Day and Night

Here's a clown car on the Boulevard last night. . . but first. . . the news.  

I went to Costco to get my tire fixed yesterday morning.  I do not have a Costco membership, so I couldn't go inside.  I sat on a cement pillar outside the entrance in the cold watching the crowd as the store opened at ten.  People couldn't wait to get in.  It didn't take long for the return line to stretch out the door and into the parking lot.  In a little while, the first shoppers were exiting with big cartloads of goods.  I was texting with my conservative friend at the time and was able to comment on all that I saw.  The people looked to be, by and large, a downtrodden lot.  I commented on their clothing, their hair, the shapes of their bodies. . . and then I had a revelation.

"Jesus!  I just realized what is bugging me about this crowd.  They remind me of. . . ME!"

My friend is a Costco member and told me about all the advantages of shopping there.  

"I live alone.  I can't buy in bulk."

I watched what people were carting out.  Everybody had lots of toilet paper, giant packages of it.  And bottled water.  Kirkland brand in plastic containers.  Cases and cases of it.  And there were bulk items.  Nutella--32 count.  That's a whole lotta Nutella!  One guy came out with a giant box.  It had a picture of happy couples sitting in--an inflatable hot tub!  Holy smokes!  This must be where you can buy the giant 20 foot inflatable Santa to put on your roof.  

My mother has a Costco membership, so I go with her sometimes.  I'm not trying to be a prick, just funny.  

My phone rang.  My car was ready.  When I stood up, though, I almost collapsed.  My "good" knee had gone bad while I sat on the cold concrete for an hour.  It had been fine when I came, but now I could barely put weight on it without a blinding lightning bolt of pain.  

I stopped at my mother's on the way home.  I told her all the things I was going to do when I left, but pain and something else made me decide to go home.  I made lunch.  Then I was sleepy, so I lay down to take a nap.  

When I woke up a couple hours later and got out of bed, my knee was fine.  I don't get it.  Something moves around in there, I am guessing.  But I don't know.  Sometimes it is excruciating and sometimes it is not.  And it all can change in an instant.  If any of you orthopedic doctors out there know what is going on, just leave a note in the comment section.  

Red texted around four.  She was on her way into town.  She should be ready a little before six, she said.  

She was staying at the historic old hotel on the Boulevard.  It is crazy, but I have never been in any of the rooms.  I've been in the lobby a couple times, but only for a second.  It is made even more strange in that I know the family who has owned it since 1977.  The man and woman who bought and renovated it were the father and mother of one of my friends I met through my fabulously wealthy girlfriend long ago.  The parents are dead now, and one of the daughters is running the show.  She came to France with my girlfriend the summer I ran with the bulls in Pamplona.  I was in Spain for a couple weeks, then drove to France with another guy on the trip, and we travelled about until I met up with my girl in Cannes.  She and two of her friends and I stayed in her parent's house in Mougin just up he mountainside from Cannes, then travelled about in Italy ending up in Paris.  That is a long story best told elsewhere, but one of the girls on the trip now owns the hotel.  

Of course Red wasn't ready when I got there.  She was in the hotel robe.  I had brought a bottle of wine, but she already had one opened.  I took a camera out of my camera bag.  I need always to bring a camera to "things," I think.  But when I pulled it out--merde!--the Leicas I had brought were film cameras.  The film would be too slow for taking pictures at night.  Of course, I snapped a few as she got ready anyway, then went out to sit on the balcony overlooking the Boulevard.  

When I came back inside, she was trying to figure out how to put on a dress that tied around the back of the neck.  

"You're not doing so well with that dress," I observed.  

"I've never put it on before.  It is a rental."

"A rental?" 

"Yea.  I subscribe to a company that sends me clothing.  I wear it and ship it back.  I get new stuff all the time."

"What the fuck?  That is going into the blog tomorrow for sure.  I've never heard of such a thing.  God knows who wore that thing."

"They clean it before they send it."

"Ho!"

In the end, she gave up and put on something she owned.  

We ate at the Turkish place just a couple blocks down the Boulevard.  We passed the restaurant where the money boys eat that has the private club in the basement.  The place was originally a bank, and the private club is in the old, solid vault.

"That is where the Russian hookers are," I said.  I told her about the code of the open purse on the bar.  "I mean, if you get desperate."  

"Not tonight," she laughed.  

We sat down, ordered drinks, then ordered food.  We didn't look at the menu.  What we ordered was not what we thought, so we ordered the other thing, too.  We had far too much food, but it was good.  We ate and drank and when the check came, I didn't look.  I just handed the waiter my card.  

"Don't you want to check it?" he asked.  

"No.  I don't want to know."

We walked the park and wandered through the bland white lights that the city had put up.  We saw the silly car above.  Then we went back to her room and sat on the balcony while she smoked a clove cigarette against hotel policy.  We opened the other bottle of wine and talked until midnight.  

Tonight I'll go out with the gymroids.  Red thought she might like to go, too.  That's fine, I said.  If you want.  

I need to get the tickets for Vespers today.  My mother wants to go.  My life is a cabaret, old bum.  

I heard this on the way to meet Red.  

"Siri, what song is this?" 

It seemed apropos.  

God. . . the things we can do.