”

“Ok.”

So as I sit here tonight, I am wondering how in the span of a couple of hours, I had become putty in his hands?

Tomorrow is another day and the putty may well just harden.

Uncleanly

I go to the gym on a pretty regular basis. I hate going to the gym, but I go, being anal about paying for something and having to get my money's worth.

My gym visit usually lasts from 1.5 hours to maybe 2. Most of it sometimes is due to my sitting on the damned machines after a "set" day dreaming, stroking the end of my braid which curls like a piggy tail or staring at the television during boring Jeopardy! or Wheel of Fortune.

In between the routine I established for myself, you know, arc trainer, weights, crunches, sit ups, leg work and stretching, I go to the bathroom to clean off what ever gross shit I got from whatever was left on the machine I just used, since the gym is a haven for germs and God knows what else.

The ladies' locker room has a tile floor which despite whatever scrubbing they do, it still looks dirty.

So I go to the sinks, which is the closest to the entrance to the locker room. Usually I have to leave the area because some gross slob who just used the facilities and who must have eaten the worst kind of food, that they had to deposit it in the gym toilet and stink up the place.

On this particular day, there was no sewer smell to deal with. So I go and start to wash my hands and I cannot help but hear the loud cackle coming from two of the three stalls behind me.

I notice that one of the ladies is standing in the stall in her socks-on the gross tile floor in the stall that ALWAYS has issues-it is the most stopped up due to some sow taking a big crap that clogs the toilet-or there is pee all over the floor by the toilet and other disgusting things. Never once had I seen the cleaners clean the floors by the toilets. And this idiot not only is standing in her bare socks, but has ALL her clothes on the floor that she was changing into, despite the existence of a changing room with a door. Her pocket book and car keys where also on the floor.

So the two loudmouths exit as I was standing there being grossed out, thinking things like they probably go home and walk around their house in the same socks, their sneakers probably have so much filth and germs in there, that they should be thrown the hell out.

I see these two old biker type chicks, happy as clams with themselves. They both wash their hands, but I was thinking, you pigs, what about your disgusting feet and clothes you put on after they laid on the peed and pooped on floor that was probably never disinfected?

Blech.

Wimpy

Tonight, I went to a St. Patrick's Day party at the house of the man with flat feet.

I went because of the gossipy rumors that surround this man and his bobble head girlfriend whom most of us dislike for her snideness at the rest of us for having the privilege of living with him and supporting him at the same time. She is in her very late 30's, close to 40 and he is just 29.

Anyway, the point is, much of these get togethers with these people are the same-drink, drink, drink.

I sat there and was served four differing green drinks, which after the sip of the first, the alchohol could have pickled me just fine if I was dead.

I was dressed very casually in a black sweat suit adorned with fake diamonds along my hips and down the front of the top along both zipper runs with a dangling silver star- and also having silver stars dangling from the zippers on ass pockets. It was, of course, in conservative silver adorned taste.

I haphazardly put on some foundation with an almost fleshy colored pink cream eyeshadow with a palish pink Dior lipstick.

My hair is slightly curled, but it was not holding the tiny curls I made with the tiny slender curling iron, despite being shellacked with hairspray.

The length of my hair is now almost past my ass, and because of the winter, it is either china girl straight to a certain extent or thick with long waves running throughout. Tonight it was thick.

I wore it much like Morticia Adams, parted in the middle, and it naturally made the waves around my forehead and face before it cascades down past my bosom to my hips.

Upon arrival at the house, drink was in full swing. I said my greetings and decided to grab a plate of corned beef that was sliced veil thick, a wedge of cabbage and split boiled red potatoes. I dolloped spicy mustard on the side. I was drinking a diet coke with ice that made the soda taste not so good.

As I was picking up a plastic white dinner plate, this man, who had on those sleek geeky glasses being worn by the NYC types, who has a head of completely white hair with some sort of weird ass spikes on top, decides he will speak with me.

How I despise a man who decides to flirt with you while you are piling food on your plate.

The un-artful requests for an introduction makes me want to gag. He looked gay to me, but his flirting was making it an odd combination. He was not very tall and slender. Not my type.

I respond to his request for an introduction in the blandest manner I can muster because my host is near, and he jumps into introducing us by getting up to make the introduction that was already accomplished.

I managed to get away because Trudy, the mother of my host, approached and we were happy to see each other, like two school girls.

Throughout the night, this wimpy guy, believing himself dashing and debonair, would saunter over to me to "toast" my drink, or say hello. I was managing quite nicely to avoid him.

When Trudy and her husband were leaving, I decided to depart as well.

The wimpy guy comes over and re-asks me my name. He had already questioned where I lived and announced we lived close to each other. I corrected him by pointing out that he was not listening to what I said, since we did not live near each other. He attempted for the third time that night to converse with me by stating that I looked so familiar to him. He switched gears and asked me what I did for a living. I told him and he believed he automatically could use my services.

By this time, Trudy and the bobble head noticed the imposition but viewed it as an opportunity for encouragement. They did their best to endear him to me, which required zero effort and when they realized this, they attempted to make me import interest to him.

I told him I had to leave and get my coat.

He was persistent. For the second time that night he complimented my hair and stated it would be hard to forget the mane I sport. I cringed. And, as usual, I laughed so I did not have to respond at all.

"And now that I have seen your smile, it is something I cannot forget" he offered as he observed me put on my coat.

I wished right then and there I had a puke pot handy.

Ignoring him, I headed out the door in relief, hoping I would not see him ever again.

