The Longevity of Women

Ella shows up late for her date.

My Uncle Carmine had a theory that the reason for the longevity of women was due to the fact that the opposite sex makes men wait for them and every minute and hour of a man's waiting is stored within a genetic code of a woman's body. In America that advantage of life over death is more than five years and I swear that I've felt the tug of their vampiric vacuum on more than one occasion, but never more than when I made a date with a young model to see a movie in Lincoln Center.

The year was 1981. Her name was Julie. Neither of her eyes looked in the same direction. I had a thing ofr wall-eyed girls. We met at the filming of DOWNTOWN 81. The set was Danceteria on West 45th Street. Jean-Michel Basquiat was the star of the movie. I was an extra, so was Julie. She could have passed as a double of Francoise hardy, the 70s French pop singer. I still had a thing for the Yeh-yeh Girl.

Julie said that she was a painter. Her good friend was Manny's daughter. Manny had a diamond store on Canal Street. I was with her brother, Richie Boy. He swooped on Julie like a vulture hitting a baby lamb. Julie wasn't impressed with his Crassanova tactics and sought refuge with me. Jean-Michel came over to say hello. He had once painted my refrigerator. I didn't tell Julie that I made my hillbilly girlfriend wipe it off. She laughed at my joke. That was always a good sign with a woman and even better she agreed to see Werner Herzog's AGUIRRE WRATH OF GOD with me.

"It's a German movie about a conquistador seeking the cities of gold in the Amazon."

"I've heard about it."

"There's a Five o'clock show at Lincoln Center."

"I'll meet you at 4:45 after my class." She scribbled a phone number on a napkin and left with Richie Boy's sister. They lived together underneath

5 O'clock Show.

Tomorrow.

I arrived at the theater 30 minutes early and bought two tickets. 15 minutes passed without any sign of Julie. 4:50. A no-show. 5 on the nose. I searched the faces on the sidewalk. She had stood me up and I sold my tickets to a couple holding hands. They were very grateful, since the show was a sellout.

My friend was tending bar farther up Broadway. I had two drinks and told him about my non-date.

"Typical of women in this city. Always saying yes to a back-up plan."

Julie could have had 13 plan Bs. She was that beautiful and my soul was wandering through a vast abyss of emptiness. Something was sucking my energy without any chance of my repleting the loss. I paid for my drinks and wandered back downtown, thinking I might watch a XXX film at ShowWorld on the Minnesota Strip. The girls on screen weren't real, but they were always punctual.

As I neared the theater, I lifted my head and spotted Julie running to the ticket booth. She was over two hours late.

"Sorry, I was painting and got lost in time. Did you see the film?"

"No, I sold my tickets."

"Then I'm on time."

"Not really, but who's counting the seconds."

I bought two tickets and we entered the theater. She kissed me during the credits. I thought that it was an apology, but later in my life I realized that it was a kiss of gratitude for the stolen time.

As far as I know Julie is alive in Paris. I hope that she lives long. Most women do and it ain't no secret why.

Least not to me.