What about Stella?"#3
This is an excerpt from a comedy novel I am working on. Funny and lighthearted.
As the closest nightlife in Suburbia was the offerings of carafes of Margaritas, which seemed to be endlessly supplied for a group of women who wanted to tell their crazy stories, all for the goal of falling out of your seats in laughter. That was the goal, and we did laugh a lot. I’m certain we laughed over things that no one else would, but hey, those Margaritas were to blame.
It was always fun; however, in between those moments, it could be quite lonely in a large home that no longer contained a husband or children to bring it back to life. The husband was divorced and no longer in the picture, and the kids were grown, leading their own lives. It was a pivotal point and catapulted my decision to leave the suburbs and embark on new adventures elsewhere.
I enjoyed walking the streets of downtown, immersing myself in the rhythm of urban life, and discovering what made the heart and soul of the city. It was people walking the streets, and I would hear various music emanating out from the front doors of each restaurant or bar as I passed by, and smell the cuisine being delivered to their eager patrons as their delicious scents exited the restaurant doors. I enjoyed the vibrant energy. I enjoyed all of its nightlife, where the sounds of laughter and music of all sorts filled the air as I explored what downtown had to offer, including trying new cuisines and meeting people from all walks of life, often sitting at the bar.
It was a chance for a fresh start where every corner held the promise of an adventure, and the unknown beckoned, inviting me to step outside my comfort zone and embrace the challenges and joys that lay ahead.
Now, one person who had entered my friend circle was named Bambi. Bambi lived on the floor beneath me. She was always full of drama, and when others might have gotten tired of it, I opened the door wide for it. She made me laugh. At the end of our encounters, I always had a smile and a little giggle. And though the age difference between us never seemed to be a factor as we had no difficulty communicating with one another – she was hip, that is all there was to it.
She loved the sun, and though she wore all the wrinkles that went with that love, she still carried a particular kind of beauty that came with the style she held as she entered a room. She was always dressed in her best, from her costume gemstone clip earrings to the large chunky necklaces that matched, and heels that I could never wear after two knee surgeries. She had kept her waist, and she loved to show her cleavage, which made me look down at mine.
Though time and the sun had been a little cruel to her, she was growing old gracefully by fighting it with a sword. She zapped each grey hair that popped in every few weeks, the nose hairs that may pop out and had never been there before, and when the eyebrows started going wiry and crazy, she made sure that they did not remain unkempt eyebrows anymore; she would let none of these things happen to her, along with no ‘old lady’ perfume.
She was known for her cocktail parties. I had never been to any of them. And seriously, if I wanted to date, I could show up to one of her parties and probably meet some man who would be thrilled to date someone a quarter century younger. And hey, if they were good-looking, I might even consider it. But up to this point, I had somehow avoided the casual invitations that seeped into our conversations at times.
For now, Bambi was like having a glamorous and full-of-energy grandmother downstairs, as she was far from being ready to sit in a rocking chair and wait for the following years to pass. Instead, she was always wanting and willing to visit.
I would see her often when I returned from a mid-morning power walk near a large city pond not so far away. She must have always been returning from some errand, so we would end up in the elevator together quite often. She would soon start to tell me her latest and most dramatic story, and she would always let the elevator pass her floor as she was right in the middle of it, thus riding up to my floor as she continued.
Because she was so dramatically entertaining, I would always invite her in for a cup of tea because I always needed to hear ‘The End’. I had often wondered if she had these stories stored in a drawer to pull out on any given day so that she could ride up with me and stop by.
She was like a new series that has just been released, grabbing your attention, and you can’t walk away from it, even though you know you should, because you have other things to do. At the same time as she left, I could, at times, be totally exhausted. Or, in other words, too much of Bambi would zap all of your energy once she left. I would lie down for an afternoon nap on my couch, which always had the afternoon sun rays warming it up, as if it were preparing it for me to snuggle with my favorite blanket, just like a kitten.
