14 September 2016
Story #828
R. Linda:
Well, well, well! Live and learn something about human nature, mine. I must preface this piece because I am not necessarily knocking beautiful women of the supermodel variety. Still, in a way, I have experienced something that doesn't often happen to the working Joe like me. I also know I am not cut out for the social life of the upper-crust Bostonian set.
Here's the story: last weekend, I was invited to a rather magnificent splash of a party in Boston. I am liked by one of the paper's executives, a mover and shaker in Boston. He lives on swanky Beacon Hill, across from the park, and has three large homes: one on the Vineyard, one in Aspen, and one in Malibu. I ran into him at the wharf about a week ago. I asked him how he was, and since he's a talker, he proceeded to tell me about his latest adventures in Abu Dhabi and his side trip to New Zealand. Then he said he was having a bash at one of the big Boston hotels, and why didn't I bring the wife and come and enjoy? Well, I was taken aback. He then said it was formal and it would give me wife an opportunity to dress to the nines as all women like that. OK, Tonya is not one of those women, but he was nice for asking, and I wasn't about to debate the issue.
He insisted we attend, and I told him I had a wee bit of a cold and was on antibiotics. He looked at me for a moment and said, "Gabe, you're up in New Hampshire, right?"
"I am," I replied, coughing.
"Look, you could do me a huge favour. My Porsche is being fixed by a friend of mine in Hollis. If I have him drive the car over to your place, would you drive it to the party, and I will send you home afterwards in my limo if that's all right?"
Hells yes! Porsche? ME ME ME I WANNA DRIVE IT!
Having made the deal and gotten the particulars, I was on cloud nine. So I take meself home and tell the wife she be invited to a society shindig, and she is not excited but deflated. Me Mam, on the other hand, was thinking what a great opportunity this was for me to "Netwerk da hell outda dem high and mighties." Of course, she would think that, so the wife looked defeated and shrugged, saying she had nothing to wear that would be appropriate.
"Err look," Mam says, "we'll go tuo dat Davie's Bridal or whatever ye call it and git ye sumthin' grand we will."
"We will?" Tonya said, looking at me, terrified because me mom's idea of grand is Victorian lace down to the ankles with old lady's shoes. Not exactly Tonya's style.
I looked amused (I couldn't help it) and shrugged.
"Gabe, don't you think he's using you to get his car down there?" Tonya mused.
"Not really, the fella that has it could drive it down, but he thought I might enjoy the ride." I mused back.
"Yeah, well, it seems suspicious to me."
"No, we talked about the Porsche, and I said wistfully, I wish I could drive one. He's being nice, be all. Besides, we have carte blanche at the party and are being driven home in a limo."
"Hum."
It was the very next day, Mam carted the wife off to the bridal store. I was looking at me chequebook in dread because those dresses do not come cheap (which was a discussion I had with them both before they left).
"Look, err' sunny buy, if yer wants Tonya to stand out, she needs a good dress."
And that was that.
"But hey, Gabe, you get to drive a Porsche," Tonya said, not without a tinge of malice in her voice, and off they went.
I have a tuxedo, thanks in part to me friendship with the Weasil, who insisted he buy me one for one of his adventures out. So, at least I didn't have to shell out a rental, only hoped it still fit, and it did.
Well, the dress was bought, and you'll be happy to know it was not a Victorian number, but a chic, salmon-coloured, hug-your-body dress that you won't miss. Oh yeah, complete with sparkly heels. I was glad that Mam does not know who Harry Winston is, or I could see her flying down there with Tonya in tow for a shitload of diamonds to enhance the un-enhance able. That dress needed nothing to make it more spectacular than it was.
The Porsche and another one arrived at me door. The fella told me it was a breeze to drive and gave me some instructions on the motor and all it could do. He owns four -- must be nice.
"Your boss said you never drove one before. Well, here you are," he said, handing me the keys.
"Is there more to this?" I whispered. "Me wife thinks something is up."
"Oh no," he laughed. "He does kind things for people he likes. No worries. Have fun and don't smash it." He left laughing.
That last left me with a hole in the pit of me stomach filled with dread. What if I did that? Holy cow, I was now having second thoughts, and there she was coming down the steps dressed to the nines, and he was pulling away! What to do? I told meself to snap out of it and get meself going.
The goddess and I got in, and after a moment of being impressed, I put the lovely wonder in gear and we eased on down the road like two fat cats that do this all the time.