Two Faced

This is the face of a baby born in India who is now being worshipped as a "god" because of the duality of her appearance.

You can read the story here on Fox News.

I wonder if all her eyes can see, if both her noses inhale for her and if she can use both mouths.

Waifs

Ok, another gym post, but it is because I can't stand these two.

I look at them and I think freaking ass waifs. They are young, probably under 20. One is chunkier than the other, in a jock-ish sort of way who always has an almost severe pony tail she sports. The other, the more slender and feminate, wears her hair in different hair do's depending on which machine she is working, so it ranges from drippy down to oh so thrown together in a pony tail bun-you know the kind, you start to make a bun and then pull a long tail out of its middle and leave it there.

These two can't exercise unless they share machines, and trade off while talking like idiots. If they were talking trash, maybe I would be mildly entertained. But they don't.

While the jock-ish one exercises with more vigor, the slender one prefers to twirl her hair between her fingers, because at this time she is not actually on a machine; she is usually near one or leaning on one, while she profers her pearls of wisdom or is receiving them from the jock-ish one.

They have the most annoying habit of stopping in the middle of using the machines to contemplate what jewel of information the other may have just imparted to them. They both do it; and they would do themselves much good if they could produce and process information that does not make them look up for a while and then roll their eyes trying to figure out what was just told to them.

So while this is all going on, it interrupts my routine because I cannot do the circuit in the order I would like. When I go out of order, then they end up going out of order and it goes on and on, with each of them following the other with hair twirling and in depth conversation only those two nitwits can sustain.

Earlier tonight, they became my workout buddies. They were everywhere, in unison. When they were not chatting with each other, one would work the machine and the other would stand guard like a moronic statuette with the blank stare.

Finally one of them realized the spinning class was starting without them.

Oh, the joy of such small miracles.

Toilet Trouble

I cannot believe this news item from foxnews.com today. I just can't. I posted the story below. You can find the story here.

Who the hell can sit on a toilet for TWO, not one, but two YEARS? And her ass skin grew around the toilet seat. AND her boyfriend brought her food and water for two years like it was normal, before deciding to call the police to pry her and the toilet seat out of the bathroom.

And the neighbor, was not surprised. Why? I can't get over why she never left the toilet to begin with and how she still had a boyfriend who accomodated her.

The stench must have been unbearable.

I wonder if she and the boyfriend had any kind of sex. Yeah, that is what I thought. Eww.

Up Date: They lived in a trailer; the Sheriff now assumes they both had diminished capacity even though the boyfriend worked in an antique store ( the irony: trailer dweller selling antiques) and wants to charge him with mistreatment of a dependent adult. You can read it here.

___________________________________

Kansas Police: Woman Pried From Boyfriend's Toilet After Sitting on It for 2 Years

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

WICHITA, Kan. —
Deputies say a woman in western Kansas became stuck on her boyfriend's toilet after sitting on it for two years.

Ness County Sheriff Bryan Whipple said it appeared the 35-year-old Ness City woman's skin had grown around the seat. She initially refused emergency medical services but was finally convinced by responders and her boyfriend that she needed to be checked out at a hospital.

"We pried the toilet seat off with a pry bar and the seat went with her to the hospital," Whipple said. "The hospital removed it."

Whipple said investigators planned to present their report Wednesday to the county attorney, who will determine whether any charges should be filed against the woman's 36-year-old boyfriend.

"She was not glued. She was not tied. She was just physically stuck by her body," Whipple said. "It is hard to imagine. ... I still have a hard time imagining it myself."

He told investigators he brought his girlfriend food and water, and asked her every day to come out of the bathroom.

"And her reply would be, `Maybe tomorrow,"' Whipple said. "According to him, she did not want to leave the bathroom."

The boyfriend called police on Feb. 27 to report that "there was something wrong with his girlfriend," Whipple said, adding that he never explained why it took him two years to call.

Police found the clothed woman sitting on the toilet, her sweat pants down to her mid-thigh. She was "somewhat disoriented," and her legs looked like they had atrophied, Whipple said.

"She said that she didn't need any help, that she was OK and did not want to leave," he said.

She was taken to a hospital in Wichita, about 150 miles southeast of Ness City. Whipple said she has refused to cooperate with medical providers or law enforcement investigators.

Authorities said they did not know if she was mentally or physically disabled.

Police have declined to release the couple's names, but the house where authorities say the incident happened is listed in public records as the residence of Kory McFarren. No one answered his home phone number.

The case has been the buzz Ness City, said James Ellis, a neighbor.

"I don't think anybody can make any sense out of it," he said.

Ellis said he had known the woman since she was a child but that he had not seen her for at least six years.

He said she had a tough childhood after her mother died at a young age and apparently was usually kept inside the house as she grew up. At one time the woman worked for a long-term care facility, he said, but he did not know what kind of work she did there.

"It really doesn't surprise me," Ellis said of the bathroom incident. "What surprises me is somebody wasn't called in a bit earlier."

Gym People

Being a member of the gym, club or whatever you call that sweaty establishment has disgusted me.

Yes, I hate going. Yes, I hate the damned sweating. Yes, I hate that the damned place is never cold in the summer or hot in the winter, but what I hate more, and yes hate is a strong word, but I use it often and loosely, regardless, is the gym people.

Yeah, that is what I call them. They make me sick.

When you go often enough as I have managed as of late, there are the annoying regulars.

