The Narcoleptic Dominatrix

Here’s how it went.

The day was hot and long. We were sweaty and tired. We looked forward to a couple of cold beers, and a little one on one. I knew of a pub nearby so I led the way. We made our way through the sweaty smudgy horse-shit odor along the edge of Central Park. As gross as that sounds, it’s actually quite wonderful. The summery-est of summery smells. Mixed in with the smell of hot pretzels, car exhaust, and random whiffs of cotton candy. All of New York was out and about, walking, biking, little kids splashing in the fountains, people reading … Earlier in the day, I had seen a black guy dressed as a Roman gladiator pedaling two people around in a carriage attached to his bicycle. He literally looked like this. It was 900 degrees out and that was how he was dressed. He glimmered in the sunlight. As he pedaled by, I could hear him saying, “And over there is the Plaza Hotel …” hahahaha

After a false start (uhm … thought the pub was on 59th? Where is it??) I found the one I was thinking of. We walked in. It’s the kind of pub where there are sepia-toned watercolors of John F. Kennedy everywhere you look, and pictures of rugby teams from small towns in county Kerry, and Irish flags hung up next to American flags, and a gleaming wooden bar with high stools, and tables with red and white checked tablecloths. It was a good choice.

We sat at the bar, which was already quite crowded. I was practically on top of the woman to my left, so I apologized. “Sorry … I’m on top of you right now.” Opening up the channel of communication may have been a mistake – but you just never know who is going to be slightly insane in this massive metropolis. She had long blonde hair, she was drinking white wine, she was in her 40s, I would guess – maybe early 40s. She was by herself. She spoke, and her voice was very distinctive. Kind of loud. I’m guessing that that had not been her first glass of wine. “Oh – don’t worry about it. I’ll be leaving soon.”

Now I cannot remember how we struck up a conversation with this woman. It was just 2 days ago, and it is already lost in the fog of time. But somehow, we started talking with her. Or – let’s be accurate. She started talking to us. No, no. Let’s be more accurate. She started talking AT us.

It did not start out well.

She asked me where I was from. I told her. I asked her where she was from. She told me San Francisco. I asked her what brought her to New York. (Or at least I think I did. One of us did.)

She said, and I am putting in the pauses, just so you can get what we were dealing with here. She began to pontificate as though it were a monologue FULL of portent, and I knew from the pauses that we were meant to hang on every word. I also could tell from how she was speaking that this was going to be a long LONG story. “Well ………… I moved to New York ………… because …………. the dot-commers ………”

Bill said helpfully, “Hired you?”

She shook her head, in the middle of her own cliff-hanger, and began again, “I moved ………. to New York ……….. because the dot-commers …………..”

Bill tried again, “Fired you?”

Then came the slightly insane moment. She stopped and said, getting a wee bit frightening, “Are you going to let me finish? Or … are you done now? Are you done? Because I can wait. Or are you going to let me finish?”

This was within 30 seconds of speaking with her. Listen, hon, if you’re going to doze off into narcolepsy MID-SENTENCE while speaking with strangers, then please do not be surprised if we try to pick up the pace for you. We are worried for you. We are not waiting on tenterhooks to find out what the dot-commers did or did not do to you. Pick up the pace. We don’t give a shit. We’re just making conversation. Your pauses are so long that Bill and I both begin to plummet through empty space, flailing our arms, looking for footholds.

Okay. So the second she lashed out like that, I clocked her in my head. “Slightly insane. But harmless. A bit tipsy. Handle with care.”

Bill said, probably clocking her as nuts too, “I apologize.”

She still didn’t speak, looking back and forth between us, to make sure she had our undivided attention. Oh, so she’s one of THOSE.

She began again and told us a very very long story about her entire career, which involved the dot-commers and the crazy cash they had to burn in the late 90s. Now this is something that I actually know a little bit about, from my personal experience, but I just knew that any outside comments would not be welcome. She was the ONLY person to have experienced the dot-com boom and its repercussions. Her experience was SINGULAR. I held my tongue. I listened dutifully. Meanwhile, we got our beers, which were cold, delicious, and so welcome after our hot sweaty day. I kinda wanted to just talk to Bill. But … we were trapped. By the narcoleptic wine-guzzler.

She actually was harmless. I’m just making fun of her. Because it’s fun.

It was odd. To know that she needed us to just LISTEN. I wonder if she grew up with no one ever listening to her. She was obviously overly sensitive on this point. She couldn’t have our focuses be scattered. She spoke with a self-importance and a This Is My Big Monologue emotional undercurrent – so that it would be nearly impossible to interrupt it, without seeming rude. Also, for some bizarre reason, she talked to us as though she assumed that we had ZERO experience in the world. We were just two pairs of EARS, that’s all. We had no history to share. Everything she told us was going to be new and unheard of to us … because we were basically ameobic homunculits before she came along. So she regaled us with stories of how cutthroat New York is (as though no way would we ever guess that) and how beautiful San Francisco is (she assumed we had never been there – I actually lived there – but again, I just got the sense that this was supposed to be the Narcopleptic Show and any of my reminiscences would be greeted with resistance), and how she was starting a new job next week with Calvin Klein and she hoped it wouldn’t be too cutthroat. Uhm, it’s Calvin Klein. Of COURSE it’s gonna be cutthroat. A corporation that successful is gonna be cutthroat. But I said, submitting to her worldview because that was just easier, “I hope it’s not too cutthroat.”

