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Authors: Nancy Frederick
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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
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
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