One in particular is this lady. I cannot tell her age, but she is most likely 55 or older. I don't think she knows it either, which is OK, but she does absolutely nothing to help herself.

I am an irregular attender of the gym and she is there more often when I show up than not.

I can't tell if she had a bad tan (it is winter, I know), a bad dye job substituting for a tan, or that is her real skin color. She makes it worse by wearing dark blue and black. It makes her look darker. She wears shorts so you can get a good look at her almost slender, bumpy thighs. Her hair is coarse and straw like, not good qualities when your hair is a deeper black than India Ink.

But the worst indescretions occurs in the ladies' locker room. She walks around naked.

Can I go to the sink to wash off the sweat that was pouring from me after 30-40 minutes of doing the arc trainer? Yes, I can, but as soon as I look into the mirror, there she is bent over, naked, with her boobs swinging. I mean those suckers have got to be real, they jiggle like jello while pointing straight down. I guess it was important to be bent over once you get out of the shower and have to crouch in the shower aisle.

Today, I walked in after the arc trainer and there she is, reaching up for something on the wall, naked, now with her boobs, which of course where a different color than the rest of her, sticking straight out and looking like a tiny cone.

I don't know if I can handle being grossed out on every gym day.

Modesty is certainly lacking in the locker room and I feel captive, not being able to do anything about it at all.

Today my concerns where dwarfed by a severely overweight from the waist down woman with a delicate and tiny head. She was shellacking her hair in order to go and languish on the tread mill.

Unbelievable.

Liar, Liar Pants on Fire

Ah. It is Sunday. I am tired, as usual. So I rose and made myself a tea how I like it-without sugar and a dollop of skim.

Checking the RSS feeds to see who updated what and wondering why am I reading the ridiculous blog of a Pioneer Woman, I carouse around the news sites.

Apparently I am a liar. Did not know it, either. What I read on the internet was pretty stupid in itself and probably an age old debate: women are liars. And it is written by a woman as if it would gloss over.

So, we lie about everything, what we spend, our infidelity, our bad mothering, and about how smart our kids are. See the pattern? The focus of lying stems for being married.

And to balance out the debate, men are also liars, but only because they want to assure that in terms of sex, the bird in the hand won't leave because of the bird in the bush, marriage not being a factor in the least.
Lying is something that is as pervasive among us as the air we breathe, unfortunately. We have all lied and been lied to, but not all lies make us a liar. The rigidity of the standard is what perplexes most and puts the rest of us into the pot. Some people preferred to be lied to and there others who speak the mean truth regardless of its effect.

To be sure, to not tell a lie would make us a social outcast for no one would want to be around us reminding them of their faults. To never lie would cause an injustice to those who need it most, and to not agree with that concept would also lend approval to the slavery of the south or the Holocaust.

So when is a lie a lie? I don't know. The complexity for me lies in it's application.

White Into the Night

I thought I would post a photo of the winter wonderland we are experiencing. I love it when the roads are black and the snow has not melted. The pine trees are dressed in their lush and heavy winter white, glistening not only the lilting light of the day but the luminous nightly moon, illuminating everything.

When I come home late into the night, I feel the resonating quiet of the cold air and my eyes dance over the moon lit snow, under the dresses of luscious conifer which at times sway to the whispering musical wind that makes it way through from the north.

There is something special about a snow covered earth. It is as if it's a magical wonderland that beckons you to revel in it's purity. The slender icicles harbor the reflective light tossed to it from the snow below and I remember that as a small girl I would not hesitate to pluck one from its perch and slide it into my mouth, drinking the cold, refreshing drink it became.

The air is crisp yet warming; I feel it's cool caress and am able to welcome it into my lungs, refreshing my sense of smell as it passes.

A slight wind rustles my long hair and kisses my now rosy cheeks. My eyes widen to take in the beauty of the white night as I look at familiar surroundings, remembering the past.

As I turn my back to this wondrous landscape to enter the warmth of my home, I think of how lucky I am to have partaken, if ever so briefly, in the virginal beauty of such nights.

My Valentine

As I am writing this, it is almost one half hour before Valetine's Day is over. It was an uneventful day, except one thing.

I arrived home, tired and worn. The day was cold but did not chill.

This holiday from early on has not interested me, ever. In fact, I had to remind myself throughout the day to remember.

I pulled into my dark driveway, looking at the house, empty and alone. Glancing at the front door, I saw what looked like a notice propped up on the firewood I had on the slate porch and was too lazy to move into the house.

Damn. Was it some kind of notice of some kind? Eh, I would soon find out.

I collected my things from my vehicle and trudged in the semi-lit walk to the front door. I picked up the white paper that was oddly and prominently placed.

It dropped from my hand.

There was something attached to it; I was so annoyed that it fell, I barely glanced at it in the semi dark light.

As my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit area that only let me view things in black and white, I noticed the single, luscious long stemmed rose.

Who could have left it I wondered?

I opened the door, entered the foyer and headed into the house.

Putting my things down, I looked at the red velvety rose. The note was written to me in a handwriting I recognized.

"Dear Aunt Muse, would you be my first Valentine? Love, CD."

I started to weep. CD is my beautiful ten month old nephew, my most wonderful Valentine.

You are so Complicated, Quiet Man

I went out with Dane on a Thursday night.

On Saturday morning, Quiet Man rang.

I was lounging actually just finishing the post about Dane when my cell sounded. I looked and noticed that Quiet Man was calling me from the office number rather than his cell phone as he usually does. I also did not forget that I did not hear from him in about two weeks. His curiosity or jealously must have peaked.

