Saturday, January 26, 2008

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.


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.

Saturday, January 19, 2008

Lonely Postcard

I read this postcard on the PostSecrets blog.

To me, this is one of the saddest things that we do to one another, whether we know it or not.

So many of us wrap ourselves in our own problems, whether they are our own, our families, our friends or anything that does not permit us to reach out to others who are alone and lonely.

So many of us do not even take the time to think about what a lonely existence someone around us may be leading, hiding or having too much pride to express their how alone they are.

I heard a while ago I heard a television commercial while doing something else when the television was on, touting that the most important thing in life is family. I pondered that concept and thought, how selfish.

I did not think about that again until this postcard I read today.

How selfish to think that if we only concern ourselves with our families, that we are absolved of those who do not have any, who have no one to talk to, no one to lean on and take a respite from life.

Imagine a lonely person on the outside looking into your perfect little most important family that sees nothing but itself. So sad. That is what I thought reading the postcard.

For as long as I can remember, I have always in someway felt the pain of others who have some unfortunate circumstance in life. And the next time I am asked for directions or someone talks to me while waiting on a line, or says hello to me on the street, I will remember to smile broadly and openly and if they want, take some time out of my own troubles and thoughts to show that person, who may be communicating with me to break their loneliness, some genuine warmth.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

You are a Bearer of Many Gifts, Quiet Man

I must have slept almost until at least noon the day after the Wrong’s party. I was that tired.

I remember rising, reclining back into bed, rising again browsing the internet blogs as I usually do from the comfort of my bed, while talking on the phone and watching television. Multi-tasking you think? Not really. I just have a short attention span and vacillate between all three at various times.

Showered, dressed and hair dripping wet as usual, but combed through (!), I was too exhausted to go down to the Starbucks for a tea or even to DD for a hazelnut coffee.

So, instead, I went to see my nephew and sister in law.

I knocked on the door, not bothering to have called her prior.

She pushes her door curtains to the side with one finger while balancing my nephew on her hip. She then unlocks the door.

“Woman, did you stay out all night again last night?” she said after seeing the baggy face I must have had that early afternoon.

I tried to ignore her, because she was in that too familiar state for my tastes.

“I got home at 4:30 am, ok? I am tired,” I muttered under my breath.

“Well,” she declared, “ at least I hope you got laid!”

I definitely ignored her. She is very nosy regularly, so even if you ignore her, it stops her from continuing the questioning, but it has never stopped her from asking to begin with at all.

My nephew, who was about 8 months old, was smiling from ear to ear with his toothy, two bottom teeth, smile. He is such a happy, beautiful baby.

Drool was glistening on his rosy lips, reflecting the brightness of his large, round baby eyes. I reached out to hold him and took a deep breath of his soft baby smell.

He grabbed my hair, held tight, and yanked as hard as his little Kung Foo grip permitted, while trying to bite my face, the little booger.
When I finally pried the hairs he had in his baby fist, I took him to the living room and sat with him on the couch. I chatted with his mother for a while, just vegetating.

My cell was ringing. I hear the faint Greensleeves serenading the inside pocket of my down jacket.

Struggling to look for it before it goes to voice mail, I pulled it out and looked at the number.

It was Quiet Man. He must have seen the message on the cup.

“Hello?” I said as if I did not know who was calling.

“Allo, Muse!” he said.

“Oh, Quiet Man, how are you?”

“How are you, Muse?” he said with a deep, manly giggle.

“Fine. How are you?”

By this time, my sister in law, who was across the room, was watching me talk on the phone.

“Did you get my message?” I said coyly, yet firmly.

“I see something on this cup when I come to office, Muse.”

“Well, did you READ it?”

“Yes, Muse, yes.”

“So are you still at the office now?”


“I can’t talk now, Quiet Man,” I said.

“Where are you, Muse?” he asked.

“I am visiting my nephew for a bit, for about an hour.”

“You come to office, Muse, I be here.”

“OK, see you in about one hour.”

After I left my sister in law, since an hour was way too long to try and make small talk with her more than that, I drove to Quiet Man’s office.

I walked in and he was sitting at his desk. The cup was in front of his with the “YOU SUCK” plainly visible.

After our customary greeting to each other, I explained the message. Not that I cared, I wrote “You Suck” but I wanted to let him know how late I was there waiting for him with Ricky.

His story matched that of Ricky’s, but I did not really believe that he fell asleep at Fred’s house. But that is what he said.

What happened was that he dropped Fred off at his house. His wife, who was miffed to begin with, was waiting for him. Apparently he told her he would be home by 9 pm and Quiet Man was delivering the all night drunk Fred to Marsha at 12 am.

Quiet Man was at the foot of the hill to the office when he got a call from Fred, asking him to come back since Marsha was starting WWIII right there in his brand new spanking house.

So Quiet Man goes back and tries to referee between them. Lots of screaming and yelling. Marsha would not quit accusing Fred of everything her imagination could tell her he could have been up to, for in fact, in Marsha’s mind, Fred is some playboy.

There was also a lot of throwing things and the worst thing Quiet Man told me was their three daughters were having to witness all of this, how sad. Also, Fred’s elderly mother lives with him and she is almost bedridden and she managed to get herself out of her room to see what was going on.

Quiet Man told me how he tended to her and the girls to try and make the whole situation less traumatic. Eventually he said he fell asleep on the couch. He awoke at 6 am and then headed home.

Hmm, I thought, a likely story or not?

Quiet Man was looking me directly into my eyes.

“Well, all I know was that Ricky kept me here all night with the promise that you were coming, but then he told me the truth when I got up to finally leave.”

“So sorry, Muse. I want to come back.”

“Whatever,” I told him.

