The Sportin' Life (8 page)

I spent most of that week in a grand funk, going to work, looking forward to the days when I would see Kevin Sampson and hope that he would see me
—
truly see me, but as usual nothing came to pass. By the weekend I was in a foul mood, and almost unwilling to bother going out to the movies. Why deal with the outside world when it merely served to remind me that I was blackballed from life?

I decided to shop for a while, and my first stop was the Target Store, where I planned to buy some Queen size pantyhose. I had gained weight again, and the regular ones now pinched my thighs and caused them to become chafed. Not as though I could leave them off or the friction between my massive, colliding thighs could cause a fire somewhere. It
’
s things like that
—
Queen size pantyhose and chafed thighs that are the punishment for being so in tune with the pleasure principle that ultimately you suffer. Where else does pleasure equal pain?

I got into my Poison Pink Pontiac and drove down the street. Immediately I spotted the Cat. He was there in the middle of the street and I was certain that he had been hit. I pulled over and stopped, determined to see if I could be of any help at all. I expected to see him lying agonized in a pool of blood. Instead, he was just sitting there, soaking up the warmth of the blacktop in the sun. What was going on here? Did this animal have a death wish? I spoke to him in a calm and soothing way, trying to put him at ease with a stranger, and gingerly lifted him, carrying him to the sidewalk. He participated not unwillingly, but as one too spaced out to be in control of his own destiny and too weak to care. The tag on his neck gave the address of the building across from me, and I located the apartment as the one in which the beautiful couple lived

Soon I was lost in a fantasy. I would rescue and return the cat, we would become beloved friends, and they would introduce me to a gorgeous man who would fall madly in love with me forevermore. Things were looking up at last. It was good that I had dressed carefully and applied makeup and would hopefully not make a bad impression. I rang the bell, but nobody answered. They weren
’
t home, and the poor kitty was on the loose alone. At that point a neighbor came out and reassured me that the cat was used to being outside and that he would tell the owners that it had been sitting in the street. What could I do but thank him and move on? There went another chance at true love!

Later after I had come home and parked my car, I saw the woman standing outside her building talking to a neighbor. I decided to go over and let her know about the cat. After all, it was the least I could do. After I mentioned that her cat had been in the street, she replied that she knew, that the boys who took Fluffy out of the street told her. Boys? That meant that the cat had gone back into the street, and I point that fact out to her, telling her that I too had removed the cat from the street. I asked if her pet were sick or on medication, because it seems pretty strange to me for a cat to do such a crazy thing. The woman was sweet and cordial but not terribly concerned. She seemed to think that Fluffy could cake care of himself.

By then I had misgivings. Obviously this dolly was not friend material. I hate people who neglect their pets. But there was little more I could do. I went home and took a nap so that I would have the energy to go to the movies later in the evening. My plan was to see a movie and then stop into Bumblebee
’
s in Westwood, where if there were truly a God, I could meet a guy. My mood had improved and although I was perplexed about the woman and the cat, it didn
’
t weigh on my mind.

By the time I walked to my car, I was feeling almost cheerful. Maybe tonight would be The Night and I would fall in love. I unlocked the PPP and prepared to embark on a voyage toward amore. But inadvertently I glanced up the block, and there was the cat once again in the street. I marched up to the door and rang the woman
’
s bell.
“
Look,
”
I said as cordially as possible,
“
Your cat is in the street again. Come and get him.
”
She was even more unconcerned that before and I began to hate this dolly. Finally I forced her to come out and see what the cat was doing, and as she marched out of her apartment, I glanced in. The furnishings were tacky, and in the middle of one wall, like an altar, was the largest television I had ever seen. It was on. The dolly had been watching cartoons. Holy shit! This was the woman I had envied, had hoped would befriend me. Just another
California
bimbette.

She looked at her pet and sighed,
“
Oh Fluffy Poo!
”
She scooped up the cat and marched toward the door. Fluffly Poo? The cat, in its drunken state, gave me a sardonic glance, as if to say,
“
If this bitch didn
’
t feed me, I
’
d puke all over her.
”
I felt like puking all over her myself. I warned her not to let the cat out while it was ill, and she took my advice with as much interest as any other part of this situation. I made a resolution then. I was going to rescue that cat, and with that in mind, I drove off to Ralph
’
s to buy a kitty litter and all the other cat supplies. I knew with an undeniable certainty that the dumb dolly would let the cat out and then I was going to adopt him. He deserved a better life, and I like animals, so why not?

After that I followed my original plans. I went to Westwood where I saw a poorly reviewed comedy which wasn
’
t as bad as everybody said, except it didn
’
t really have a suitable ending. They should have redone the ending and it could have been a hit, or at least less of a failure. In any case, so many of the lines were hilarious that I left the theater in a good mood. Maybe this would be my lucky night. At Bumblebees, the scene was the same as usual, interesting. There were all these young kids, feeling good and having fun. It hadn
’
t dawned on them yet that life is hard and can sometimes be downright unbearable and so they radiated a natural high which was extremely pleasant for me to experience. I watched the dancers and tapped my toe to the beat, wishing that someone would ask me to dance, and that if he did that I would have the nerve to say yes and try to do it. How bad could I look in motion? Pretty bad, I feared. I have this theory that Fat People look Thinner while sitting still, and so I figure I have a better shot of meeting someone if I am seated when he comes up to me. And then maybe he
’
ll enjoy my conversation skills so much that he
’
ll forget to notice or overlook entirely the physical.

