1973: MYSTERIOUS LADY (in the back bungalow)

by Terry 10 Replies latest jw friends

  • Terry

    MYSTERIOUS LADY (in the back bungalow)

    Me: driving a squad car for a private security service

    Me: .357 Magnum pistol strapped to my hip

    Me: Midnight to eight a.m. shift sleepier than sh*t

    Radio: (see attached tune) playing too loud

    Boss on 2-way radio: "Terry, get on over to (says address) and give the lady what she wants. Over."

    Me: "Say wuh?"

    Boss on 2-way radio: "A rich client has a music student living in her backyard bungalow as an exchange student. Van Cliburn finalist. You know the one. Don't you?"

    Me: "Say wuh?"

    Boss on 2-way radio: "I guess you don't know. Ha. Hahahahahahaha. You WILL KNOW soon enough. Get on over there. Ha. Hahahahah. Over and out.".

    Me: "Say wuh?"
    Me (back on the 2-way radio as I head the squad car toward the mysterious lady in the back bungalow) "Say Warren, what's this all about?"

    Boss on 2-way radio: "This piano finalist is from Italy and she's hornier than a sailor on shore leave. She'll be at the door waiting for you - she'll have some bullshit errand to send you on - like buying her cigarettes ... and the light will be behind her ...and she'll be wearing something a priest would not bless. Now do you understand?"

    Me on 2-way radio: "Errand? I'm not an errand boy. I'm a by-God rough and tumble conscientious objector fresh out of prison who has to wear a deadly weapon and work a lousy job all night for extra money because nobody will hire an ex-convict but you."

    Boss on 2-way radio: "Tell me something I DON'T know. Now get on over there and give her 'whatever' because your boss is really doing you a favor. Over and out."

    Me: (Insert un-Christian language out loud inside the squad car as the tune keeps playing).

    Fast-forward to today 2020.
    I hear the song again. It triggers THAT memory.
    I share it with you.

    The long gravel driveway snakes left and right with a thicket of dense pecan trees surrounding the pavement.
    There, I see it!
    The bungalow behind the rich person's house.

    Just as my Boss, Warren told me. The light is on. The door is open.

    The curvy Italian music finalist; she's standing between the light and my popped eyeballs.

    I pull up and park.

    Back in 1973, no automatic windows. I lean and down roll as the lady is speaking.

    Me: "Say wuh?"

    She stops speaking.

    "Where is Warren?"

    I open the door and get out, standing all 6 feet 4 inches tall in a khaki uniform, tight fitting and adorned by my rather large deadly weapon...and rather sadly ... a Jehovah's Witness trying to earn a living working nights.
    I walk around the car and stand in front of - somebody I can only describe as straight out of La Dolce Vita - except, not blonde. She's a dark skinned Italian with movie-star looks.

    "Warren ..." I quip. "You mean like Tolstoy's?"

    Her face froze and a Neapolitan flicker in her eye signaled
    she was chewing my comment over and for flavor.

    "Ah" she remarked finally, "No - not WAR AND Peace ...
    so - you make with funny for me. Who are you? You were sent by Warren for me?"

    I hesitated slightly.
    I ignored the implications of "for me."

    My mind searched possible conversation starters.
    Rejected: "What can I do for you?"

    Me: "Warren's night off. Yes - he sent me. There is an errand you wish to send me on?"

    The slinky Italian pianist was eyeball frisking me for contraband.
    She pursed her lips ... approvingly.

    "Why don't you come in?"

    Her hand beckoned like a TV game show Vanna White directing my eyes toward a gorgeous Grand Piano next to a wide bay window.

    Once inside, she stands there and the light caresses her ample 'talent.'

    I was done for. She had me at "Where's Warren..."

    In the next few minutes all I could look at was the truly magnificent and impossibly captivating object of desire I beheld.

    "Do you play?" Her voice may have carried double meaning .. maybe not.

    Image result for bosendorfer with extra keys

    I was aching to get my hands busy. I don't know what got into me - I just couldn't help myself.
    I might never have another chance such as this and the moment seemed right.

    I lunged and my hands grabbed great fistfuls. Of those black and white piano keys!

    I improvised something in a minor key .. wistful ...forlorn ...exotic...passionate...
    Until -
    Until I came to my senses at what I had done!
    I can't play piano worth a damn. I'm awkwardly self-taught.

    The hubris!
    Me pounding like a chimp in front of a Van Cliburn competition expert - the shame of it struck me straightaway.

