She was in town for the weekend, but not just to help me celebrate my birthday.
She had booked her trip to Tribeca way before she arrived on Friday.
An actress with a pen, she was a Kansas City girl who went west full of Kansas City dreams. She wrote her own screenplay; she told me she was gonna play the daughter of the queen.
But that wasn’t today, Sunday. That was back when I met her down by the Santa Monica pier.
A few months ago.
And right away, I knew what to say to make her smile from ear to ear.
“You know one day, I’m gonna hire a writer to write a story about us right here.”
“Why? Are you a creep?”
“No. You’re just the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in years.”
And then she blushed. And she said, “You know, if my mom was here, she’d be in tears.”
“Because I came from K.C. to L.A. to be an actress, but instead some guy with a mustard stain on his shirt is trying to kick game to me down by the Santa Monica piers.”
And that was how it started. A quirky romance I knew I’d tell my grandkids about in however many years.
Because she was Jewish and Brazilian. Savvy and full of life.
But don’t get it twisted– I wasn’t trying to make her my wife.
I just knew she was one of those people who you know you gotta appreciate when they walk in to your life.
Because Life is Short.
As a matter of fact, that’s what we’re talking about right now. She’s saying “You gotta seize the moment, you gotta live Now.”
You little hustler, you.
“No, I’m sorry, it’s my birthday and I’m not going down.”
“But baby, we’re in the nicest hotel in the city, just look around.”
“You just don’t understand how this city works, do you? They tore Shea Stadium down.”
But as a man you got a job to do. So I reached down and felt around.
Warm, soft, and fuzzy. Man this girl’s smoking.
Her swagger was like something out of J.R.R. Tolkien.
Another world, she looked so sexy when she was toking.
I liked the fact that she smuggled a gram of Mexican Kush from Ocean to Ocean.
And as we lied on the king sized bed, she kissed me on my neck, and she whispered she was open.
She said, “Happy birthday, my dear.”
And as she put her face near the towel around my waist, she said:
“This is just a Chapter. But one day– we’ll win an oscar for an adaption of this story right here.”
So I braced myself. For some reason and past experiences I thought getting biten was near.
But she didn’t. And right before she kissed it, she just looked up, and winked, and whispered again:
“Happy birthday, my dear.”