I changed the subject and we began to talk. He had in front of him a cigar that was in a glass case, but looked kinda dry.

“Avid, he bring this cigarra yesterday when he come.”

Avid, was Ricky’s brother in law.

As we were chatting, I watched him extract the cigar. The outer wrapper was curling off, so it was definitely a dried up cigar.

Quiet Man, was rolling the cigar between his fingers of both hands as he spoke to me. After a while, he licked the entire length of the cigar and his saliva pasted it back to together. Ech, was what I thought of that as I continued to converse with him.

With surgical like skill, slowly and carefully he sawed the cigar in two. Ok, he one part was shorter than the other.

He held each up and examined them. He put the one with two cut ends in his mouth, rolled it around a bit, and lit the stubby cigar.

He handed it to me while exhaling the smoke he drew in while holding the flame to catch a burn.

I took the cigar from him and watched him light the other half.

Surprisingly, the cigar was smooth and did not unravel. We both continued on, Quiet Man telling stories of his homeland and I just sitting there listening to every word.

“Oh, Quiet Man,” I interrupted him, “ Do you think Fred will go to Binnie’s Christmas cocktail party tonight?”

“That tonight, Muse?”

Quiet Man was not invited by Binnie, simply because she did not meet him that night at Fred’s party as I had.

“Yes, I think he go with Marsha, because he no take her last night.”

“Oh,” I said thinking about the logic of that.

“I have to be there at 7:30 pm,” I told him. It was about 4:00 pm or so at that point.

I had to bring Binnie a hostess gift, but had been so lazy all week to have gone and gotten her something.

I said out loud that I had to go to the liquor store or the pastry shop to get her something. I did not budge from my chair to go and do it, now did I? No.

I was figuring that if I got home by 5:30, I would have enough time to get ready. Binnie was Fred’s neighbor and they lived only ten minutes from my house.

Quiet Man had to drive to pick up his daughter for Christmas break and he planned on leaving at 5 pm.

By the time 5:15 arrived, we were still sitting there talking. I rationalized I would not re-shower, and perfume myself to cover up the smoke my hair must have obsorbed.

“Do you think I can make it to the liquor store, Quiet Man?”

“You no need, Muse. I give you wine to take.”

After much back and forth about not being given a bottle of wine, I conceded because it was better than arriving empty handed to a new friend’s Christmas party.

We go to another part of the building and he opens up a large closet. It is filled with CASES of red and white wine. He also opened the door to another room, that held more cases.

“What she like, dry or sweet, Muse?”

“Sweet, red,” I replied remembering the first invitation I got to her house when she told me she preferred a sweeter wine than the dry one we were drinking.

“I only have sweet white,” he said taking inventory of his stash.

He pulls one out and hands it to me. I never heard of it before, but it was not like I was a connosieur of anything.

“You have bag?” he asked me, “I sorry Muse, I no have bag for you.”

“Don’t worry, Quiet Man, I have a bag.”

I was so happy to have a gift and I would be able to go home and arrive relatively on time to Binnie’s house.

Clutching my hostess gift, we go out to our cars in the parking lot. I was sort of sad that Quiet Man was not invited, it would not be the same without him there, though I thoroughly enjoy Binnie and her husband’s company. And Fred would be there with Marsha. Poor Fred. He must be in the dog house to be bringing Marsha.

I guess it serves him right for being caught earlier in the day prior to the Wrong’s party with two twenty year olds in his office, having some Christmas cheer. That Marsha is a hound dog. Despite Fred’s cameras in his store Marsha was able to get back there and catch him having a drink with those trashy girls.

We kiss each other good bye and he wished me well for the evening.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

English Crackers, Quiet Man!

[The original version of this was typed out at 18 pages, so I pared it down]

The Wrong’s party day had arrived. I saw Quiet Man I think the day before and the plans did not change. He said that Mr. Wrong called him to confirm the party was on as it should have been the week before.

I went home and started my ritual for getting ready. Hot rollers, on. Makeup bag, out. And then the beginning of the rotation of outfit changes. I decided to wear a tight off white cardigan that was bejeweled in silver down the front and around the collar. I wore it opened to the middle of my cleavage. I paired it with a satin dark blue below the knee skirt. I wore open toed satin black pumps.

My hair was curled and worn down on the side. My makeup was flawless as I could manage and I showered myself with Chanel No. 5 as a protest against Angel. I put on a solitaire cubic zirconia stud that was exceptionally large that rested on the top of my collar bone in that semi-circle dip of its center.

I do not care about jewelry. I am not one to wear it and fake, costume jewelry that looks good is fine with me. And this particular fake diamond for some reason fools people into thinking its real. It is very brilliant.

I drove to meet Ricky. So as we are driving along, Ricky is chatting with me. Quiet Man and Fred were going to pick up Ricky’s sister and brother in law. Ricky has two sisters and they are not very attractive but somehow they have managed to marry some of the wealthiest men in America. How? I don’t know.

The valet takes the keys to my vehicle and I get my ticket.

We enter into the cavernous entry way where a chubby girl was collecting coats and handing out tickets. I handed her my black coat. Ricky was trying to get it off of me in a gentleman’s gesture. He also demanded I hand him both tickets for the car and the coat for he was going to take care of them when we left.

Ah, I thought, he is a sweetheart.

So he ushers me into the dining room where the Wrong’s other guests have gathered.

Ricky and I stood together and he offers to get me a drink. This was the part of the night, per the invitation, that was not part of the Christmas Thank You’s-the cocktail hour. Is that not bizarre? The Wrong’s are wealthy and for them to commit this faux pax only demonstrates the tackiness in their haughtiness.

I look around the room and I do not see Quiet Man or Fred.

