White Into the Night

I thought I would post a photo of the winter wonderland we are experiencing. I love it when the roads are black and the snow has not melted. The pine trees are dressed in their lush and heavy winter white, glistening not only the lilting light of the day but the luminous nightly moon, illuminating everything.

When I come home late into the night, I feel the resonating quiet of the cold air and my eyes dance over the moon lit snow, under the dresses of luscious conifer which at times sway to the whispering musical wind that makes it way through from the north.

There is something special about a snow covered earth. It is as if it's a magical wonderland that beckons you to revel in it's purity. The slender icicles harbor the reflective light tossed to it from the snow below and I remember that as a small girl I would not hesitate to pluck one from its perch and slide it into my mouth, drinking the cold, refreshing drink it became.

The air is crisp yet warming; I feel it's cool caress and am able to welcome it into my lungs, refreshing my sense of smell as it passes.

A slight wind rustles my long hair and kisses my now rosy cheeks. My eyes widen to take in the beauty of the white night as I look at familiar surroundings, remembering the past.

As I turn my back to this wondrous landscape to enter the warmth of my home, I think of how lucky I am to have partaken, if ever so briefly, in the virginal beauty of such nights.

My Valentine

As I am writing this, it is almost one half hour before Valetine's Day is over. It was an uneventful day, except one thing.

I arrived home, tired and worn. The day was cold but did not chill.

This holiday from early on has not interested me, ever. In fact, I had to remind myself throughout the day to remember.

I pulled into my dark driveway, looking at the house, empty and alone. Glancing at the front door, I saw what looked like a notice propped up on the firewood I had on the slate porch and was too lazy to move into the house.

Damn. Was it some kind of notice of some kind? Eh, I would soon find out.

I collected my things from my vehicle and trudged in the semi-lit walk to the front door. I picked up the white paper that was oddly and prominently placed.

It dropped from my hand.

There was something attached to it; I was so annoyed that it fell, I barely glanced at it in the semi dark light.

As my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit area that only let me view things in black and white, I noticed the single, luscious long stemmed rose.

Who could have left it I wondered?

I opened the door, entered the foyer and headed into the house.

Putting my things down, I looked at the red velvety rose. The note was written to me in a handwriting I recognized.

"Dear Aunt Muse, would you be my first Valentine? Love, CD."

I started to weep. CD is my beautiful ten month old nephew, my most wonderful Valentine.

You are so Complicated, Quiet Man

I went out with Dane on a Thursday night.

On Saturday morning, Quiet Man rang.

I was lounging actually just finishing the post about Dane when my cell sounded. I looked and noticed that Quiet Man was calling me from the office number rather than his cell phone as he usually does. I also did not forget that I did not hear from him in about two weeks. His curiosity or jealously must have peaked.

About three weeks ago, I got a call from Quiet Man on a Sunday. I was just coming out of the mall in the next state. I had just picked up some things at Sephora including Agent Provocateur, actually.

He wanted me to do some work for a friend and Ricky had mentioned it to me about two weeks prior. At the end of what he wanted to talk to me about, when he asked where I was, I told him.

"Oh, Muse, so how is Dick?" he asked me slyly.

Now Quiet Man knows that Dick lives in the city where the TJMaxx is located, as does Harry. Why was he asking me about Dick? He was jealous. I could not believe it, that he showed some indications of keeping track of men in my life.

"No, Quiet Man, I am not with Dick," I shot back.

"Ok, Muse," he replied.

Smug, stupid man.

This was after the New Year.

Prior to the New Year, the last I heard from Quiet Man was Christmas Eve. He was supposed to meet me at Fred’s. We were going to hang out with Fred until he closed his store to keep him company. I went to see Fred by myself to wish him Merry Christmas and to drop off some homemade cookies for his children. I did not hear from Quiet Man until after I left Fred’s. He had left me a message on my home phone about having gone to Fred’s earlier in the afternoon. I returned his call and we chatted. He was to come to his office sometime on Christmas day and we were going to meet to greet each other Merry Christmas.

It turned out he did not call on Christmas as he had on Thanksgiving. But I did not give it much thought. I found out later from him that he was sickly on Christmas and stayed home. But he made the point to tell me without my asking.

So, back to the first of the year.

I had spent New Year's with Dick. Quiet Man was supposed to spend it with his wife. We were both invited to the same New Year's Eve party by the same person. I told he and Fred I was not going. I went last year and it was not that great and those two did not go at all. On Christmas Eve, I was sitting in Fred's store and the person who was having the New Year's party came in and asked Fred if Quiet Man was going to his party. Fred said yes he was and then motioned to me with his hidden hand that Quiet Man was not going to go. After the man left, Fred said they just tell the guy yes, but no one was going to go, yet Fred still was sending in a donation for the fundraiser, the reason for the party.

So, I never thought about it again, except when the person who was throwing the party's mother called me umpteen times on New Year's Eve day to see if I was going to go. I was with Dick, who spent the night, and took me for a seafood lunch along the water in the next state. She called while we were eating.

When we went to walk on the beach, I returned her call and told her I was not going because I was in the next state. She insisted that I could still go since it started at 9 pm and it was only 3 pm now. She would not take no for an answer and insisted I bring Dick, to lure me to attend.

If I went, I did not want to go with Dick, but I could not tell him that. I had been avoiding the party also because of Dick. He wanted to do something for New Year's but did not know what. I wanted to stay home. Dick was up for that, but wanted us to go to a house party of a mutual friend.

We headed back home and I had to go to the supermarket if we were going to celebrate ourselves at home. I also dreaded, sort of, Dick's amorous nature, because he really does tire me out and when he is in the mood, he is not subtle at all about what he wants and when he wants it. I also felt sick from eating so much fried seafood, Dick's absolute favorite. This was what he wanted to do for New Year's Eve day and by gosh we did it!
While at the supermarket, Dick decides we should go to the house party and he calls our friend, who is happy we are coming. This friend, Teddy, also has a thing for me, despite being married. Teddy is a good friend and will drop anything to come and help me. He also professed his love for me a few years ago much to my surprise. I was so grossed out, I ignored his behavior and we never spoke about it at all. Dick is aware that Teddy is, as he puts it, "in love" with me. It never bothered Dick, because we would laugh about it a lot.

So, we make our way to Teddy's house where it was so snowy. Dick loves driving "recklessly" in bad weather despite knowing I am white knuckled on the OH SHIT bar of the car.

I was bored out of my mind at Teddy's house. Dick did not get ready to leave until about 4:30 am. After being pulled over by a cop at 5 am on the way home, I was able to fall blissfully asleep in my own bed without Dick at 6:00 am.

When Quiet Man called me on January 3rd he wanted to know where I was on New Year's Eve. He went to the party! He was looking for me. He told me that his wife did not want to go and he decided he was going because he believed I was going to be there.

He told me that the mother of the guy who threw the party even was asking him where I was. Great, I thought. I must be the most gossiped about person in our social circle if the mother, Trudy, was asking Quiet Man about me, when I had already told her I was with Dick. Maybe she thought I lied to her and was with Quiet Man on the QT.

"Quiet Man, I spent New Year's Eve with Dick," I began and made my New Year's seem so fantastic I almost made myself go to confession for telling such big tales.

He did not comment after I told him that. He just went on to tell me how there were not any attractive women at the party. He told me a funny story about a woman who was trying to pick him up and was so DIRECT. She was asking him if he would dance with her and he told her NO, very flatly and meanly. She did not give up and then tried to put a party hat on his head and he took it off and threw it to the ground. This still did not detract her. She continued to come up to him and whine about if he would take her out on the dance floor. He refused.

As I was listening to him, I said, “Why did you just not say, leave me alone, honey, I am married?!”

Quiet Man ignored this because the point of his story was two fold in my opinion: He was trying to let me know he missed me at the party and then found out that I was with Dick, so then he tried to get me jealous about the woman that was hitting on him. Of course, if I was there, this would not be happening to him because he basically almost ignores anyone around us.

I was second guessing my rational decision that it was a good thing I was not with Quiet Man on New Year’s. For one, he is married. Two he did not ask me about going to the party nor made plans that we would both show up. If I was there, and got drunk, I think our guards would have been let down, or the very least, Quiet Man would have suggested we leave together, if only to go and talk by ourselves and from how steamy the last time we did that, I was not sure if I had the will power to say no.

Sometimes when I see this man, my mouth fills with such lust that I can taste him. My heart races and I begin to feel the swell of attraction that overwhelms my body. I feel the rush of blood through my veins that makes my face flush and makes it difficult to breathe normally. It is a struggle to think clearly. It is almost impossible to not touch him in any manner, to keep to myself. I imagine the sensation of being in his arms, where, if he does not hold me, I would collapse, from sheer attraction.

One thing I fail utterly at is to not look at him. He must see what he does to me, how can he not? If I avoid eye contact with him, it is easier, because I can see his wife and what a tonic to reality that becomes.

So, I answered my cell phone.

“Ah low, Muse?!” said the deep tonal voice.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Ah, it is I, Quiet Man, Muse,” he replied, sounding confused.

“Oh, Quiet Man,” I said calmly, “hi; I did not know it was you because I did not recognize the number.” He was calling from his office phone and I knew it was the office phone.

“I dialed your cell phone, not your office,” he told me.

“No, this number, 123 555 1212 was what showed up on my cell. I did not recognize it Quiet Man.”

“It did not say it was my office?”

I laughed at his thought that my cellular company would have the name of his business flash on my phone.

“So how have you been, Quiet Man?” I asked him. I knew why he was calling.

“Muse, how are you?” he snickered, “I hear you were with Dane last night, no?”

So I rehashed the story. Quiet Man then told me his version and the truth lies somewhere in the middle between his version and Dane’s. Quiet Man was so very interested in what happened that he spent an hour on the phone with me discussing the events of two nights prior. And discussing his analysis of how Dane operates in general.

He told me he was busy at the office when Dane called him and he told Dane that he was not sure if he could make it for a drink.

“Muse, I am so sorry,” he told me, “I would have liked to have gone with you for a drink and have fun with you.”

“Really?” I begrudgingly pondered.

“So what else Dane do Muse?”

“Well, he pointed out to me one of the girls there,” I began.

“Who?” he asked innocently.

“Oh, the one who wants a more serious relationship with you, that is who,” I said directly.

“Me?” he said.

I was unable to catch on the phone if he was lying or not. I really did not care much because I was disgusted and changed the subject.

We continued chatting until he had to answer his cell phone.

“Muse, I need to take this call,” he told me.

“Fine. Bye Quiet Man, take your call,” I replied.

“OK, Muse.”

As he sometimes does, he remains silent on the line without hanging up.

When I heard him begin to speak, after such an inordinate pause, I hung up on him.

I find his behavior so odd that it defies any sort of ascertainable logic. If it is not that, then I am severely lacking in recognition skill, and I do not believe that is the case. No, I do not.

Agent Provocateur

I am sitting here this morning while I should be at work. But I am not.

Multitasking as usual, lounging in bed, talking on the phone, listening to the television, reading the Internet and typing.

I am exhausted, tired and getting sick from smelling Agent Provocateur.

Why do you ask?

I will tell you.

Despite the life sucking experiences in the probate court I have to deal with, I have tried to manage to hold it together. Really. But, the stress is overwhelming. I am convinced it is going to age me.

The day before yesterday I had endured a six hour session with a judge, a graduate of a law school that leaves much to be desired and whose stubbornness and demeanor is more akin to Adolf H. rather than to the position he holds. A product of political pull rather than intelligence. This is sad.

So, yesterday after running around to pay property taxes, I went to my office to have a cup of coffee and try and relax while catching up with what I needed to do.

A long time friend came to see me about something and he was off almost as soon as he came, asking me if he could see me today. Fine, I told him. Not a problem. I wanted some calm solitude to drink my coffee and call a friend to discuss what was occurring in the probate court, my current, unwelcome obsession.

The phone rings.

"Hello!" said the voice.

"Muse?" it pondered, "It's Dane!"

Dane if any of you can recall is a friend of Quiet Man. I met Dane when Fred had his car Christmas Party.

Prior to yesterday, about I would say 2-3 weeks ago, I was talking to Quiet Man on the telephone.

"Muse, what you doing?" he asked me.

"Why?" I asked suspiciously.

"You free to have lunch?"

"Why?"

"Dane is here with me and we go to get lunch and we want you to join us," he explained.

"Sorry Quiet Man, I have a lunch date."

"You do?"

"Yes, with George," I said, hoping it would sting.

“Oh.”

“Well Quiet Man, I have to go, tell Dane I said hello,” as I hung up the phone.

About the second week of December, Dane called me about a friend of mine who may be able to put him in touch with Martha Stewart. He wanted to cook for her because he felt she would enjoy it. Do not even begin to try and rationalize the irrationality of that concept. Quiet Man rolled his eyes when Dane was putting this thought of his out into our conversation which had nothing to do with Martha Stewart.

He gave me his business card which had a glossy photograph on each side, so I could email him my friend’s response. [Which I did.]

Dane also told me that he was going to have rotator cuff surgery just before Christmas. Why someone would choose to have that at that time, is beyond logic, but he just wanted to get it over with; and it could not wait until after Jan 1, just for personal convenience? No, it could not according to Dane.

After Christmas sometime, Quiet Man told me Dane had his operation and was fine. I asked him to send Dane my best regards. He said he would. Then he said Dane would invite me to his daughter’s wedding. Does that make sense? No it does not, but this is Quiet Man. Sending one’s regards now equates to a statement of invitation by people I do not even know.

So yesterday; I was quite surprised to hear Dane’s voice. He wanted to ask my opinion on something very idiotic. This is a married 71 year old man. So I answered it suspicious this was not the reason for the call.

It was not, as I suspected. He invited me to go out with him and Quiet Man later that evening for a drink. I told him I had a dinner date but was free after that.

“Oh, you have a date?”

“No Dane, it’s just for dinner, nothing at all. I could use a drink to take the edge off all of this stress I am under right now.”

So he told me he was going to call me. I told him I was so tired and very tired looking.

“Oh, you are gorgeous!” he said, trying to gain favor with false compliments I ignore.

Throughout the conversation I thought Quiet Man was with him, but Dane told me he was not with him. I hung up and really did not think about it at all.

After dinner, my cell rang. It was about 9 pm. I remembered Dane. Well, a man who does what he says he would do, and I pondered, do men have to reach the age of 71 to accomplish that?

“Muse!” he bellowed into the phone, “Are you coming?”

“Well is Quiet Man going?” I asked. This was supposed to be a group thing. I was looking forward to de-stressing with Quiet Man, laughing and joking.

Earlier that day, Dane asked me if he should tell Quiet Man that I was going or should we surprise him. I told him he better tell him since I had not heard from Quiet Man nor seen him in about two weeks.

“Quiet Man and Ricky are going, Muse,” Dane told me.

“Well, were are we going? We are going to get a drink, right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to come and pick you up at your house? Because I can get you if you want,” Dane continued.

“I don’t want to go to the strip club Dane, and if that are the plans you made with Quiet Man, I don’t want to go.”

“Why? It does not matter. We will all be there.”

And on and on it went. The allure of a drink and some company compelled me to agree to meet him at the local Dunkin’Donuts’ parking lot.

“What are you driving Dane?”

“BMW.”

“What color?” I inquired, as if he would be the only BMW in the lot.

“Maroon.”

“OK,” I said, thinking, I never saw a maroon BMW.

After going around and around about Quiet Man and Ricky still being at the office and how they were getting there and not being able to hear Dane clearly on the cell phone since he was on his cell phone, I told him he could fetch me at the local DD.

Having only one half hour before I had to meet Dane, I get home with twenty minutes to spare. I did put on some Smashbox something or other on my sallow skin, a touch of lipstick to guard against chapped lips, a touch of mascara to my outer lashes and for good measure, a dose of Agent Provocateur.

I made it to the DD about two or three minutes after Dane. He was parked aggressively, in his shiny maroon 7 series. He was dressed in brown and camel, to match his light tan leather interior.

I got out of my vehicle, locked it and said hello to Dane and kissed him on his cheek after he rolled down his window.

“Get in, get in!” he said.

How cute I thought, he was all duded out. He told me his wife knew he was going to meet me. Good I said, it’s nice to know you can be friends with someone and go out for a nice drink. I really believe this.

On the ride, I chatted with Dane about his operation. I told him I knew he was doing well because Quiet Man told me he was ok and I sent my regards.

“You did, Muse?”

“Why of course, Dane. I was worried about you and the operation. And I told Quiet Man so.”

He turned to look at me and said, “You know what?”

“What Dane?”

“He never told me,” as he was trying to understand why Quiet man did not tell him of my message.

“I have no idea Dane, but I told him and even when he wanted me to go to lunch with you a while ago, I told him again.”

“Well, he did not tell me.”

So he drives me to the damned go-go club. I really did not want to go in, but he assured me Quiet Man and Ricky were not far behind.


The weirdo feeling of walking into a men’s club with a 71 year old man who is not even charged a cover is difficult to explain.

We sat there until 1 am while Dane greeted most of the strippers, one of whom he believed was an undercover cop. A young man came over to say hello to him. Dane told me that Quiet Man was going to back him up in his restaurant venture. Are you kidding me?

As the night progressed, all I could do was down Belvedere on the rocks. After the second one, I became very chatty because my usual rationale is I can talk a man out of anything he is thinking about me I don’t want him to think. And I think at the end of the night, I did.

What I feel sort of bad about was that since Dane brought up Quiet Man quite a bit, I blathered on and on and told Dane stories about what Fred, Quiet Man and I did in the past. Fred does not like Dane. I can’t remember why, I told Dane, but Quiet Man told me the reason. I thought it was about some go go girl. You know, the usual.

I think I burst Quiet Man’s cover because I do not think Quiet Man told Dane the truth about some things, which are not bad things but were told to impress Dane. I was on my third Vodka at that point and I was also doing a good job about Fred.

I think this was precipitated by Dane pointing out one stripper [eh go go girl, sorry] that was after Quiet Man. Dane said her problem was she wanted something serious with him. This made me re-evaluate Quiet Man. Dane insinuated and rolled his eyes like a Ferris Wheel when I told him about Fred and Ricky insisting to me that Quiet Man was so faithful to his wife, which I never believed.

I also filled in Dane about how I met Quiet Man and gave him a condensed version of our short history. Dane was eye popping as he listened to me. I believe he was getting annoyed the conversation was dominated by my tipsy recants of Quiet Man’s antics with me.

The vodka was a-talking last night. I am now beginning to regret having spoken the truth right now.

Needless to say Quiet Man and Ricky did not show up or call Dane, who called them twice each.

I interrogated Dane about whether it was it the truth they were supposed to meet us, and he said yes; then admitted that Ricky said he might come. He told me that Quiet Man was the one who had the idea to come that night, despite having been there, I think with Dane and Mr. Wrong the night before, who spent about $4,000.00 on champagne. According to Dane, Quiet Man stops in at the go go club almost every night.

This whole thing is kinda sick, and way too much information.

The owner of the club stops by to say hello to Dane. He is dressed very conservatively in a sweater vest. Harry knows this man as well and his wife owns the club. I felt better when I saw some normally dressed women in the club who were the wife/owner and other women Dane said helped the girls get dressed [or undressed if you ask me.]

The male owner welcomed me to his club and I informed him I was told I was going out for a drink, not coming to his strip club and made it quite clear I was not happy about it; he said something I cannot now recall, but I told him a lady has not any trouble being a lady in any circumstance. He looked surprised when I said that and he agreed.

Dane was commenting that the people in the club were probably wondering what a beautiful girl like myself was going with an old man like he. I agreed with him, especially in strip club. I was wondering the same thing myself, having been sort of duped to accompany him. But it made me laugh because men do not think normally.

As I sat in the half booth with a table in front of us, I had my legs crossed over one another. I was wearing sweat slacks by Vertigo with elaborate embroidery along the hips and on my hip bones on the front. I had on high heeled boots and were swinging them hoping that Quiet Man would show up.

He did not. And I was so grateful I did not call him at all. I wonder why neither he nor Ricky answered Dane’s call.

Dane told me that when he told Quiet Man I was going with him, Quiet Man was very surprised and could not believe I was going.

“Yes she is,” Dane told him.

This was all before I even said yes to Dane. I was beginning to wonder about Dane. I was so glad the go go girls kept him occupied by saying hello. I was beginning to think they would able to hustle Dane for some cash; he is a wealthy man. Dane told me they know they cannot hustle him and he pays them their lap dance money but does not accept the lap dance.

Then why on earth are so you fixated with a go go club? He usually sits at the bar and pays the pole dancer inside the bar money. Oh, in Dane’s’ world, that makes sense.

I looked around at the unattractive men and women who were in this place. One particular nerdy pasty man was hanging on to stripper who was with him most of the night. He provided entertainment while we were on the Quiet Man wait for an arrival that did not occur. She took him for at least three lap dances for the time we paid attention to them. In between, she would dump him for other business. When she went back to him, he held on to her as if she was a real girl friend and he would look at Dane and I sideways as if to say, see the hot girl I have?

I could not believe this man thought like that. Did not the payment of money give him any clue as to why this woman was embracing him and hanging on to him without puking?

“No, Muse, men don’t think that way,” said Dane, “they just see a semi naked girl is hanging on to them and paying for it is not a concern.”

“Oh. Too bad so many men have low self esteem that the payment part of this ‘relationship’ is eradicated from their memory even prior to pulling out their bills,” I said to him.

To that Dane shrugged his shoulder. Did I forget to mention poor Dane had his left arm in a black arm swing over his camel blazer?

During our visit to this strip club, we were attended to by Elvis, Belina’s brother, who used to work at the go go club. He brought us our drinks and collected his tips from Dane.

I felt that Elvis was trying to figure out what Dane and I were all about. His eyes were like saucers when he saw me. I was thinking about his sister who used to work in this strip club and weird it was she could dance naked in front of her brother. Each of these two are married, and I believe it is for papers, but I cannot say for sure. It is merely a suspicion.

On the way out, I hear my name called. How weird is that?!

It was Elvis.

“Good night, Muse” he said from behind the bar. I did not even see Elvis and I don’t even know if that is his real name.

“Oh, good night, Elvis,” I muttered as I continued past without hesitation and with the slightest turn of my head to look at him.

The Agent Provocateur has stayed with me throughout the night. For all those hours in the go go club, it was emanating up from my scarf-ed neck into my nostrils, with its heavy scents.

I was surprise that the heat of my body had kept the scent so strongly.

As I walked out into the cold air into February, when I had just entered it in January, the scent dissipated. I left it behind in the go go club, it did not appear at the local diner while Dane shoveled down eggs, toast and hot sausage with a decaf coffee.

It did not surface on the ride home while Dane and I pondered why Quiet Man did not show up and I dismissed Dane’s supposition that Quiet Man was jealous I was going with Dane.

It remained hidden while driving back to my car and as I retired for the night.

As I awoke this morning and for the last three hours writing this post, I was inundated with the heavy lingering scent of Agent Provocateur that has made me feel sick.

How sad; I would like to employ its alluring smell once again, for it was the only feminine in my night in the world of men.

How apropos; a choice to wear a scent for a role I un-intentionally play: a woman admitted into the world of men. A true social agent provocateur.

If only I could avoid provoking unrest amongst these men while being a part of them.

I could have done that by avoiding invitations by 71 year old men I consider friends. Also, laying off the vodka would help as well.

We shall see.

Handsome Quiet Man.

As I was driving home from Quiet Man’s office, as I often do, I drove past where my mother was killed at the top of the crest of a hill. She died on a main road that I cannot realistically avoid.

I wonder if she is watching what I am doing with my life and who I am with? I do not know the answer to this, but it is what I was thinking on the drive home.

Entering my house, I found a Christmas gift bag for Binnie’s wine, which I hoped was a good one. I cannot imagine that it was not, since Quiet Man and Fred do not like cheap. Or so I was hoping for in the category of white wine.

I plunged the bottle into the bag and topped it with red tissue paper that I pulled out of my Sephora bag when I last bought some makeup that I really do not need, but wanted.

Now, how to dress myself. I was getting antsy and angry with myself for having stayed so long with Quiet Man that I was unable to shower. I would not have had to shower had I not plopped myself in his office and kept talking and smoking cigars that had taken temporary residence in my hair.

As I brushed my locks and rolled each section onto a hot roller, I was secretly hoping the smoke would be blasted out by the heat of the roller. If not, I planned to perfume my hair before going to Binnie’s.

As usual, I pulled many outfits. I thought a cocktail dress would be too formal, and a suit would be too drab and business like. I settled on a BCBG knit skirt with a ruffle on the hem and a long sleeved thin wool sweater that had ruffles on the edges and it’s sleeves that fanned out at my wrist. Thank goodness for this sweater. Originally I had bought it because it had not a line of buttons to close at the front, but one. The one button meets in the middle of my stomach so the ruffles meet while cascading down the semi circles that compose the front of the garment, and glide lightly on the top of my hips. From the top of the button, I can either fan the ruffles to expose a healthy decollate or fan them in to frame my face.

Framing my face was the wisest choice, for I thought Binnie is not one for exposure, but I am sure her husband Farrell is, regardless. So not wanting to appear for a house party as a tart, those ruffles worked wonders.

I chose a demure makeup for the evening, with my eye watching the clock. I was already late, damned Quiet Man. I am not sure he likes Binnie much.

Binnie and I had a girlfriend’s night out at her house, a mansion like dwelling, that makes you bug eyed. Binnie is a interior decorator and her house shows off her talent.

I had met Binnie at Fred’s house party. She started to talk to me after she heard me introduce myself to someone nearby. She told me she drove past my office many times and wondered who I was and always wanted to meet me. How odd and so funny I found that. I also met Farrell, her husband, that night, who is a natural flirt.

So, since we met, she looked up my number and called me at my office to ask me to come to her house. So I did.

While feasting, literally on the gigantic spread she put out for two people in this glorious and glamorous kitchen in that gigantic house, we were drinking the carafes of wine she had breathing. She then asks me how I knew Fred? She told me one of her girlfriends told her he was a big flirt, which he is, I confirmed. She then asked me, who was that man who was following Fred around all night at his party?

“Someone was following him around?” I asked.

Hmm, I thought for a minute as to who might have done that. Fred was running around like Ricardo Moltaban that night, solo from what I saw.

“Binnie, I never saw anyone shadowing Fred. What did he look like?”

“He was tall; a very handsome man.”

I was perusing the index of my mind from that night, wondering to whom she was referring.

“What color hair?” I asked.

“Black.”

Most of the men there had dark hair, what a clue.

“He was so good looking Muse!” she blurted out giggling like a smitten school girl.

OMG, she was talking about Quiet Man, who was not shadowing Fred. Usually he does, but not that night.

“Oh Binnie, that is Quiet Man! He is not Fred’s bodyguard, but that is what most people think because he does not care what any one thinks.”

“Well,” she thought out loud, “he is so attractive!”

All I could do was laugh and tell Binnie, Ms. Religious, married woman, that Quiet Man was also married.

“Quiet Man,” I said in a teasing voice, “do you know what Binnie said about you?”

The three of us where talking in Fred’s store after I first visited Binnie. I almost did not go after we all had hashed out that Marsha would probably tell Binnie about the night we all went to the go go club. Quiet Man was insistent that I go and not care about Marsha. Fred could care less 99% of the time what Marsha thinks or does.

“What she say Muse?” said Quiet Man as he stared at me.

“She say something Muse?” said Fred, his attention caught, probably shocked that Binnie did not say anything about him, the important one.

“Yes, she did!” I said while trying not to laugh.

Quiet Man was still looking at me but was now smiling. Fred had his ears pinned to not miss any of what I was about to say.

“Fred, Binnie asked me who was following you around all night at your house party,” I started.

“No one was following me, Muse, you know that,” said Fred, “ Binnie enjoy my party, right Muse?”

“Yes, Fred, yes. Well, she thought this person was so handsome!” I blurted.

Because it is always about Fred, he guessed it was Berman, but then reasoned Berman was not handsome.

He then asked Quiet Man who he thought it was, since, you know, Fred had to know who was more handsome than he, that is how Fred thinks.

Quiet Man had a definitive answer, “Freddy, it was So and So, who came from Boston.”

“EEH, wrong!” I said, “No, So and So was not of the correct background.”

They both looked at me.

“It was Quiet Man! Binnie thinks you are so handsome! Can you believe she remembered you, how funny!”

Fred, extremely disappointed to begin with that the handsome man was not he, did not seem to take any interest when the handsome compliments are paid to his best friend Quiet Man.

We all laughed hysterically anyway and Fred began to tease Quiet Man about how he should take Binnie out. Why Fred thinks that married men can go out on real dates, is beyond me, but it’s a cultural thing for sure.

So, since the story about Quiet Man’s handsomeness, he has had a dislike for Binnie for some reason.

And this was what probably prompted him to keep me longer that needed to make me late for Binnie’s party. While we were wasting away time at his office, he called Fred to see if he was going to Binnie’s. Yes, and so was Marsha. Poor Fred, he sounded so uninterested.

So, I grabbed my gifted bottle of wine, doused myself in scent, and arrived more than 30 minutes late for Binnie.

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.

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?”

“Yes.”

“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.

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?”

“No.”

“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.

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.

“What?”

“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.