Chloe

“Sidney Jo Hat 2” fromwww.tituspowell.com

Monday evening, August 11, 2008:

Chloe may be just what I need.

I started corresponding with her in April.  She lives in Paris.

Chloe won a highly sought-after position as an intern zoologist at one of our world-renown zoos.  She is age 21 and has a boyfriend in Paris.  She needs a friend in Chicago with whom to enjoy the city, including live theater, live music, and blues clubs.  The friend must be non-sexual and non-romantic, actually the only kind of relationship at which I’m any good.  I may have won the competition. 

She is brimming with intelligence, spirit, and fire.  She may be the perfect partner with whom to enjoy this wonderful city without the overwhelming stress of a romantic relationship.

On Sunday, August 10, 2008, she writes: 

Hi Mike, 

I don’t know if you remember me.  I’m the French woman who was looking for an apartment. 

I’m in Chicago now and I didn’t forget your message.

Chicago is a wonderful city.  You’re right, and I really enjoy it!  But I don’t have any friends here, so I do most of things alone and I’ll enjoy do some things with you if you’re still okay.

Let me know.

Chloe

Later in the day she writes:

I’m sorry I’ve just read my messages.

I’m currently living near the zoo, but I’ll move in a few days where I have found new roommates. The rent is very high for me.  I’m just a student, you know, but I love this place and my new roommates are nice people, so I decided to stay there.

I definitely want to go to the theater. I love blues music too, so you probably will be able to show me good blues clubs.

I’ve made a bike trip on the Rhine in Germany with my parents.  It is not so far from Danube, and also on the Loire in France with my boyfriend (I don’t know if you know, but there are many beautiful castles on this river and they are all wonderful.  I think it is a World Heritage Site, like many others in France….).

I love travel, but I don’t have enough money at the moment, so I didn’t travel a lot, just in Europe with my parents and now in the USA alone.

I love my job at the zoo, and I think it is what I want to do later. I would probably be able to travel a lot with a job like this one…

The emails of August 11 follow:

I will be available Wednesday if it works for you, I will be very busy Tuesday because I have to move all of my stuff in my new room, and I also planned to go to see the outdoor film in Millenium Park.

I’m sure you have good food in Chicago too, don’t worry.  In fact, I tried some Californian wine, and I realized that French wine is really, really good. I didn’t find some good French wine here, but I think French people keep their good wine for them… We’re pretty proud of our gastronomie.
 
You’re completely right.  The French-Canadian accent is not French at all.  It is really funny to hear some Canadian people speaking French!  They also don’t have the same words than us for many things.  And sometimes it is really difficult to understand.

My boyfriend will go to Montreal in September to study neurobiology.  Your friend Rebecca may know his university.

Let me know for Wednesday.

She then writes:

Seven sounds perfect for me.  You can pick me up at my apartment.  I hope I don’t need to be very well-dressed, because I have nothing with me.  Let me know if I have to ask to my new roommate for a dress (she has a lot of dresses I think).
 
You know, in France we laugh about Swiss people because they speak very slowly.  So it may be better if people think your friend is from Canada!
 
I have heard about the story of Antoine de St Exupery.  It is really wonderful, you’re right.  There are many romance histories in France, you know.  France is the Country of Love, or maybe just Paris?

I just know ‘vol de nuit’ and ‘terre des hommes’ (and of course le petiti prince) from Antoine de St-Exupery.
 
I hope I’ll be able to go to Montreal too.  In fact, my boyfriend is in France now, and he will go to Montreal for one year (until the end of June).  I go to Peru in January for 6 months, so it will more difficult to see each other after December.

And the next email is:

It is perfect for me.

I’ll be waiting for you at the entrance of my building.  Don’t worry, there is just one.

I am so surprised that you know Alizee and Ludivine Sagnier.  Unfortunately, I can’t introduce you to these women.  I don’t know them personally.  For the song, it may be possible, but I am a really bad singer, you know.

