With Troy Donahue And Audrey Tautou

The bank receptionist, whose name is Brenda, smiles and says, "Yes sir, right this way."

She is about 30, with rosy cheeks and a fat bottom. I like being called 'sir.' It's a nice touch, but of course Brenda calls anyone who walks into my bank 'sir' because she is paid to do so. No matter that you are the lowest scoundrel or pervert; you are a 'sir' in my bank.

Brenda leads me to an administrative assistant's cubicle. "Jamie, this is Adam Voigt and he needs to set up a funds transfer. Can you help him?"

Jamie has her back turned, filing an important document. But seeing the back of her head fills me with anxiety. Her deep russet hair, almost black, is a mass of curls that reminds me of snakes. A Gorgon right here in my own bank.

She turns to us and I see the face that has haunted me for weeks. My throat tightens and my pulse quickens. I see short snaky hair that is pulled back to reveal ears that are a bit too large and stick out from her head. Her lips are like rose petals, the upper one as soft and pink as a vagina, with something of an overbite.

And she's got the same thick eyebrows, does Jamie, same nostrils that flare out to tell the world I am a sensuous woman. But worst of all is the quiet smile Jamie offers me, a mix of amusement and curiosity.

She sits down at her desk and offers me that pleasant bank assistant look. I stare at her, my heart pounding. It's all I can do to keep from going into hysterics like Kevin McCarthy did in

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

. Jamie has no idea of the courage it takes just to look at her.

"Yes sir, what can I do for you?" she asks. But she can do nothing for me; I am stricken dumb. The silence draws out and settles over us like a fog as her perky smile fades into the other side of her persona, the side that does not suffer fools gladly.

"Yes?" she says again; my last chance. I must speak.

"I'm sorry for staring. But your eyes ... they're dark brown, aren't they?" I want to reassure her, but my own smile is as phony as a paper moon.

She is quite nonplussed. "What are you talking about? Can't you see they're hazel, kinda green?" She realizes that the man in her safe little cubicle is behaving strangely. She must nip this in the bud.

"Look, are you okay? Having a hallucination? You're not on drugs are you?"

I should have known. I'm not seeing the real Jamie at all. I'm seeing that face again, the one that haunts me.

"If you've some business here I'll help you, Mr. ..uh..Voigt, but I'm not going to just sit here and let you stare at me like you've seen a ghost. Now what's it going to be?"

"What about your hair? Is it really dark brown?"

"I'm calling security!"

Her face a picture of vexation, she pushes a button on the phone and glares at me. I've upset a respectable woman at a well-known banking institution.

This calls for retreat. "I'm very sorry to bother you. I'm leaving now." I get up and manage to walk not run to the exit door but no one calls me 'sir' as I leave. Out on the sidewalk I begin to regain my composure.

But I'm still shaken. I get into my Sentra and call my brother Ryan on my cell phone. I ask him to do me a favor; it takes a while for him to understand and finally agree. I know what he's thinking. This is just Adam being Adam and I must humor him even if I have no clue what he's up to.

******

Afternoon fades to evening as Ryan and I sit at a patio table overlooking his backyard swimming pool. Ryan's kids Ethan and Alyssa are gliding through the pool like swamp rats, squealing and giggling. I wish I could jump into the pool and squeal with them.

Ryan hands me a Fat Tire beer. "Okay, I went to the bank and asked to see Jamie, just like you said."

"And?"

"She's kinda cute, dishwater blonde hair, hazel eyes. Not your type at all. Now why the heck did you ask me to check her out? Was I supposed to tell her you wanted a date? What?"

I look at him and am glad that I have a big brother to look out for me. Ryan is the pride of our family, brawny and outgoing, never an unnecessary or impractical thought in his head. He was the captain of our high school football team, the hero who returned a punt for the winning touchdown against our archrival Tulsa Union.

I recall sitting in the stands that night and watching my Mom and Dad cheer ecstatically. Someday I must tell Ryan that during his famous run to the end zone I was praying with all my heart that he'd stumble and fall. Someday I will, but not today.

"I'm waiting .... Troy," he says with a derisive grin. My mother once declared that I look like the actor Troy Donahue back when he was a teen heartthrob. Since then I've worn my hair in a retro style and tried to emulate the Troy Donahue persona in, say,

A Summer Place

. A clean-cut boy who'd get you pregnant but then do the honorable thing. I'd rather look like James Dean to be honest, but we have no choice in these things. At least I am someone.

