No matter how long it’s been, the routine of preparation for a date is familiar as are the feelings of changing to my alter ego. The dress on the bed, Proenza Schouler from a few seasons ago, my shoes, sling backs on the floor next to my dressing table where I sit staring into the mirror applying my make-up with my stockings draped over the back of the chair.

What’s new is that I have a witness, Wags sitting, patiently watching for a clue as to what will happen next. He knows I’m going out, but not whether he’ll be coming. When he’s sure that he is coming, he sits by the door usually having pulled the leash off the door knob. When he isn’t coming, he’ll go to one of his pillows and sulk. If he’s not sure he sits and watches me waiting for a clue. I glance over at him and smile as his tail sweeps the floor behind him. Not tonight my little friend, I say to him as I turn reaching for the stocking. I roll one on and then the next, stretching out my legs and pointing my toes to touch the tip of his nose; a game that at times results in ruined hose, then I attach the snaps, leaving the adjustment of the ribbon till I stand.

But I told Wags that he’d be staying with Jink, saying the name with emphasis. Jink’s is a neighbor’s dog and we pet sit for each other if we plan to be out late. Hearing the familiar name Wag’s leans his head over, his ears perked up and tail beating faster. And then a run for the door where lets loose his bark/howl and then lies down and waits sniffing at the valise that holds my morning escape kit.

The possibility of my lives intersecting is something that I’ve known, but I was still surprised when it happened this morning. At a breakfast planning meeting I was introduced to my client’s client, who turned out to be, hmmm a past client. He recognized me, which I knew and with the ritual exchange of business cards he knew more about me than he did before. A few hours later he called, would I be available to see him, he asked, having decided that I would if called, I told him yes. A bit of small talk and then confirmation of the arrangements; “Would you prefer a wire,” I asked, knowing that he would. A time and a meeting place, the lounge of his hotel, he’d surprise me with a restaurant.

He was staying at the George V, so there would be no surprises good or bad, just extreme competence, from the taxi I called to let him know that I was on my way and he confirmed that we’d meet in Le Bar. Le Bar is a nice spot all marble topped tables and mahogany, but the most uncomfortable seating. He was waiting when I arrived greeting me with a kiss. A server appeared and asked if he could take my coat and the client confirmed that the valise was my overnight bag before asking that it be delivered to his room. We had a drink and he told me that we’d be having dinner at Dessirier on place du Maréchal Juin. Now my evening was set, delectable oysters followed by cock worship and at some point the subject of pile driving sex. Fortunately my client is modestly endowed so the violence was confined to his abdomen slamming into my butt.

In the morning he asked that I stay and breakfast with him in the room, as we talked he mentioned traveling to Dubai in January and asked if I could accompany him. Dubai is on my list of places that I’d like to go, to visit, but mostly to seek business contacts. I demurred explaining that I really couldn’t take that much time away. He countered by suggesting that I not join him for the complete trip but for a few days. I agreed to think about it.

Kim

In the space between when I awoke this morning and Wags figured out I was awake, I began thinking of Belle and what she must have gone through last week upon learning that she was to be exposed by someone she once trusted. Belle being a realist and organized knew this day might come, so she’d thought about it and likely had a plan that was fully coordinated with her publicist.

The phone call to her parents must of have been the hardest, as she knew that they would be disappointed, but softened only by the knowledge that they would love her anyway. She may have found a bit of irony in telling her friends, a few of whom may have suspected but said nothing. Imagine the conversation with her boss. The story of the conversations with friends and co-workers probably has the making of a good magazine article.

Soon, I suspect, she’ll having a quiet evening and her thoughts will turn to the scum bag ex who believed he could hurt her and receive his own fifteen minutes of fame by outing her. A smile will cross her face knowing that her admission leaves him only being publicly identified as a scum bag.

Kim

The NY meetings were followed by a pair in Atlanta, after which I returned to NY to meet Christine. It was a difficult time. As her graduation approaches, problems in our relationship that have been papered over are coming forward. I’d like her to come to Paris, I’m settled, and she needn’t worry about money or working. Denise would like to sublet part of her workspace as she no longer is living in it and would love having C join her. I’ve offered to rent her a studio of her own if sharing with Denise isn’t satisfactory. I’ve even suggested we split our time between Paris and somewhere of her choosing.

