GON #8: Day One; Together 3

Getting Old Now

Chicago, Illinois

10/19/98 

7:10 PM

The shower off now. Standing within the tub pulling the towel from side to side across her back, I watched as Barbara stepped from the tub and stood nude before the mirror brushing her hair.

Still wet, Barbara’s dark hair lay loosely to the bottom of her neck. Her deep waist accentuating ample buttocks, Barbara’s thighs – which didn’t bother me because I imagined those thighs held tightly to either side of my face – Barbra’s thighs were on the pudgy side, but her calves and ankles pleasantly shapely.

“Hey, honey...” I said, “...tell me to kiss your ass!”

Glancing over her shoulder, “Hey, Mitchie, kiss my ass!”

Which I did, on both cheeks then, ‘dimples’ or not and once

again, and for luck, or really because I just wanted to, I kissed

her ass again.

Just being with Barbara! I thought, it Feels so good just being with Barbara!

7;28 PM

“ 'Ruth’s Chris'.” I told the cab driver.

“On ‘LaSalle’?”

“Yeah, I guess, at least that’s what the man at the desk said.”

***

“Good evening. Welcome to ‘Ruth’s Chris’. Would you care to order cocktails?”

“Barb?”

“Not much of a drinker, Mitch. You’re from California. What’s a good California drink?”

“Actually, I’m from here first; Chicago, I mean. A ‘California drink’?” Thinking,… “Actually it’s from Mexico, but I’d have to say it is a California drink. You like salt, Barb?”

“ ‘Salt?’” A sly smile forming on her lips, that I ‘thought’ I understood. “Yeah, at times.”

Turning to the waiter. “ A Margarita. Blended, with salt for the lady and a ‘Beefeater Martini’ for me...You like olives, Barb?’

“Salt? Olives? I do like both, I guess.”

Back to the waiter, “ ‘Beefeater Martini…” about to say, ‘stirred, not shaken’, but wasn’t in a ‘James Bond’ kind of mood “...with two olives., please.”

Barbara and me, sitting across from each other, our hands held atop the table… I was, and supposed Barbara also was savoring our ‘here and now’. Not wishing to speak, we both quiet for a few seconds.

Until...

“Feels kind of surrealistic, doesn’t it?”

Almost startled at the sound of her voice. Taking a deep breath. “Yes! My God, ‘yes’!”

“This, now…” Barbara said “...is so unbelievable I feel like I’m living a dream.”

“Thinking about it, honey, I think we’re both living the same dream.”

The waiter returned – Possibly noticing our moment, he silently placed Barbara’s Margarita before her and the Martini before me, then waiting a moment, “Would you care to order now, or should I return in a few minutes?”

Taking my eyes from Barbara, glancing upward, “Yes, please, give us a couple minutes.”

Lost in this dream. The dream of ‘actually’ being here, of actually being together. Afraid if I released Barbara’s hand the dream would dissolve. Afraid if my eyes strayed from Barbara’s eyes I would awake and the dream would dissolve.

Quiet again, neither she nor I spoke.

Moments drawing on, knowing I had to say or do something, releasing Barbara’s hand, I stirred my Martini with the minute plastic fork speared through two plump green olives, then holding the fork to her mouth, biting into one of the gin soaked olives and drawing it into her mouth…

“Wow!” she said, “That’s some strong stuff you’re drinking there.”

“I want to see how you like my ‘California’ drink, go on…” I prompted, gesturing to the Margarita “...take a drink!”

Stirring the green tinted liquor with the pink cocktail straw, Barbara took a tentative sip, then, smiling at me, a larger sip. “This is pretty good stuff, Mitch.”

“Yeah, but drink a few of those, and they’ll put you right onto your ass.”

“So tell me some stuff about yourself that you didn’t before.”

“No, you firs, Barb! I’m dieing to know why no picture on ‘Writers Place’ and why you flatly refused to let me know what you look like.”

Giggling, “ I did send two pictures of myself.”

“Yeah…” attempting to sound angry, but really, I wasn’t “… two old, out of focus and over exposed pictures that showed me nothing!”

The waiter returning.”Would you care to order now?”