About three weeks ago, I got a call from Quiet Man on a Sunday. I was just coming out of the mall in the next state. I had just picked up some things at Sephora including Agent Provocateur, actually.

He wanted me to do some work for a friend and Ricky had mentioned it to me about two weeks prior. At the end of what he wanted to talk to me about, when he asked where I was, I told him.

"Oh, Muse, so how is Dick?" he asked me slyly.

Now Quiet Man knows that Dick lives in the city where the TJMaxx is located, as does Harry. Why was he asking me about Dick? He was jealous. I could not believe it, that he showed some indications of keeping track of men in my life.

"No, Quiet Man, I am not with Dick," I shot back.

"Ok, Muse," he replied.

Smug, stupid man.

This was after the New Year.

Prior to the New Year, the last I heard from Quiet Man was Christmas Eve. He was supposed to meet me at Fred’s. We were going to hang out with Fred until he closed his store to keep him company. I went to see Fred by myself to wish him Merry Christmas and to drop off some homemade cookies for his children. I did not hear from Quiet Man until after I left Fred’s. He had left me a message on my home phone about having gone to Fred’s earlier in the afternoon. I returned his call and we chatted. He was to come to his office sometime on Christmas day and we were going to meet to greet each other Merry Christmas.

It turned out he did not call on Christmas as he had on Thanksgiving. But I did not give it much thought. I found out later from him that he was sickly on Christmas and stayed home. But he made the point to tell me without my asking.

So, back to the first of the year.

I had spent New Year's with Dick. Quiet Man was supposed to spend it with his wife. We were both invited to the same New Year's Eve party by the same person. I told he and Fred I was not going. I went last year and it was not that great and those two did not go at all. On Christmas Eve, I was sitting in Fred's store and the person who was having the New Year's party came in and asked Fred if Quiet Man was going to his party. Fred said yes he was and then motioned to me with his hidden hand that Quiet Man was not going to go. After the man left, Fred said they just tell the guy yes, but no one was going to go, yet Fred still was sending in a donation for the fundraiser, the reason for the party.

So, I never thought about it again, except when the person who was throwing the party's mother called me umpteen times on New Year's Eve day to see if I was going to go. I was with Dick, who spent the night, and took me for a seafood lunch along the water in the next state. She called while we were eating.

When we went to walk on the beach, I returned her call and told her I was not going because I was in the next state. She insisted that I could still go since it started at 9 pm and it was only 3 pm now. She would not take no for an answer and insisted I bring Dick, to lure me to attend.

If I went, I did not want to go with Dick, but I could not tell him that. I had been avoiding the party also because of Dick. He wanted to do something for New Year's but did not know what. I wanted to stay home. Dick was up for that, but wanted us to go to a house party of a mutual friend.

We headed back home and I had to go to the supermarket if we were going to celebrate ourselves at home. I also dreaded, sort of, Dick's amorous nature, because he really does tire me out and when he is in the mood, he is not subtle at all about what he wants and when he wants it. I also felt sick from eating so much fried seafood, Dick's absolute favorite. This was what he wanted to do for New Year's Eve day and by gosh we did it!
While at the supermarket, Dick decides we should go to the house party and he calls our friend, who is happy we are coming. This friend, Teddy, also has a thing for me, despite being married. Teddy is a good friend and will drop anything to come and help me. He also professed his love for me a few years ago much to my surprise. I was so grossed out, I ignored his behavior and we never spoke about it at all. Dick is aware that Teddy is, as he puts it, "in love" with me. It never bothered Dick, because we would laugh about it a lot.

So, we make our way to Teddy's house where it was so snowy. Dick loves driving "recklessly" in bad weather despite knowing I am white knuckled on the OH SHIT bar of the car.

I was bored out of my mind at Teddy's house. Dick did not get ready to leave until about 4:30 am. After being pulled over by a cop at 5 am on the way home, I was able to fall blissfully asleep in my own bed without Dick at 6:00 am.

When Quiet Man called me on January 3rd he wanted to know where I was on New Year's Eve. He went to the party! He was looking for me. He told me that his wife did not want to go and he decided he was going because he believed I was going to be there.

He told me that the mother of the guy who threw the party even was asking him where I was. Great, I thought. I must be the most gossiped about person in our social circle if the mother, Trudy, was asking Quiet Man about me, when I had already told her I was with Dick. Maybe she thought I lied to her and was with Quiet Man on the QT.

"Quiet Man, I spent New Year's Eve with Dick," I began and made my New Year's seem so fantastic I almost made myself go to confession for telling such big tales.

He did not comment after I told him that. He just went on to tell me how there were not any attractive women at the party. He told me a funny story about a woman who was trying to pick him up and was so DIRECT. She was asking him if he would dance with her and he told her NO, very flatly and meanly. She did not give up and then tried to put a party hat on his head and he took it off and threw it to the ground. This still did not detract her. She continued to come up to him and whine about if he would take her out on the dance floor. He refused.

As I was listening to him, I said, “Why did you just not say, leave me alone, honey, I am married?!”

Quiet Man ignored this because the point of his story was two fold in my opinion: He was trying to let me know he missed me at the party and then found out that I was with Dick, so then he tried to get me jealous about the woman that was hitting on him. Of course, if I was there, this would not be happening to him because he basically almost ignores anyone around us.

