TOO SMUG

Tall, about 5'7" I figure. The woman walking ahead of me down Biltmore Ave. has a great wiggle to her ass. I like her white stiletto sandals and the shapely legs above them. She slows down at the corner, seems unsure whether to turn left or right. Clearly I see her shrug her shoulders and left she goes, with me on her tail.

There’s a drooping plant in a moldy clay pot next to a wrought iron bench near the curb. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have noticed it but the lady stops, looks in her purse, and plunks herself down on the dirty bench. Evidently she didn’t have anything available to wipe it clean. She clearly needed a rest. Little beads of sweat are on her upper lip.

My opportunity is evident and I take it. ‘Do you mind if I sit down a minute. That sun tires me.’ ‘It’s a public bench,’ is all she says. Her front view is not what I expected and I am a bit disappointed. Her eyebrows are thick, need shaping and plucking. I see no sign of lipstick worn or eaten off. Dark wrap-around sun-glasses cover her eyes. At first I think she must be disabled, maybe blind, but she is neither. Her glasses come off, go into her lap, revealing aqua colored eyes that are a little bloodshot. From her purse she removes a small make-up kit, magnifying mirror and 2 tubes of lipstick. The first one she applies is almost burgundy, shockingly bad for her fair coloring. I grimace. She almost scrubs her lips sore as she removes all traces of it and puts on a medium rose, turns her face to me for my opinion. ‘Do you have one that isn’t so wishy washy?’ A grin and slight twinkle in her eyes tell me ‘yes.’ I too grin and nod my head OK.

If I am going to make a move, this is the time. ‘I’m Carl Stafford.’ I hand her my handy business card that she tears in half. ‘Mr. Stafford, I am not a woman you want to meet nor are you I man who interests me. Excuse me, I must be going.’

Abruptly she leaves me sitting on the bench breathing in tons of carbon monoxide. My curiosity blooms and I discretely follow her still wiggling ass. I give her a little leeway and approach her at the next red traffic light. ‘Go away, Mr. Stafford.’ She irks me. I am upset because I am being spurned unfairly. A gauntlet has smacked me on my cheek and I am prepared for battle.

Miss Whatever enters a large office building that I know quite well. Mostly doctors and lawyers occupy the ten floors. A few of the big advertising firms squeeze into corners. I manage to be the last person to fit on the elevator she reached before me. Each floor, I move over to let passengers get out. We are down to about 7 people. Loud enough for them to hear she says, ‘ Mr. Stafford, I have asked you to go away. If you don’t, I will call a guard and have you thrown out of the building. Get off at the next floor or you will regret it.’

My ego is bruised. I get off with my head held high and watch where the elevator stops next. Rats. It stops at all 5 of them. I ride to the lobby. It is in turmoil. Police, medics are everywhere. I am trapped, pushed behind red ropes. It is noisy. Questions marks are stamped on everyone’s face. Driver’s licences are recorded.

A covered body is carried off the elevator to what looks like an ME car. I gasp, can’t believe what I see. From under the sheet that hides the victim, falls a white sandal with a stiletto heel. ‘Officer, Officer’, I call, quickly tell him the little I know about Miss Whatever. He asks no questions, puts me in a police car where I am interrogated for hours.

CNN’s lead story is about a woman who shot her lover in the D & A building and then took her own life. I must have been upsetting her plans. She had clearly told me she was not someone I would want to meet and she didn’t want to meet me. I will be more selective next walk.