GIRL 14
PIANO GIRL
At the time, Girl 6, Alayna, and I were still friends, though we'd long since broken up.
"Who are you dating?" she asked playfully on the phone.
"I have a date tonight with Piano Girl," I said. "Real potential there."
"What's her sign?"
I thought for a minute. I'm a scientist and engineer. Never before had
I believed in astrology. But Alayna was a Leo, and oh my God, what a
phenomenon in bed she had been, and all she'd read to me about Leos -
Jesus, they were the sluts of the zodiac! Alayna made me believe. So
when I had winked at Piano Girl, I had noticed her sign.
"Scorpio," I said.
"Oooooo," Alayna breathed, "You're in luck! Scorpio'll fuck your brains out!"
I walked into Princeton's Nassau Inn, to the lower level Yankee Doodle
Taproom. It had been remodeled and the atmosphere had been ruined,
going from an English gentlemen's club to a hamburger joint overnight,
but the fireplace side of the bar had some residual charm.
I walked up to a woman so spectacularly beautiful that I froze in place
for a half second and just stared at her. She was a short, petite
little thing with gorgeous blonde hair and a pair of the most
bewitching eyes I've ever seen. She wore a tight sweater top and white
Capris with high heeled sandals.
"Are you Amanda?" I breathed.
Her smile made my cock quiver. "I am," she said in a slightly husky but exquisitely feminine voice. "You're Michael?"
Suddenly I was glad to be alive and glad to be me.
Her story was as alluring as her appearance. She'd been a young titan
of industry and made a killing on Wall Street, then cashed out when
she'd gotten an inheritance. At the age of 37, she retired and pursued
her dream, to be a concert pianist. When she wasn't in a formal gown
playing a concert, she played in a piano bar. It was one of the most
romantic stories I could have imagined.
And there was no mistaking our mutual chemistry. She looked gorgeous,
she smelled like heaven, and her kisses were the sweetest tasting
things since the invention of chocolate. And furthermore, she seemed as
taken with me as I was with her.
Dear God, I thought, marriage material.
At the end of our first date, I walked her toward her car, holding an
umbrella over her dear head as we slowly strolled the rain-swept
cobblestone streets of Princeton.
The second date was a three day marathon of sex and kissing and holding
and decadent food. We'd put on workout clothes and go for a run. We
talked at a cozy bar. I stroked her hair and looked deeply into her
eyes.
Piano Girl was the perfect woman for me.
I still don't know why I did it. After knowing her for two weeks, I
dumped her on a trumped-up charge. I broke up with her at two in the
morning and told her to get her clothes and get out by 6 am. Just
before she left, she looked at me with her large, blue, tear-filled
eyes. That look will haunt me for the rest of my life.
As it turned out, both apparitions appeared. The supreme being plopped down in my command chair at my yacht-sized oak library table, his Timberlin boot-clad feet resting casually on the table surface. He drank Jack Daniels over exactly four ice cubes. People sometimes ask me what the supreme being looks like when he talks to me. They would never believe me when I told them the truth, because it's a reflection of his quirky sense of humor. The supreme being, creator of the universe, God Almighty, Jehovah, I-Am-That-I-Am, the Alpha and the Omega, the holy of holies, looks exactly like…me. Me, a few pounds lighter, a bit more muscled, teeth a little whiter, fingernails nicelymanicured, hair a little less grey, his complexion almost perfect except for the tough-looking scar from what could have been a knife fight. The supreme being mocked me by showing up as a Hollywood version of me, missing only the Ray·Ban sunglasses. It was always hard to look at him. It was distracting seeing such a perfect version of myself, because when I think of myself, I think in terms of all my imperfections. Like I said, my supreme being pal has an odd sense of humor.
I know what you're thinking. Either that I'm a fiction author, so all this is just more fiction, or that I'm mad as a hatter. All I can say is, the only things about this journal that are false are the colors of the girls' hair. To protect the innocent, the pictures are of women who look exactly like the actual females I dated, but if the woman was brunette, the photo will show a blonde. With some notable exceptions.
In the leather recliner by the fireplace, Rex relaxed, a tenth of the size he occupied when he was ready for combat.
"Hello, gentlemen," I said solemnly.
The supreme being put his hands behind his head and shut his eyes.
"Well?" I asked. "Aren't you two going to tell me how badly I fucked up? How I dismissed a woman who was perfect for me? How she was exactly what both I and Rex needed? Aren't you going to ask me why I let her go? And then rake me over the coals because I did it because I'm still in grief over that damned Girl 6, Alayna? And that I should get myself out of this quagmire of grief so I can fulfill my mission? Whatever the hell that mission is?"
They were both silent for a long time. The supreme being spoke first, nodding at Rex.
"Why should we?" he asked. "You've already said it better than we could."
"Are you going to tell me what my supposed mission is ahead of time?" I asked.
Again he was silent, just sitting and sipping the Tennessee sourmash whiskey, the liquor's creation that on one occasion he'd taken credit for by saying he'd inspired the distiller in the man's dreams.
"When you fulfill your purpose with a woman, you'll know it," he said.
I sighed. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm sorry for what I did to Piano Girl," I said.
"Tell her," he said.
"Maybe I'll just send her my diary entry," I said. "What do you think, Rex?"
"I think you're a flaming asshole," Rex said. "A third-string jerk like you gets a first-string penis like me. Tell me again, God," Rex said to the supreme being, "why did I get assigned to him? Wasn't I supposed to be with that pro football player, not some author geek?"
The creator of the universe shrugged. "You're of more use to me with him than the gridiron god. The women expect your stuff from the Nike ad wonder boy. But from him? That's how I'm shocking them into listening to me. You shell the beach, I raid it from the sea."
Rex thought a minute, then nodded. "I'm ready. Send me in. Just don't wait too long. I need another one."
The supreme being looked at me. "Do you think you can go on?"
I started weeping. Alayna, dear Alayna. I loved her so much, I was so lost without her. The tears ran down my face.
"No. I want to kill myself," I said. "It hurts too damned much. I just want to die. I have to do it this time."
The supreme being put down his Jack on the rocks and rose to his full six foot one inch height. He put his warm hand on my forehead and a sepia-tinted light seemed to shine into my mind. I saw things then.
My first child graduating from college.
My first daughter's wedding, her face smiling and happy, and me standing there in a resplendent tux, ruggedly soap-opera star handsome in my 50s, a beautiful loving wife by my side, her eyes shining up into mine.
My second daughter's baby, cooing in my arms.
Grandchildren running around the lodge room of the house I bought when I turned 60.
The accident on the ice when I was 75. The mangled sports car. My bleeding body. The ambulance. The coma. The family. The worried look on my wife's face. My exes whispering quietly to her. The haggard look on the face of the young doctor as my heartbeat stopped.
My first child standing at my grave, the numerals on the headstone reading 1958 - 2033.
When he took his hand away, the visions stopped as suddenly as they had started. And I had no memory of any of them, only fragments returning in my dreams.
"Now how do you feel?" he asked.
"Okay, I guess," I stammered.
"You okay to go on?"
"Sure," I replied, frowning. "Why wouldn't I be?"
The supreme being downed the rest of the Jack, then faded away before my eyes. I looked over at Rex, but he was gone too. It was just me.
I booted up my computer and began an email.
"Dear Amanda, I'm so sorry I got crazy on you, but I think it would be best if we didn't have a relationship. I don't think I'm ready. But I want you to know I think the world of you, and I wish you only the best. Be well, gorgeous. Love, Michael."
I hit the send button and then clicked into the famous internet dating site.
It was time to find a brunette.
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