May 25, 2007

Stripped of all truth for a birthday fete

Most of the names in this story have been changed to protect the extraordinarily ornery.

Larry had experienced another in a thankfully-long series of birthdays which in recent years had been occasions of sorts.

These fests normally were highlighted by a nice restaurant meal, good wine, a birthday cake and meaningful and gag presents.

Each time, the instigator of this somewhat special calendar happeningwas one of Larry’s female friends, who took particular delight in coordinating, present-buying and restaurant reservation-making, despite busy professional working lives.

It was a genuinely pleasant demarcation of another 12 months on a life journey, made all the more wonderful and memorable by Larry’s being surrounded by great friends.

But for this most recent celebration, everyone’s schedules were more chaotic than normal, so it was several weeks before Larry’s birth mini-bash could be rang up, and then, it could only be a subdued observance.

“Larry, this is Bridgett, I’ll be down your way Friday afternoon on some business,” the voice at the other end of the phone line bubbled.

“When I’m done, I’ll swing by and we’ll go get some pizza or something for your birthday, for a too-belated of a celebration.”

With nothing else on the social horizon, Larry agreed.

Hours later, the new Jaguar positioned itself in his driveway and off Larry and Bridgett went on their exploratory mission for some round baked crust, cheese, pepperoni, mushrooms and the like.

The car floated past several pizza emporiums before it finally eased into a space alongside a top-drawer restaurant known to be among Larry’s favorites.

He thought he recognized a couple cars in the parking lot and sure enough, once inside, waiting at a table were other friends Rachel, Brandy and Katie.

“Surprise!” they exclaimed in unison before the touching of wine glasses and a memorable taste bud barrage at their expense; Larry was urged to order lobster, his favorite food, and out of fear of offending someone, he non-reluctantly obliged.

After a sensational meal, Brandy proposed: “Let’s go to my house for awhile; I’ve made a big birthday cake, then we can go out to a club and listen to music and talk some more;

“My cousin Tracy is coming in for the weekend from Indianapolis...maybe she’ll want to join us.”

So off they caravaned to Brandy’s house where, after a few minutes there was a knock on the door.

Cousin Tracy made an appearance in the kitchen doorway. A light in the living room backlit her like a female star the movie director wants to make appear glowing, approachable and desirable.

That wasn’t necessary for Tracy, whom Larry mentally guessed to be in her mid twenties.

She would be arm candy for any man with her knockout hair, figure and clothes, a showpiece of tan and fitness, a package of allure from headtop to perfectly manicured and painted toenails.

Nimbly, Tracy slid into a chair beside Larry and seemed to purr as she began nibbling at the piece of cake Brandy had plated and placed in front of her.

Although a good 35 years separated them, Tracy and Larry seemed to hit it off, reason for Larry to engage in a little chest-puffing.

“Aaah, the old master hasn’t lost his touch with the ladies, even the young ones,” the thought drifted into his ego.

Tracy continued the chatter, asked about Larry’s son and grandson and specifics about his work, items that Brandy had passed along to her, she said.

Larry felt like a slug...although Brandy had mentioned “cousin Tracy” a number of times, he really never had inquired of any details about her...what line of work she was in, what part of town she lived in, boyfriends, etc.

The cake eating and coffee-drinking session was concluded and it was time to head out for some night life.

“Tracy, you’re going to join us, aren’t you?” Larry asked of his table mate.

“No, I’m sorry,” she replied. “I’ve had a really long week at work and then with the drive up here tonight, I’m really tired.

“I think I’ll just pass and crash here at Brandy’s house.”

“Well, I have to say I’m disappointed,” Larry answered. “But it’s really been a pleasure to finally get to meet you; you seem like a very nice young lady.”

“I’m glad I finally got to meet you, too, Larry; you seem like a very nice man,” Tracy handed back.

“In fact, you’re so nice, I’m going to take my clothes off for you.”

At that, “Tracy” stood up, took a couple steps away from the table, completely removed her light pullover top and dropped it onto the floor.

At the same time, exotic music began playing from a small tape player that was out of view on the kitchen counter because Brandy had remained standing in front of it.

One thousand percent in shock by the transformation of the heretofore sweet, adorable young woman into the mode of a

gentleman’s club entertainer, for the first time in his life Larry was on the verge of requiring an immediate undershorts change.

He grabbed his chest, gasped for oxygen and crumpled into his chair, jaw nearly smashing onto the kitchen floor.

It took a few more seconds and additional clothing article departure, all within the context of bodily gyrations, before Larry realized he’d been had and that “Tracy” was no more Brandy’s cousin and no more a weekend visitor from Indianapolis than Rosie O’Donnell is an Olympic-caliber sprinter.

Tracy was just a devotee to completing the exotic dance routine, taking off most of her clothes, getting paid by the four gleefully howling women who had hired her, and going home.

At the end, she extended her hand.

“Hi, I’m Tina,” as she delivered a smile that would make any normal male want to return time and time again to view the charms she would have displayed professionally at area nightclubs.

As I wrote at the beginning of this piece, some names of the ornery have been changed.

I mentioned nothing about changing the name of the duped.

“Larry”...with just a couple of letter changes, it could be Gary, couldn’t it?

by GARY BOOKS

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