ew York City. For me, the city of romance and passion. I arrived
into town last night expecting just to attend a wedding this weekend of a friend of the
family’s. The reception hall was a beauty. Maybe something out of an Andy
Warhol epic. It was a nice quaint art gallery, located in the Lower East Side, put
together with hard wood floors and paintings of vintage deco of classical actresses lining
the walls.
The Disc
Jockey spun another record. The next thing I know, I am dancing cheek to cheek with
this gorgeous woman, and having the time of my life. She only wanted to dance to
slow songs. I did not mind this one bit.
“I’ve always wanted to play sax. Saxophone,” she expanded, “
I’ve always thought that was a pretty sexy instrument. What do you think?”
“I
think it’s pretty sexy,” I responded, “I can see it now. You, down in
Florida. It’s a hot and humid night. You stand next to this open window
of a side-street Motel in a worn out white tee shirt which drapes down to the top of your
thighs…”
“Of
course,” she interjected, “I don’t wear panties.”
I was
stumped for a second, “Of course. No panties. No panties?
Mmmmm. That’s good. You’re very good.”
“That’s right,” she looked to me, “Never did like them.”
She had the expression like she had a secret. I liked this. I liked this a
lot.
I
continued, “You stand next to this open window overlooking a flashing neon light
playing this sax.”
“Hmmm…yes. The infamous Vacancy sign. And, I must be playing the
blues,” she added.
“Of
course, what else can there be? Let there be the blues,” I said.
She was a woman I met at a wedding. Actually, at the reception, which was being held at the Lower East Side of Manhattan. She was twenty-eight years of age and working as an attorney in West Palm Springs, Florida. She hailed originally from Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn. She was the type of woman that upon recognition, my jaw dropped slightly and what came out of my mouth was a by-product of the babble that was in my head. She stood about five foot six, had strawberry blond hair, eyes which can pull one in from a mile away, wore a short red dress, and had an air about her which spoke that she was confident, encouraging, and knew it. I had to admit that she was a needle in a haystack. Sure, there were plenty of gorgeous women out there. Sure, there were plenty of witty women out there too. Now, if one were to have placed those two qualities together and fed that to someone at the appropriate time, a thunderous explosion would have happened almost immediately which could have been heard from Manhattan Island all the way to the new Hong Kong.
Afterwards, looking out onto the city, and getting to know each other a little more, I
shared, “I miss this place so much sometimes. There’s something here that
you can’t really find anywhere else. Maybe it’s my roots. Or, maybe
it’s just the city. Look at it. It’s alive. Such…
such… passion.”
“I
miss it sometimes too,” she responded, “It’s hard sometimes, moving away
and then visiting briefly at times.”
Looking
over toward the side, up a street, I noticed the Blue Note Jazz Club, “You ever been
to the Blue Note? Supposedly, it has great Blues and Jazz.”
“Maybe a weekend rendezvous sometime?” She looked to have a secret.
I liked that expression. I liked that a lot.
| Home | Archives | What This Is | Intro | Comments |