Exotica

Can’t find her picture now. But it’s how I fell in love. She told me she was Cambodian. The first of many lies. She was Mexican. Of course. And incredibly beautiful. I had just been divorced. Music? Try this:

Made me think of when I was ten.

Ten. I was in a bistro on the French Riviera. This woman was singing. I was ten. I was in love. With her, She was Piaf. My dad went up and whispered to her. She came to our table, leant down, and kissed me. Then she went back to her tiny tiny stage and did four Piaf standards in a row. Afterwards my dad erased me mercilessly. That was his way. Tell you more about him later. But he did that for me and I still dream about him because we loved and hated each other for a lifetime.

Exotica never kissed me. She was working me and I knew it, didn’t care. Her real name was Lillian. Know her last name too. In her own way I believe she did love me a little. Once I asked her what she saw in me. She laughed and said “Don’t you ever look in the mirror?” 

I got lap dances. She was gorgeous from every angle.

I was dying, you see. I (yes, that damnable word) had made the classic error that turns into tragedy. I married my mother, or a woman I thought was like my mother. She was a blonde from Ohio, she loved me, and I thought it was fate. I said the vows and meant them. My mistake. More about her later too. Name of Linda.

In my mid-forties was when Exotica happened. I lost everything. Then Melanie happened. And Monica, my chance at at redemption.

Most guys don’t get an Exotica or a Melanie. My life has been amazing.

Melanie.