Now, instead of dreading the drive, which might ruin a perfect hairdo and an expensive motor, I was dreading the end of the drive. Once in gear, I could have driven that baby all night and the next day, happy as a clam. We arrived at the swanky hotel, and, of course, the lady was let out first. She moved up to the doors and realised I was not with her. She turned around to find me still sitting in the motor of dreams, the valet tugging at me door to get me out. I know, I was being a jerk about that car but . . .
After a few minutes, I departed the wonder mobile and started up to the front door, where the wife was patiently waiting, and a lot of fancy-dressed people were milling about. Suddenly, the world stopped. This blonde with a suntan and black dress slashed to the navel, comes model walking in me direction. She hands me a card and tells me in a husky, sexy voice to give her a ring. THAT NEVER HAPPENS TO MOI! I stood there with me mouth agape looking the jackarse I'm sure when the car's owner comes up to me and says, "It's the car."
Well, of course, it was. He told me it happens all the time. I knew in the past he dated supermodels, of which there were plenty at the party. We were sitting at his table, and for some reason, I had the honour of sitting next to him. He asked me about the car, and we spent about an hour discussing the Porsche before it turned to the exciting encounter with the supermodel outside the hotel.
"Never happened to me before." I mused.
"Gabe, let me tell you, before I married, I thought it was great to have a supermodel on my arm. But you know they are gold diggers, all about the money. They see the car, the well-fitting tux, and bam, they are right there. The foreign ones are the worst. They are groomed from a very young age to look for the wealthy American and go for it."
"Really?" I said, looking around at some of the vivacious lookers working the room.
"Really. My wife and I met at a convenience store out West. I stopped in after a jog to buy a cold drink, and there she was, a fellow jogger doing the same thing. We struck up a conversation about jogging and made a date to meet the next day. We did, she had no idea who I was, and I was smitten. Told her that night, I'd like to take her out. She said, 'Fine, I'll be ready.' I went to pick her up, and there she was, dressed in shorts and a tank top. I said I was going to take her to a nice place for dinner. She said she was hoping I would take her for a sunset jog. Hell, I did! She was leaving for Boston the next day, so I offered to drive her to the airport. I kissed her goodbye and then retrieved my belongings from the rental, hopped on my private plane, and made it to Boston before she landed. She was surprised to see me at the gate, and her face lit up, and that smile - I knew she was the one. I proposed right then and there. I told her who I was, and she didn't care. It was refreshing after the super gold diggers. We've been together for 25 years and are still as happy as the day we met."
I realised this guy was not fake or a user. He genuinely likes good people and told me he counts me as one. I also realised why he said that. After being at the party for two hours, I witnessed some behaviour I couldn't abide by. Lots of flirting, married or not, propositions, drinking, and one-upmanship to the extreme. No wonder he likes me, I must be very refreshing since I don't partake in any of those things. Tonya and I left after much feasting and dancing to the promised waiting limo. It was rather nice to not have to drive back after a long evening. The wife had a smashing good time despite all the suspicions she had thrown me way.
Perhaps she was right, I was being used as the sane table-mate because everyone else was fake. She caught the supermodel's (who will remain nameless) attempt to reel in a big catch (oh, wouldn't she have been disappointed?).
He tells me he's coming up to a reserve here to hunt in the fall and I be invited to go. Afterwards, the wife is invited to a dinner party at "the club." That means another dress, and I need to get a shotgun and hunting clothes. I don't think I can afford the attention of me boss. So now I have to find a way out of this friendship. One night out with the jet set was enough for Tonya; she did not want to make a habit of it. Me neither, actually. In thinking it over, I decided not to step into that world, and actually found Weasil's company (believe it or not) to be more in line with my own values. I know I will regret ever saying that, but for the moment, it be the truth.
Gabe
Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Well, well, well! Live and learn something about human nature, mine. I must preface this piece because I am not necessarily knocking beautiful women of the supermodel variety. Still, in a way, I have experienced something that doesn't often happen to the working Joe like me. I also know I am not cut out for the social life of the upper-crust Bostonian set.