I was second guessing my rational decision that it was a good thing I was not with Quiet Man on New Year’s. For one, he is married. Two he did not ask me about going to the party nor made plans that we would both show up. If I was there, and got drunk, I think our guards would have been let down, or the very least, Quiet Man would have suggested we leave together, if only to go and talk by ourselves and from how steamy the last time we did that, I was not sure if I had the will power to say no.

Sometimes when I see this man, my mouth fills with such lust that I can taste him. My heart races and I begin to feel the swell of attraction that overwhelms my body. I feel the rush of blood through my veins that makes my face flush and makes it difficult to breathe normally. It is a struggle to think clearly. It is almost impossible to not touch him in any manner, to keep to myself. I imagine the sensation of being in his arms, where, if he does not hold me, I would collapse, from sheer attraction.

One thing I fail utterly at is to not look at him. He must see what he does to me, how can he not? If I avoid eye contact with him, it is easier, because I can see his wife and what a tonic to reality that becomes.

So, I answered my cell phone.

“Ah low, Muse?!” said the deep tonal voice.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Ah, it is I, Quiet Man, Muse,” he replied, sounding confused.

“Oh, Quiet Man,” I said calmly, “hi; I did not know it was you because I did not recognize the number.” He was calling from his office phone and I knew it was the office phone.

“I dialed your cell phone, not your office,” he told me.

“No, this number, 123 555 1212 was what showed up on my cell. I did not recognize it Quiet Man.”

“It did not say it was my office?”

I laughed at his thought that my cellular company would have the name of his business flash on my phone.

“So how have you been, Quiet Man?” I asked him. I knew why he was calling.

“Muse, how are you?” he snickered, “I hear you were with Dane last night, no?”

So I rehashed the story. Quiet Man then told me his version and the truth lies somewhere in the middle between his version and Dane’s. Quiet Man was so very interested in what happened that he spent an hour on the phone with me discussing the events of two nights prior. And discussing his analysis of how Dane operates in general.

He told me he was busy at the office when Dane called him and he told Dane that he was not sure if he could make it for a drink.

“Muse, I am so sorry,” he told me, “I would have liked to have gone with you for a drink and have fun with you.”

“Really?” I begrudgingly pondered.

“So what else Dane do Muse?”

“Well, he pointed out to me one of the girls there,” I began.

“Who?” he asked innocently.

“Oh, the one who wants a more serious relationship with you, that is who,” I said directly.

“Me?” he said.

I was unable to catch on the phone if he was lying or not. I really did not care much because I was disgusted and changed the subject.

We continued chatting until he had to answer his cell phone.

“Muse, I need to take this call,” he told me.

“Fine. Bye Quiet Man, take your call,” I replied.

“OK, Muse.”

As he sometimes does, he remains silent on the line without hanging up.

When I heard him begin to speak, after such an inordinate pause, I hung up on him.

I find his behavior so odd that it defies any sort of ascertainable logic. If it is not that, then I am severely lacking in recognition skill, and I do not believe that is the case. No, I do not.

Agent Provocateur

I am sitting here this morning while I should be at work. But I am not.

Multitasking as usual, lounging in bed, talking on the phone, listening to the television, reading the Internet and typing.

I am exhausted, tired and getting sick from smelling Agent Provocateur.

Why do you ask?

I will tell you.

Despite the life sucking experiences in the probate court I have to deal with, I have tried to manage to hold it together. Really. But, the stress is overwhelming. I am convinced it is going to age me.

The day before yesterday I had endured a six hour session with a judge, a graduate of a law school that leaves much to be desired and whose stubbornness and demeanor is more akin to Adolf H. rather than to the position he holds. A product of political pull rather than intelligence. This is sad.

So, yesterday after running around to pay property taxes, I went to my office to have a cup of coffee and try and relax while catching up with what I needed to do.

A long time friend came to see me about something and he was off almost as soon as he came, asking me if he could see me today. Fine, I told him. Not a problem. I wanted some calm solitude to drink my coffee and call a friend to discuss what was occurring in the probate court, my current, unwelcome obsession.

The phone rings.

"Hello!" said the voice.

"Muse?" it pondered, "It's Dane!"

Dane if any of you can recall is a friend of Quiet Man. I met Dane when Fred had his car Christmas Party.

Prior to yesterday, about I would say 2-3 weeks ago, I was talking to Quiet Man on the telephone.

"Muse, what you doing?" he asked me.

"Why?" I asked suspiciously.

"You free to have lunch?"

"Why?"

"Dane is here with me and we go to get lunch and we want you to join us," he explained.

"Sorry Quiet Man, I have a lunch date."

"You do?"

"Yes, with George," I said, hoping it would sting.

“Oh.”

“Well Quiet Man, I have to go, tell Dane I said hello,” as I hung up the phone.

About the second week of December, Dane called me about a friend of mine who may be able to put him in touch with Martha Stewart. He wanted to cook for her because he felt she would enjoy it. Do not even begin to try and rationalize the irrationality of that concept. Quiet Man rolled his eyes when Dane was putting this thought of his out into our conversation which had nothing to do with Martha Stewart.

He gave me his business card which had a glossy photograph on each side, so I could email him my friend’s response. [Which I did.]

Dane also told me that he was going to have rotator cuff surgery just before Christmas. Why someone would choose to have that at that time, is beyond logic, but he just wanted to get it over with; and it could not wait until after Jan 1, just for personal convenience? No, it could not according to Dane.

