Where In The World Is The Cavegirl? 2 Nights 2 Remember

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Night 1

My Friend’s 37th High School Reunion

He’s darkly handsome with see-through brown eyes and black, slightly-wavy black hair. His skin tastes like plum wine from the mountains of Montenegro. He’s an intellectual who knows how to use a hammer. He is 55 years old. I am his bodyguard, for the night. You wouldn’t guess that he is shy. I see it though. I can surprise him very easily, especially with my sexual advances. I try to suck his earlobes. He has his guy pals buffaloed into thinking he is a madman. You should see the transformation. He’s cantankerous… grousing, groaning, and griping most of the time. So when he asked if I would go with him to the reunion I couldn’t refuse.

He dressed me in a 6-hour shopping spree from Hades. I hate shopping, but he was enjoying it in a scene right out of “Pretty Woman” kind of way. Not that I am a whore; neither is he a trader. I am a painter and he recently retired. Now he writes gritty, Bukowskish poetry about what a redheaded, green-eyed demon from hell I am.

Friday afternoon we checked into the American Hotel, a lovely suite overlooking a parking lot. Perfect, since I like the first floor ever since I got stuck in that elevator in San Diego. Here the first floor is a bar/restaurant so we had to take the glass elevator to the second floor, which is actually the first floor of suites. I figured I could jump out the window and still survive.

He came with me to the pool, which was located in the basement. I swam. He watched. Good thing, since I was a little frightened. I have never been in a basement pool and it seemed a bit eerie. It could be a movie set for “Halloween 7.”

We walked into the cocktail party arm-in-arm. He wore a silk flame shirt with dice buttons, black jeans. I was in a sand-colored lace top, with an etched, flower-strewn pencil skirt, and red boots. The gay men drifted toward him immediately. The Pulitzer-prize winning playwright was the first to say hello. I had a great conversation with a man that sold art prints to corporations for ten years, and then the bottom fell out. Lois, a thin, tall woman with a butch accented with a blonde ponytail, stayed in the old neighborhood and when the town turned to immigrants she set up a culture center. She teaches dance, painting, literature…basically everything with her husband. She says we would have been friends if I had been in her class. She is right. And she invites me to do any kind of program at her center. One man, tall, blonde with a neatly-trimmed beard, became a Christmas-tree farmer. Jasper brought his boyfriend. They are both very friendly, interesting fellows. Leon told a very funny story about going camping up in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. He lives in Boston, has the accent too. Oh, and Gary…very personable in a salesman kind of way.

After a while, I escape the party. I want to give my friend time to connect without me taking the spotlight away from him, after all it is his reunion, and I want to check out the art that these big hotels buy. I want to see the fountains and ponds.

We left at nine, needing food. On the way out my friend met another person, a woman who said she had spent the whole of her life trying to save Haiti. She said she knew she would do that when she graduated. So she has lived there, on and off, for 37 years! On one visit she picked up a Haitian husband.

These people were amazing me. They have had such interesting lives. And they looked really good. Well, all except a group of women that my friend called "the aunties." You know, solid women who dress matronly. And of course there were the plain Dick and Janes.

My friend and I found a perfect spot for food. It was al fresco, in a garden. Twinkle lights everywhere and the softest Midwestern breeze known to mankind. I had shrimp and pasta; he went the steak route.

Back at the suite we stripped out of our dressy clothes and I went for a quick swim. I just can’t stay away from a pool if it is available. When I came back into the room my friend was watching “Real Sex.” It was an episode on mechanical fucking machines. Very eye-popping! and, well, strange.

In bed he says into the air, “With a glow like that the whole room was attracted.” He is also a professor of the grunt, growl and grumble.

I read the reuinion bio booklet to him as he drifted off to sleep. This was good stuff! Most of the people went to college, married a few years later, had a few children and plowed through life. The 25-year- marriage people. Many had careers in education. There were also the ones that started like this...married, divorced, married, divorced... The alums came from all states, with the migration from Illinois centering on two states-Wisconsin and California. Extremely interesting that at age 55 a person could summarize their life in a brief paragraph or two!

It read like a cast of characters, a playbill. I was thinking that I could do a whole website full of stories about these people, the Boomers, called "The Last Days in BoomTown."

Nite.