The Sportin' Life (18 page)

Louie and honey together. I was in trouble. Maybe she wanted a combination tummy tuck and ass lift. I didn
’
t let on a thing, just kept grinning in my mind.

“
This place is just too small. My clothes are getting wrecked in this tiny closet. And you know what? There
’
s no Jacuzzi here. I don
’
t know how I ever rented this place. Yes I do. I was too poor to get the condo I really wanted and my ex was a real bastard to me.
”

“
Really?
”
I nodded sympathetically. A condo
—
the bitch wanted a condo. Innocently I went on.
“
Why not just get a house?
”

She really began to cream over that idea. And so I had an inspiration. I put her hand on my fly, and she caught on real quick, despite all the nasty things I
’
d thought about her brain. Apparently her gray matter was pumping extra hard that night and so was mine. She kneeled in front of me and did her best to do all the tricks listed in the book I had given her,
How to Make Love to a Man
. Apparently that was the only purchase I
’
d made that was worth the price. Well, I took my time and she was a good sport once again, I
’
ll give her that.

Eventually we finished and I knocked another two hundred bucks off her imaginary tab. Then I stood up and fixed my fly. Tawny sat on the bed expecting to resume our discussion about her living arrangements.

“
Sweetheart,
”
I said calmly,
“
I want to tell you a joke I heard my father tell when I was a kid.
”

She smiled encouragingly as I began,
“
There was this husband and wife, and she wanted some new clothes. So one night when he got home from work, she met him at the door wearing her oldest, ugliest outfit. She said,
‘
Honey, I really need something to wear.
’
And he took pity on her and tossed her ten bucks. Remember this was forty years ago, and with ten bucks you could get a nice new dress. The wife smiled, said thanks, and went shopping. The next week she wanted another new dress, so this time she put on her oldest, ugliest dress, and tore some holes in it. Her husband took one look at her and peeled a twenty off his wad and sent her shopping. She smiled and said thanks. The next week she decided she
’
d get two dresses, so she met him at the door stark naked. He looked her over, reached into his pocket, pulled out a quarter and tossed it to her, saying,
“
Here, go get yourself a shave.
’”

Tawny laughed as though it was a very fine joke indeed. Until I reached into my pocket, pulled out a five dollar bill and tossed it at her, saying,
“
Go get yourself a shave. There
’
s been some inflation.
”
And I turned and walked out the door.

The only problem was that it didn
’
t feel as good as it was supposed to. I felt used and screwed. What
’
s wrong with the world. What do I want anyway?

Well, all I want is a woman who
’
ll fuck me happily and give me an occasional blow job without acting like she needs a Tetanus shot afterward. And I want her to do it for free.

Liana

All That Glitters

I never fell in love with a man the way I fell in love with
California
. After that astrologer had told me I could find happiness and success on the West Coast, I expected to like it, but I never knew that I would get to
L.A.
and discover that I had come home.

Ace picked me up at LAX and gave me a tour of the city on the way to his place in
Brentwood
. We stepped out into a glorious day with brilliant sunshine yet without heat because the undercurrent of wind was cool and soothing. I marveled at the endless expanse of blue sky and hula dancing palm trees. Ace drove and I gazed out the window at the miles and miles of street, trees, flowers, highways, and stores that made up Los Angeles, and made New York look light a sooty hulking dwarf in comparison. First he drove me up the coast to
Malibu
, where I was lulled by the waves and dazzled by the city light as they began to twinkle at the magic hour. We climbed up through
Topanga
Canyon
with its amazing green hills and picturesque houses. Then we wound our way along the curves of Mulholland, a serpentine rollercoaster with views better than picture postcard perfect. Finally we ended up in
Beverly Hills
, where I saw all the shops and saw how profitable and chic such a little village atmosphere could be.

Ace insisted on showing me the Rodeo Collection, an amazing mall built of the most extravagant pink marble, and filled with the most deluxe shops. When we stopped in front of a shop that was being readied for a new occupant, I couldn
’
t believe it. There was our neon sign, our logo with its open hand cradling a read heart,
“
The Heart in Hand Gallery,
”
an exact duplicate of the sign one of our neon artists designed for us as a gift. At first I thought that someone had stolen our idea, but then looking at Ace and his cat who swallowed the canary expression, I realized that he had set this up for me.

That was how I became a Californian. During the weeks that followed I worked like a demon to get the store ready for its fall opening, hoping that we could make a tremendous profit during the Christmas season. Ace helped me by giving parties and inviting me to lunches and dinners with his most influential clients, most of whom were enchanted by the crystal jewelry and the concept that Sharon and I had created bit by bit over time and through experience in our little shop in
New York
.
Sharon
, meanwhile, was delighted. She agreed to run the
New York
store, while I would be in charge of the West Coast operation. We were bicoastal! Neither of us could believe it. Violet was safe and happy with her dad in
New York
for the rest of the school year, so I had the time to devote to getting organized in
L.A.

