Who the F#*k is Alex?
Or — An Evening with Heath Ledger
It has been on the cards for months, meeting the elusive Laura. I’d met the less attractive side of the partnership, liked, then admired, finally loved the writer, and my friend, Whye Waite.
Jenny and I had flown into San Francisco, facing the realization our influence would not be enough to turn Missouri into a democratic state. While we were in California, we would decide on where to buy a new home for our return, hoping the Maga dust hadn’t coated us beyond recognition.
It would also be the exact opportunity to meet up with Whye and keep a long-held promise to each other that we would meet up with our spouses. Well, that promise finally came to fruition back in our old California stomping ground, the egg throwing capital of California, Petaluma.
I gave Whye a call from the hotel room. He picked up.
“Whye, it’s Harry. Are you busy? Jenny and I are half an hour away in Marin County.”
Naturally, Whye had been given no notice that we were in California. Jenny and I had decided on a whim to travel back to San Francisco look for a home and avoid the heat and humidity of living in Misery!
Whye was surprisingly calm, not letting on he was holding a beer in one hand while directing Laura, who was busy painting the backyard fence, and responded with great enthusiasm.
“We’ll meet you both at McNear’s pub in forty minutes,” he said.
Jenny and I headed up highway 101 north to Petaluma in our Nissan rental car. It felt weird, an almost dreamlike experience. Where did all the fucking potholes go? I remember when we lived in Mendocino, it needed a quad bike to make this road trip.
I looked across at Jenny, she was doing that strange thing when a woman wets her finger and brushes her eyebrows.
“Are you excited to meet, Whye,” I asked.
“I know all I need to know about Mr. Waite. After you posted my ass on Medium, he responded with his tongue hanging out.”
“You can’t fault a man for that, Jenny. Your ass is delicious.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting his wife, I think we share a lot in common, being the butt of writer husband fantasies,” she said.
Jenny was still mad at me for talking too loudly on the plane about airplane disasters on the way out here.
We arrived in Petaluma, parked the car, and entered the pub four or five minutes before Whye and Laura arrived. My pride was immediately in tatters. When I’m meeting women, those I’ve never met, but who know of me by my reputation, I expect to be greeted like a dog meets a loved one, jumping up and licking my face.
Laura didn’t jump up and start licking my face. She was, however, a striking lady, and licking my face would not have been objectionable. I looked over at Jenny who was cuddling up to Whye like a Sloth on heat.
We got some drinks, Laura’s semi-dirty martini, and Jenny a rosé. With the recession coming, Whye and I shared a Guinness.
I saw it right at the beginning, Laura, and Jenny’s connection. Both, damaged individuals, suffering in silence at home, enjoying the pleasure of life away from the kitchen and the backyard fence. That’s the important thing, isn’t it, reaching out to connect.
People like Whye and myself never truly realize we have shortcomings until our wives come together. But it wasn’t until the server came to request our dinner order that he and I had our shortcoming demonstrated.
His name was Alex, a twenty something Adonis from Novato.
The first gush came from Laura. How she loved Alex’s t-shirt. Alex grinned. Honestly, it was sickening. Laura didn’t give a hoot about the damn t-shirt, only what was filling it. The guy looked like he’d spent a season training with the Buffalo Bills.
In my mind I’m saying: Hello, Laura, I’m over here, it’s Harry, they guy you want to meet so much, the other part of your husband’s bromance!
I looked at Jenny and saw lust in her eyes for the first time in three years!
Who the fuck is Alex?
I’ll tell you; Alex is two men in the same body. The guy had compartments everywhere.
Being with Jenny long enough to understand her signals, her desires, and wants, her whole body was secretly asking: Alex, is there a compartment you could fit me into?
The women managed to keep Alex at the table for twenty minutes, ordering, then changing their minds, then asking Alex what he recommended.
Who the fuck cares what Alex likes to eat!
“Oh, please, Alex, do tell us what you like,” Jenny asked in that kind of voice that has her hips sliding back and forth. Jesus, this is embarrassing. At the end of the evening, I’m thinking these two women will have bruises on their cute asses, the number of times each cute butt left its seat and bumped down again.
Alex, having finally got the meals listed, left us to put in the order.
Whye and I were still dicing with each other to get the last foam of Guinness in the glass. I realized we were a side attraction from this point onward in the evening.
The women couldn’t decide who it was that Alex looked like. Whye and I were supportive, offering names we considered a resemblance to Alex. Names like Popeye, Brutus, Tarzan, the Hulk…”
“I know, Heath Ledger!” Jenny said.
At home, Jenny has proved to be such a beautiful, caring, individual. It’s very easy to love her. Let her out for a few hours, the cougar is released.
It’s okay, a woman who isn’t made aware of her own attractiveness by other men and is without love in her life is soon an irritable person. It was just our luck to be with two attractive cougars on the loose.
Anyway, Heath returned with the meals.
He spent a few minutes checking with the women that everything they needed was at hand. By the time Alex finished, the women were feeling hot, bothered, and desirable. Every condiment, hot sauce, and dressings were placed in front of the women. Alex, then turned away, more puffed up that a bloated fish!
“Heath!” I called out.
The server returned to the table. “What is on my plate, Heath?”
“Fish and chips, sir.”
“That’s right, Heath, and do you see any ketchup, or malt vinegar on the table? No, you don’t, do you Heath? That’s because I’m not gushing over your fucking biceps. So, if you can manage to lift a bottle of ketchup, and a bottle of malt vinegar without hurting yourself, I’d like them brought to the table, thank you.”
“Of course, I’ll bring them right now.”
I hate it when I bollock someone and they stay pleasant? Fucking asshole!
Anyway, thank the Lord, Whye and I are married to two extraordinary medieval women, fighting to be always at our side.
The purpose of our lives is to live according to certain principles, to honor our women in our hearts. Whye and I love our wives with a passion, and we have been taught that love by who these women are.
As the evening ended, Laura jumped up and started licking my face. We are going to be friends with wet noses.
Jenny and I benefited from Laura’s geniality and frankness.
There are some instances, some moments, some truths, which, on the learning, cause spontaneous reaction. Learning to love our new friend, Laura, will be a privilege.
The smell of rubber on Petaluma Boulevard was a fitting farewell to our friends, spinning rubber coming off Laura’s heavily disguised Prius.
Laura and Whye, thank you for being the kind of friends you both are toward Jenny and I; our evening will be long remembered until we take it up again in Mexico.
Alex, thank you, young man. You were a delight, so much fun, and whatever you choose to do in life we all wish you great success. Your fans who won’t forget you.
