Guy Noir and the Straight Skinny (16 page)

BOOK: Guy Noir and the Straight Skinny

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SO HERE I AM, SITTING
in the swivel chair at the old oak desk next to the file cabinet, perusing Emily Dickinson’s
Selected
and waiting for the knock on the door. “Success is counted sweetest by those who ne’er succeed,” she wrote, and she sure got that right, pal. At night when I am listening to Bijoux upstairs as she drops her shoes on the floor and also what sounds like her jeans, and she starts running a hot shower, in my mind I am standing nearby with a big fluffy towel in hand waiting to dry her off. In fact I am waiting to accompany Doris to the Simon & Garfunkel concert at the hockey arena, and soon I must go off to the oldies, but meanwhile I am standing beside the glass door all steamed up (the door, that is) through which I watch the beautiful Bijoux move like the dreamboat spirit of all the women I spent my dreams on, all the magnificent ladies, I don’t regret a single night I spent with any of them.

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