Ace had just bought a flashy new sports car, so I had his Honda to drive, and it was easy to get used to, even after years of mainly walking or in extravagant moments, hailing a cab for transportation. By day I worked and by night I saw
L.A.
with Ace as my guide. There were so many places to see, restaurants to try, malls to visit, that we never ran our of entertaining possibilities. After about a month, I knew my way around well enough to venture out on my own, and so when Ace went out of town for a couple of weeks, I felt perfectly able to get around. I was lonely though, and amazed to discover deep inside me was the wish for a lover. It had been a long time since I wanted a man, and even in past relationships, I usually ended up comparing the guy to Kevin or just losing interest.
Los Angeles
is another climate, and the guys look great, even the guys pumping gas look great. The cops look like movie star cops. And I wanted a guy of my own. It was about time. So while Ace was away I decided to explore the city and see if someone interesting and attractive came along.

It took one day. Maybe that
’
s what happens when you decide you want it. Maybe it
’
s something they put in the water. Maybe it
’
s just the aphrodisiac nature of life in this paradise. I was waiting for a table at Nicky Blair
’
s on Sunset when the guy next to me began a conversation. It was a feeble conversation, and we had to work to keep it going, like two geriatric ping pong players struggling to return the ball across the net. In
New York
, such a conversation would have led to an immediate disconnect, but here there was something I couldn
’
t fail to acknowledge. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to run my finger along the edge of his chest where his shirt was opened. His shoulders were broad and strong and they stretched the limits of his white shirt. His legs were lean and long and they looked so good in jeans that I couldn
’
t help wondering what they
’
d look like out of his jeans. This was Evan and it didn
’
t matter that we had nothing in common beyond a desire for dinner, because Evan did something to me, created in me a condition most accurately diagnosed as
the hots
, and my desire for dinner was nothing compared to my desire for Evan. All in all it was wonderful. Never before had I experienced a liaison of passion without reason. It made no sense at all. Evan and I had no reason to be together and nothing really to say before or after. But in between it was wonderful and there was always Ace
’
s movie collection to take our mind off the fact that a meeting of the minds was nothing at all like what we were experiencing. I saw Evan a few times, and it was always thrilling and senseless. It didn
’
t matter at all that I knew no more about him than the faceless individual who delivered the newspaper, despite the hours that we had shared and the times we had tried to connect on more than a physical level. Even was pleasant and satisfying, and even though being turned on without being tuned in was not my habit, it was worth it, and if he hadn
’
t lived out of town, we might have continued for a long time. I don
’
t care what intellectuals say, passion without mental interaction is better than mental interaction without passion. At least it
’
s better for me.

After Evan left, I continued working to get the shop ready, and eventually we opened to quite a success. It was clear that
Beverly Hills
was as ready for our gallery as I was for
California
. We began making a terrific profit, and I had to restock constantly, getting in touch with a number of local artists in order to expand our lines and offer a wider selection of merchandise. I traveled to nearby cities to attend craft shows for the trade and to see if there were any galleries similar to ours. It felt like more than work; it was a grand adventure.

The gallery was incredibly busy, and we required three full time sales people to man the shop while I took care of other tasks. My romantic life was nonexistent until one day when the phone rang and a man said,
“
I
’
m going to spank you.
”

Feeling flip, I answered,
“
Why, when I
’
ve been so good?
”
He laughed and I laughed, until I said,
“
Who is this?
”

“
Lou, who else?
”
Then he hesitated, and it dawned on him that I was not the intended recipient of his call. We should have hung up but we both were having fun being outrageous, so we began a conversation that ended up with a date for later that evening.

He was seated at the bar when I walked in to Chianti to meet him, so it was easy not to notice immediately how small he was. We sat and talked for a while, and although he wasn
’
t my type at all, and there were none of the immediate sparks I felt with Evan, he had a certain kind of mesmerizing charm, perhaps because of his intensity, or the way his dark eyes flashed. I like macho men because it
’
s a relief to be around a guy who isn
’
t tongue tied and nervous around me, something most of them are, for whatever reason. We talked and laughed, and there was a good intellectual connection. He had speed and dynamism, something most of the men here lack, something I missed about
New York
, although I hadn
’
t realized it before meeting him.

Lou and I decided to have dinner there at Chianti, and as we both rose to walk to our table, I realized that he was a tiny little man, barely five feet tall, and although I am not tall myself, for the first time in my life, I understood what it is like to be tall, because as Lou stood up, I stood up and up and up, like some sort of telescoping woman, seemingly extending my length to the very ceiling above his head.

My preference is for tall guys. I like their long legs and their big hands. I like the fact that they are bigger than I am. I like sexy, attractive guys, with great faces and well-fitting clothes. Lou was none of those things. He was small and not much to look at. He was pushy and aggressive, though, and that was a turn on and a plus, even if the editors of Ms. Magazine disagree. It was good to have an intellectual connection with someone, and so I agreed to see Lou again.

We had a few dates that were pleasant and enjoyable. And eventually we went to bed. I figured that what did it matter if he wasn
’
t my dream man because I liked him and he was sexy in his own way. I never thought it through. I
’
ve been with macho guys before and they were always fun in bed. Of course they were usually the tall, sexy, physical guys who
’
d always had so much positive feedback from women that they had nothing to prove.