Friday, April 9, 2010

Writers Are Students Of People

When at a party where there are people I don't know, I am in an element that instigates my imagination. What to say becomes the direct pay-off of how people I meet make me feel or the situation of the moment. It can be like an improv class. Of course it is appropriate but unexpected by most. But does it start out that way? Nope! I sit back and study the group. I ask myself questions. Why are those two together? What is she wearing beneath that dress... what could she possibly be wearing... it is too sheer... could she be... naked? She has to be naked. I know I could tell if she hadn't bikini waxed.

I see a couple. I figure that they are young and in love. So what is the truth of their youth? What does he smell like? What does she? How long did they spend getting ready? What does she taste like when they kiss? Does she taste different in
public then in private? Who is alpha? Would she ask? Beg? Take? Would he? Have they ever danced nude... at night... and in the rain... why... why not? Does he naturally take her hand when people encroach? Does she find protection from him? Does she glow? Does he? But do they glow apart? Is there a kinetic attraction that is felt when they are separated? Could anyone sense their affinity for each other?

One of the greatest quotes that I heard uttered, moved me. "I saw her across the room (at a party) and the only voice I heard was hers. Heard her all night. So I had to meet her." Ten years later they are together. I find myself compelled to understand attraction. I am drawn to that allure.

So for a period of time I am a party voyeur and then I mingle. And try to resolve my questions. While others dance, small-talk, and double-dip their chips, I query. I'll ask the hostess how could she possibly pull that dress off wearing undies? And if I am lucky she'll reply, "You want to pull that dress off... and see?" We'd laugh but she'd tell me. And so the night begins. Asking questions maybe everyone else wanted to ask. Doesn't Max understand his toupee looks anything but natural? Hey bud, your merkin is moving to high ground? Could Wayne have worn a shirt with more wrinkles? Own an iron that works? And does Paula know every old geezer is ogling her blouse's décolleté? Does she know she's nipus erecti? I bet she knows. Go Paula. I'll ask.


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Champagne Books