After Christmas sometime, Quiet Man told me Dane had his operation and was fine. I asked him to send Dane my best regards. He said he would. Then he said Dane would invite me to his daughter’s wedding. Does that make sense? No it does not, but this is Quiet Man. Sending one’s regards now equates to a statement of invitation by people I do not even know.

So yesterday; I was quite surprised to hear Dane’s voice. He wanted to ask my opinion on something very idiotic. This is a married 71 year old man. So I answered it suspicious this was not the reason for the call.

It was not, as I suspected. He invited me to go out with him and Quiet Man later that evening for a drink. I told him I had a dinner date but was free after that.

“Oh, you have a date?”

“No Dane, it’s just for dinner, nothing at all. I could use a drink to take the edge off all of this stress I am under right now.”

So he told me he was going to call me. I told him I was so tired and very tired looking.

“Oh, you are gorgeous!” he said, trying to gain favor with false compliments I ignore.

Throughout the conversation I thought Quiet Man was with him, but Dane told me he was not with him. I hung up and really did not think about it at all.

After dinner, my cell rang. It was about 9 pm. I remembered Dane. Well, a man who does what he says he would do, and I pondered, do men have to reach the age of 71 to accomplish that?

“Muse!” he bellowed into the phone, “Are you coming?”

“Well is Quiet Man going?” I asked. This was supposed to be a group thing. I was looking forward to de-stressing with Quiet Man, laughing and joking.

Earlier that day, Dane asked me if he should tell Quiet Man that I was going or should we surprise him. I told him he better tell him since I had not heard from Quiet Man nor seen him in about two weeks.

“Quiet Man and Ricky are going, Muse,” Dane told me.

“Well, were are we going? We are going to get a drink, right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to come and pick you up at your house? Because I can get you if you want,” Dane continued.

“I don’t want to go to the strip club Dane, and if that are the plans you made with Quiet Man, I don’t want to go.”

“Why? It does not matter. We will all be there.”

And on and on it went. The allure of a drink and some company compelled me to agree to meet him at the local Dunkin’Donuts’ parking lot.

“What are you driving Dane?”

“BMW.”

“What color?” I inquired, as if he would be the only BMW in the lot.

“Maroon.”

“OK,” I said, thinking, I never saw a maroon BMW.

After going around and around about Quiet Man and Ricky still being at the office and how they were getting there and not being able to hear Dane clearly on the cell phone since he was on his cell phone, I told him he could fetch me at the local DD.

Having only one half hour before I had to meet Dane, I get home with twenty minutes to spare. I did put on some Smashbox something or other on my sallow skin, a touch of lipstick to guard against chapped lips, a touch of mascara to my outer lashes and for good measure, a dose of Agent Provocateur.

I made it to the DD about two or three minutes after Dane. He was parked aggressively, in his shiny maroon 7 series. He was dressed in brown and camel, to match his light tan leather interior.

I got out of my vehicle, locked it and said hello to Dane and kissed him on his cheek after he rolled down his window.

“Get in, get in!” he said.

How cute I thought, he was all duded out. He told me his wife knew he was going to meet me. Good I said, it’s nice to know you can be friends with someone and go out for a nice drink. I really believe this.

On the ride, I chatted with Dane about his operation. I told him I knew he was doing well because Quiet Man told me he was ok and I sent my regards.

“You did, Muse?”

“Why of course, Dane. I was worried about you and the operation. And I told Quiet Man so.”

He turned to look at me and said, “You know what?”

“What Dane?”

“He never told me,” as he was trying to understand why Quiet man did not tell him of my message.

“I have no idea Dane, but I told him and even when he wanted me to go to lunch with you a while ago, I told him again.”

“Well, he did not tell me.”

So he drives me to the damned go-go club. I really did not want to go in, but he assured me Quiet Man and Ricky were not far behind.


The weirdo feeling of walking into a men’s club with a 71 year old man who is not even charged a cover is difficult to explain.

We sat there until 1 am while Dane greeted most of the strippers, one of whom he believed was an undercover cop. A young man came over to say hello to him. Dane told me that Quiet Man was going to back him up in his restaurant venture. Are you kidding me?

As the night progressed, all I could do was down Belvedere on the rocks. After the second one, I became very chatty because my usual rationale is I can talk a man out of anything he is thinking about me I don’t want him to think. And I think at the end of the night, I did.

What I feel sort of bad about was that since Dane brought up Quiet Man quite a bit, I blathered on and on and told Dane stories about what Fred, Quiet Man and I did in the past. Fred does not like Dane. I can’t remember why, I told Dane, but Quiet Man told me the reason. I thought it was about some go go girl. You know, the usual.

I think I burst Quiet Man’s cover because I do not think Quiet Man told Dane the truth about some things, which are not bad things but were told to impress Dane. I was on my third Vodka at that point and I was also doing a good job about Fred.

I think this was precipitated by Dane pointing out one stripper [eh go go girl, sorry] that was after Quiet Man. Dane said her problem was she wanted something serious with him. This made me re-evaluate Quiet Man. Dane insinuated and rolled his eyes like a Ferris Wheel when I told him about Fred and Ricky insisting to me that Quiet Man was so faithful to his wife, which I never believed.

I also filled in Dane about how I met Quiet Man and gave him a condensed version of our short history. Dane was eye popping as he listened to me. I believe he was getting annoyed the conversation was dominated by my tipsy recants of Quiet Man’s antics with me.

The vodka was a-talking last night. I am now beginning to regret having spoken the truth right now.

Needless to say Quiet Man and Ricky did not show up or call Dane, who called them twice each.