    The Italian temptress observed I had ended my impromptu passionate outburst.

    She spoke: "It sounds very American."

    I stood gazing adoringly at the splendid keyboard (with 9 extra keys). "A Bösendorfer is Austrian, I believe."

    The impatience with my not-so-funny comments tampered her mood.
    She tossed her tresses impudently.

    "Very well .. then ...here is my errand list..."

    The next day, my Boss Warren gave me a huge smile and one of those good-old-boy eyebrow raises.

    He chuckled. "What'd I tell you? Huh? Huh?"

    I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly... "To tell you the truth,
    she was very disappointed I showed up instead of 'Warren.'"

    I think I made his day.

    *1973 tune on the radio*


    Can you spot the Van Cliburn pianist in this 1973 photo?
    Image may contain: 11 people

  • Finkelstein

    Can you spot the Van Cliburn pianist in this 1973 photo?

    No ???

  • under the radar
    under the radar

    Uhhh... Terry, I looked up the 1973 Van Cliburn competition and the official booklet doesn't list any contestants from Italy. Also, none of the pictured pianists look as you described, or even Italian at all to me. Is there any chance you got the year wrong? I'd be very interested to see a picture of this young lady...

    Regardless, thanks for the story. You have a real gift there.

  • Terry

    Image may contain: 11 people

    I'm going by what my boss, Warren said.
    He claimed she was from Italy.
    Did she look Italian? Well, very DARK Italian. But - who knows?
    I found this photo on Google and searched the images. I couldn't really say any of these people
    look like her.
    So...bottom line? I know I didn't dream the incident :)
    Warren was the sort of guy who liked to test people and he was setting me up to see if I
    was more "human" than "holier-than-thou" JW.

    Frankly, she was waaay more sophisticated than I was and that skeered me :)

    The END of my security job (such as it was) came when I fell asleep on the job.
    I drove home for a very short nap and fell asleep on the couch.
    When I awoke the squad car was GONE!
    Panicked, I called my boss.

    Me: "Warren, um, you're not going to believe this but --"
    Warren: "Let me guess. The car has been stolen?"
    Me: "Ummmm, well ...."
    Warren: "You're fired. Go back to sleep."

    Warren tried to contact me around three in the morning and I didn't answer.
    Concerned, he drove around until he saw the car ... IN FRONT OF MY APARTMENT.
    He had waited just long enough to determine I wasn't coming out again.
    He took the car knowing I'd go batshit when it went missing.
    He was an ex-sheriff or some other law enforcement specialty who had retired and
    started up his own business, HOMEGUARD SECURITY.
    Subscribers to his service in the "wealthy section" of Fort Worth expected full-time service
    which consisted mostly of complaining about dogs digging up their garden, or shadows and noises
    which simply must be checked out.
    I could NOT stay awake from midnight to eight a.m. It was the worst just before dawn, for some reason.

  • Terry

    This is NOT her - but sure looks like the "type" I was dealing with ...

  • under the radar
    under the radar

    Hey, Terry! Thanks for the clarification. I took a pretty good look at that same picture online and couldn't identify anyone I thought matched your description either.

    Regardless, it's a great story and now it has two mysteries attached. Who was this sophisticated and amorous young lady? And... did you give what she needed so much that night? I'm sure you're too much of a gentleman to kiss and tell, so the reader's imagination will have to suffice. Either way, it was a wonderfully titillating trip down memory lane. Thanks for bringing us along.

  • Terry

    Who was this sophisticated and amorous young lady?
    And... did you give what she needed so much that night?

    I was a JW Nerd and married; struggling to pay bills.
    That lady was less a source of desire or curiosity for me than the glorious grand piano.
    I can't exactly remember what was on her list but I do know I refused to buy cigarettes for her.

  • Finkelstein

    You were faithful and loyal to your wife good on you and you didn't buy cigarettes for her either.

    I like your style Terry

  • Terry

    Finkle, I was just callow, wet-behind-the-ears and had zero experience with
    "worldly" women. A big Nerd. Nothing heroic or even noble about that.
    I simply find that - looking back on my post-prison life is either tragically funny or simply absurd until I finally get the hell out.
    I had to start from scratch learning how to become a 'normal' human being.
    (Spoiler Alert: I'm not very good at it :)

  • eyeuse2badub

    And because you didn't try to get into her pants, didn't buy her smokes, and didn't shoot anyone with your gun.......jehober blessed you didn't he? Or not!

    How do you think that night would have turned out if only you'd know ttatt?

    just saying!

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