You spell “Ancien Regime” very good.  Do you love writing?  I love writing, even if I’m not very good, but what I prefer is poesie.  If you like poesie, you may know Verlaine, and his love history with another French poet.
 
Don’t worry about your President.  Our current President is not better than yours, I think.
 
I’m really surprised that you say American people tend to be completely insular.

There are so many things to learn from each other!!

Yes, Seneca does admit to being excited about a young lady, fresh and new to Chicago, opening her eyes to what we have to offer.  She has arrived as his companion at the perfect moment.  He vows to cherish her and treat her as she deserves to be treated.  She gives him time to build his emotional core while at the same time being there for him as a friend.

A great burden has been lifted from him.  He now has an exciting companion without the burden of romance.  When she goes out with another, it will not bother him at all.  What a relief!

Letter to Chloe

“Angel Purple” fromwww.tituspowell.com

After dinner with Chloe, Wednesday evening, August 13, 2008 at Kiki’s French Bistro:

Hi Chloe,

You are EXACTLY the type of person France ought to be sending into the world!

You are EXACTLY the type of person America ought to be sending into the world!

Our relationship will be characterized by my immense pride in you as a human being!

After I dropped you off, I went to the Courthouse and was appointed your American guardian. 

By Court order, you must contact me if you need anything at any time while in America.

By Court order, if you are hurting or feeling sad, you must contact me immediately if you cannot get in contact with your fiance, your best friend, or your family and friends. 

I look forward to Friday evening.

I look forward to Saturday or Sunday or both, depending on your plans.

Your friendship, and your willingness to accompany me, is causing me to much better handle my separation from Adriana.  I need time to heal myself, and I think you offer the right friendship without the complications while I improve myself.  I honor you as the very special person you are!

When you return home, everyone will ask you what you liked best about Chicago.

Your eyes will glaze over, your whole face will explode into a smile, and you’ll shout “Mike!!!”.  My reputation will travel throughout France, because of you, and all the pretty French girls will travel here to see me!!!  You just watch!!!

Mike

Dinner with Chloe

“Cool Hannah Portrait” fromwww.tituspowell.com

After dinner with Chloe, Wednesday evening, August 13, 2008 at Kiki’s French Bistro:

Chloe seems to have materialized at exactly the right moment!

She has just arrived from Paris, having won a highly sought-after and competitive internship here. 

As I hold the car door open, I notice her beautiful eyes, big and smiling.  After about fifteen minutes, her eyes begin to sparkle, implying the beginnings of trust in me.  This French girl’s hair is quite American, fancy, layered, and naturally brown.

She loves long bike trips up the Rhine in Germany and along the Loire in France, and her slender feminine body is evidence of such.

Kiki’s French Bistro  is one of my favorite restaurants, and I knew the dress code to be casual.  She told me what she planned to wear, and asked that I call Kiki’s to be sure it was acceptable.  I called Kiki’s and said, with my nose in the air, ”My friend is just in from Paris, and………..”  I felt so proud and smug!

I insist that she pick the wine at dinner. and she was pleased that one of her very favorites was on the wine list.  She felt honored to be asked to pick the wine, as that is a male-dominated function in France.  Sitting in the booth, back erect, she orders in French.  It sounded so pretty and right. 

I love the way she says “Antoine de St Exupery”, magical and flowing.  Try as I might, she could not get me to pronounce it anywhere close to the proper way.  I kept trying to tell her about racing a Por-sha, and she finally exclaimed “Porsh!”.  There are some language difficulties, but they’re so damn cute!

She is obviously brilliant, a true flower of France.  Her interests are wide-ranging, and she can talk about almost any subject.  She is one helluva woman!

So what in the world is she doing with me in a city full of great men who would love to squire a young French girl around?  I don’t get it either!  All I can say is that women have such bad taste that you may as well try for the fabulous ones anyway.  French women seem to have the same lack of taste as the Americans.

No one will ever replace Adriana in my heart, and she doesn’t even want to.  She’s looking for a buddy with whom to enjoy this wonderful city.  We made firm plans for Friday evening and tentative plans for both Saturday and Sunday.

