Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #215

Clara’s Diary: December 24th, late. So I met this guy. I was at a bar in West Hollywood, that part of town where all the set decorators live. I really only went in there because I really needed to pee. We’d been to the Cocoanut Grove earlier, and you know how insane the lines are for the ladies’ room, what with Mary Pickford still trying to be somebody, quoting Shakespeare to get attention, and Joan Crawford trying to sleep with everybody. It was tedious. So I crossed my legs and we left.

Well, my chauffeur, Bruce, made an odd sound while we were driving past this place called “The Wet Spot”, so I told him to pull over, because that seemed like a place where you could pee in a pinch. And so we did. I only meant to be in there for a minute, for a squat and a wipe, but as I stumbled out of the powder room (a fabulous powder room, by the way, I can understand why the set decorators might relish this zip code) I bumped against a man with a snowy white beard and a twinkle in his eye. I’m a bit frazzled, but our conversation went something like this:

Beard: “You are enchanting.”

Moi: “I’ve just peed. I can’t be that exciting.”

Beard: “Au contraire. You light up the room. What do you say we blow this joint and take a ride somewhere?”

Well, part 2, I was greatly intrigued by his offer. He spoke French! So many men in this industry have trouble with English, never mind a foreign language. (Well, except for Maurice Chevalier. But I don’t trust him. His name sounds like a car that I can no longer afford, what with the talkies being invented.) Anyway, I decided to take a chance and I allowed him to lead me outside.

And there was this sled thing, attached to these odd animals. One of them had a red nose.

That should have been my warning sign, but I’d had a few Cocoanut Grove Slam-Bangers, courtesy of some fellow that claimed to be a casting director at Paramount. (Everyone claims to be a casting director during happy hour, have you noticed, dear diary?) So I ignored my natural instincts and allowed this man to bundle me into his primitive chariot. Next thing I know, we are flying through the air.

I really wasn’t expecting that part.

A bit later, we landed on the roof of this house. My first thought, of course, was that it was going to be really hard to find a valet who would park his vehicle, landing as we did at such a high elevation and all. Then I noticed that no one from the press appeared to be around, which just wouldn’t do. Why bother doing something if no one is going to write about you doing it? Something was amiss. I turned to my companion. “Twinkle Eyes?”

Twinkle: “Yes, my love.”

Moi: “What exactly is it that you do for a living? Are we doing it now?”

Twinkle: “We are, indeed. How perceptive of you. I knew you were special when I read your wish list.”

Moi: “My wish list? Whatever do you mean? I don’t have a wish list.”

Twinkle: “But of course you do. Everyone does. Whether on paper or in their heads or in their hearts. And I see them all. Will you excuse me for one moment? I’ll be right back.” And with that, Twinkle snatched a tricycle and a baby doll out of an enormous sack that I hadn’t noticed, and then he plunged into the chimney.

Well, that was rather odd behavior, even for Hollywood. So I’m in a quandary, dear diary, as I sit in the snow on top of a rather mundane house presumably in West Hollywood. (Wait a minute. It never snows in Hollywood. How fast does this sled move?) Should I just sit and wait for the possible man of my dreams to pop back out of the chimney and explain his behavior? Or should I blame the 13 Slam-Bangers I guzzled that led to me making a misguided transportation decision and just get the hell out of here? Sigh. The dating scene just hasn’t been the same since some fool decided to include dialogue in the script.

Then I heard a bit of activity in the house below, and the excited voice of a young child rang out: “Oh, thank you, thank you! I’ve never had a brand new baby doll of my own!”

Well, then. That’s a point in Twinkle’s favor. There’s more going on here than I realize. Perhaps I should sit a spell and learn more. I’m glad I brought you along, dear diary, to keep me company. And I’m certainly glad that I took care of my business at The Wet Spot. Otherwise, the sound of melting ice dripping off this roof would drive me insane…

 

Previously published, an eye-opening number of times. Clearly, I am milking this cow far more than a cow should be milked. But since we’re doing a retrospective of past Yuletide Posts (okay, I’M doing a retrospective, the rest of you are just patiently waiting for me to scribble something fresh), I had to include this bit as it’s one of my favorites. No changes made from the last revision because, as one of my sage friends recently mentioned to me, sometimes it’s best just to let the words be, no matter how hard I have to fight the inclination…

 

25 replies »

  1. Nothing wrong with a Christmas reprise. It is a struggle to not tweak a little here or there when you approach older offerings for another repost. You see one damn little thing, an hour later you’ve done a complete re-write!
    Clara’s in for piles of problems if she don’t adjust her seat though.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I struggle constantly with the re-tweaking, often mortified by an insignificant snafu in the post that no one else notices, save me. And yet I toil endlessly with rectifying the insignificance…

      As for Clara, I think we’re beyond the adjustment of her piles. What’s done is done. Unless I’m reposting what has been done…

      Liked by 1 person

      • 1/ Reprise becomes a rewrite sometimes, and as you say, no-one else notices it, but… but… Is it post editing or simple neurosis?
        2/ Clara might just as well resign herself to frosty receptions now.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Interesting how she can sit in all that snow with bare legs and a thin … whatever that is – throw rug? That is NOT the North Pole. (Some other pole?) Right now it’s -35C with not a bare leg in sight. 😉
    And, I agree with obbverse. Nothing wrong with a Christmas reprise.

    Liked by 1 person

    • It appears that Clara’s exuberant swilling of the Slam-Bangers has given her an ill-advised sense of confidence concerning her survival probability. But we’ve all been through, inclement weather or not… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I’ve always imagined that Santa Claus’ date or partner is a grandma like kindly figure, but now I feel how wrong I’ve been. How can I be this wrong? Santa is a worldwide celebrity and of course he is going to have a partner who’s scantily clad regardless of weather conditions, who’s younger than his own kids, who has no other life activities or aspirations but to wait for him in heavy makeup.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I do not recall this being hoisted aloft before. But we’ve discussed the whole cold medication hallucination effect recently and do not need to rehash that. All that sprang into my mind, upon viewing Clara, huddled in ‘snow” in really unsuitable clothing for such environs, was “geez, her *insert word that, it being the Sabbath today, I’m not going to use, but for those wondering what that might have been… Mary apparently rode one into Bethlehem* must be FREEZING, not to mention wet. No wonder she had to ‘go’ so urgently. Wet nether regions aren’t really suitable for anyone. Luckily for the family in that house upon which she is perched, there was a sumptuous bog at the oddly named “Wet Spot”..boy! This thing circled right round on itself… Ziggy is indicating, in loud and strident tones, that I’m to end rambling NOW and let your ears and eyes rest. Jolly Holiday Brian!

    Liked by 1 person

    • I must admit that this comment got so twisty that I had to re-read it a few times. (Now I know how the guests at Bonnywood feel, Perhaps I’m in need of redemption for my sins.) But the image that will stick with me forever is the frozen camel. Perhaps Clara should just follow Twinkle down that chimney and reheat her nethers so we can all move beyond things we fervently wish to not contemplate…

      Liked by 1 person

  5. … and that is the story of how Santa met the 3rd… or is it the 4th?… Mrs Claus. Alimony is paid in handmade toys, the exes aren’t very happy and don’t advertise the relationship. That darn twinkle is just too irresistible. 😘🎄

    Liked by 2 people

  6. Christmas is a time for reruns! I mean, I’ve seen Christmas Carol probably…. oh, a lot. Let’s leave it at that. The thing is, I fully plan on viewing it again this Christmas Eve as well. (Alastair Sim version)
    The point is, our favorites are always up for re-watching or in this case, re-reading. And this one is a favorite of mine as well. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • It just hit me that we haven’t watched ANY yuletide offerings this year, new or vintage. I’m shirking my duties as a Gaywill Ambassador for the holidays. I’d best start strength-training for next year…

      But thank you for your kindness. We all need our favorites, perhaps more than ever this year…

      Liked by 1 person

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