I’m pretty sure I know what’s wrong and when I go there she clams up. I brought our future up Saturday afternoon, she said, “Let’s not talk about that now.” We fought about it in our room Saturday night, a full on scream fest, so much so that an adjoining room called the desk, who checked to see if we were alright. I admit that I lost it and made things worse than it should have been. After the desk called we didn’t say much to each other.

Sunday morning we walked silently toward the subway, her for the train station and me for JFK. A cab was at the curb, dropping passengers. Impulsively I decided to take it, the idea of spending an hour on the subway with others was unappealing and I wanted to be alone. I told C that I wanted to take the cab and checked to ensure she knew how to reach her train and then gave her a hug and told her I’d message her when I got home and asked she do the same.

As the cab pulled away and I watched her recede in the distance the thought, the fear, that I’d never see her again crossed my mind. By the time the cab reached the tunnel, I’d begun crying. Not weepy tears, but full fledged sobbing that not even the driver could ignore and when traffic slowed he checked to see if I were OK.

When I arrived in Paris, a six letter message from her was waiting, “home ok,” I replied that I was to and that I’d call later, as I knew she’d be asleep. Later in the day I did call, but she didn’t answer and hasn’t called back.

Kim

Belle has revealed her identity, a PhD, a scientist no less. What struck me looking a picture of her and reading a bit of the commentary is how perfectly ordinary she is, simply a co-worker, that girl in class, or the woman who you see each morning waiting for the train. But extraordinary also, a researcher in child hood cancer as well as a talented memoirist and creator of sexy chick lit.

Good luck Brooke and thank you.

Kim

She must be a business major.

Dad is keeping a bucket list, I find contemplating him being gone depressing, but he’s quite cheerful about it. I have my own list, things to do when I’m wealthy. Some are grandiose, like establishing a foundation and giving away my money or a more practical version, become an important patron of causes that are important to me. The best part of that is I’ve started to do that already. Some are personal, such as having a rambling country house where my grandchildren can visit as long as their parents let them stay. And gifting them with the opportunity to have what ever, where ever education they want and not have to begin their careers in debt, as my grandparents provided me. Others are frivolous like a bedroom with a window that frames the Eiffel Tower rather than the aircraft warning lights of La Défense. Among the frivolous is having a MarquisJet card.

This is being written as we’re heading for 30 something thousand feet on my way to NY and my day, week started with the miserable experience of passing through security, herded on to the plane and I’m looking forward to the always smiling, welcoming Customs officials in NY. It’s not the experience of the flight and I don’t feel that first class is worth the cost the seats in coach have enough room for me. It’s the departing and arriving hassles I want to avoid. Nor to I want the whole avion privé experience of my own plane or even a share, just something a little exclusive.

As long as I’m being delusional, I may as well go for broke.

Forget your Phantoms and Arnages, keep your Ferraris and Astons, if you loved me, if you really, really loved me. You’d chauffeur me about Paris in this!



I’m worth it. I am.

Kim

Oh he's dumber than a rock, but as a late date...

Yo, L if you're ever in Paris...

Kim

A couple of weeks ago I sent Dad some pictures from this summer. One was a picture of me with Wags in my lap. I was wearing a sweatshirt from my college and a colorfully patterned skirt that I purchased at a Dakar market. The other day he sent a copy of that back with one of my mother.

If you looked at pictures of my family you’d likely say that Grace and Kenny favored Mom, while Leah and I take after Dad. Some of Mom is in my appearance, our eyes and hair. If I don’t set or at least blow dry my hair it is quite wavy and at the beach house I usually just wash it, brush it out and let it air dry. That of course has me looking like a 60’s hippy chick.

The picture Dad sent was of Mom, sitting with a small dog in her lap, wearing her school’s sweatshirt and a flowered skirt. In the picture she’s younger than I am now, probably early 20’s. I’d never seen this before and I was surprised by how much we looked alike. Anne Marie was with me and I turned the computer so she could see. She looked at the pictures, then at me, and then back to the pictures. “Eerie,” she said, smiling.

When I got home I photo shopped them into a single photo, sent copies to my siblings and grandparents and added it to rotating photo album that I have a screen saver.

Kim