What I get is a sexy buddy to fill the huge time slots when Adriana is not available, if she ever is again available to me.  Chloe diverts my focus from the gnawing pain of loving Adriana and gives me time to heal without the complications of romance.  It seems Chloe will spend a great deal of time with me, and help me rebuild.

I was astonished at the joy of spending time with a brilliant and sexy young French woman.

Awww! The Nicest Email from Chloe

 

“Cool Leya” fromwww.tituspowell.com

 

Thursday morning, August 14, 2008:

 

I was stunned to find that my pretty little French girl cares what I think of her looks!  This morning she wrote:

 

“Thank you for the dinner.  It was very good, really, and I really enjoyed it with you.

I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about the make-up yesterday.  When I told my roommate I’ll go out for dinner, she insisted to make some make-up.   

 

I realized when I came back home after the dinner, that it was awful.  It was not me.  Usually, I don’t make up, or just a little.  I hope you wasn’t afraid about it.  Next time I will be normal.”

Chloe at the “Jersey Boys”

“Hat5” fromwww.tituspowell.com

Late Friday Evening, August 15, 2008:

It’s a beautiful summer evening, and Chloe walks swiftly from her apartment complex to my car.  I’m holding the car door open for her, and she gives me a shy smile.  She greets me in the classic French manner, a kiss on one cheek, then the other.  I like that so much!

She’s had a great week and is happy.  Her current project concerns which French vulture located in zoos around the world should mate with the zoo’s own French vulture.  Last week she finished the snow leopard mating project.

We see “Jersey Boys” at the Shubert Theater, and she gets into the music of Frank Valli and the Four Seasons.  She claps in time to the music and stands to dance at her seat during the few moments when it’s appropriate.

She doesn’t wear make-up tonight, and she is indeed prettier.  Her eyes are soft and affectionate.

There is something engaging and alluring about her that gains the interest of others.  One attractive woman interferes in our conversation, and wants to know what this pretty little girl is all about.  Chloe tells her of her business in Chicago, then I speak of Chloe to the woman while watching Chloe’s face so as not to offend her.

As I speak of Chloe’s intelligence and warmth, Chloe smiles and pushes on the inside of her cheek with her tongue.  She’s embarrassed, but likes my words.

I am so proud of her.

She is truly a flower of France!

How can I be so lucky to have her as a friend?

The attractive woman we met in the theater latches on to us, and we end up driving her home to the Ukranian Village.  She is intrigued by an older man being with a young and hot French girl, and she presses for all the details of how we met and of our relationship.  She is surprised that, socially, all I have going on at the moment is Chloe.

Attractive Woman:  “Why don’t you date older women?”

Caught offguard, I blurt out my answer, and the answer is what I feel to be so true.  In a questioning voice, I respond:

Seneca:  “Older women have good taste?”

The Attractive Woman smiles knowingly and thoughtfully, seemingly in agreement.

Tomorrow Chloe gets her hair styled by the woman who cuts mine.  The stylist and I hope to talk her into the classic American highlighting that all men so love.  We will spend the rest of the day shopping in the Woodfield Mall, outfitting her new apartment.

Sunday she will be bike-riding with friends, and that’s the beauty of our relationship.  I don’t mind at all.  In fact, I want her to develop many new friends so she thoroughly enjoys this city before she departs.

And her departure will break my heart!

The French Kiss

“Hot Kiss” fromwww.tituspowell.com

Written Sunday morning, August 17, 2008:

Last Wednesday evening was the first time I had met Chloe.  We didn’t know what greeting was acceptable to both cultures, and we were both awkward. 

As I open my car door to get out, walk around, and open hers, she assumes I’m getting out to greet her.  That was indeed part of what I was doing.  Not wanting any tension to build because I didn’t know what to do, I give her a gentle hug.  That turned out to be acceptable.