Ricky was pasted to me. I do not think he knew anyone there, but it made me feel uncomfortable, not being able to roam around the very small crowd and see what I wanted to see.

As I was standing there, I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Muse, why hello!”

It was my friend Henry. He was all duded out.

“I called you to make an appointment to speak with you,” he told me.

“Oh, yes, Henry, I got it, but I have been so busy! So sorry,” I told him, “How have you been?”

“I have been fine, Muse,” said Henry.

I embraced Henry hello and introduced him to Ricky. They shook hands.

“Can I buy you a drink, Muse?” asked Henry, “What are you drinking?”

Henry extended this gesture to Ricky who at the same time was going to order us some drinks.

“Why Henry, that is so nice of you. I would like a merlot,” I told him. Ricky was getting the same.

We got our wine and we started to sample the hors d’oeuvres that were going around, and this started the free part of the Thank You part of the evening.

I think Ricky and I were stuffing ourselves with the crab cake on a stick because it did not taste too bad and joking about it being free.

Henry stood his ground, chatting with me.

I then was approached by the girlfriend who had a boyfriend who was using her, or at least that is what everyone gossips about behind her back. She was tiny with a head bigger than what it should be for her body. Quiet Man dislikes her due to her small size, having announced one night that her size disgusts him. “Muse, I no like small women,” he stated definitively. Oh, I thought when I heard that, you prefer the thick eastern block type instead.

She approached me to say hello and we began to make small talk.

This girl, who is really not a girl, but a woman in her late thirties, despite having a fabulous little figure, never dresses in anything that is stunning or eye catching. Her taste in clothes is really, really bad. Her dresses look like Walmart specials. They usually have these terrible patterns all over them and look so busy it makes one’s head spin. She is Tacky.

People treat her with kid gloves because of her user boyfriend, because none of us can be one hundred percent sure if the using is a lot or a little bit, so we err on the safer side, until someone catches him cheating on her.

So I am speaking with Tacky and out of the corner of my eye, I see Fred. He looks odd, his eyes glazed, I thought, but it was hard to see in the darkened room that was dominated by what looked like French whorehouse red that did not reflect the light well.

I then saw Quiet Man who stepped into view next to Fred. They would not see me at first because Henry blocked Ricky and I from view.

“Hello, Tacky,” I heard Quiet Man say to her, as he reached for her hand to kiss it hello, his usual, “you look beautiful tonight.”

Of course I was having a screaming fit in my mind at this.

Quiet Man then noticed me next to Tacky.

I was looking at him. My libido jumped with an excitement I was crushing to contain. He was dressed impeccably in a dark, well made suit. His hair glistening. He was clean shaven and was so handsome he took away my breath. I was trying to not stare at him as he was staring at me.

His eyes were fixated on me, even so noticeable in the darkened, glow lit room. He broke a smile on his face as he reached out to me.

He grabbed my hand, bending slightly before me, as I stood straight. I pulled my hand away from the same routine he just went through with Tacky. He held on, smiling at me.

I started to laugh and looked at Tacky, who was bug eyed with seeing for the first time, my interaction with Quiet Man, which she most likely only knew about from gossip, like I cared.

“Muse,” Quiet Man emphasized, “you look exceptionally beautiful tonight,” as he bent his head to kiss my hand. He looked up at me into my eyes, still holding my hand.

“Please,” I said dead pan to him.

I then ignored this obvious showing of interest from him and went over to hug and kiss Fred hello. Fred was like in some sort of a gaze or something. He and Quiet Man ordered their hard liquor drinks.

Quiet Man then ushered us to our table, where Ricky’s sister, her husband and their daughter were already seated.

The table was decorated very simply and not as elaborate as it should for Christmas.

We each had on our plates a large English Cracker, in bright metallic foil.

We had our drinks with us but our table glasses were filled with some red wine that was the free wine during the free dinner.

“Muse, what is this?” asked Fred.

“Fred, it is an English Cracker,” I told him noting the irony.

“What do you do with it, Muse?”

I could not believe Fred, who used to live in England, did not know what was an English Cracker.

“Fred, you pull it open by yanking on the ends and it holds a surprise inside,” I explained.

“Oh, well then, we will do it!” said Fred, and with that, all four of us, pulled our English Crackers which made gigantic popping sounds which delighted all of us.

I had gotten a silver pen.

As I was examining my pen, Ricky completely disgusted with his surprise, plopped it in front of me.

“Muse, take it,” said Ricky. He had gotten a lipstick holder for a woman, that had the lip mirror in it.

I laughed and laughed at poor Ricky and announced to the table that Ricky had gotten a lipstick case. His sister found the most humor in the gift.

“Ricky, are you sure you cannot use this fine gift?”

“Look, you,” he teased, “I am not gay!”

Fred by this time was practically screaming because he got a money clip. He made a loud announcement about it and was holding it over his head for everyone to see. What was so funny about this money clip, was I think it was actually a fancy paper clip for one’s desk. It was square with an emblem on it with metal teeth for gripping papers. But to Fred, it was a money clip and he felt he was bestowed with a bastion of good luck because of it; yes he did.

“Quiet Man, what did you get in your English Cracker?” I said to him very coyly.

“I get earrings, Muse!” he said as he laughed heartily. I was laughing at him, because it was so funny his English Cracker had earrings.

“Well, it is better than Ricky’s lipstick case!” I volleyed back to him. He was laughing and Ricky was sulking. Getting that lipstick case mulled him into some sort of offending feeling, a sharp contrast to Fred’s carrying on about his money clip.

Ricky’s sister then told me to look into the cracker for the gold crown. I reached into mine and pulled out the foil crown.

“Look Fred, a crown for a Leo!” I told him, “You know you are the king! Can I put it on you?”