Her most recent drama was her prying neighbor named "Eloy' who was causing more than a lot of commotion for her. He was an older gentleman who lived on the same floor as her. Because her apartment was past his in the hallway, he was able to observe her returns and exits without her knowledge.
He was a short, frumpy man. It would be difficult to know if he had always been like that or if age had just been cruel to him and shrunk him to like 5’4”. What little we knew was that he had never been married and mainly lived like a hermit. No one ever saw him leave the building for anything, not even for groceries. There was always a bit of a mystery about him as he kept his door tightly shut when exiting to harass Bambi, and only quickly squeezed back in like some slimy worm back into the ground once Bambi was several feet away. He was a peculiar person with his idiosyncrasies, which could not be explained.
Apparently, in Bambi’s story, he always seemed to be peeping through the peephole of his front door. On many days, as soon as she would get off the elevator for her floor, he would open his front door and run out to harass her about the type and number of guests that she was always having at all hours of the day and night. All because she loved to socialize.
She sat at my breakfast table waiting for her tea, as I knew just how she liked it, Chai Tea with a bit of Irish Cream. The sun was shining through the window, which should have led to a lighthearted conversation, but she sat there with her forehead supported by her hand, shaking her head in distress, thus turning the day gloomy.
She did a big sigh then stated, “He claims that I am conducting illicit activities with all of my guests that stop by and at my cocktail parties that I throw. I don’t even know what he is referring to. I just have a large number of friends who know that I have an open-door policy for visitation and a damn good cocktail to go with it. As you get older, you tend to feel lonelier. You are sometimes widowed, and your children don’t visit you, and your grandkids may live far away, and sometimes you want a conversation with a friend and to laugh over a cocktail. What is illicit about that?”
“Nothing,” I said. Then, trying to come up with some resolution quickly, I spouted out a ridiculous recommendation, “I guess he doesn’t understand that is what you are doing. Why don’t you invite him over, so that he does understand?”
Bambi, whose name was a good indicator of her personality, then stood from her chair onto her flamingo tan legs with her 4” stiletto heels and white pencil skirt that just contrasted her tan legs even more. She was wearing one of her short-sleeve blouses that showcased her bosoms, which were being thrust up by a bra made of ‘rocket fuel’ to fight the force of gravity. Her darkly tanned, wrinkly, lanky arms began to wave around as she continued with the story.
Bambi blasted with her emotional distress, “I can’t have him over. Have you seen him? He barely dresses himself. His pants are never zipped completely up, probably because he has popped the buttons off all of his pants. Sometimes,” she whispered with horror on her face, “I see his tighty whities. I cannot stare at that and have a conversation. Plus, he smells.” She was right in the few moments that I had had the mishap of crossing his path, though he did rarely ever leave his home, he did smell, not of body odor, but something like cat piss. I know that smell from a friend who could not train her cat to use the cat box.
“No, no, no, never,” Bambi continued in her flamboyant way as she soon excused herself and stated that she needed to get back to her place, and I left, wondering how this story is going to end.
A couple of days later, Bambi caught me in the Foyer of our Condo Complex and asked me if I’d like a quick brunch down the street. I was only going out to get stamps from a corner store to mail the only bill that still didn't have ‘online bill pay’. I mean, who are you if you don’t have ‘online bill pay’? So, I quickly took her up on her offer. I will never forget that brunch.
This particular morning, we chose to eat at a new restaurant that had received top 5-star reviews. Although the reviews had been encouraging for this new restaurant, we somehow lucked out with a horrible waiter, as we seemed to sit at our table forever waiting for our meal to be delivered. The wait staff whisked quickly around with trays in hand, and we took notice of other tables receiving their beautiful plates of French Toast and freshly created omelets before us, when we had been sitting at our table long before they had been seated. As each tray passed my way, I remember lifting slightly in my seat to see if it could be ours yet. Then, I will never forget what happened next.
What happens next? To be continued….stay tuned.