Here's the story: last weekend, I was invited to a rather magnificent splash of a party in Boston. I am liked by one of the paper's executives, a mover and shaker in Boston. He lives on swanky Beacon Hill, across from the park, and has three large homes: one on the Vineyard, one in Aspen, and one in Malibu. I ran into him at the wharf about a week ago. I asked him how he was, and since he's a talker, he proceeded to tell me about his latest adventures in Abu Dhabi and his side trip to New Zealand. Then he said he was having a bash at one of the big Boston hotels, and why didn't I bring the wife and come and enjoy? Well, I was taken aback. He then said it was formal and it would give me wife an opportunity to dress to the nines as all women like that. OK, Tonya is not one of those women, but he was nice for asking, and I wasn't about to debate the issue.
He insisted we attend, and I told him I had a wee bit of a cold and was on antibiotics. He looked at me for a moment and said, "Gabe, you're up in New Hampshire, right?"
"I am," I replied, coughing.
"Look, you could do me a huge favour. My Porsche is being fixed by a friend of mine in Hollis. If I have him drive the car over to your place, would you drive it to the party, and I will send you home afterwards in my limo if that's all right?"
Hells yes! Porsche? ME ME ME I WANNA DRIVE IT!
Having made the deal and gotten the particulars, I was on cloud nine. So I take meself home and tell the wife she be invited to a society shindig, and she is not excited but deflated. Me Mam, on the other hand, was thinking what a great opportunity this was for me to "Netwerk da hell outda dem high and mighties." Of course, she would think that, so the wife looked defeated and shrugged, saying she had nothing to wear that would be appropriate.
"Err look," Mam says, "we'll go tuo dat Davie's Bridal or whatever ye call it and git ye sumthin' grand we will."
"We will?" Tonya said, looking at me, terrified because me mom's idea of grand is Victorian lace down to the ankles with old lady's shoes. Not exactly Tonya's style.
I looked amused (I couldn't help it) and shrugged.
"Gabe, don't you think he's using you to get his car down there?" Tonya mused.
"Not really, the fella that has it could drive it down, but he thought I might enjoy the ride." I mused back.
"Yeah, well, it seems suspicious to me."
"No, we talked about the Porsche, and I said wistfully, I wish I could drive one. He's being nice, be all. Besides, we have carte blanche at the party and are being driven home in a limo."
"Hum."
It was the very next day, Mam carted the wife off to the bridal store. I was looking at me chequebook in dread because those dresses do not come cheap (which was a discussion I had with them both before they left).
"Look, err' sunny buy, if yer wants Tonya to stand out, she needs a good dress."
And that was that.
"But hey, Gabe, you get to drive a Porsche," Tonya said, not without a tinge of malice in her voice, and off they went.
I have a tuxedo, thanks in part to me friendship with the Weasil, who insisted he buy me one for one of his adventures out. So, at least I didn't have to shell out a rental, only hoped it still fit, and it did.
Well, the dress was bought, and you'll be happy to know it was not a Victorian number, but a chic, salmon-coloured, hug-your-body dress that you won't miss. Oh yeah, complete with sparkly heels. I was glad that Mam does not know who Harry Winston is, or I could see her flying down there with Tonya in tow for a shitload of diamonds to enhance the un-enhance able. That dress needed nothing to make it more spectacular than it was.
 |
| The dress |
"Your boss said you never drove one before. Well, here you are," he said, handing me the keys.
"Is there more to this?" I whispered. "Me wife thinks something is up."
"Oh no," he laughed. "He does kind things for people he likes. No worries. Have fun and don't smash it." He left laughing.
That last left me with a hole in the pit of me stomach filled with dread. What if I did that? Holy cow, I was now having second thoughts, and there she was coming down the steps dressed to the nines, and he was pulling away! What to do? I told meself to snap out of it and get meself going.
The goddess and I got in, and after a moment of being impressed, I put the lovely wonder in gear and we eased on down the road like two fat cats that do this all the time.
Now, instead of dreading the drive, which might ruin a perfect hairdo and an expensive motor, I was dreading the end of the drive. Once in gear, I could have driven that baby all night and the next day, happy as a clam. We arrived at the swanky hotel, and, of course, the lady was let out first. She moved up to the doors and realised I was not with her. She turned around to find me still sitting in the motor of dreams, the valet tugging at me door to get me out. I know, I was being a jerk about that car but . . .
After a few minutes, I departed the wonder mobile and started up to the front door, where the wife was patiently waiting, and a lot of fancy-dressed people were milling about. Suddenly, the world stopped. This blonde with a suntan and black dress slashed to the navel, comes model walking in me direction. She hands me a card and tells me in a husky, sexy voice to give her a ring. THAT NEVER HAPPENS TO MOI! I stood there with me mouth agape looking the jackarse I'm sure when the car's owner comes up to me and says, "It's the car."