"I went to set up a transfer to my savings account, and they took me to this woman Jamie. But she didn't look the way you describe at all. I saw a girl with dark hair and dark brown eyes."

Ryan gives me that condescending look I've seen so often. "Adam, you're not making any sense."

So I describe in detail the apparition I saw. Then I take a deep breath and tell him the worst of it.

"The problem is, I'm seeing that same face on girls everywhere. Two days ago she was a working behind the counter at Panera Bread. The day before that, I saw her at Woodland Hills Mall. I followed her then but she became suspicious and confronted me. I found out her name was Melissa. She said I was either crazy or on drugs."

"Are you?"

"Which one?"

"Either."

"Not drugs, you know me. But it is driving me crazy. Why do I keep seeing that face on different women? And I haven't even mentioned the dreams."

"You see her then?"

"Every night. She watches me with this maddening smile, as if she thinks it funny that I can't figure out what's going on."

Ryan grins. "I tell ya, Adam, this one's a doozy, even for you."

Even for me. I've always been an enigma to my family. When they saw that I wasn't going to be popular or an athlete like Ryan, that I was quiet and withdrawn, they decided that I must be brilliant, a genius whose head was filled with profound thoughts. But my grades in high school and college were just above ordinary.

How do they describe me now? I'm different; I'm the quiet one. Meaning of course I'm not Ryan.

By now Ryan's wife Pamela has come out with a tray of red meat and is firing up the charcoal grill. She's barefoot, wearing a T-shirt and bikini bottom, as cheerful as a Texan. Pamela is a big strapping girl, a solid one hundred fifty pounds on her five seven frame. Her breasts are huge pendulous affairs, and her massive butt looks like two ripe watermelons trying to burst out of that bikini bottom, held in check only through the ingenuity of seamstresses and fabric makers.

To me Pamela is a great raw animal; I once imagined her as the she-wolf who suckled the brothers Romulus and Remus. But mostly I think the woman was born several centuries too late; she has the perfect 17th century body. Take a look at Rubens' The Three Graces; any one of those plump naked women could be Pamela.

Ryan sees me watching her. I think he secretly fantasizes about his shy younger brother having sex with his rubenesque wife.

But to be honest the idea of going to bed with Pamela terrifies me. How could I possibly fill up that enormous chasm that must lie between her thighs? Or else I imagine her on top, sinking me down into the mattress until I can hardly breathe, her soft flesh covering me like a pillow until I'm overwhelmed by the warmth and taste and scent of Woman.

Ryan hands me another Fat Tire from the ice chest. "So, is this mystery girl someone you might have gone to high school or college with?"

"No, I've gone through our annuals and racked my brain."

"Someone you've seen on TV or in the movies? A model maybe?"

"Could be. But if so I don't remember."

"Tell me again what she looks like."

I do so, and wonder of wonders, a thoughtful look crosses Ryan's face. "Y' know, what you said reminds me of someone. This is a real long shot, but let's check it," he says, gesturing to me.

We walk into his study, dark and wood-paneled, a very masculine room. He sits down at his computer and pulls up Google, then does a quick search. Internet Movie Database's website appears, and Ryan types in a name.

Then I see small pictures and when he clicks one to enlarge it, my blood freezes and my heart decides not to beat for a while. It is she. Now smiling at me from Ryan's computer screen is the face that bewitches me both day and night.

"That her?" Ryan looks over his shoulder and sees my jaw hanging open. "That is her, isn't it? I'll be damned."

I nod dumbly, more mystified than ever. Ryan says, "What a lame-o you are! You've been seeing Audrey Tautou. She's a French actress."

"I don't understand. Why her?"

"You must have seen her somewhere. She's not famous like Angelina Jolie, but one of her movies,

Amelie

, was a hit. Let's see ... she was in

The Da Vinci Code

too. Oh, I keep forgetting, you only watch movies made before 1970."

"That's not entirely true. I watched the first 11 minutes of

The Departed

before I decided that

Out of the Past

was a better way to pass the time."

"Whatever. But from that look on your face I'd say she's your dream girl."

"More like a nightmare." But now I'm the rabbit fascinated by the snake. I read what I can about Audrey Tautou on the internet, and must see her movies. Where is this going, I wonder. It's as if Fate has taken me in hand and is leading me to some unknown place. I hope it's a good place but I have no control over that.

