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.