https://www.angelfire.com/art/letters/moreletters.html
writegirl@altavista.com
Hi Martin!
Last night over dinner I met someone new. I swear it was quite by accident.
Chandler had invited me to dinner at one of those private clubs in Dundee. He has a subscription for the season and you know how hard they are to land. So I had to go, for him (I owed him for his help when I was sick) and for me (You know me and food, especially works of art served in six courses!)
Anyway we dined with the Rollsons and the Huckabones. I was seated between Chandler and Adam, a cousin of Hannah Huckabone’s. Adam and I hit it off immediately. He’s a big-brain physicist working at Fermi! How impressed was I? Oh my! Very! Very! Very! You know how I adore brilliant men. He’s 31 with a wicked sense of humor. Oh I forgot to tell you about his looks...Gatsby! ...tall, dark hair, corduroys! Ha! I could just see him leaning against a bookcase and spouting his theories into the air. My ears wanted to be his receiver! Did I mention handsome? Indeed!
I felt rather nasty, like I was betraying Chandler, yet when Adam asked for my digits, I took out my card and handed it to him. He collects art! He wants to see mine!
If you think that makes me evil then maybe I am.
Speaking of evil, I just returned from the White Hen. There is a check-out guy there. Something about his eyes, I can’t really put into words. I like who he is. And so you don’t think I am slumming, I will bet you anything that he is more than what he appears. He resonates inside of me. I think it is his passion trying to surface. I have no idea what it could be...music? art? theater? journalism? an architect like you?
Today he was wearing a black T-shirt that said, “Evil Inside.” Just like me. Evil woman. And the cool part is that he has seen me at my worst...wrapped in a suntan-lotion-scented sarong, cavegirl hair, no makeup! So he knows exactly who I am already...at least on the outside.
Remember back when we would spend hours bemoaning our fate in love. No one looked that interesting. Yet when my friend Wright said that getting laid is more a matter of standards than availability, my world opened up.
Now I see lots to taste. Hell, some days I am practically drooling.
My dear Martin, have you found a man (or two!) of your dreams as well? I miss having you for a neighbor. Our midnight forays into the belly of the club scene, you taught me to cook (Smokey Joe!), and even on days when I wasn’t available to the world, you would place a plate of food at my back door, ring the bell and disappear like a May Basket suitor. You, my friend, were and are incredibly astounding.
Tell me a tale or two.
Ripley