The Hindenburg Affair - Part 2

Published at December 1, 2007 in Memory Machine and Love and Romance. Closed

My presentation must have gone better than I thought because the Michigan prospect was beginning to make noises like a client. Besides that, I couldn’t stop thinking about the bronzed blonde lady I’d met at the piano bar. By the end of the week I was on the phone making dinner arrangements. She greeted my call with a trembling excitement that made me want to inhale the sound of her voice as if it were air.

This time, they had no trouble getting me to make the trip and everyone was curious about my complete one-eighty attitude shift. My colleagues’ good natured teasing was met with a casual, cat-gulped-the-canary grin. They had no idea how on-target their tiny rubber-tipped arrows were, even though a few feathers were still protruding from one corner of my mouth.

The night before departure, I surfed in and out of sleep as recollections of our first meeting and scenarios for our second played non-stop across the wide screen inside my head. At quarter to three I gave up the picture show, downed a triple-strength instant coffee and headed for the 4 AM helicopter to LaGuardia Airport. I hardly noticed the early flight, the over-water take-off I hated so much or even the fact that my 9 AM Detroit appointment was unavailable and forgot to cancel. I was finally on my way to spend an entire evening with a magical creature about whom, I suddenly realized, I knew almost nothing! After another ‘wing and a prayer’ flight out of The Motor city, I had lunch with my Kalamazoo prospect and checked into the hotel to freshen up in anticipation of my romantic rendezvous.

Her directions to the apartment complex were as perfect as my sudden reality check was confusing. The scene could have been straight out of Tennessee Willliams, had his stories been set in more urban surroundings. Dozens of little crumb crunchers were playing in the courtyard and scurrying in every direction, like ants realizing their hill is under siege. All I could think of was, “What am I getting myself into?” I made my way to #122A, rang the bell and was greeted at the door by part of the answer. She looked like my dinner date but it quickly became apparent that someone had traded-in that sensuous seductress, who had originally kindled my flame, for some sort of frenzied domestic model with a fire extinguisher.

My introduction to the first of her three children was accompanied by a four inch red circle in the middle of her son’s chest. It didn’t look like anything genetic so I assumed the stump that broke the 11 year old’s fall from a tree had something to do with it. His mother was in a state of confusion about what to do. Finally, the sitter sufficiently assured her that the emergency room doctor had pronounced the boy both fine and dandy. Nothing was seriously damaged; he just needed some rest. Slowly, mom was morphing back into the girl who fed my fantasies all week and for whom I had just traveled seven hundred miles to share a few of them.

We took the scenic route to the restaurant so she could give me a tour of town. The current pride and joy seemed to be their new sports arena, which we drove by no fewer than three times before I noticed which single story building housed it. I was used to Madison Square Garden. This wasn’t Madison Square Garden. The restaurant wasn’t The Rainbow Room, either, but it was pleasant, offered a form of live music and, most of all, provided us with a much needed opportunity to begin discovering each other. We immersed ourselves in verbal exploration, talking all through dinner, a couple of dances and all the way back to my hotel…where we stopped talking but began a new phase of exploration.

Once again my flight was at 6AM, which meant no sleep for either of us. We didn’t mind. She walked me to the gate wearing that incredibly welcoming smile, flashing those dazzling blue eyes and, somehow, still managing the same excitement in her voice I had heard on the phone. I took a deep breath as she snuggled into place under my arm. It was almost frightening to feel how perfectly we fit together, like two pieces of a finely detailed puzzle. It seemed as though we were walking in the same footprints.

We embraced one more time, kissed goodbye and I boarded. A feeling of emptiness tinged with relief overtook me as I gazed out the window at the small sweatered figure standing by the fence, waving toward the plane, hoping we might catch sight of each other just once more. As we turned and headed for the taxiway, the figure grew ever smaller, until the wing drew across it entirely like a silvery curtain declaring, “That’s all folks!”

I settled back, allowing the seat to swallow me. Three kids are too much baggage and seven hundred too many miles just for a date. Besides, I already had my own son and a former bride to be concerned with. There was no future in it. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by the folly of the whole affair, and promised myself that I wouldn’t see her again.

(To be continued)

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The Hindenburg Affair - Part 1

Published at November 11, 2007 in Memory Machine and Love and Romance. 0 Comments

I met her on a Tuesday. I had tried desperately to get out of the trip but without success. It was a small town with nothing to do and I’d be stuck there overnight. But business was business and the prospective client represented both profit and prestige for my company. So off I went, suitcase in hand, and an old song about having a gal in Kalamazoo rattling around in my head. Life can be many things and high on the list of descriptors has to be the word ironic.

