After wife number three left, at the age of 49 with the kids grown and gone, I made a firm commitment to myself to never make a commitment. To a woman at least. Figured I wasn't good at it, or good at picking them or whatever. I decided not to spend a lot of time analyzing it. I just wasn't gonna do it again. The first one drank, played pool really well and abandoned the kids. I ended up raising them, and I'm proud of the job I did. The second was chronically depressed. It was like living in a morgue half the time. She'd done years of therapy, a good part of it I paid for. Even her therapist was frustrated after five years of working with her. I asked myself one day if I was ever going to get what I needed out of the relationship. My answer was no, and I started the untangling process the same day. The third? Well it just got to the point where I was working day and night trying to make her happy. I guess I'm a slow learner. I never gave up easy. Number two was eight years of trying, number three, we were together for ten. I kept looking in the mirror at an older and older face. Part of that was just plain being tired from working seven days a week, both for money to support us and to get a house built. I knew that another reason for that increasingly aged visage was the reality of approaching fifty.
When wife number three decided to move to Phoenix to pursue her career, try to get what she wanted out of life, and suck a little dough off of her mother, I hooked up our fifth wheel. We split the cash, she took the new car. I dropped off the RV along with her menagerie of pets. I had already decided that this trial separation was going to be permanent and I worked 'round the clock to get her out of my life. This time, I kept the house, situated in the Rocky Mountain foothills of Southern Colorado, just outside of a tiny Victorian Western town. I had reached the magic age where I had decided it was now or never for good old Dan.
I had thought about moving to Southern California, so that I could sail, hang on the beach and watch the thong-butted roller babes skate by. I was also determined to work no more than 45 hours a week and spend my free time getting back in shape, writing and playing music. Anyway, when I dropped the RV off the back of the truck and took off up the freeway, it was like the truck and I had lost ten thousand pounds of responsibility. I felt lighter than I had in five years and oh, it was good. I hit the gas, the truck lurched forward and I was on my way.
On the way back from Phoenix, I stopped in Santa Fe to do something that I had never done before. I decided I was going to stop at a topless dance joint I had heard of. At 49, I had never been to a topless bar. Hard to believe, but true. I thought these places were generally trashy and a bit scary. But I did it. I went inside, paid the cover and looked around. It was actually pretty classy inside. A live band was playing a mixture of R&B and techno music and they were hot. There were eight or ten couples on the dance floor, two great-looking topless girls in thongs on separate stages and a handful of single guys scattered around. Half the women on the dance floor were doing a sexy bump and grind with their partners either as a reflection of the two professionals or else to compete for the eyeballs of their boyfriends and the rest of the folks in the place. One dancer was a petite blond with medium natural breasts, luscious legs and a perky little ass. The other was Hispanic, dark skinned, brown eyed and very hot.
Well, I had two problems with the place, really. The whiskey was pricey and weak and there were absolutely no single women. With my next drink order, I complained to the bartender about the lack of single females. The bartender was about my age, maybe a few years younger, fit, wearing a black T-shirt with the bar logo on it. I figured him for a Harley guy.
"Yeah, not tonight, but usually there are a few. It's just quiet tonight. A couple of our waitresses are single, though. Maybe you ought to talk to them. That one, for example, over there has been single and I think kinda lonely for years. A lot of guys don't want to go out with a topless dancer maybe." I looked at the woman serving drinks across the way. She was tall, really tall, like 6'1." Long bodied, long legged, breasts that I would have given a nine on a ten scale. She had short blonde hair. She was obviously doing her job, talking to the two single guys she was serving. A subtle combination of leading them on and keeping her distance.
"Ok, I said to the bartender, wanna send her over with my next drink?" I'd already tipped him pretty good and was obviously not a trouble maker.
"Sure," he said. I had no idea what I was driving at, but I was here, I was free and so what the heck, I'll talk to her, I thought.
The girl showed up a few minutes later. She looked to be about mid-30's and had wonderful green eyes.
"Hi, I'm Dan," I said. "You probably hear this all the time, but you have fantastic breasts. I could worship them. They are like two bright beautiful doves."
"Birds, huh?" she said. "I've been told they look like grapefruits, peaches, tomatoes, pears; Fruits and vegetables mostly. Never been told they look like birds. Thanks, I guess. What can I do for you?"
"I thought you and I could spend some time together after you get off work," I told her.
"It's three hundred an hour," she replied. "I get off at two."
"OK," I thought, "I'm coming on to a topless waitress who does tricks on the side. Not really my style and possibly a bit hazardous."
"You know," I said, "I've never paid for sex and it's a tradition I think I'll stick with. I was thinking about taking you out to an early breakfast and just talking. You know, conversation. There's a little breakfast place down toward the plaza. They make a fantastic crab and camembert omelet."
"Conversation, eh? Well if you change your mind about the three bills, I'll be around 'till two."
"Won't happen, but if you change your mind about breakfast, I'm leaving in about ten," I
replied.
I hung out for about ten more minutes, finished my watered whiskey and headed for the exit. "Oh well," I thought. "No harm done."
I felt a tap on my shoulder just as I reached the door and found myself looking into those gorgeous green eyes once again. I'll admit I had to struggle to keep my eyes off her tits. They gave me chills.
"Pick me up at two for breakfast, back door, Mr. Birdman."
"I'll be here," I told her and walked through the door.
I was glad to be out of the place. Not exactly my comfort zone. My mind started making lists and I drove around town and fulfilled them. First a trip to the liquor store for a couple of bottles of white wine I liked, just in case. The wine was called Obsession from Ironstone Vineyards. It is a Muscat with a touch of sparkle, an initial bouquet of wild roses and a citrusy finish. I didn't know if I would need any of these things, but I had been a Boy Scout once and their motto is "Be Prepared." Then off to the groovy food store for a bottle of almond and arnica oil. I like to mix these for massage. The almond oil is really slippery and the arnica adds a great aroma, like being in a birch forest in Sweden when the sap's running. Finally, a trip to the drugstore for condoms. "That's a huge stretch," I thought. Then I splurged and checked into La Fonda Hotel on the plaza. If you've ever been to Santa Fe, you will know La Fonda. It's about three hundred years old. A great little boutique hotel. I showered, shaved and set the alarm for an hour, as it was right at midnight. Then I evaporated into dreamland, fell apart really. I had driven eleven hours down to Phoenix and six hours back. Straight through.
When the alarm went off I got up, washed my face and made a cup of coffee with the little in-room coffee maker. Then I went down to the truck and headed out of town. It was fall, the wild sunflowers had gone nuts along Cerillos Boulevard and I picked a big double bouquet of them and placed them in the back seat next to my cello. I carry the cello everywhere I go. I'd been playing since I was big enough to hold on to one. I play mostly chamber music for a local string quartet and my less expensive cello goes with me everywhere. Having a huge pickup with a full backseat helps. Then I washed and vacuumed the truck. Living where I live mud is a constant companion and even though my truck is old and beat up, I thought it should at least be clean.
I pulled into the parking lot near the back door a few minutes before two and popped in a CD. After a bit, the door swung open and there was my tall blonde beauty. I opened the truck door, which turned on the dome light and she recognized me. She was dressed in a white blouse, obviously wore a bra plus a charcoal pinstriped skirt that just about reached her knees. "Half naked on the dance floor and dressed like an accountant when she leaves the place," I thought. I went around and opened her door as she said, "Classy truck," in a tongue-in-cheek tone of voice.
She climbed, literally, into the front seat. The truck is a late nineties four by four, three quarter ton, super duty F250 and the seat's about four feet off the ground.
