My imaginary life

We were going to be late for the party, but then M said, Why don’t we just see if we can tag along in G’s helicopter, which was both great and weird. I mean, how did this become my life? The view was gorgeous, though I had a few glasses of champagne and I’m glad we went home the old-fashioned way, hopping a ride in P’s limo. P and I had a long talk on the way about the difference between hip-hop lyrics and poetry and I think I’ve convinced him to write a guest post for the blog.

At the party, Meryl told me she liked my new book, which was sweet. M kept introducing me as his wife the poet, and it was funny to see how everyone reacted. All the Brits (and Scots and Irish and Welsh) wanted to know more while the Americans got a scared look in their eyes. Except, of course, for B and MD who started telling me dirty limericks when I told them I’d lived for a while in Boston and across the river too.

I’m actually glad M says I’m a poet cause when you tell people here you’re a writer, they think you’re about to feverishly press your most recent screenplay in their hands, and really, I don’t know if I could even give M a screenplay if I wrote one. He loves me and I’d still feel desperate. I like it here a lot but you have to have a high tolerance for plastic and desperation. I thought I’d feel more pressure to be “on” all the time, but it’s actually easy to hide if you just stand next to the person in the room who’s got the most wattage. And I like to watch M work the room anyway; he’s funny and charming and it’s good people-watching.

I think M is getting serious about quitting smoking, and maybe he would’ve quit sooner if I hadn’t mentioned that once I used to love a boy who smelled like Drakkar Noir and cigarette smoke. M doesn’t wear Drakkar Noir, but he uses this really good soap that smells great on his skin and makes me not mind so much the cigarettes. And he only smokes 1 or 2 a day when he’s with me but when he’s working, I’m sure he’s a chimney. (I’m realizing as I type this that I’m old enough that I remember when Polo was what all the high school boys wore then they went to college and wore Drakkar Noir. I don’t know what came after that.) When i feel myself getting mad about it, I hum the tune from Facts of Life: You take the good, you take the bad… Cause that’s what we’ve both signed up for.

For a while I wore CK One, I think because it was androgynous and smelled a little bit like a man. I tried Angel, too, but that was too sweet. It is nice to have a husband who can keep me in Jo Malone. It’s just nice to have a husband, and maybe I think it’s nice cause he’s away so often but it’s good when what you want lines up with what you have, right?

No epiphanies tonight, no ahas, no lightbulb moments. Just sweet contentment and gratitude and star-struck wonder. Think tomorrow for my morning write I’ll use as a prompt May Sarton’s quote about how we must make myths of our lives in order to understand them…


Posted on January 30, 2013, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. I want more of this story! Congrats for getting me invested in a character in less than three paragraphs.

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