Not needing a menu, knowing what I wanted by seeing their advertisement on television a ‘zillion’ times. Whereas, Barbara studding the menu, I ordered first. “Rib eye, medium rare, double baked potato, with sour cream and chives, asparagus and the house salad with…” about to say ‘garlic dressing’ but not wanting it on my breath “...blue cheese dressing.”

“And the lady?”

“I’ll take all the same but the…” reading from the menu “… ‘Petite Fillet Magnon’, please.”

“Medium rare, also?”

“Yes, please.”

Waiting until the waiter turned away. “So tell me why no picture.” Sipping my drink. “ Why all the secrecy ?”

“It didn’t start out that way.” Hesitating as she drew inward on the pink straw. “ When I joined ‘Writers Place’ and submitted my profile, I didn’t have a picture that I wanted to give them. And when I posted my firs poem, I still didn’t have anywhere near a recent picture… And I really hate taking pictures anyway, but didn’t have one I liked anyway, so began to think that ‘I’d rather people like what I write rather than the way I look’ and never got around to posting one. And then when you came along and we got, uh, friendly, I still didn’t have a picture that I wanted you see, so I became ‘a woman of mystery’.”

“Why would you not want me to see what you look like?”

“Mitch, I saw what you look like. And thought you were… ‘are’ so handsome you wouldn’t be interested in me.”

“Why! Why would you even think that?”

Our dinners arriving, we waited as the waiter placed our meals before us.

Cutting into my perfectly broiled rib-eye, I chewed and swallowed and, willing myself not to moan, took another sip of the martini, then a fork full of the double baked potato with sour cream and chives before repeating, “Why?” Asking, “Why would you think I wouldn’t be interested in you if I saw a picture…” smiling “...a somewhat currant, not too over-exposed picture.” I speared a cherry tomato from the salad.

“Mitchie...” chewing and swallowing “...this meat is terrific!” Cutting again, and chewing and swallowing, and taking another sip of her Margarita “...I know I’m not an attractive person and you…” digging into the potato “...are…”

“ “Really’! You think I’m that shallow…” another sip of the martini “...that I wouldn’t want to see you if...”

“No…” spearing a piece of ‘iceberg lettuce’ from the salad bowl “...maybe okay to ‘see’ what I look like, but to want to… you know.”

“Let me tell you something…” Thinking, Amazing how fast a Martini goes “...my wife; Marsha, my ‘ex’ wife was beautiful. At least I thought she was beautiful, but after making me miserable for thirty-two years this ‘beautiful’ lady let me know why she’d been such a bitch all those years, and most usually it had ‘nothing’ to do with me sticking my foot in my mouth. So excuse me – ‘not’ referring to you, Barb, but mere physical beauty no longer ranks above all else when it comes to the way I might feel about a lady...

“Barbara, I fell in love with you because you… hope I’m not being too ‘corny’, but I fell in love with you because your writing touched my…” tapping my chest “...heart. And no matter what you may think about yourself, knowing you, I think you’re a beautiful person.”

“Thank you, honey!” Looking at me. “ You have no idea how much I appreciate that.”

Picking an asparagus spear up with her fingers and biting the soft end off. “How long were you two married?”

“Marsha and I were married thirty-two years…” How’d this Martini go so fast? Noting our waiter, who was passing near by, I motioned to my empty glass, signalman I wanted another. “...and I always thought she was beautiful, but then, oh...”

Interrupting, “How long are you two divorced now?” she asked, adding, “ I Think this drink is getting to me.”

Taking more potato. “A little longer than ten years now.” Spearing a chunk of blue cheese along with a piece of lettuce.

“Boy, this is a ‘great’ steak, or what!..Why?”

“ ‘Why’ what?” I asked.

No longer using the pink cocktail straw, drinking the Margarita directly from the large bell shaped glass and coming away with some salt crystal's clinging to her lips, which she licked away.

“Why, after all that time, why did you and…?

“Marsha.”

“Yeah…” cutting into the fillet, chewing and waiting until she swallowed “...why after thirty-two years did you and Marsha decide to get a divorce.”