Then somehow – the monologue segued into her telling us the entire story of the making of Gone with the Wind. She had seen a documentary on it.

Now this was actually a fun conversation – even though Bill and I were both struggling against her domination. It was a battle. You know how you can just feel when someone needs to dominate? And it’s such a strong force in them that it would literally have taken me saying, point-blank, “Listen, bitch. There are 3 people in this conversation. STOP DOMINATING. It’s RUDE” for her to realize what she was doing. And then, of course, the conversation would be over. Besides – the whole thing was kind of entertaining and interesting, psychologically.

Now Bill and I actually are very familiar with the entire story of Gone with the wind. It could have been a much better conversation if she would have given us the props for that. If we had been allowed to contribute, that might have been really fun!! We know something about that story! The search for Scarlett, the “discovery” of Vivien Leigh, and – uhm – yes, we know that Vivien Leigh was British – but thanks for the information anyway! The relentlessness of Selznick, the firing of George Cukor, how Clark Gable refused to do a Southern accent, etc. etc. etc.

But it was okay. She was a lonely Calvin Klein employee, drinking white wine by herself, and telling us the entire story. It’s an enjoyable story. My beer was cold. I was happy to be where I was. Even though I was being dominated by a transplant from San Francisco.

She told us that her favorite actress ever was Grace Kelly. We supported her in this opinion. She swooned over Rear Window. We validated this. She went ga-ga over Grace Kelly’s gowns in that movie. We agreed with her wholeheartedly. Bill managed to get one full comment in: “That entire movie is based on a false premise. There isn’t a man in the world who wouldn’t want to marry Grace Kelly.” I was shocked that she allowed him to get that much out!! Good job, Bill! But it was greeted by a baffled stare of uncomprehension from our Fearless Leader. All she heard was “false premise”. All she heard was that Bill was criticizing Rear Window. Which … DUH … he was not. So she kind of skipped over the comment, not even referencing it, and moved on in her bulldozer way.

Bill and I had no choice but to follow along in her wake. She would not let us go.

She informed us, “Hettie McDaniel was the first black actress to win an Emmy.” Yes! Totally true! Only her name was Hattie, and it was an Oscar. But it’s the thought that counts!!

Moving on!

There was a moment when she rhapsodized about how “Selznick kept with the project” and that was one of those sharp moments when I just fell in love with my own life. Here I am, sitting in an Irish pub with my new friend, and some blonde woman is babbling about Selznick “keeping with the project”. Hilarious.

Our whole entrapment ended very quickly. I found it interesting. I have a theory about the moment when it occurred. It’s one of those little snapshots, or series of snapshots – where you can see someone’s behavior so clearly – and you can see what they are trying to hide. You can see the subtext, basically.

I cannot remember how this came up, but somehow – whatever our Blonde Dominatrix was saying – made Bill think of Night of the Hunter – and he said, directly to me, “Oh! I meant to tell you – I finally saw Night of the Hunter!” This excited me so much I nearly stood up. “You’d never seen it???” “No!” “Oh. My. God. Isn’t it just amazing?” Then he and I went off (very briefly) into a conversation about that movie. It was fun. It was our first moment alone since we walked into the bar. So we lived it up!! Whoo-hoo! Freedom from domination! Look at us!! Choosing our own topics! How do we DARE??

That went on for probably 20 seconds – we managed to cram a lot in, though – knowing that our time “alone” was probably limited – and suddenly, our new friend stood up and said, “I have to go now.” It was that abrupt. She wasn’t mad or anything, but just like that, she was DONE with us. 20 seconds of us looking at each other, as opposed to her, and she felt like she went up in a puff of smoke. “It was nice to talk to you both,” she said … but still with this strange glazed-over look on her face, like she could not WAIT to get out of there, and away from those two lunatics who REFUSED to give her their undivided attention for hours on end.

I said, “Good luck at your job next week!”

More glazed-over smiles, as she reached for her purse. She barely knew what I said to her. “Thanks.”

And then POOF! She was gone!

We analyzed her behavior for about 30 seconds, exchanging notes on what we had noticed … “The moment we started to talk about Night of the Hunter, she was done with us. DONE.” She felt rejected. That’s what it was. There was a fragility there, underneath the loud voice, and all of the opinions. If we weren’t sitting there just listening to her, she felt out of control, lost, and invisible. So even though we hadn’t rejected her, that was what she felt. Which made me a little sad for her.

When she talked about San Francisco and its beauty, she got this really passionate happy look on her face. There was actually something very delicate about her. I kind of hope her job at Calvin Klein does prove to be too cutthroat for her, so she can move back to that foggy hilly city on the West Coast, the city of her narcoleptic dreams.