By Friday evening, we had become friendly.  Upon arriving, I stand at her car door, holding it open, and she looks at me with a shy smile.  Her beautiful eyes are sparkling with affection.  I smile and say:

“You must greet me like the French do!”

She laughs, gently grabs my shoulders, gives me a strong kiss on the left cheek, then the right, laughs a little more, eyes still sparkling, and falls into the car.

I felt that kiss!

What’s a real kiss from her like?

She feels so much like the woman she is,

yet she is just a friend!

Saturday with Chloe

“Cool Brittany Look” fromwww.tituspowell.com

Saturday, August 16, 2008:

Most of my friends have had their hair done by Christine, and they love her.  The friends include Maggie, Mika, Anastasia, the Little Stripper Girl, Bad, and Badder.  Christine has been my friend for twenty years, and sometimes I think she is the only constant support and sanity in my life.  At age 41, she’s damn cute and hot!

And happily married!

I pick up Chloe at 11:00 AM and we head for Christine’s.  My pretty little French girl’s stylist is in Paris, and Chloe is nervous about someone new.

On our first date last Wednesday, I did like Chloe’s hair.  On the long side and layered, she had gone through the effort to curl it.  Damn cute!

Personality-wise, Chloe and Christine hit it off.  During the forty-five minute appointment, they keep looking at her hair and running their fingers through it.  I’m worried about all the hair on the floor.

Christine (she did study in London and Berlin briefly) out-did the French stylist, and all of us love the outcome for Chloe’s hair.  It is natural, seems even thicker, and perfectly fits her face.  I’m impressed with how pretty her natural brown color is, and the different natural shades of brown that are evident.  My pretty little French girl is now even prettier, and we are all joyful.

We enjoy lunch at Stir Crazy in Schaumburg, and I find that Chloe has plans to bike-ride with friends tomorrow (Sunday).  I am faced with spending Sunday alone, without support to fight the pain of missing Adriana. 

I ask Chloe if she minds if I call Adriana.  Her eyes widen in anticipation of my upcoming heartache, and she tells me to call.

Adriana immediately answers, and accepts my invitation to Sunday dinner.  She does say we will need to confirm on Sunday.  I am overjoyed, but nervous as usual.

Chloe and I spend the rest of the afternoon at Ikea shopping to outfit her new room. 

I love to watch her shop.

I love to watch her look at a display on the wall, her big brown eyes rolling upwards as she looks higher.

I love to watch her thoughtful expression when she bites her lip as she thinks.

I love the torrent of words that sometimes flow from her, with me not understanding a thing.

I love how she intently watches my facial expression as she asks if I’d like a bottle of water, and then she cocks her head just a little to try to better understand my expression.

I love her intelligence and her ability to engage.

I love that she’s hot.

I love that her eyes sparkle when she’s with me.

I love that she is a real woman.

I love that NEITHER of us wants a romantic relationship with the other.

I love Chloe!

This pretty little French girl could choose to spend time with many others instead of me.

I am so honored to have her as a friend.

Monday with Chloe

 “Hot Danielle Dress” fromwww.tituspowell.com

Monday Evening, August 18, 2008:

Chloe and I have become close.  I saw her five of the first seven days we knew one another.  What she gets is

a man who respects and admires her deep love for her fiance,

a man who will not fall in love and want more from her,

a man who loves the same activities she does,

and a man she has already come to trust totally.

What I get is an exciting French girl who wants to spend time with me.  Most of all, I get a flood of affection in the way she teases me, looks at me with sparkling eyes, and just radiates a daughterly love to me.  It’s powerful stuff!

She has no idea of the value of a French girl, young and pretty, in this City.  It is the dream of every Chicago male to spend time with her.  How many men ever get a chance to be close to a young, gorgeous French girl?  I honestly say I cannot believe that I am so blessed.  Sure, romance is out of the question, but a real love and a real affection are indeed there.

I will take credit for doing the work necessary to win her friendship.  Months ago, in April, when she was in Paris, I answered her questions about Chicago with a boundless and genuine enthusiasm.  Furthermore, my emails never included a hint of romance, only friendship.  When she arrived in Chicago, she turned to the man she knew somewhat.