I was trying to not laugh because I did not think he would consent.

“Of COURSE, Muse!” he said, “Put it on me!”

So I did. He happily announced to the table he was the King. The King and his money clip were jubilant.

Fred orders more hard liquor for himself and Quiet Man. This was not part of the free Thank You dinner, so he pulled out his wad of money.

“Muse, what do you want?” asked Fred.

“Nothing, thanks, Fred. I am fine with wine, which as you know, is free,” I stated. We both laughed.

“You know my party was the best, right Muse?” said Fred.

“Of course, Fred. At least I did not have to pay for my drink,” I replied.

“No one throws a party like me, right Muse?”

“Yes, Fred,” I droned.

What I finally realized was that Fred’s odd behavior was that he was drunk. Quiet Man told me after the fact, that Fred was drinking in his office in the store, with two young girls, you know being in the Christmas spirit. What he did not expect was that Marsha had unexpectedly come in to the store and all holy hell broke loose. So when Quiet Man went to pick him up, Fred was pretty tanked. That is why they were late arriving at the Wrongs’ affair, in addition to Marsha demanding that she should be going with them to the Thank You party. Apparently Marsha lost that one.

Now, Fred, had taken a fancy to Tacky. His logic was that Tacky’s using boyfriend, ignores her and leaves her alone a lot and Tacky, stupid as she is, would visit Fred in his store and tell him some of her woes, and would be all cutesy as a midget sized girl would be, and turns Fred on, and topped it off with hugs hello and goodbye to Fred.

I was so happy Fred had a Tacky interest so all the gossip would now be on Tacky and Fred, rather than myself and Fred. What a stroke of luck, thank you so much, Tacky. Truly, thank you.

Now Quiet Man, after eating would rise to go out and smoke. So during those sojourns, Fred kept on drinking.

From our vantage point, we could see Tacky sitting at a table with a husband and wife who resemble in intelligence to Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Those two are weird. We also saw that Tigo was seated there with his wife. Quiet Man is not happy with Tigo, something I may discuss at some point.

So Fred is getting that kind of overheated/sweaty look you get when you are drinking hard liquor.

“Muse,” he said, “What do you think about Tacky?”

“What?” I said not wanting to have this conversation with him.

“Tacky. I want to talk to her. Do you think she wants me?”

“Ah, no Fred. I told you already, leave that alone. The user boyfriend will not be happy about it and he is coming here too.”

“Muse, should I call her to come here to my table?”

“Oh hell no, Fred. What is wrong with you?”

I then decided to convince the drunk Fred, to go over and say hello to Tigo while being on Tacky’s side of the table and ask if he could join them.

“You think that is a good idea, Muse?”

“Of course I do; otherwise, why would I tell you?” I said to him, hoping he would go over. Tacky deserved having the drunk Fred fawn all over her.

So after about three minutes of convincing and coaching, Fred gets up to go to Tacky. All three us huddle together to watch Fred go.

“Idiot. He is standing next to Tigo, rather than Tacky, “ I observed.

“He stay too long with Tigo,” said Quiet Man.

Ricky was disgusted at Fred’s lack of showmanship in trying to hit on Tacky.

Eventually Fred comes back.

“I told her I would give her a ride home, what you think Quiet Man?” said Fred.

“Whatever you say Freddy,” replied Quiet Man,” but Tacky, she have her own car.”

“Yeah, Fred. She does. How do you think she got here? User boyfriend did not drive her,” I informed him.

“I no care, Quiet Man. I asked her if we can giver her a ride home.”

Oh Geez.

Now, before dinner, Tacky made the mistake of coming over to talk to Fred. She made her second mistake to stop and say good bye to him. He was making direct remarks about wanting her, that Quiet Man cringed. He was trying to make Fred quit it with Tacky, but Fred was ignoring him. So Quiet Man took the position that Fred is doing it to himself and would not be able to distance himself from this behavior he was exhibiting tonight.

It was so embarrassing that Ricky and I were in hysterical laughter.

“Look at that bobble head,” Ricky would whisper to me, that would cause an eruption.

“What he say, Muse?” said Quiet Man as he came to sit by me.

I told him, and he cracked himself up.

As we watched Fred make a fool of himself with Tacky, who he had by the waist, which made her stand in a bent position to get away from his hand on her waist, but not pulling away, Ricky was worried about his what his sister thought. Now his sister was sitting next to Fred and was able to hear everything clearly. We on the other hand, had trouble hearing every hysterical word that Fred was uttering.

“Ricky, of course your sister knows what is going on. What is wrong with you? Can’t you see her laughing that she is almost drooling?”

Ricky is not the sharpest knife in the drawer, despite everyone at the table had their eyebrows raised so high, we all looked like we had bad plastic surgery.

As we were watching a shocked Tacky, as if Fred’s advances were without basis, as if she forgot her flirting with him I myself witnessed at other events, without knowing all the visits she made to Fred’s store since she was now working from home and had all this free time while her user boyfriend was off and running, I was clutching my cubic zirconia. I knew I should not, but the setting was loose and I was able to crunch it to make it squish in and out of the claws that held it in place.

Quiet Man was out having a smoke. Ricky and I hurt from laughing so hard. I told Ricky I was going to go out and hang out with Quiet Man. He wanted to come, so we go out to the tiny porch in front of the restaurant.

I was again fiddling with my necklace. We made small talk and then came back to the table. By this time, Fred had Mrs. Wrong eating out of his hand. Eeww, we thought, but we kept watching.

Quiet Man was sitting next to me again. I was trying to not feel attracted to him. He was drinking the cheap champagne, which was free, and being poured into every fluted glass on the table, even if it was not wanted. He began to lean into me to talk to me, sometimes in whispers, as we shared silly secrets about Fred’s behavior and Mrs. Wrong.

Quiet Man laughed so hard he took the opportunity to lean over to me that his hair touched my forehead in a way that sent a shiver down my body and made my heart beat. I felt the heat of his body bellow towards me and the waft of Davidoff linger between us.

“I know that smell!” I said to him, looking into his eyes.

“What you wear, Muse?” he asked.

“Well, smell for yourself!” I told him, while leaning towards his side. He put his nose near my neck, so that the hairs on my head stood on end, and I felt him smell me.

“What is that?” he asked, while smiling at me.

“You don’t know?”


“It’s Chanel No. 5, Quiet Man. I love it!” thinking of the stinky Angel.

“It very nice, Muse,” he told me.

We then took up looking into what Fred was doing. Mrs. Wrong was really into him, it seemed and the fodder they produced kept us entertained for a good long while.

Quiet Man was chatting with Ricky’s sister and her husband. I felt him reach under the table as he was talking, and put his hand on my knee. When he withdrew his hand, I would then catch his attention by touching his leg. This carried on for a bit, each of us not outwardly reacting to what was going on under the table, but I could feel Ricky’s eyes watching.

I then leaned back to speak to Ricky and went to feel my cubic zirconia stud. It was not there.

“OH MY GOD,” I blurted out, “I lost my fake diamond!”

Quiet Man started to laugh and laugh. Ricky was laughing but began to help me look.

“Muse, it no here,” he told me.

“How do you know where my fake diamond is?” I demanded.

Quiet Man turns to Ricky’s sister, and tells her that what he found so funny was my declaration about a my fake diamond.

“Muse,” he said as he turned to me, “I heard something drop when we were outside, but I no not what made noise.”

“You heard me drop something and did not tell me?”

“I no know it was yours or what it was. I look when I go out again,” he promised as he went out for another smoke.

I was trying to talk to Ricky’s sister across the table who was also laughing. I saw Quiet Man out of the corner of my eye, and he sits next to me with a thud, and plops something into my champagne. I did not even have to look.

He was leaning on me and I turned to him, so happy he found my stud, to thank him, by cooing words of thanks.

“Muse, you are welcome,” he said, while Ricky’s sister was wondering what surprise Quite Man plopped into my glass.

“Eew!” I whispered loudly to him,” did you clean it before you put it in my glass?”

“Yes, Muse. I wash in bathroom. It is clean.”

“Ok. Good.”

I felt better about it and was smiling ear to ear how he returned it to me. There was something about a man plopping a fake diamond into your champagne. I looked at my glass and admired the fake stone glistening at the bottom of the bubbly.

Quiet Man turned to me smiling, and brushed his face onto mine. He then got up to see what he could do about Fred.

The small crowd had begun to dissipate. The waitstaff had brought coffee and some sort of cheesecake, how French.

I had interest only in the coffee, which I started to drink. Quiet Man had already tasted his and we both agreed it was not that bad.

By this time, Fred had rose from his end of the table and was talking to Mr. Wrong. Mrs. Wrong eventually joined them.

Quiet Man asks me if we can go back to his office to drink and smoke cigars.

“Ok,” I replied. Ricky was in agreement.

So we made plans to meet after Quiet Man drops off Fred. I could not wait to see Quiet Man later and have more good company and laughs.

We all pull out and Fred and Quiet Man were ahead of us. Ricky and I pulled into a gas station grocery mart and picked up coffee and snacks.

By the time we reached the office, Quiet Man calls Ricky. Ricky tells me Quiet Man was down the road, but Fred called him back to his house, and he would be late.

Well, Ricky and I spent the night until 4:30 am talking. I was very upset that Quiet Man did not show up, and Ricky would not call him. He kept saying, listen he will come. He said he was coming and he will come to stop me from leaving. I believed Ricky to the point I went home to change into sweatpants.

When I finally decided I had enough of Ricky’s sex stories, some of which I could not believe, and ALL OF WHICH I told him to clean it up and don’t tell me such things, but since he was drinking more wine at the office, he was not obliging.

“Well, Ricky,” I said as I fiddled with my empty coffee cup, “I am really angry with Quiet Man.”

I took my cup and wrote a nasty note on its cardboard heat shield to Quiet Man, and ended it with “You Suck.”

Ricky was trying to get me to not leave any notes to Quiet Man and the more he tried to discourage me, the more I wanted to leave the message.

“Ok, do you think he will notice this note on this cup?” I asked him.

“Quiet Man notices everything!” said Ricky.

Good. There is not any doubt about my message to him.

So I bid Ricky goodbye and rose from my seat. He finally got the hint. I waited for him to lock up and we walked out into the chilly night.

I was warming up my car while Ricky stood outside the driver side window.

I made him tell me exactly what Quiet Man said. It differed from what he initially told me in that Quiet Man did not promise to return since Marsha was awaiting Fred at home and a blow out between them erupted that Fred required Quiet Man in his corner.

Damned Ricky. I could have been home and in bed by 12:30 am.

Thursday, January 3, 2008

Alps Driving, eh Quiet Man?

The day the Wrongs party was supposed to be held, I had a 9:30 am appointment with Fred at his store. At 9:15 I was in my office and Fred rings. He wanted to know where I was. Geez, your store is less than one minute’s drive I thought as I reassured him I would be right down.

As I exited the office to my car, I could tell the snow was going to start soon. You could smell it in the air. The air was crispy cold yet not iced. The sky was a whitish grey and clear. This is what would bring the snow.

I parked and hurried in to see Fred. I was dying for some sort of caffeine. I have this weird sense of duty sometimes, stemming from my Capricornus personality, that really irks me. I should have made Leonine Fred wait and went to get my morning coffee, rather than give in to my rationalization that I would get a cup when I was done.

