July 22, 2013 by Manny Wordsmith
She was something pretty straight out of an Andy Warhol film.
Her hazel eyes disappeared behind clouds of Lucky Strike cigarette smoke as we discussed LCD Soundsystem breaking up and how she loved men with gray in their beards, particularly James Murphy.
“It looks like he’s been through so much life, and that’s sexy! There’s something about a man whose gone places. That really turns me on,” she proclaimed.
I stood next to her, beardless, sipping from a glass of Crown Royal and Cherry Pepsi, a drink she said had “tits”. I didn’t know what that meant, but I like it when any girl uses the word “tits”. She continued on, talking about her views on music culture.
“I just wish everyone in the Wu-tang Clan would just get along.”
She wore bright red heels and a strapless black dress that looked painted on. Looking at her reminded me of that scene from the original Total Recall when Arnold is at Rekall choosing his dream woman.
“Blonde? Brunette? Red Head?”
“Demure? Aggressive? Sleazy?”
I was hoping for the same fantasy without the trip to mars.
Marilee was her name, but she spelled it weird. I met her in a hole-in-the-wall bar in New Haven, Michigan. I didn’t think anyone in that one square mile village was up on current music that didn’t have to do with trucks or line dancing, but she was. I felt like we were alike, two wayward souls, out-of-place, but still trying to make the best of our surroundings.
That was until she slapped me.
It came out of nowhere. I was getting another drink and before I could even take a sip, her small, soft hand came at me with full force. My brain was still in shock, but my face was pissed off.
“YOU GONNA LET HER DO THAT? REALLY? NOW I SMELL LIKE VICTORIA SECRET’S PURE SEDUCTION HYDRATING BODY LOTION!” How do you know that? “DON’T WORRY ABOUT THAT, JUST KNOCK THAT BITCH OUT A REGAIN YOUR HONOR FOOL!!”
Most, don’t react this way. But those who do lose out on love they actually want, fresh air and most of their governmental freedoms. So I did nothing.
“Stone cold over here. Do you like when I hit you like that?” she asked, as she slipped her cold, right hand under my blue, pearl-button shirt.
At that point I thought, “Hey, if I go with this I could probably get laid. But shit, I don’t want to get smacked again.”
“No,” I responded blandly. And while my knee jerk reaction is to counter-attack when I see a blow coming, I decided to just grab Marilee’s wrist when she went for her second slap.
When she realized she was restrained, she licked her lips and then started giggling and biting at me like a hyena. It wasn’t the first time a girl reacted that way towards me, but I usually knew it was coming beforehand.
It was a complete 180 from how she was just 30 minutes before.
Earlier, in the night, she was smart, quick-witted and sensual. All her body language was pointing to the inevitable, but after two Whiskey Sours and a couple of Soco and Lime shots, the little girl suddenly turned into a dominatrix zombie, hell-bent on biting me and making me her bitch.
Even after I let her wrists go, she continued taking shots at me.
“Are you even black? Who dresses like this?”
“I dated a black guy once, he was a fucking asshole,”
“But guys are all the fucking same, you suck the life out of us then you want us to having your fucking children. Go fuck yourselves then have your own children!”
After the five-minute “Fuck” fest, I was done listening to her. She was pretty cool when she wasn’t completely tanked.
Toward the end of the night, I had pegged Marilee as one of two things. A high-class call girl who had a terrible day and decided to get drunk instead of working. Or an escaped mental patient, who stumbled into Aubrey Hepburn’s secret clothing stash and decided to go bar hopping. Of course, I was wrong on both accounts. And when I tried to walk away, she started crying.
Her story? She was stood up at a wedding. She wasn’t the one getting married, but she was an attendee. And her date, a black dude, never called and never showed up. So she went to the bar to drown her woes away from her judgmental family. And that’s when she ran into me.
It explained all the mixed signals and the love/hate reactions. I could have done without the slap though. It’s not like me and this other black dude was related or anything, regardless of what many people may think about my people.
I called her a cab and walked her outside. Before she climbed in the white vehicle she stared at me with her sobbing, mascara smeared eyes and said sorry and gave me a kiss on the lips. Sweet girl, really. But…
…alcohol always gives good people great reasons to let the crazy out.