She had no idea what a basket case I am!

Late in the afternoon today, Adriana invited me to lunch tomorrow.  Of course, I am a mess, and I need Chloe.  She agrees to dinner.

Chloe’s fiance is arriving in Montreal from Paris this upcoming weekend, and Chloe is desperate to see him.  I know she wants to see him a few days after he arrives.

Chloe lives in a huge complex, and we’re walking through a wide aisle teeming with people.  I notice she’s quiet, but think nothing of it.

Seneca:  “How are you feeling, honey?”

Chloe:  “Good”

Seneca:  “Did you buy the tickets to Montreal today?”

Chloe stiffens and tries to hide the tears.  In an instant, tears are streaming down her face, and she can’t stop sobbing.

I grab her and force her away from the fast-paced crowd which will not slow down for anyone.  We take shelter in a window between two columns offering protection from the heavy foot traffic.

Seneca:  “Honey, what happened?”

A torrent of words emanate from her sobbing face, and the words have a heavy French accent. 

Why must even pretty girls feel the pain?

I am able to discover that

No one will take a check drawn in EuroDollars from a major French bank, even from a very trustworthy girl,

her co-workers and roommates have no interest in her problem,

an $800 rent payment is due tomorrow, and she is evicted if she doesn’t pay,

and the airline company will not take her French debit card, causing her to think she cannot see her fiance.

Frankly, I am relieved.  These are just relatively small money issues, and not matters of Loves Lost, Life, or Death.  I repeat the following to her, parts several times:

Seneca:  “Honey, we’re going to attack these items one at a time, and we’re going to get them all resolved tonight, understand?”

Chloe likes having someone who cares, but is so distraught that she doesn’t believe anything good can happen.

She begins to have some faith when we walk to a branch of my bank’s ATM machine to get cash.  Adding the money in my wallet, I hand her $800.

We go to her building’s computer room, and buy a one-way ticket to Montreal on my credit card.  As she wants to see the countryside, we buy a return train trip on my credit card.

All is resolved!

As Chloe fills out the train ticket order on the internet to book the return from Montreal, I am surprised to find that she is only age 21.  Although she looks 21, her intelligence and understanding of the ways of the world are that of a much older woman.

What I did was not spectacular, but she thought of me as a friend who was there at the right time and did the right thing to honor the friendship.  She was actually stunned.  The trust between us became huge.

And, because Chloe is Chloe, she changed the parameters of her relationship with her French bank in Paris to allow her to withdraw up to $1,500 American dollars each week while in Chicago.  I was fully paid back within four days.

If you knew Chloe, you would know that there was never a doubt that the money would be returned.

But Chloe, I’m here to wail about Adriana!!!

So, the pretty little girl is returned to sanity and we head to Emilio’s on Ohio Street.

Chloe sits in the red leather booth facing the other diners.  The earlier tears have somehow cleansed her, and she is looking radiant.  She’s wearing a tight-fitting, almost black top which enhances her beautiful dark eyes, and those eyes are framed by her dark brown hair, thick and styled. 

I find that as my affection for her grows,

she is becoming more and more beautiful.

She is soooo beautiful!

What is she doing with me?

Tuesday with Chloe

 “Ch2” from fromwww.tituspowell.com

Tuesday Evening, August 19, 2008:

I had lunch with Adriana today and, of course, I am having trouble functioning.

I need Chloe’s support.

She agrees to dinner.

The noise in the lobby of her building is heavy.  As we walk, she unleashes a volume of words in a heavy French accent.  I cannot understand a word, but that accent is so damn hot! 

As we walk, I lean my face closer to hers to better hear her, and I look at her face.  I am somewhat overcome with emotion, as I realize this buddy whom I have so come to love

will be gone in just four short months,

and I probably will never see her again.

What is the value of a relationship

that is doomed to end so soon

even though the parties care about one another.

