Monday, July 22, 2013

BRIGITTE IS NEVER OLD by Peter Nolan Smith

Four years ago I returned to New York after 5 years in Thailand. Culture shock has been minimized by my refusal to leave my landlord’s $1 million Ft. Greene brownstone, however after a week I had acclimatized to the culture shock of fat people with loud voices and rendezvoused with my biographer to recount the circumstances of my exile from the Land of Smiles.

“Come meet me at Lucien’s on 1st Avenue. I’m doing an interview with Taylor Meade.” Dannett was a man about town. He had been a child star as a child. As a man he was still a boy and so was I.

I showed up late. The beat poet had drunk a bottle of whiskey. Dannett was conversing with a young Russian boy, who was clearly smitten with the respected obituarist’s infectious joi du mots. The magic of Dannett's perpetual youth had that effect on some people and the bon vivant introduced me with an ornate flourish, “Meet my new protege. He likes older women.”

"Why doesn't he like older men?" Taylor Meade was upset with the inattention.

“Older women are more intellectual than older men.”

"How's that?" I asked in search of finding an answer to why I had divorced my feeling for a married woman madly in love with me.

"Because older men are only interested in younger cock." Chad was smart in a bookish way.

"Older men are rarely interested in anything older than themselves." My Thai wife was 24. She was pregnant with my son. I had come back to America to make another fortune. The last had been blown overseas.

"“But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.” The angelic boy quoted Rimbaud and purported himself like a gentleman.

"I prefer 'I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; garlands from window to window; golden chains from star to star, and I dance' It's a little more cheerful." Dannett was an astute.

Taylor and I contested their quotes with emptying our glasses.

Silence was us at our best, but I was jealous of Dannett's protege. He was 23 and looked 12. His life was life ahead of him. I was almost three times his age and no one had called me young in decades.

“An older women like cut cock,” I interjected from behind a glass of wine. We laughed, as Chad assessed the intent of the statement. None of us expected him to say, “That’s anti-Semitic.”

“anti-Semitic?” I was having none of this. “Chad, what does a cut cock have to do with anti-Semitism.”

His cheeks burned with indignation of the supposed slight. Americans and especially young ones had no sense of humor. It was the state of our disunion.

“Lighten up, unless the mohel schobbed off too much prepuce at your Bris. You know it was reputed that the mohel was buried with all the foreskin he had ever cut off?”

Prepuce.” Vlad had never heard the term.

“Yes, the foreskin of Jesus.” The Holy Bris of Jesus was reputed to have been preserved in a jar of spikenard and this relic has passed hands throughout the royalty of Europe. “They rubbed it for good luck and it turned into a suitcase without any wheels.”

After this quip Chad excused himself from the table and Dannett admonished me for riding him a little hard, however I do believe in the Freedom of Speech unlike France, whose courts had been seeking a $23,500 fine against the withered beauty, Brigitte Bardot for inciting anti-Muslim hatred in her letter to the then Interior Minister Nicholas Sarkosy accusing the nation’s #1 minority of destroying French Culture by not listening to Johnny Hallyday or eating crepes.

I drank my wine, thinking that maybe Chad could help her with this problem. After all he has a thing for older women, as do I, especially blue-haired heiresses dipped in Botox, then again I’m no gentleman and Brigitte Bardot is never old in AND GOD CREATED WOMEN.

No comments: