Do you remember the best thing you ever did in your entire life?
Looking back at every gift I ever gave or received, one stands out high above the others.
I was in a very self-destructive stage of my time spent in Las Vegas (big shock there, right?) and I had been walked out on, scorned, and in short order I became persona non potatoes au gratin. Young women seemed to have so many problems which precluded them from maintaining a successful relationship with me.
But on one New Year’s Eve I was sitting with a keno runner who happened to be the absolute most perfect girl for me. The fact she was sitting down with me on the job was cool in itself.
Then, somewhere in the fog of the thinking part of my brain came my impulse to talk to Candy (really, and that’s how she spelled it).
Everything she said was perfect.
I looked closer.
She looked as if she was literally poured into her tiny uniform and I think she stimulated an entirely different part of my brain, but I’m not sure what you call it.
She loved the same authors as I did.
She loved the same foods.
The same colors.
We laughed at the same kind of things.
We cried at the same kind of things.
She was gorgeous and in a lifetime of bearing the cross of having been blessed with the rare combination of good lucks and uncanny brilliance, I can attest to the fact that she was absolutely, positively, the most perfect match I could ever find.
Somewhere, lost on a sea of high-powered egg nogs and high-grade Columbian cocaine was the girl I had at long last found for the rest of my journey.
We hit the clubs and ended up literally fused together from our white-hot lovemaking sessions that lasted until daylight.
She smoked weed.
She hated cigarettes.
She even laughed at some of my corny jokes.
We met for breakfast and over Eggs Benedict and Mimosas, and we talked for hours.
I was lost.
I didn’t think I would be able to return, I was so far gone.
She had her own money (I never pried, but she was a very confident and intelligent woman) and in the course of our convo, she kind of let it slip that she was a bit of a racist.
She was not at all good with black people, and her distrust also applied to any people from India, Pakistan, and also add in the countries of the Orient. You know I was thinking where Mexicans stood in her worldview?
She gave me her phone number and said I needed to call her about something super-important.
So I’m holding out my hands like a scale weighing a life of leisure travelling the world, doing the best drugs with the Beautiful People on one scale, or going back to work as an Executive Chef in Las Vegas.
It was then that I gave Candy the very best present I could at that time.
I never called her.