Soon my attention was drawn by a guy who radiated vitality and sex appeal, and I felt a real bond with him, mainly because he seemed to have the same kind of crackling energy that I feel I have. He was tall and built, and his every movement was fluid, as though his muscles were so perfectly in tune with his brain that his physical nature was a coherent part of him. His hair was long, but because he had it combed back in some kind of sleek do, he didn
’
t look shaggy. In one ear was an earring, not one of those stupid stud earrings or a tiny half-assed hoop, but a real good hoop at least an inch in diameter. He was the only man I
’
ve ever seen in an earring who didn
’
t look like a jerk. He looked like a pirate, and I bet he was one in a past life. If ever I wanted to meet a man, this was it, and I set up a silent round of prayer about all the weight I would lose if only God would inspire The Pirate to come over to me.

I couldn
’
t take my eyes off him, and it seemed that we had made eye contact. I felt a rush of energy, and when he walked in my direction, I almost fainted. Then I saw her. He wasn
’
t alone. Of course he wasn
’
t alone. He was with a woman who was beautiful and graceful and self assured. She wasn
’
t one of these
California
good time girls, either. There
’
s a certain kind of woman whom I dislike immensely, the trinket woman. She
’
s a bleached blonde, often has had plastic surgery, and all she is is a trinket for some rich man to sport on his arm. Usually he
’
s a bozo, rich but a bozo, and he
’
s older, and it
’
s not as though she
’
s just using him for the gifts and money he gives her, but rather that he is her father figure and she is what legitimizes his existence and proves that not only is he a real man, but a real American. It sucks, and even if both parties are symbiotic pluses for the other, it still is somehow nauseating. If the Pirate had been with such a woman, I would have been sick at heart.

They stopped right by me and I had the luxury of being able to eavesdrop on their conversation. Instead of the usual bar chatter, they were involved in some kind of high level banter about crystals
—
I think that was what they called them
—
and rocks. I heard mention of quartz and amethyst, so I guess they were geologists or something. How exciting. It was wonderful to listen to them talk and to experience the rapport and mutual respect they shared. There was one thing that was strange, though, and that was that there weren
’
t any sparks. I mean look at them
—
he
’
s a perfect or better than perfect physical specimen, and he
’
s really hot. She
’
s beautiful and cool. They
’
re a natural, but they stand there talking like neither of them ever possessed a libido. He did hug her once
—
after laughing cheerfully at some comment she
’
d made
—
and I heard him say,
“
Liana, you
’
re great,
”
and although she hugged him back it was as though they were nothing more than brother and sister. Maybe that was it. Eventually they went onto the dance floor, and though they didn
’
t look like siblings, they sure didn
’
t act like lovers. Maybe there was hope for me, but of course The Pirate wouldn
’
t leave this woman he obviously adored
—
even if she weren
’
t his lover
—
to meet me, so I had to be content with the possibility that sometime in the future I would see him again.

The rest of the evening passed unceremoniously, and I went home in better spirits than usual. The next morning I got dressed and staked out a place by the window. Sure enough, the Cat made his appearance eventually. At first I was worried about whether or not his owner would see me spiriting him away. So I decided to use the PPP. I started it and drove to where the cat was sitting, this time on the grass, not the street. I called out to him, thinking that never in the world would he come running over to a stranger in a strange car, but I was wrong. He seemed to recognize me and soon as he heard my voice, he ran to me and jumped right into the car. It was that easy. I drove to an animal hospital that I knew was open and had the vet check him out. The poor cat had ear mites and a couple of other ailments which the vet could cure. No wonder he was so dazed he stayed out in the street. After the vet cleaned out his ears, his spirits perked up noticeably. And so we went home together, me armed with medicines and directions, and the cat with a smile on his face.

I showed him the kitty litter, gave him some of the gourmet food I had bought, and let him explore the apartment. I swear it was as though a spirit of calm settled over him the moment we walked in the door. I sensed that he knew he was home and was glad. I spoke calmly to him, patting his soft gray fur, and making him feel that at last he could relax and know he would be cared for by someone able to do it. I called him
“
Fluffy
”
a couple of times but he seemed not to respond, so then I had an inspiration. I called him
“
Samson,
”
and he looked right up and said,
“
Meow.
”
We looked into each other
’
s eyes and a bond was formed.

Day by day we grew closer. At first we were friendly acquaintances, slowly getting to know each other. Then we were friends, enjoying each other
’
s company. Then we both recognized that it was love. Now every day I come in at the end of the day, set the mail down on the table, where Samson stands happily greeting me. Before I can do another thing, he jumps into my arms for a hug and a kiss. And I carry him over to the sofa where we sit with him purring in my lap as I pet him.

At night when I
’
m ready to go to sleep, Samson come in to be with me. He jumps first into my lap, then almost climbs onto my chest, where he sits, gazing adoringly into my eyes. He rubs his little cheek against my cheek and he purrs happily. Sometimes when my hair is spread out on the pillow, he reaches for it with his paws, kneading away and purring like a motor as he gives me a cat massage, while I sit back relaxed against the circle of his adoration. It is like being made love to by a devoted partner, and it is wonderful.