The flight out was the usual jumbo jet with wide aisles, narrow seats and the obligatory screaming kid in the seat behind. Calm finally arrived in Detroit, when we did, but the plane change made me long for the screaming kid again. When the same guy who sold me a ticket, carried my bags and flew the plane, I knew this was going to be an experience I wouldn’t soon forget. I didn’t. I remember every detail to this day.

This was the time of the no longer Married Man and I was a reborn “hound”. It’s not like I spent an inordinate amount of energy chasing women but I was on the road a lot and the road can be a lonely place. Ask any salesman. I had just finished the most foul tasting hamburger of my life and, having checked the T.V. listings to see what the three available channels had to offer, I headed back to the hotel to see “The Hindenburg”. It was supposed to be a good movie and I had never seen it. Besides, the movie and a short night’s sleep seemed to be the only options left until the 6AM flight back to civilization.

As I entered the lobby, I heard the tinkling of a jazz piano from the lounge. The guy wasn’t bad and I figured I could take the edge off of this place with a drink. My watch said it was only eight-forty and the movie didn’t start until nine. So I backed up three steps to the swinging doors, sat at the piano bar next to a pleasant looking blonde person and struck up a conversation. Just about the time she got around to mentioning bowling at the Airport Motel, I sensed stirrings near the seat to my right. I looked up and there she was, being rescued by [I think it was] the management from some lounge lizard at the main bar. Talk about being led from the frying pan into the fire!

Her incredible tan was accented in white from the tips of her sandals to the edges of her bouncy blonde hair. There was the slightest hint of an overbite peeking through a perpetual smile that lit up the room. She seemed to be wrapped in a haze as she glided into my life, sat down next to me…and faced the opposite way toward her female friend. I quickly lost all interest in bowling, or whatever, and focused on the challenge of talking with the beautiful back of her sensational front. She was drinking what was left of a glass of iced tea and, clearly, had no interest in anything but the music.

This scene played out for about an hour. She either finally got thirsty or got tired of watching her friend play spoons between hand and knee to the rhythm of the piano. Whichever it was, at last she consented to my buying her a fresh glass of tea. It turns out the lady had never been in a bar before without a male escort and didn’t drink anyway. She and the spoon player were cutting practice for their female barbershop chorus in order to hear the piano player, with whom the other girl was loosely acquainted. Honest. It turned out to be the truth! She was recently divorced, had three children and my complete attention. The seat to my left, as might be expected, was now empty.

We talked well past “The Hindenburg” and into the morning hours, her friend left with some crewcut who dug spoons and the only requests the piano player was taking anymore were coming from his eyelids. I’d been pitching my heart out to continue the pleasantries in my room but she would have no part of it. Hey, I never claimed sainthood! I settled for little more than a handshake and the promise of good company at dinner the next time I was in town. Deep down, I knew I wouldn’t be back.

(To be continued)

Meet The Married Man

Published at October 27, 2007 in General Interest. 0 Comments

If you’ve ever seen two people walk single-file into a restaurant and go through their entire meal hardly saying a word to each other, you’ve witnessed two people who, at best, have a relationship. Then, there’s the couple who sashays over to their table hand-in-hand and smiles through an evening of bubbly conversation. They probably have a Romance. There is a difference…just as surely as there are differences between men and women; plenty of similarities, too. It’s both those differences, and those similarities, that we’ll explore.

For a man, the Married Man is another guy, rowing the same boat, letting him know that the shore line is still in sight. For a woman, it’s a peek behind the shades that cover the windows of a man’s secret thoughts. For everyone, it’s a view of life and love from a little different angle. The Married Man understands certain truths. For example, he has come to realize that his dad really wasn’t the strongest man on the block…and that’s okay. He embraces the fact that life can be an incredible ride…especially with two in the car. And he knows that HE is Santa Claus.

The Married Man began back in the early ‘90s (the 1990’s) as what was to be a Jazz program originating in New York. Sid Mark, host of the nationally syndicated Sounds Of Sinatra called it “One of the most unique and interesting concepts for a Jazz show I’ve heard in years.” Psychologist Dr. Karen Blaker, author of the book Intimate Secrets and contributor to any number of women’s periodicals said, “Listening to The Married Man will educate both sexes as to what men are really all about. I get the feeling of being a fly on the wall of a men’s locker room, overhearing something that I shouldn’t be privy to.” While people liked what we had to say, Jazz wasn’t a strong musical component in radio at that time and the show never made it to air. Now, stripping away the music elements but keeping the the thoughts and feelings that people did want to explore, we’re back in RSS with a Blog and a Podcast on the Internet.

We’re in the final stages of getting things organized and will begin feeding you our regular menu, including the Podcast, in about a week. Join me for topics from first love to last resort; from pushing buttons to playing it safe. Be sure to set a bookmark for marriedmanshow.com (no spaces…all one word) and eMail me the topics you’d like us to cover at mman@marriedmanshow.com. Others have used the name but you won’t want to miss the original…Married Man!