Well, of course, it was. He told me it happens all the time. I knew in the past he dated supermodels, of which there were plenty at the party. We were sitting at his table, and for some reason, I had the honour of sitting next to him. He asked me about the car, and we spent about an hour discussing the Porsche before it turned to the exciting encounter with the supermodel outside the hotel.
"Never happened to me before." I mused.
"Gabe, let me tell you, before I married, I thought it was great to have a supermodel on my arm. But you know they are gold diggers, all about the money. They see the car, the well-fitting tux, and bam, they are right there. The foreign ones are the worst. They are groomed from a very young age to look for the wealthy American and go for it."
"Really?" I said, looking around at some of the vivacious lookers working the room.
"Really. My wife and I met at a convenience store out West. I stopped in after a jog to buy a cold drink, and there she was, a fellow jogger doing the same thing. We struck up a conversation about jogging and made a date to meet the next day. We did, she had no idea who I was, and I was smitten. Told her that night, I'd like to take her out. She said, 'Fine, I'll be ready.' I went to pick her up, and there she was, dressed in shorts and a tank top. I said I was going to take her to a nice place for dinner. She said she was hoping I would take her for a sunset jog. Hell, I did! She was leaving for Boston the next day, so I offered to drive her to the airport. I kissed her goodbye and then retrieved my belongings from the rental, hopped on my private plane, and made it to Boston before she landed. She was surprised to see me at the gate, and her face lit up, and that smile - I knew she was the one. I proposed right then and there. I told her who I was, and she didn't care. It was refreshing after the super gold diggers. We've been together for 25 years and are still as happy as the day we met."
I realised this guy was not fake or a user. He genuinely likes good people and told me he counts me as one. I also realised why he said that. After being at the party for two hours, I witnessed some behaviour I couldn't abide by. Lots of flirting, married or not, propositions, drinking, and one-upmanship to the extreme. No wonder he likes me, I must be very refreshing since I don't partake in any of those things. Tonya and I left after much feasting and dancing to the promised waiting limo. It was rather nice to not have to drive back after a long evening. The wife had a smashing good time despite all the suspicions she had thrown me way.
Perhaps she was right, I was being used as the sane table-mate because everyone else was fake. She caught the supermodel's (who will remain nameless) attempt to reel in a big catch (oh, wouldn't she have been disappointed?).
He tells me he's coming up to a reserve here to hunt in the fall and I be invited to go. Afterwards, the wife is invited to a dinner party at "the club." That means another dress, and I need to get a shotgun and hunting clothes. I don't think I can afford the attention of me boss. So now I have to find a way out of this friendship. One night out with the jet set was enough for Tonya; she did not want to make a habit of it. Me neither, actually. In thinking it over, I decided not to step into that world, and actually found Weasil's company (believe it or not) to be more in line with my own values. I know I will regret ever saying that, but for the moment, it be the truth.
Gabe
Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved
LMAO stories of the almost famous! Tonyaooks good in that dress. She's got the height for it too. Hbbnobbing with the super rich sounds different but not fun.
ReplyDeleteThank you she did. I should clarify that not all were jerks there were some pretty nice people mixed in.
Deleteyou find the british rich are different from the american? I did. they are not so brash and more backstabbing in their politeness. my take on it anyhow.
ReplyDeleteI do see the difference but the ones I know are not backstabbers.
DeleteI think you brought out the best in him and at the end of the day. What's a Porsche? Clearly there is much more and you have it. That's what I think he was telling you. Pretty dress btw and on great figure.after three children. Way to go Tonya!
ReplyDeleteA Porsche is an extremely expensive German sports car.
DeleteLol. I know what a Porsche is. I meant what's a Porsche compared to things that are much more meaningful and cost nothing. That's what I think he found in you.
DeleteOh okay there Dew I thought for a nanosecond you had a blond moment and might be living under a rock. LOL I be so glad to find it was only your syntax LMAO
DeleteI forgot to ask about food! What did you eat and what did you drink?
ReplyDeleteCanapés. Braised short ribs with garlic mashed potatoes, string beans almondine, and for dessert a dark chocolate torte with coffee. I drank no alcohol was on meds.
DeleteDark chocolate torte? Was it yummy?
DeleteYeah it did
Delete