As I sat at the table in the ornately decorated home of a board members. discussing the next gala, I tried heartily to remember all the things I learned in finishing school. Her mother sat across the table. The words spoken were carefully chosen, always positive , intelligent, and polite. The was fanomal, the inset set fireplace was painted by a New York impressionist. from the floor up to the top of the high ceiling. Everything had meaning. The floors were man made pebbles, with the edges inlaid with stones from the bay where her father's ashes were spread. An occasional stone from memory's of places they had been. It was not at all stuffy. The custom made counters had shavings of wine bottles in it to match the Viking appliances.
But all very controlled.
It made me think of the owl and his sparse pent house apartment. The conversations we had of "serving" dinner parties with the family, the wife. How one must be. Explaining his and others like him their escape to women like me who fuck them senseless, in a dirty sort of way. Where we talk from our hearts, and even if it maybe temporary, it is real.
No comments:
Post a Comment