She wears masks, trying out each new one to see which one fits her best, always starting out as a novice, and then a master, each new experience a stepping stone to her next great adventure, trickling up – as she once claimed, , me, my boss, the owner, then on to some new profession, new face she’ll wear in some new office – this time as what she is now, next time somebody else, clinging to each of us as if rungs of a ladder.
“I’m stalking you,” she told me once early on, in one of
those many flirtatious phone calls.
“You know how old I am?” I asked.
“I know.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
After a brief silence she said, “This is moment to moment,” knowing
as I knew this thing had no future, pointless, and yet, I felt as hooked as old
catfish, unable or unwilling to wiggle off her hook, “Moment to moment,” I
thought, wondering where it would go, knowing even at the start of it this
would end as these things always ended in pain, telling her and trying to
convince myself, it would be worth it.
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