I interrogated Dane about whether it was it the truth they were supposed to meet us, and he said yes; then admitted that Ricky said he might come. He told me that Quiet Man was the one who had the idea to come that night, despite having been there, I think with Dane and Mr. Wrong the night before, who spent about $4,000.00 on champagne. According to Dane, Quiet Man stops in at the go go club almost every night.

This whole thing is kinda sick, and way too much information.

The owner of the club stops by to say hello to Dane. He is dressed very conservatively in a sweater vest. Harry knows this man as well and his wife owns the club. I felt better when I saw some normally dressed women in the club who were the wife/owner and other women Dane said helped the girls get dressed [or undressed if you ask me.]

The male owner welcomed me to his club and I informed him I was told I was going out for a drink, not coming to his strip club and made it quite clear I was not happy about it; he said something I cannot now recall, but I told him a lady has not any trouble being a lady in any circumstance. He looked surprised when I said that and he agreed.

Dane was commenting that the people in the club were probably wondering what a beautiful girl like myself was going with an old man like he. I agreed with him, especially in strip club. I was wondering the same thing myself, having been sort of duped to accompany him. But it made me laugh because men do not think normally.

As I sat in the half booth with a table in front of us, I had my legs crossed over one another. I was wearing sweat slacks by Vertigo with elaborate embroidery along the hips and on my hip bones on the front. I had on high heeled boots and were swinging them hoping that Quiet Man would show up.

He did not. And I was so grateful I did not call him at all. I wonder why neither he nor Ricky answered Dane’s call.

Dane told me that when he told Quiet Man I was going with him, Quiet Man was very surprised and could not believe I was going.

“Yes she is,” Dane told him.

This was all before I even said yes to Dane. I was beginning to wonder about Dane. I was so glad the go go girls kept him occupied by saying hello. I was beginning to think they would able to hustle Dane for some cash; he is a wealthy man. Dane told me they know they cannot hustle him and he pays them their lap dance money but does not accept the lap dance.

Then why on earth are so you fixated with a go go club? He usually sits at the bar and pays the pole dancer inside the bar money. Oh, in Dane’s’ world, that makes sense.

I looked around at the unattractive men and women who were in this place. One particular nerdy pasty man was hanging on to stripper who was with him most of the night. He provided entertainment while we were on the Quiet Man wait for an arrival that did not occur. She took him for at least three lap dances for the time we paid attention to them. In between, she would dump him for other business. When she went back to him, he held on to her as if she was a real girl friend and he would look at Dane and I sideways as if to say, see the hot girl I have?

I could not believe this man thought like that. Did not the payment of money give him any clue as to why this woman was embracing him and hanging on to him without puking?

“No, Muse, men don’t think that way,” said Dane, “they just see a semi naked girl is hanging on to them and paying for it is not a concern.”

“Oh. Too bad so many men have low self esteem that the payment part of this ‘relationship’ is eradicated from their memory even prior to pulling out their bills,” I said to him.

To that Dane shrugged his shoulder. Did I forget to mention poor Dane had his left arm in a black arm swing over his camel blazer?

During our visit to this strip club, we were attended to by Elvis, Belina’s brother, who used to work at the go go club. He brought us our drinks and collected his tips from Dane.

I felt that Elvis was trying to figure out what Dane and I were all about. His eyes were like saucers when he saw me. I was thinking about his sister who used to work in this strip club and weird it was she could dance naked in front of her brother. Each of these two are married, and I believe it is for papers, but I cannot say for sure. It is merely a suspicion.

On the way out, I hear my name called. How weird is that?!

It was Elvis.

“Good night, Muse” he said from behind the bar. I did not even see Elvis and I don’t even know if that is his real name.

“Oh, good night, Elvis,” I muttered as I continued past without hesitation and with the slightest turn of my head to look at him.

The Agent Provocateur has stayed with me throughout the night. For all those hours in the go go club, it was emanating up from my scarf-ed neck into my nostrils, with its heavy scents.

I was surprise that the heat of my body had kept the scent so strongly.

As I walked out into the cold air into February, when I had just entered it in January, the scent dissipated. I left it behind in the go go club, it did not appear at the local diner while Dane shoveled down eggs, toast and hot sausage with a decaf coffee.

It did not surface on the ride home while Dane and I pondered why Quiet Man did not show up and I dismissed Dane’s supposition that Quiet Man was jealous I was going with Dane.

It remained hidden while driving back to my car and as I retired for the night.

As I awoke this morning and for the last three hours writing this post, I was inundated with the heavy lingering scent of Agent Provocateur that has made me feel sick.

How sad; I would like to employ its alluring smell once again, for it was the only feminine in my night in the world of men.

How apropos; a choice to wear a scent for a role I un-intentionally play: a woman admitted into the world of men. A true social agent provocateur.

If only I could avoid provoking unrest amongst these men while being a part of them.

I could have done that by avoiding invitations by 71 year old men I consider friends. Also, laying off the vodka would help as well.

We shall see.

Handsome Quiet Man.

As I was driving home from Quiet Man’s office, as I often do, I drove past where my mother was killed at the top of the crest of a hill. She died on a main road that I cannot realistically avoid.

I wonder if she is watching what I am doing with my life and who I am with? I do not know the answer to this, but it is what I was thinking on the drive home.

Entering my house, I found a Christmas gift bag for Binnie’s wine, which I hoped was a good one. I cannot imagine that it was not, since Quiet Man and Fred do not like cheap. Or so I was hoping for in the category of white wine.

