HOLIDAY DIARY ENTRY
BY
DAVID ARTHUR WALTERS
December 22, 2017
My friend Aliz called from Washington to say approaching weather may cause her to delay returning to Miami Beach after her absence of many moons. I was crestfallen yet bade her to bide her time until the time was right to travel. I wish she would just have her car trucked back and forth. She took me on I-95 a few times and scared the dickens out of me.
She said a beautiful friend of hers from Brazil will open a restaurant in South Beach soon, so she made sure I got on the invitation list. She remarked on how beautiful and “sophisticated” Latin American women can be, and attributed some of that to affordable plastic surgery.
I said that I had by coincidence been Google-imaging European Union women by nationality and discovered French women to be “sophisticated.” But that was not really the word for it, and I was at an unusual loss for words.
Many women I viewed from other countries, I noted, posed themselves in the most vulgar manner, whereas most of the French women were of erotic demeanor, that is, not so obscene.
Knowing Aliz’ sense of propriety, I did not dare say my aesthetic study was of nudes, because then she would have been offended and I would have had to waste time explaining that my interest was not prurient at all, that it was academic and conducted quite clinically.
She insisted Latinas are the most attractive women in the world. I responded that I would not know because my study was limited to ascertaining where in the EU erogenous beauty was cultivated the best. That would be France. I shall have to consult with Roget’s Thesaurus before providing a critical argument leading up to my foregone conclusion embedded in my premises.
Some people, as every man and woman knows, are naturally sexy, and they serve as models for others to imitate the best they can.
I recall the real estate professional who turned to teaching pole dancing during the big downturn. She taught the girls the moves. They followed her closely, and were doing what dancers call “doing technique instead of dancing.”
She certainly did not look like your average woman of sixty. She was an extraordinarily sexy when dancing. Otherwise she was modesty attractive, and looked half her age. Her students ranged from beginners to professionals who performed in clubs and gave privates. She could show them the moves and explain the mechanics, but she could not teach them to be sexy other than to talk metaphysically about the feelings she projected.
She knew I had been a dancer, so one day she asked me to spot her while she was trying a new move on the pole. After I helped ease her to the floor, I begged her to allow me to be her slave.
Well, Aliz said she longed to be back in Miami Beach for the winter, yet Washington was very beautiful during the Christmas holiday, making her glad she was raised a Christian. I remarked that anyone could enjoy Christmas in Washington: atheists, Jews, Buddhists, Zoroastrians, Muslims….
“Oh, there are many Muslims here,” she said. “I see them everywhere because of the way the women dress, the scarves….”
“I was almost run over in a crosswalk by a Muslim woman wearing one of those scarves when she made a left turn. The edge of the scarf blocked her view.”
“Maybe that is why women were not allowed to drive in Saudi Arabia,” Aliz said.
“They can now that the head prince is modernizing things.”
“They could make special scarves for driving,” Aliz suggested.
“I don’t think so. No texting or scarves should be allowed at all when driving a vehicle. It was a scarf that strangled Isadora Duncan when she was driving.”
“They could pull and tie the scarves back on their heads. I have a hundred scarves in storage,” Aliz said, naming several luxury brands. “I have a book about the many ways to tie a scarf.”
“I remember when many women in Chicago wore scarves, and some wore veils, I think on Sunday and when in mourning. I don’t blame women for wanting to be discreet when men act like dogs. Women put on a hard face, avert their eyes. Muslim women might even wear a sack until they get to the function they are going to on a camel or in a limo, and, when they arrive, they exhibit their legs with a short skirt and high heels. Some fine burkas cost thousands of dollars, you know.”
That led me to say I had a headscarf a woman gave me in Manhattan in 1968. I did not tell Aliz that she was a call girl. I did not mind her calling because I ran away from home when I turned thirteen, grew up on the streets of Chicago and New York, and I believed people who condemned prostitutes for renting out their bodies yet sold their souls for money were worse prostitutes, if that is the word people want to use. I would not, however, move into the penthouse she bought because being there when her tricks were around was not for me. She gave me her little brown scarf in parting, to keep my soprano recorder in. Aliz said I should wash it, but I cannot because it would fall apart if I did, as that is what happened with my old baseball cap.
Speaking of recorders, I recounted to Aliz my brief fling with a Manhattan actress who had men eating out of the palm of her hand wherever she went. She was definitely of star quality, indeed, already a rising star, having started out in B movies. She was waved to the head of lines wherever she went. She made no overt demands on men, yet she was well served by her court. Men actually came up and congratulated me for being her companion. She gave me an alto recorder on my parting, in 1972, which I also still have to this day. Richard Chase made a box for it when I arrived in Hawaii that year.
Aliz knew the special “feeling” I was talking about. I was nearly knocked dead some years ago when I was the privileged subject of one of her rare “flirts.” Yet that kind of romance was not in the works, and we are great friends. That kind of relationship is difficult to find in South Beach. I hope that the weather will permit her to drive down soon. I shall see if I can remember some songs to play on my recorders in the meantime. I used to be a good musician and dancer. I live almost entirely in my head now. I need a vacation.
xYx
As for South American girls, in 1992, in need of help. A young woman came to my house and insisted on working for me. Imagine Charo, but better looking. She was a plastic surgeon from Ecuador trying to become a general practitioner in the US. She now is a dermatologist and just sent me holiday and birthday wishes this past week.
My professional dancer girlfriend from many years ago still dances her Tina Turner Proud Mary routine for groups and has a body that belies her age.
Ron