I vow to see her as much as I can

and to do my best to insure that she has an incredible time in Chicago.

What do I get out of a relationship with a certain endpoint?

I get a beautiful young French woman

who can discuss with me the classic texts we both have read,

who is funny and sexy,

who works out a hour a day, seven days a week,

and who is capable of deep love for her fiance.

Most of all, I get the knowledge

that such an incredible woman

likes to spend time with me.

I admit that I am having a very hard time believing that,

and I’m sure that at any moment

she’ll come to her senses and get rid of me.

However, her genuine affection and love

are slowly building some confidence within me.

During dinner, she announces that she would not like to spend as much time together tonight as we normally do, for she needs to do something with some other guy.  And that is the beauty of our relationship.  I encourage her to develop younger friends.  I don’t mind at all.

I love Chloe, age 21, and I encourage her to see others.

I am crazy about Adriana, age 21, and it destroys me knowing she sees others.

I feel badly begrudging Adriana the freedom I so readily give Chloe.

Perhaps that’s the difference between affectionate love and romantic love.

Adriana, why do you want to be with them instead of me?

Adriana, maybe I don’t want to know the answer.

Knowledge that more young people are in Chloe’s life causes me to send an email to her saying I’d like her to give priority to her younger friends, especially on weekends, as that is the way to have the most fun while she visits Chicago.  She replies:

“Please don’t worry about my younger friends.”

“I enjoy being with you.”

That reply almost made me cry.

And she’s leaving in four short months.

Can she give Adriana lessons?

No woman has ever treated me as well

as does this pretty little French girl.

And she’s leaving in four months.

Yes, she’s leaving in four months.

Omigod, she’s leaving in four months.

Singing Your Song

 “Hayley Hood” fromwww.tituspowell.com

Written Late Saturday Evening, August 23, 2008:

Last Tuesday evening, at dinner:

Chloe:  “Mike, I’m going with a friend to see the Batman movie tomorrow night.”

Seneca:  “Okay, honey.”

Chloe:  “Are you going to be okay?”

I love those words, for they are an acknowledgement that we expect to see one another almost every day and that she needs to know I will be fine without her.

Are all French women that caring?

In seven days we seem to have entered into some sort of a real relationship!

I am offered additional future time with her, and I limit myself to Saturday night and all day Sunday.  I would have asked for all available time, like Thursday and Friday evenings, but I am very slowly learning to not overwhelm a woman. 

Saturday night I find out what she’d been doing the previous three days.  She’d been out every evening with guys her own age, including the Cubs game Saturday, yet still chose to give me the prime time slots of Saturday evening and all day Sunday.  I felt really good that she has plenty of options, and still picks me to a significant extent. 

Friday evening, she went to one of the City’s Blues Clubs with a French guy.  The lead singer became enamored with a pretty French girl, and flirted with her much of the evening.  He even brought her onstage to dance with him.  She is having a great time, and is beginning to realize how valuable she is.

This Saturday afternoon, at 5:30 PM, she slides into the car seat:

Chloe:  “Mike, I cannot believe how nice the people in Chicago are!”

I respond with the fact that Midwesterners really do tend to be nice people and add that she has no idea of how treasured a pretty French girl is, with that wonderful accent, anywhere in the world. 

Seneca:  “Honey, people ask me why in the world you go out with me?  I respond that I have no idea!”

She responds with her shy smile.

I wish she would have said something in response.  I really would like to know why she goes out with me.

We have a great dinner at “La Sardine“, a French restaurant on the near west side, across the street from Oprah Winfrey’s empire.  She matches the wine to the food, as I am absolutely unable to do, and we start with a half-bottle of white and continue with a half-bottle of red, both French.  Of course, the names of the wines are in French, and she names them in perfect French.  The waiter didn’t understand the names of the wines in French, and she points to the selections on the wine menu so the waiter understands what she wants.

