Trouble With Gaspard

After talking to Lu the other day, I thought she had calmed down, recognizing she was now with a man who appreciated her, and she could finally relax and enjoy the finer things in life. Lucia had grown up suspicious. If you were nice to her, she thought there was an ulterior motive – why are you being nice, what do you want from me, what do you want me to do for you, so on and so on. (When we first met, she was stand offish, until she realized there wasn’t a damn thing I wanted from her. Hoo boy, was that a process!)
Anyway, around 4:30 this morning my phone rang. I was in a deep sleep and answered the phone in a barely coherent voice. It was Lu, sobbing. Lu never sobs; she barely eeks out a tear at sad movies (Old Yeller made her cry. That’s about it)
“What’s wrong, are you okay, what do you need?” the words came tumbling out of my mouth, as I was now wide awake and slightly alarmed.
“No, I’m not all right. He lied!” she sobbed.
“What did he lie about, Lu?”
“D’arcy, I feel like such a fool!”
“Lu, tell me. Do I need to get on a plane and come there? I don’t even know exactly where you are, but I’ll meet you, if you want.”
“You’re going to think I’m stupid for running off with him. He’s a liar!”
She’s wailing now.
“Lu – tell me what the problem is.”
(Deep breath) “He’s not French!”
“What do you mean he’s not French? I’ve spoken to him in French.”
“No, he’s not. I saw his passport!”
I waited.
“He’s BELGIAN!!”
I dropped the phone.

Phone Call from Lucia


Lucia finally called me at a decent time, so we could have more than a 3-minute conversation, as I’m not too talkative at 3 am when she usually calls. She sounded wonderful; very happy, and dare I say, like she’s in love. Good for her, as the last guy she was involved with was a bit of a nimrod.
She spoke glowingly of Gaspard taking her shopping, so she’d have appropriate clothes and accessories to go to the casinos in Monaco and the Riviera. “I don’t have to look at price tags, D’arcy…never. No more Payless or DSW shoes, no more Marshall’s for clothes and purses…I’m still not used to it. He’s so good to me, really.”
I told her how happy I was for her, and that she was sorely missed at Blanche’s.
“Everyone asks about you, Lu…Dusty was waxing poetic how it was like a real-life Cinderella story, or as she put it, Pretty Woman without the whole hooker thing.”
Lu laughed…then told me how she was learning to gamble, and not at the nickel slots. “I’m learning to play Baccarat…can you believe it? Every time I hear them saying banquo, banquo, I have to fight the urge to yell “YAHZEE!”
Lu…you can take the girl out of Jersey, but you’ll never take Jersey entirely out of the girl. Maybe that’s what Gaspard finds charming?


Shopping with Lucia, aka Hell on Earth

    To say I love shopping is an understatement. I can spend hours in a store, browsing through racks and trying on clothes, shoes, hats. If I’m on a serious mission, I’ll book a personal shopper to pre-select items for me, but for the most part I like to look myself. Lucia hates it. She knows what she wants, goes to a rack like she had a laser beam on it, grabs the item and is ready to go. Needless to say, we don’t go together very often, because an all-out brawl is simmering under the surface after the first hour, where she starts snarling, eventually graduating to growling.

The only way to soothe the savage beast is if we are somewhere that will get her a drink while I try on clothes. A couple of cocktails will put her in her happy place, and I can take my time. One time she even asked a store associate go and get her a turkey club and a beer, but with the amount of money I was spending, they were happy to do it.

Then one day the storm clouds parted and miracle of miracles, she actually had fun. Because that was the day Lucia (in an attempt at payback) decided she wanted to try on wedding gowns. Yes, you heard correctly – wedding gowns. At first it was funny, because it was so out of character. I figured after the first one or two, she’d tire of it, and we’d be on our way. Oh no. It turned out to be a three-hour wedding gown extravaganza, with one more elaborate than the next, until she finally had a gown on that was so big, she would have to get married in St. Patrick’s Cathedral in order to get that dress down an aisle. Vera Wang, Pnina Tornai, Amsale, Lazaro were all trotted out. She posed, she cooed, she made me take innumerable photos, all lace and sparkles. Twelve-foot long trains with matching veils, she was playing it to the hilt. And then she hit the wall.

She ripped off the gown, leaving it in a heap, threw her clothes on and said she was ready to go. Our sales lady was crushed, but I slipped her a generous “something” for her troubles. The good news? I found a beautiful pair of peau de soie kitten heel pumps with antique lace bows. So not a total loss!