******

I like to watch the sunrise; each one a triumph of hope over experience. Dawn the next day finds me sitting on the patio of my second story apartment. I haven't slept a wink, having spent the entire night watching Audrey Tautou, in first

Amelie

and then

A Very Long Engagement

, the only two of her movies that I could find at Blockbuster.

Now her face hovers before me. I'm inebriated, made drunk not with alcohol but with Audrey Tautou. She fills my soul. I marvel at no matter the scene, you can't take your eyes off her. The camera worships her. Through the lens she becomes an enchantress, a mere slip of a girl who can captivate a man beyond all reason.

The camera loved all the great ones: Sophia Loren, but Marilyn most of all; Natalie Wood and Kim Novak when they got the lighting right. In my mind I compare the French Audrey to Audrey Hepburn, the elfin Audrey Hepburn you see in

Love in the Afternoon

or

Sabrina

. Same name and looks.

But Audrey Tautou's screen persona mixes whimsy with a dark, gritty side that Ms Hepburn never showed. She is determined to meet life on her terms. I like that in a woman.

As the first orange rays of sun light up my humble patio I wonder, why Audrey Tautou, of whose existence I was unaware. Why not Natalie Wood or even Sandra Dee?

I've had love affairs with Natalie and a dozen other screen goddesses. Sometimes Marilyn comes to my bedroom in the nightgown she wore in her first scene in

Niagara

. I take her into my arms even though I know she'll destroy me just as she did Joseph Cotton. Sophia Loren and I have a stormy relationship. She'll bawl me out in Italian, and then forgive me with a passionate hug, pressing me against her enormous soft breasts.

So why Audrey Tautou? I must be patient and wait for the answer to be revealed.

Summer draws to a close and my visions of Audrey Tautou begin to fade. Only rarely do I now see her in a crowd of women. She passes through my dreams as little more than a shadow. Is she tiring of me? I know I should be thankful that these baffling episodes are ending, but I am not.

The Tulsa State Fair arrives with its usual pomp in early October. Ryan and Pamela dragoon me into going with them, but part of me is eager. Not for the vegetable exhibit, not for the Purtiest Cow Contest or corn dogs, but for the superb display of feminine pulchritude that awaits a red blooded male.

Let's face it. What would any public gathering be without all these delectable women? They appear before our admiring eyes as a countless multitude, a never-ending tribute to the fecundity of middle class America.

I sometimes imagine the Tulsa State Fair to be a good Parisian restaurant, with the garçon offering me suggestions from their extensive menu. "Indeed, monsieur, we have an excellent choice of breasts tonight. Does monsieur prefer tank top with décolletage? In cantaloupe size or petite? Bouncy as well, you say? Yes, we serve halter-tops sans bra that outline the nipples. An excellent choice, monsieur."

"Perhaps a side order of slim ankle or long graceful neck? We have a wide selection. And our house specialty is ladies' derrieres. May I recommend the ripe pear-shaped one in linen shorts, or perhaps monsieur prefers this firm round one in skin-tight jeans?"

"Thighs? Ah, oui naturellement! As smooth and white as cream? Dark and supple? I can see that you are a true connoisseur!"

Like a bon vivant, I spend the evening secretly frolicking among the women, enjoying their generous curves; the aroma of their perfume and their sweat; the music of their laughter.

Then comes the inevitable ritual. Ryan must prove his manhood by winning a teddy bear for his mate Pamela. My assignment is to take care of Ethan and Alyssa. Soon the three of us are standing in line to ride the Ferris wheel. Their little hands are hot and sweaty; the sweet odor of children's perspiration engulfs us.

Admiring the last crimson glow of the sunset, I glance to the riders on the Ferris wheel. One couple catches my eye as their seat descends and then starts to rise again on the upturn. The woman is Audrey Tautou.

Even now I feel a familiar shock as I see her. Soon she starts to disappear from view, whooshing up into the night. But something has happened. Audrey is leaning out, looking straight at me. Her eyes are like great dark saucers, and her mouth is agape.

And then she is gone into the heavens, somewhere high above us. Time slows; eons seem to pass before her seat descends but there can be no doubt as now our eyes lock together and we stare at each other in shock and amazement.

What are the odds, I think. A beautiful French actress riding the Ferris wheel at the Tulsa State Fair? And she knows me! Miracles do happen. But we are trapped by circumstance, she circling in the Ferris wheel and I watching helplessly.

On the fourth turn we both realize the absurdity of the situation. She breaks into that wonderful Audrey Tautou smile just as do I, both of us enjoying how ludicrous it is, like a scene in a French movie. We have finally found each other but in a sense have not.

The wheel slows to a stop, and the children begin to prance and buck, eager to board. Audrey and her date are unloaded, but we are separated by a low partition as she leaves and the children start to pull me toward our seat.

"C'mon, Uncle Adam!" Alyssa says, "hurry, let's get on!" I am dragged toward the wheel even as Audrey Tautou and I exchange bewildered looks that we should just pass in the night like this. How can it happen after all my dreams of her?

But now we are in the seat. Amid the aroma of vinyl and steel, the man is fastening the bar, and just like that we leave the earth and rise skyward, the children crying out in excitement.

We reach the apex and now comes the downside, the breathtaking fall earthward, the children crying, "Whee! Oh! Oh!"

But I only look helplessly to the ground. Audrey and her date are holding hands. He wants to go, but she is looking back at the Ferris wheel and once again our eyes meet. Does she see the anguish in mine?

The wheel makes another turn and now Audrey and her date are not holding hands but rather talking heatedly, each gesturing to the other like actors in a French movie. Again they are lost from view as the children and I begin to rise again. They are still talking on the next turn. They disappear as once more we go over the top and fall, amid another round of, "Whee!" and "Ooh!"

But now when I lean out and look down I see only Audrey. She is smiling at me. And just like that comes a sort of heightened reality where the world is a brighter, happier place. I raise my hand and wave at her; she laughs and waves back.

We repeat this ritual until the ride ends and the children and I get off. We approach Audrey, who has her arms folded under her modest bosom. She is wearing a thin sleeveless blouse and a pale skirt whose hemline lies just above her knees.

We stop and gaze at each other as Ethan says, "Let's ride something else!" But I am only aware of the smiling face of my dreams. "Hello, Audrey."

She blushes as she did in that scene on the Métro early in the movie

Happenstance

. "Hello, Troy."

"This is my nephew Ethan and my niece Alyssa. Guys, say hello to ..?"

She bends down and smiles at the children. "Diane ... my name is Diane."

Alyssa looks at her shyly. "Are you Uncle Adam's girlfriend?"

Diane rises up and takes my arm in hers. "Yes. Yes, I am." Now she offers me that smile up close, those lips just inches from mine, waiting to be kissed. My knees are weak.

This is a time for action. "Guys, let's find Mom and Dad, okay?"

In a few moments we find Ryan and Pamela, who is clutching the teddy bear. Ryan blinks in surprise when he sees Diane, who now has her arm around my waist. Introductions are exchanged and the children tell of their daredevil adventure.

Ryan offers Diane an admiring glance. "So, you really do exist," he murmurs. He eyes her, a dark lissome creature; enchantment made flesh. And the woman has her arm around me, Adam. For the first time ever, my brother looks at me with envy. A genuine you lucky bastard you look. I'll cherish that moment to my grave.

We quickly say goodbye to my kinfolk. Diane and I hold hands as if we are high school sweethearts. Our eyes meet. "Did you see me as Troy Donahue?" "Yes. It's funny; I love movies, and I, well .. fantasize about love affairs with Johnny Depp or Brad Pitt. But I had no idea who you were until by chance I saw an old movie on TV with you in it. Rome Adventure. I watched your other movies after that. You weren't a very good actor."

"I know, but I did look handsome on screen, didn't I?"

Diane smiles. "My friends say I look just like Audrey Tautou. The ones who know of her, at least." She looks at me and continues, "Adam, could we ride the Ferris wheel again? Just you and me?"

Soon we're getting into a seat and I hand the guy a twenty. "Let us keep riding until I signal we're ready to get off." He shrugs but takes my money.

We sit with our arms around each other, and I'm dying to kiss her but I must wait until the right time. It comes when our seat stops at the very top as more people are loaded on.

Below us is music and the roar of motors and the babble of people; above us the black sky. I watch the play of colored lights on Diane's wide cheekbones and then at last our lips join. The kiss is long and warm and wet and hungry, the way James Stewart kissed Kim Novak in

Vertigo

. All my life I've imagined a kiss like that: a kiss of fulfillment after years of dreaming but never doing; wanting but not having. When we break we just look into each other's eyes.

I can see now that she's almost but not quite Audrey Tautou. She has less of an overbite, her face is more symmetrical. Diane's dark features come not from being French but rather one quarter Cherokee, but I do not know this at the time.

And she is the most angelic creature I have ever seen, so lovely that she doesn't seem real; Diane blinks away tears. "At last," she murmurs, "I've waited so long."