We are pretty much able to talk non-stop, even though she’s only 21.  We seem to be equals except in emotional development, where she far surpasses me.  I had promised myself that I will no longer wail about Adriana, as that must be boring as hell.  I keep my promise.  All night long, I do wonder whom Adriana is with.  All night long, I am sad that I haven’t heard from her.

Chloe hears from others the things tourists see, and I agree to do those Sunday.  I generally hate that stuff.  I am trying to direct her to the activities Chicagoans frequent, and those activities are often breath-taking.  We head for the Black Ensemble Theater, one of my very favorites.

Tonight, and for the last several weeks, the Theater is performing “I Am Who I Am”, the story of Teddy Pendergrass.  I’ve been going to this theater for years, and it is one of Chicago’s treasures.  It is talented black performers, men and women, singing their hearts out, often with synchronized dancing, ala the “Temptations”.

Chloe counts the white people in the audience – ten – and is surprised; however, she feels very comfortable.  The blacks, both in the audience and employed there, go out of their way to make one feel welcome.  It is probably the friendliest theater I’ve ever been to, and I always end up laughing and talking with a few in the audience.  Tonight, a 40-ish black woman, big but sexy with obviously huge appetites, latches on to us.  We really enjoy her.  The black woman and I try to impress upon Chloe the magic of the singing group “The Stylistics”, but we make little headway. 

Chloe has not had much contact with Black Americans, and is amazed at the black women in one section of the audience swaying and moving to the music as one.  It is pretty cool!

I do think that often big black guys have a charisma about them.  Tall, broad-shouldered, and deep-chested, they are often overweight and carry it well.  The additional weight seems so in tune with their friendly, smiling manner. 

That morning, I had talked to Chris, the House Manager, and he really wanted to meet Chloe and me.  Why do I feel a skinny, white manager wouldn’t have given me the time of day?

I am white.

Even the part of my body I wish was black is white.

I am white.

But maybe I’m black on the inside!

Like these black guys of whom I speak, I am big and friendly and easy to get along with.

Like these black guys, I adore white girls.

Like these black guys, I am a rabid Democrat.

So maybe I am black!!!

Damn, I’m confused about so many things, and now I’m even confused about my race!

Chloe is mesmerized by the synchronized dancing that has been perfected by the blacks.  So am I.  It so rhythmic and flowing, with arms, legs, and whole bodies in harmony with the music.  She hadn’t seen anything like that before!  The last scene is with eleven dancers on stage behind the man playing Teddy Pendergrass.  The dancing is beautiful and synchronized and the singing is about coming back from terrible tragedy.  The music is transcendental.  This was one of the moments for which I attend theater.  Chloe gets it!

I seem to be getting along unusually well with a French woman-child.

We stop to talk to the cast after the show, and everyone wants to meet Chloe.  No surprise to me, but she was shocked.  In Paris, she’s just another French girl.  But this ain’t Paris!  

Surprisingly, the reverse is not true.  When I’m in Paris, the girls are……ummm……understated in their welcome.

The star/lead singer insists on giving Chloe the classic French kiss on each cheek.  It was obvious he wanted more, but Chloe is impervious to such things, and didn’t pick up on it at all.

I had helped Chloe book transportation to Montreal to visit her fiance, and she’s leaving Tuesday the 26th.  During intermission, Chloe and I go outside for some fresh air.  

Chloe:  “Mike?”

Seneca:  “Yes, Honey?”

Now staring intently at me so as to read every little bit of my facial expressions, says:

Chloe:  “I won’t be here Labor Day weekend.”

I just love that remark, for it implies we are significantly socially-bonded to one another.  I also feel she cares about my feelings and loneliness, and her absence from me concerns her.  The words do affect me, as I dread her returning home to Paris and away from me permanently about December 20.

Seneca:  “Honey, what am I going to do after December 20?”

Chloe moves her hand upward against her breasts and let’s her hand continue to flow upward passing her throat.  As her hand gets to her mouth, the back of her hand and fingers flow away from her mouth, and indicate the breath emanating from her body.  She says:

Chloe:  “By then you will be singing your song, and you will be fine.”