Touching her tongue to the rim of the glass, licking a bit of salt. “Miss her at all?”

“ ‘Miss her’? Miss Marsha?Hell ‘no’!! What she did to me!” Picking the Martini glass up, relapsing it was empty, twirling the glass by it’s stem. “Okay, I’m a guy, and guy’s sometimes put their foot in their mouths…”

“Comes with the territory, baby.”

“Yeah, so I’ve been told.”

Nodding a silent ‘thank you’ to the waiter as he placed another ‘Beefeater’ before me. Offering one of the olives to Barbara again, but shaking head ‘no’, I ate it.

“But with Marsha my foot was ‘always’ stuck in my mouth. And a guy can’t ‘always’ be wrong! Once in a while , you know, he’s ‘got’ to be right!” Taking a sip. “But with Marsha I was ‘always’ wrong and like I said, ‘it didn’t matter’. She didn’t care because she liked it that way...

“Hey, we’re supposed to be having a good time and here I am telling you all about my beautiful shitty, use-to-be wife and shitty marriage.”

“No...” drinking the last of the Margarita and wiping the salt from her lips “...you listened to all my bitching about Chuck, and my mother’s problems. So go ahead. I really want to know.”

“Oh, baby, believe me! It’s too complicated to go into all the reasons. But I will say that Marsha and me had a long conversation when she told me that she ‘never’ loved me, and only married me because she thought she was pregnant with another guy’s baby, and would actually go out of her way to invent reasons to pretend to be angry at me…”

“Why would Marsha… Why would ‘anyone’ do such a thing?”

“So she wouldn’t have to talk to me and have to worry about me wanting to…” whispering “...fuck her.”

Moving the last small bit of fillet around the plate with her fork. “She did this to you…” disbelievingly “… so she wouldn’t have to talk to you’?”

“Yeah. Or have sex with me. And sometimes she wouldn’t talk to me for days and even weeks. There was always a meal on the table when it came time for dinner. But either I’d eat by myself or her and me would eat in absolute silence.”

“Would she eventually tell you why she was all ‘that’ angry?”

“ Never! But Marsha did know my nature, and knew that I’d feel guilty for ‘whatever’ I did. And I did feel guilty even if I knew I didn't do anything.”

Remembering those long gone horribly lonely days caused a hollow twitch in my stomach, that I eased by swallowing a mouthful of Beefeater.

“But after a few years – of course always wondering ‘why’? But wasn't aware yet that it was a game Marsha played, I stopped wondering why she was always so angry at me and just accepted and went along with the silence.”

“ My God, Mitchie, that’s a terrible way to live!”

“Yeah. But that’s the reason I joined ‘Elysium’.”

“ ‘Elysium’?”

“A nudist park.”

“You joined a ‘nudist park’?”

“At that time, me becoming an Elysium member was one of the best things I had ever done for myself.”

“How? How’d you ever find a place like that?”

“We were previewing a listing one of our ‘associates’ had listed in Malibu..”

“Where all the actors live?”

“Yeah. Well, some actors live there. And in order to get to ‘PCH’, uh, ‘Pacific Coast Highway’; from where my office is, the shortest way is to take ‘Topanga Canyon Road’. And mid-way on ‘Topanga’ one of the guys pointed to a sign on the other side of of the road saying, ‘Elysium Fields’ and, ‘that’s a ‘nudist park’, the guy said.”

Licking a bit more salt from the rim of the empty Margarita glass. “In our hundreds of Emails, you never mentioned a ‘nudist park’.”

“It was almost eleven years ago and most people don't understand the way things really are at a place like Elysium.”

“I sure as hell don’t.”

“I never mentioned Elysium because I knew you wouldn’t understand, most people don’t...

“Barb, Marsha and me were half-way through our second week of not speaking to each other – And to be honest, by then I didn’t give a shit if she ‘ever’ spoke to me again. But needing ‘something’ in my life! Having to have ‘something’ fresh and different and exciting in my life; after our group returned to the office, I headed back to ‘Elysium’.”

“You meet someone there?”

“Yes, I did...

“You like some desert?”

Next GON#9: Day One; Together 4