I plunged the bottle into the bag and topped it with red tissue paper that I pulled out of my Sephora bag when I last bought some makeup that I really do not need, but wanted.

Now, how to dress myself. I was getting antsy and angry with myself for having stayed so long with Quiet Man that I was unable to shower. I would not have had to shower had I not plopped myself in his office and kept talking and smoking cigars that had taken temporary residence in my hair.

As I brushed my locks and rolled each section onto a hot roller, I was secretly hoping the smoke would be blasted out by the heat of the roller. If not, I planned to perfume my hair before going to Binnie’s.

As usual, I pulled many outfits. I thought a cocktail dress would be too formal, and a suit would be too drab and business like. I settled on a BCBG knit skirt with a ruffle on the hem and a long sleeved thin wool sweater that had ruffles on the edges and it’s sleeves that fanned out at my wrist. Thank goodness for this sweater. Originally I had bought it because it had not a line of buttons to close at the front, but one. The one button meets in the middle of my stomach so the ruffles meet while cascading down the semi circles that compose the front of the garment, and glide lightly on the top of my hips. From the top of the button, I can either fan the ruffles to expose a healthy decollate or fan them in to frame my face.

Framing my face was the wisest choice, for I thought Binnie is not one for exposure, but I am sure her husband Farrell is, regardless. So not wanting to appear for a house party as a tart, those ruffles worked wonders.

I chose a demure makeup for the evening, with my eye watching the clock. I was already late, damned Quiet Man. I am not sure he likes Binnie much.

Binnie and I had a girlfriend’s night out at her house, a mansion like dwelling, that makes you bug eyed. Binnie is a interior decorator and her house shows off her talent.

I had met Binnie at Fred’s house party. She started to talk to me after she heard me introduce myself to someone nearby. She told me she drove past my office many times and wondered who I was and always wanted to meet me. How odd and so funny I found that. I also met Farrell, her husband, that night, who is a natural flirt.

So, since we met, she looked up my number and called me at my office to ask me to come to her house. So I did.

While feasting, literally on the gigantic spread she put out for two people in this glorious and glamorous kitchen in that gigantic house, we were drinking the carafes of wine she had breathing. She then asks me how I knew Fred? She told me one of her girlfriends told her he was a big flirt, which he is, I confirmed. She then asked me, who was that man who was following Fred around all night at his party?

“Someone was following him around?” I asked.

Hmm, I thought for a minute as to who might have done that. Fred was running around like Ricardo Moltaban that night, solo from what I saw.

“Binnie, I never saw anyone shadowing Fred. What did he look like?”

“He was tall; a very handsome man.”

I was perusing the index of my mind from that night, wondering to whom she was referring.

“What color hair?” I asked.

“Black.”

Most of the men there had dark hair, what a clue.

“He was so good looking Muse!” she blurted out giggling like a smitten school girl.

OMG, she was talking about Quiet Man, who was not shadowing Fred. Usually he does, but not that night.

“Oh Binnie, that is Quiet Man! He is not Fred’s bodyguard, but that is what most people think because he does not care what any one thinks.”

“Well,” she thought out loud, “he is so attractive!”

All I could do was laugh and tell Binnie, Ms. Religious, married woman, that Quiet Man was also married.

“Quiet Man,” I said in a teasing voice, “do you know what Binnie said about you?”

The three of us where talking in Fred’s store after I first visited Binnie. I almost did not go after we all had hashed out that Marsha would probably tell Binnie about the night we all went to the go go club. Quiet Man was insistent that I go and not care about Marsha. Fred could care less 99% of the time what Marsha thinks or does.

“What she say Muse?” said Quiet Man as he stared at me.

“She say something Muse?” said Fred, his attention caught, probably shocked that Binnie did not say anything about him, the important one.

“Yes, she did!” I said while trying not to laugh.

Quiet Man was still looking at me but was now smiling. Fred had his ears pinned to not miss any of what I was about to say.

“Fred, Binnie asked me who was following you around all night at your house party,” I started.

“No one was following me, Muse, you know that,” said Fred, “ Binnie enjoy my party, right Muse?”

“Yes, Fred, yes. Well, she thought this person was so handsome!” I blurted.

Because it is always about Fred, he guessed it was Berman, but then reasoned Berman was not handsome.

He then asked Quiet Man who he thought it was, since, you know, Fred had to know who was more handsome than he, that is how Fred thinks.

Quiet Man had a definitive answer, “Freddy, it was So and So, who came from Boston.”

“EEH, wrong!” I said, “No, So and So was not of the correct background.”

They both looked at me.

“It was Quiet Man! Binnie thinks you are so handsome! Can you believe she remembered you, how funny!”

Fred, extremely disappointed to begin with that the handsome man was not he, did not seem to take any interest when the handsome compliments are paid to his best friend Quiet Man.

We all laughed hysterically anyway and Fred began to tease Quiet Man about how he should take Binnie out. Why Fred thinks that married men can go out on real dates, is beyond me, but it’s a cultural thing for sure.

So, since the story about Quiet Man’s handsomeness, he has had a dislike for Binnie for some reason.

And this was what probably prompted him to keep me longer that needed to make me late for Binnie’s party. While we were wasting away time at his office, he called Fred to see if he was going to Binnie’s. Yes, and so was Marsha. Poor Fred, he sounded so uninterested.

So, I grabbed my gifted bottle of wine, doused myself in scent, and arrived more than 30 minutes late for Binnie.