Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Part of Chapter 2 of Adam's Book...he has some GREAT STUFF in there!
LEMONADE WITH THE LAWN BOY
It was hot that Friday afternoon when she rolled up in a white Mercedes SL convertible –– a sleek and roaring 12 cylinder with a crisp white leather interior that smelled strongly of money. She emerged, wearing head to toe white. I’d never seen anything like it. Skin-tight white jeans, fitted white sweater, white sandals, and oversized white sunglasses. She even had a white rhinestone belt around her waist. Sandie Tillotson looked like a female Liberace. “Mmmm...” she purred, looking down her nose over her sunglasses. “This looks even better than a Coke commercial.” I could feel her eyes roaming over every inch of my darkly tanned, sweaty body. She was cold, calculating, almost reptilian –– like a boa constrictor looking to devour its next meal.
All of a sudden I was 14 years old again, only this time I knew what that look meant. This wasn’t the first time I’d been chased by an older woman, and I liked being pursued. My body was ripped and sweaty from swinging a pick, and I knew I looked hot. “Why don’t you drive my car?” sheinsisted, as she winked and tossed me the keys. I had never been in a car worth $150,000, and I was surprised at how nonchalantly she offered her expensive possession up, especially since I was covered in dirt from digging sprinkler trenches.
“I made reservations at the Market Street Broiler” she said, the most expensive restaurant in the area. I started sweating nervously as we pulled up, knowing I only had $50 in my pocket. We sat outside on the patio, and it wasn’t long before I felt like I was being interrogated by the CIA. She wanted to know everything about me. I knew I’d passed her qualifying round when I realized we had similar hobbies –– scuba diving, horses, travelling, motorcycles, sex.
This was the first time I’d gotten a good look at her. I was distracted as she playfully fingered the neckline of her sweater, drawing my eyes down to her rock-hard fake breasts. Her nails were long and hot pink, the skin on her hands was thin and spotty, much more aged than her face. I noticed her hair, bleached blonde with dark roots, teased, coiffed, and sprayed. Long, wispy bangs hid most of her heavily made up face –– dark black eyebrows, blue glassy wide-set eyes, and a square jaw. I thought, this woman was probably really hot 30 years ago.