FEEDING THE SQUIRRELS

FEEDING THE SQUIRRELS: CHAPTER SIX (Simone)

I thought I knew what I was in for as I headed to the Connecticut home of Marc Jacobs, a friend of mine from college. He threw these parties three or four times a year, sometimes with a holiday as excuse, on other occasions just for the sake of entertaining and showing off how successful he had become. Fraternity brothers and other school day acquaintances made up two thirds of the guest list, and we would have a ball reminiscing about events of no significance, except that we had all been there. I usually spent the first hour or so marveling at how poorly my friends had aged, particularly in comparison to myself. Eventually I would be as drunk as everyone else, and like all drunks, would view everything about me with childlike wonder.

This party was destined to differ from the others right from the start, for I spotted Simone as I walked in, nearly salivated at the sight of the black silk dress which clung to her body's raceway curves. Since she was speaking to someone I didn't know, I had no valid excuse to approach her immediately. Instead I went through the ritual of warmly embracing old chums, chastising and being chastised for not keeping in touch, exchanging numbers and swearing to get together real soon, all the while knowing that we would not cross each other's paths or thoughts again until Marc's next party. I did this more distractedly than usual, not even bothering to count how many gray hairs, bald spots, pot bellies, and recession of hairlines had begun or expanded since last we met. I was too busy keeping tabs on the woman in black, whose perpetually in-hand cigarette created a smoky halo.

Hector Rodriguez was in the middle of charming anecdote number four about his precocious sixteen month old twins when I saw an opportunity. Marc Jacobs had joined the conversation of the temptress and her time monopolizing companion. Seconds later I headed over and was introduced to Grant and Simone. Grant was a co-worker of Marc's and obviously gay. This left Simone ripe for the picking.

Sometimes these things work out nice and easy, for me more often than not, and for this I am grateful. I've heard plenty of stories about the lengths men have gone to get some woman into bed. These are the same guys who claim the chase is half the fun. Well they're full of it. The chase is work, and though it isn't necessary to hate your job, who in their right mind prefers the labor to the paycheck? And if the amount of toil is excessive to how much you're being paid, sooner or later it makes sense to get a new job.

In Simone was the promise of one hell of a payday. What turned me on most about her is difficult to say. Her pulchritude was marked by piercing almond shaped eyes, chiseled cheek bones, Bridget Bardot lips, divinely sculpted shoulder blades, a waist I could almost wrap one hand around. I made use of all opportunities to gaze at her heart shaped posterior, which moved when she walked like waves on a stretch of sea during a mild storm. And my conclusion that she wore no bra or panties definitely added to her allure.

But if I had to choose one thing, it would her detachment. It was impossible to tell where I stood. Hours went by like seconds, I ignored everyone else at the party, concentrated all of my energy on enchanting this woman. She remained by my side, so I assumed she must be interested. But interest wasn't enough for me. I was accustomed to women being enthralled, mesmerized.Insecurity began to take hold, making me wonder if I was somehow losing my touch. I had gone too far to retreat, accomplished too little to be remotely satisfied. Simone was from Colorado and returning home the following afternoon. If anything was to happen between us, it had to be that night. I was considering being bold and plainly stating my desire. But I would be running the risk of offending her, and that would make the night a complete loss. I have been with my share and then some of women, and in every case what happened was the result of them deciding it would be so, regardless of who said what first. With Simone I was clueless as to what she had decided, if she had decided anything, and her apparent ambivalence rendered me too cowardly to ask.