Hot afternoon at the beach. Humid. I’m lying on my chaise lounge on the patio. The flowered canopy of the lounge is over my head blocking the hot sun. I’m looking at my rubber tree and palm trees in the garden downstairs, and the eucalyptus trees across the street. Crows are quarreling nearby and I hear the zooop-zooop of hummingbirds jockeying for position in the rubber tree. One’s mind may wander in the heat of the day to, um, inappropriate speculation.
What man, I wonder, would truthfully admit that he’d go to bed with a 91 year-old woman? When I was young, I preferred to keep company with older men. Men my own age held little interest for me. Conversation was halting and the love making clumsy and unsatisfying. Older men were considerate, mostly gentle, and grateful.
My question on this sultry afternoon, however, is where is the man who would tempt the fates for a nonagenarian tumble? And you don’t have to be 90-plus to wander into that fantasy, right ladies? Are you out there boys? All of us are listening.
When I performed my nightclub act, there was a moment halfway through the show when the music vamped behind me and I spoke directly to the audience. One night, I leaned toward an elderly couple at ringside and asked the man, “Tell me, honey, if I could grant you two wishes, what would the other one be?” And so help me, without a moment’s hesitation, the white haired gent chirped loud and clear, “To live through the first one!” It cracked up the house, including me. When I get right down to it, that’s my sentiment too. If I get lucky enough to find a youngish, skillful, and motivated stud, just let me live through it.
What if you had 77 minutes to live? What if you were at the mercy of some crazed teenager armed with a weapon of war? And when the crazy began killing everyone around you, and everyone was screaming and crying, and you were frantically smearing yourself with your best friend’s blood so the shooter would think you were already dead, would that be okay? Would you pray for the police to break down the door and save you as the clock on the classroom wall ticked off 77 minutes? It is a long wait for salvation when it never comes. And what if you were a classroom of 4th graders waiting for rescue by a timid gaggle of fat cops? And how long is 77 minutes if you’re a cop sworn to protect, yet you’re cowering in a hallway within earshot of the slaughter? Would you cover your ears to block out the screams of the children? Too many questions for those who love guns. Too many tears for the rest of us.
I greatly admire Cassidy Hutchinson. Not only is she honest, articulate, and smart, but she is brave. Yes, it takes a woman. Her testimony before the Jan6 committee galvanized the nation by describing the corrupt actions of Trump and his insurrectionists, giving us a clear picture of how close we were to losing our democracy. We always knew Trump, McCarthy, Giuliani, and the rest were liars bent on overthrow. Her appearance made it certain. In political scandals, someone needs to serve up the ugly truth. Cassidy takes her place in history along side John Dean as one willing to tell the truth, no matter the personal pain and danger. Now for the justice. Will our Justice Dept locate their balls and indict Trump and his fellow thugs? It’s by no means a sure thing, but if there’s no punishment for fomenting an armed rebellion, then we are truly doomed.