Fred ushers me into the back of his store where his office is located.

I see the papers we had prepared the night before.

The people who were going to sign these papers for Fred arrived and I had to re-do everything since Fred did not have the correct information. Or these dunce like people were unable to provide the information correctly.

I had my portable printer that is paired with my laptop. I was so tired. After about an hour, I almost had the papers done and printed out for review before finalization.

Fred then gets a call and its Quiet Man.

After a while, I look up and see Quiet Man in the doorway of Fred’s office. He was dressed in some sort of kahki color that sharply contrasted with his starkly coal black hair. He was holding a Starbucks coffee cup in its red and white holiday finery.

“Oh, hello Quiet Man,” I said as I glanced at him. He was looking at me with those eyes in a quiet way.

“Hello, Muse,” he said normally, most likely due to the strangers in the room with me.

He chit-chatted with Fred about dropping off a four wheel drive vehicle for Fred. Fred handed him the keys to his Lexus.

These people and Fred started to question me about doing some other kind of paperwork and I listened then decided I needed some COFFEE. I also wanted to get out of there to see if I could talk to Quiet Man.

“Fred, Fred,” I told him,”listen to me: I need coffee, Fred.”

“Muse, I send someone to buy you coffee,” he offered.

“No, Fred, you don’t understand. I want to get up out of this chair and get my own coffee.”

And with that, I rose, put on my jacket and assured them I would be back shortly.

I darted out of the store and stood on the sidewalk.

I saw Fred’s Lexus in the parking lot. It had started to snow. Those big, fluffy softly falling yet dense flakes where drifting down steadily. The parking lot started to look like it was covered in the most cloudy soft, shaggy like carpet.

Quiet Man was in Fred’s car, warming it up. He had moved the windshield wiper so that it only cleared where the wiper would reach.

Good, I thought, he was still around.

I decided to walk past the Lexus, which I had to do to go to my car. Instead of Starbucks, I was going to drive to the other end of the plaza to where they sold a coffee that I liked.

I stepped off the sidewalk, and assuredly walked towards the Lexus. My vehicle was in the same section. As I confidently took the two steps which got me past Fred’s car, without looking at it, I had the urge to turn to look behind me into the car.

There was Quiet Man, looking out of the window at me. I acted surprised to see him and turned towards the car again. He was smiling and rolled down the window and began to accumulate beautiful white snowflakes that gathered on his thick, black hair.

“Hi Quiet Man!” I said as I leaned into the car window.

“Muse!” said he, “Good to see you.”

I blathered on and on about stupid things in the span of about 1.5 minutes and then announce to him I was on my way to spot myself a well deserved cup of coffee.

“Get in,” he said to me.


“Get in. I drive you,” he told me, while looking at me in that way of his.

“OK!” I said as I darted around to the passenger side of the car.

I had to tap the window to remind him to open the door. I was getting covered in snow, and since I had such long hair, it would make one wet head mess.

Apparently Quiet Man likes long hair. I had mentioned to he and Fred I wanted to cut it, since I was growing it to donate and then I found out the donation center was throwing hair away. So I decided to keep it long, then decided to cut it and that was my see-saw thought process when I mentioned it to those two.

“Muse, you make big mistake if you cut hair,” advised Quiet Man.

This is from a man who told me when he met his wife, her hair was as long as mine. Now, her hair is thin and bottle blond. If it was my length, it would resemble the texture and thinness of something like Mary’s from Peter Paul and Mary. My hair was dark, thick, straight, curly and wavy all at the same time. It is voluminous to her thinning flatness. How he sees any remote comparison is only a testament to his fantastical stupidity. Really.

I scurry into the car and try to shake the snow from my locks.

“Wow, Quiet Man, it is really wide in here,” I noticed about the largess of the vehicle. He laughed.

We chatted some more and he drove me, very slowly for some reason, towards the coffee.

I asked him why did he bother to come to work when it the predicted snow storm started just on time.

“Why not?” was his answer. The snow was not going to stop a man like Quiet Man.

“You are not afraid of crashing because of the snow?” I asked him.

“No,” he responds. He then laughs at me.

“Well I am,” I told him as I was looking down at my ungloved hands.

He parks on the sidewalk in front of the entrance so I would not have to walk far.

We sat and chatted about driving in the snow. I dislike snow driving because most of the time I cannot erase from my mind fishtailing uncontrollably in snow or ice, or some idiot driver plowing into me, thrusting my vehicle into an accident.

Quiet Man thought I was over imagining the worst kind of doom.

He on the other hand, expertly informed me that most American drivers are most ridiculously afraid to drive in snow. In fact, we are inexpertly on the roads during a snow fall.

He on the other hand, having lived in Zurich, Switzerland that is, knows how to maneuver in foot deep snow, utilizing the likes of, oh, if it snows, like in Zurich, all you have to do is stop your car, which is probably only a rear wheel drive, slap on your tire chains and proceed on your way. Or, if you are without chains, then of course, you would improvise, by using a towel you would have on hand, holding it out your window, making your tire catch the bloody thing and make your way up the Alpine road.

Oh yes, Quiet Man, how utterly moronic of me to not have any Alpine driving experiences! And I dare go on American roadways in any event like the bimbo driver that I am.

“You used a TOWEL?” I blurted out in disbelief.

He looked at me while holding both hands on the steering wheel, in disbelief I doubted him.

“Yes,” he said emphatically.

“You did not!” I shouted, laughing.

“Why you say that Muse?”

“Oh, it sounds like such a lie,” I muttered looking at him sideways.

“No lie, Muse,” he said lowly, still looking at me with his turned head, and still gripping the wheel with both hands.

The wipers were going swish, swish.

“Hmmm. I cannot imagine it, really Quiet Man!”

He then explained how he would do it, if he was in the situation which required a towel. Whether it would really work is another story.

Not wanting this to turn into another marathon chat, being mindful of having to go back and see Fred, I thanked him for driving me, albeit across a parking lot, and walked behind the car into the store. He apparently thought I would cross in front of the car and wave goodbye to him, but he thought wrong.

Who wants any man staring at your backside, then having to turn around to wave goodbye, all while trying to act like he was not staring at your bottom?

Well, plenty of women would, but not I at that particular snowy moment. After all, I could not get run over by a car from behind if a driver with so much Alpine driving experience just happened to not have his towel handy.

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

Coffee, Quiet Man?

We had a Christmas party to go to a few days after Fred’s party. Quiet Man had made arrangements to get me there because I did want to go alone, and plus, he arranged for all of us to sit together.

The weather forecast for that night was bad and for a couple of days prior we were wondering if it would still be held.

“Muse,” Quiet Man would say, “I no think the party will go on-the snow is coming.”

Damned snow, I thought because I wanted to go to this party. Quiet Man arranged for Ricky to pick me up at my house because he and Fred had to give someone else a ride.

The day before the party, I had called Quiet Man about some photographs I had of myself, to see if he would give me an opinion. He had to call me back, but gave me his email address to send them to him.

He did call me back and gave me a run down of which ones he liked and then told me he had a favorite.

We chatted for about two hours on the phone. I can’t remember what he talked about with me, isn’t that odd? As I was speaking with him, I heard him go outside to a car. As he was talking to me, he was driving to Fred’s, but I did not know it. He asked me to meet him for coffee in Starbucks.

“Muse, you have coffee with me at Starbucks now?” he asked.

“You want me to have coffee with you?”

“Yes,” he said.

I was so exited. And I so told him.

“I can’t believe you want me to have coffee with you!” I gasped.

I laughed and he laughed.

“You want me to have coffee?” I asked in a girly sing songy voice.

“Yes, I want coffee with you,” he said in a very gay like sing songy reply.

“OK, I will go down. Give a about 5 minutes,” I told him. Fred’s store was like one minute from my office.

“Ok, Muse, see you,” he said.

I get to the plaza and we went into Starbucks. He was in Fred’s store and then came out as soon as he saw me pull in.

He bought me my tea and he bought his usual grande latte or whatever it is he drinks. I offered to pay and he refused, shoving aside my hand which held the money. As we were waiting for the drinks to be made, he ran to the bathroom.

We had to make a stop for me to put in some skim milk into my drink. He was swiping packaged honey for me, but I was not putting honey in the tea that day.

We go into Fred’s store and get to the back office. We sat down and started joking around with each other. We talked about going to the party in two nights, but also about the impending snow. Fred, I think was getting annoyed because we were really only talking to each other and leaving Fred out of it; well Fred had to keep running out to tend to his clientele.

So we bid Fred goodbye as Quiet Man had to get back to work, having spent most of his day talking to me.

“Quiet Man,” I asked him as we left Fred’s store, “can you give me a ride to the party? I don’t want to go alone.”

“Of course, Muse,” he replied, “First, we see if snow comes, don’t worry.”

“Thank you Quiet Man. That is so nice of you.”

We made plans to keep abreast of the weather.

The next day, Fred calls me at my office.

“Muse, can you come to see me?”

“Why, Fred? I am busy now.”

“No, when you are free sweetheart,” he said.

“Ok, it won’t be until towards the end of the day, Fred.”

“No problem, sweetheart. See you when you get here.”

Fred wanted me to help him with some business he had, which meant I had to bring my lap top.

I get to Fred’s store. I waited for him to come out.

“Come, come Muse,” he directs me behind the counter to go into the back.

I walk into the office and who is sitting there but Quiet Man.

He looked very handsome and authoritative, sitting in the chair in front of Fred’s desk.

“Muse,” he said as he rose to greet me.

“Hi Quiet Man,” I said.

So Fred sits at his desk and says, “You know Muse, I have no heat for three days!”

Fred’s store had not any heat, it was broken and he was using electric heaters. Since I had to plug in my lap top, Fred and Quiet Man were having issues with the electric. Fred amazingly had only two outlets in his office and they were all overloaded with his closed circuit TV to monitor the store, in addition to the electric heaters. To see the two of them trying to plug in my lap top in the mess of other plugs was funny.

Quiet Man got a phone call. He told the caller he would meet him at 7 pm. We drank our drinks and I prepared the documents Fred requested while we chatted and laughed with each other.

Fred had to go into the store to help a customer. I looked into this small black and white TV monitor and thought, hmm, he never mentioned he had a TV, he said he had a bell. So weird, I thought, remembering the times I would wait for him to come out front, now thinking he would watch me on his black and white TV. Then Quiet Man wanted to get up to leave as he had to meet someone. Geez, I thought, what a social agenda Quiet Man keeps.

So we go into the store and start to walk down the aisle behind the long counter holding all of Fred’s wares which where flanked by other things for sale along the entire length and width of the neighboring wall.

Fred was mumbling about something. Quiet Man and I were on the customer side of things and Fred brings out this large shopping bag. It was one of those shiny bags you get in shops similar to high end department stores. It was yellow and black with a man flirting with a woman on it. In the bag, it looked as if Fred had crumpled the tissue paper meant to adorn the bag into a messy looking toilet papery mess.

Fred places this bag on the counter and asks us what we think.

“What is this, Freddy?” asks Quiet Man, scrutinizing the bag.

“Quiet Man, it’s the gifts for Mr. and Mrs. Wrong. What do you think Quiet Man?”

Oh no. Here we go again. Another unique round of communiqué between these two. Man, that bag was ugly. It looked pretty crappy.

Fred went over to admire his handiwork, commenting the man on the bag, who had on a turtleneck, as Mr. Wrong is never without, was supposed to be Mr. Wrong. The woman on the bag, in not any normal comparison, could never be Mrs. Wrong.

“And the woman, Fred, is a go-go dancer that Mr. Wrong is trying to always bag,” I chimed in without being asked.

“No, Freddy, this is all wrong,” surmised Quiet Man as if he was assessing the latest decision coming out of the Federal Reserve.

“What do you mean, Quiet Man!” said Fred, who now was digging in his bag pulling out his expensive gifts from his store for the Wrongs.

“Look, Quiet Man, this is for Mr. Wrong and now, that is for her. No one has this. No one!” argued Fred, who was dismayed at the lack of approval of his bag and now gift choices.

“Freddy, this no work. Bag is inappropriate for this event. You need to use other bag, red one, you know which one,” directed Quiet Man, who was motioning to the corner of the store where this red bag supposedly was waiting to be used for gift giving to the Wrongs.

After Fred locates the bag, then Quiet Man starts to question the gift choices. Fred, like a puppy dog, follows Quiet Man’s logic about his assessment of the personalities of Mr. and Mrs. Wrong.

Quiet Man, who was supposed to have left for a 7 pm meeting, decided instead to carouse around Fred’s store, looking for the personality matching gifts. He was correct. Fred was attempting to gift to Mr. Wrong a gift that was worthy of a much more macho man. Mr. Wrong was the polar opposite of a man, much less a macho one.

So, Quiet Man began to “shop” Fred’s store with me next to him. He pointed out various choices to me and asked my opinion. We did this whether Fred had other customers or not. We laughed hysterically about Mr. Wrong. He was living in the 70’s with his pin straight hair hanging by his earlobes and parted on the side. The hair parted was pretty long as well. He was never without his signature turtleneck whether worn alone or under a blazer. He could have been part of the Mod Squad.

I was wondering why Quiet Man took such a keen interest in Fred’s gift. Heck, I knew they would be the only ones bringing a gift, because no one else would.

As we discussed less macho items to gift to Mr. Wrong, Quiet Man and I flirted with each other and as time went on, I found myself leaning into his shoulder as we both stared at the merchandise on the shelves in front of us.

Soon, the conversation turned to the tastes of Quiet Man. We spoke of cologne and I did not remember what, if any, he ever wore. Oh, he was particular. When he asked me to smell a bottle, Fred retrieved it, and I was instantly taken by effect on my olfactory nerves to remember that this was the smell of Quiet Man.

As my face showed my recognition, Quiet Man looked down at me approvingly. I told him I envisioned his taste to match how he projects himself, coolly and confidently and mysteriously. The scent was not that at all, yet it was him. Davidoff CoolWater.

He told me his favorite scent on a woman was Thierry Mugler’s Angel. I knew that scent well. It was my sister’s.

“Really, Quiet Man, that is your favorite?” I asked.

“Yes Muse. My favorite.”

“Well, it is heavy scent,” I replied.

We bantered back and forth about Angel. I did not dislike the scent, it was not something I would choose to wear.

Fred chimed in about how he knew it was my sister’s favorite and dragged it out to prove to me it was not heavy.

“Yes it is Fred,” I told him.

Fred wanted me to put it on, so I did. I had on a heavy turtleneck cotton sweater.

“Quiet Man,” I said, “would you like to smell?”

Quiet Man for some reason was discussing the subtleties of one’s personal chemistry and the effect of which it had on scents we placed on our bodies.

I was holding out my turtleneck, exposing my neck, because by that time I realized I had sprayed myself quite heavily with Angel and I was getting a sick feeling.

Quiet Man reaches in towards my neck and breathes deeply. I had to step back quickly, for my own sake, not trusting myself.

“It’s my favorite,” he said looking at me.

“Well, it is making me sick right now,” I told him pondering the probability of Mrs. Quiet Man having gobs of Angel all over herself.

Quiet Man sat down by the end of the counter. I was standing next to him and Fred in front of us. Quiet Man’s phone rings and he tells the caller he was not going to make the meeting. It turns out the caller was Dane and I believe they were supposed to meet at the go-go club. I rolled my eyes. Quiet Man luridly smiles at me and laughs as he was putting away his cell phone.

After a while, Berman comes into the store. It was a surprise to see him and he was surprised to see all of us in the store chatting.

Berman and Quiet Man exchange what I would deem unpleasant pleasantries. They would say things to each other that bordered on appropriate comments that were daggers in disguise. So weird.

Eventually, Mrs. Quiet Man calls in to her husband. I believe it was her because he was jibber jabbing in his language to her. I thought it was odd since he previously had plans with Dane for what I believed was a meeting at the go go club to oogle all the trashy girls.

Not one to spring to action to get home after a phone call reminder, Quiet Man and I chatted a bit more, and Berman and Fred scuttled into the back office.

We walked out together while Quiet Man lit up a Marlboro. We talked about the party the next night and bid our goodbyes.

After I arrived home, Mr. Wrong called to tell me with the impending snow storm, they were not taking any chances. Ok, Mr. Wrong, I told him.

I rang Quiet Man on his cell.

“Hello Muse!” he said into the phone.

I told him the party was cancelled due to the weather and it was rescheduled for the next week.

“OK, Muse, thank you,” he told me.

“You are welcome, Quiet Man,” I replied as I hung up to his talk to you tomorrow Muse.

I flitted around my kitchen with the events of the day with Quiet Man looming in my brain.