Herbie

This story makes me smile. We don't get together as often as we used to, but when we do, something happens. Of course, plenty happens to each of us when we're not together. Plenty.

Liz Taylor, Jr. (up there, wielding the pool cue) continues blithely to break hearts. Surfer Girl (into whose gob the pool cue is aimed), is terrorizing men - especially one in particular, a well-known film director (think: Harvey Keitel- and a nun...yep).

Prima Downhill hosted her once-a-month gathering for skiers and friends. There she is, lovely, next to Surfer Girl. And take that, Surfer Girl, another damned good photo of you, although I may have to call you "Busty McSurfer," given your well-defined attributes, ahem.

And Prima Downhill's friends, one of whom is in the photo next to that blond, tan guy.

That blond, tan guy wandered into the bar where Prima Downhill had gathered us.

Pow! In a shot, Cousin T. dashed up to him to flirt. I love my Chelsea-Boy second cousin. He breaks ice in a heartbeat. According to Cousin T., blond tanned guy resembles a co-worker in his company. In those handful of sentences, some three women dropped in, all over blond tan guy.

I stepped away, back to the pool table.

Cousin T. wandered over to me and asked me, "Why didn't you talk to that (blond tan) guy? He noticed you." 

"I know," I smiled. "but he has plenty of distractions right now. Didn't you see? At least two other gals all but dived right onto him."

"But you should have!"

"Nah. Not my style."

Yes, it seems that we city kids still get whiplash from folks who drop in - and stand out because they don't look like us. It's autumn in New york, glorious and crisp, our summer glows have softened into lighter shades. We're wearing layers, sweaters, readying ourselves for the inevitable cold. And in wanders a fellow who looks like he just pulled in off the Newport Beach break.

And then it got strange.

A while later, back toward the front bar, I caught the blond tan guy alone second. Perhaps one of the admiring females had gone to the bathroom. Another was pulled into conversation by another man.

I decided to go free-form. I looked right up at him.

"Have you told anyone here your name?" I didn't wait for an answer.

"No. It doesn't matter. You look like, yes, you look like a...'Herbert.' Right. "Herbert.' 'Herb' for short. Or 'Herbie,' yes, 'Herbie."

In truth, I had opened my mind, his blond tanned look, a southern California vibe, I remembered that old Disney movie, from when I was a kid (the original, for chrissakes), "Herbie." That sequence of thoughts zipped through my mind.

"Do you know me? Do you know who I am?" he asked me. He sounded somewhat incredulous.

"No. I never saw you before you walked into this bar tonight."

Another fast thought - who was this guy? Somebody famous? Somebody I should know? I answered myself: Screw it, who cares?

He squinted at me. "My name is Herbert."

(Look at that photo up there. Does that guy look like a Herbert?)

"You are full of shit." I squinted back at him. "Let me see your drivers license."

He fished out his wallet and walked over to the bar-cashier light. Sure enough: Herbert.

The quizzical looks on each of our faces were identical in disbelief. So I gave him my card, attempting to deflect what could have been a round of funny-name banter. (In my mind, I doubted that any woman would moan, sigh, or scream "Herbert!" in the throes of ecstasy. Another lightning-fast thought.) I said," Yep. Holly Hodder. I'm not a porn star."

At least one of the admiring women returned, and I backed away.

I think he told everyone else that his name is Joe. One of the gals later confided that she though he was full of himself. He's not from New York. He was just in town for business, and a John Bon Jovi concert in the deepest heart of Newark, NJ. I think his hotel was somewhere in the swamps of Jersey too - he told me later that everything in the city started at $500. Which it does.

I'm not sure he knows where the Hamptons are.

And I know all of this, because Herb and I have struck up a conversation. And it is very amusing. I recommended that he read this post, and this one too. I said I might write about his name - not an idle promise.

He did - read those posts. And here's his response, verbatim: "Make sure that you exaggerate that you met this guy Herbert that made you orgasm just by looking into his sea blue eyes."

I suspect that he may have succeeded with at least one of his NYC-gal admirers. You never know.

Certainly I would welcome such an action-reaction. Let's see what happens when I go to sleep tonight.

Herbie, The Love Bug.

Comments

[Michael]

You always did have that way in a room. Some people just have more presence than their skin can contain.

Having fun reading your blog at the moment. Very nice to put down a manuscript I'm trying to organize and read without trying to force the words into a shape they may not contain in the first place.

[white dimaonds]

Boy oh Boy!
I had so much fun that night!
I hadn't seen you, surfer Girl and Ski bump in ages when i finally make a U turn half way upper west side - that I had to gather some energy and meet my bitches!

We behaved that night! thanks Go because it was school night and geese! i just can't do what we used to do!. Remember those crazy stories MB would type up in a matter of minutes while still under the influence at 8am first email leaving her out box!

And that Herbert! Funny! You are soo god with that! I miss you.

HUGS. L.Jr.

[Chris Williams]

Hi, I can't find any contacts on your blog. Can I ask you to send a note for me? My email is in profile.
Thanks, Chris

[Manny Rodrigues]

Ah, the joys of single life jousting in the bars of Manhattan, I miss those days! I've honed my game here in Denver and know I still have enough NYC in me to pull it off in The City. I miss having H-Twice here in Boulder!

[Jeff]

Blondes have more fun, apparently

Great that you're back!