The High Life

Just when I thought no prospective dates were on the horizon, I met a gentleman (We'll call him "Bob") at Market Street Grill in Salt Lake. I was dining with my girlfriends, when I went to the bar to ask for change. He casually complimented me on my red hair and I smiled and gave a polite nod.

He seemed too old for me, so I brushed him off. "Bob" was persistent.

He shot out a barrage of questions. I laughed and decided, why not? Come to find out he was really intelligent and well-spoken. He spoke about the art world fluently and loved to travel-all my similar interests. Refreshing. So I gave him my number and returned to my friends, who probably thought I had deserted them.

Bob called the next day, which happened to be a Saturday and wanted to know if I would join him for drinks at Waldorf Astoria Spa and then a concert at the Canyons in Park City. It was hot outside and the pool/ alcholol was too good to pass up. And I wanted to know more about him-Bob was intriguing.

As I rushed from work to my car, I noticed a red spray on my windshield. I paused in alarm. Was that blood? I cautiously approached my car. It was in the inside! I immediately opened the door to see all the crimson red on the dashboard, the windshield, the stick shift, and a pool of red in the passenger seat.

It wasn't blood, but my cherry Dr. Pepper.

It had exploded in a rage about being left in a hot car. I thought the caffeine pick me up would be nice for later...but not this way. Realizing I was going to be late for my date, I figured I would deal with this fiasco later.

My tires screamed into the parking lot of the Waldorf. Bob had instructed me to just valet park. Engrossed in my latest rap CD, yes rap, I glanced over to reality.

My red reality. Oh no!

These valets are going to think I killed a small animal in my car. The only solution was to act casual-maybe they would not notice, or I could put my McDonalds trash over the puddle.

Yes! That would do! High class all the way.

Bob was waiting in the spa entry and smoothly greeted me.

The spa was clean, quiet, and cool. The director gave us a tour and I admired the live plants growing on the walls mixed with the smooth counter tops and soft white cushioned couches. Perfectly placed on the counters were hard back books of architecture, modern art, and other affluent topics. I thought to myself, I could just stay here for awhile and never leave....my new home.

In the ladies locker room I wondered around sniffing the free bottles of deodorant, shampoo, lotion, and assorted toiletries.

This locker room seemed too nice. I didn't want to take my clothes off.

Just as I was taking my swimsuit out of my grocery store plastic bag-my way of recycling, the spa attendant walked in.

She stared for a moment and gave me this....smile.

She continued her forced smile as she explained there was a fee for using the spa.

I laughed and said, "No worries, I'm with a member. "

She smiled again, this time firmly folding her arms.

She asked, "Under what name are they listed?"

I nervously laughed again and realized I had completely forgotten my dates name. Shoot!

I frantically laughed again, worrying she would pick me up and toss me out, plastic bag and all.

Then I confidently said "Bob Idol". She nodded and quickly left. I thought Good! Go check! I'm on the list! Big stinker.

After a few minutes and successfully putting on my swimsuit, the attendant came back. Same forced smile to report that I was indeed on the list. Ha! I gave my own forced smile. She demostrated how to use the locker and explained how to get to the pool.

I noticed a white robe in the locker and asked, "Do I wear that out to the pool?"

She smiled. Again. "No, that's for people getting treatments. "

I walked through the empty carpeted corridor towards the gleaming afternoon sun coming through the exit.

As the door swung open, to my horror I saw everyone enjoying their afternoon cocktails.

All in white robes.

In all my glory I stood in my suit for everyone to behold, with a knee-jerk reaction to suck in my stomach, and a strong pang of regret about the burrito I had eaten earlier.

I had two choices: scurry quickly by acknowledging my shame, or act like my lack of robe was intentional.

It was go time.

I chose to "rock it". I walked out and right to my smiling date. Who laughed and quickly asked "Where is your robe". Oh I didn't feel I needed one. Damn that spa attendant.

We laughed by the pool drinking raspberry mojitos and talking about all the places he had traveled. he asked me if I wanted to be his "bond girl" and travel with him. Tempting. I could just leave my life and toss all care to the wind. Then what? When he tired of me being his bond girl, what future would I have? Complete dependence-not an option. I had that happened before and was thrown out on my ass. Never again.

As we left the retreat of the spa for dinner on Main Street Bob asked if I wanted to drive because he hated driving at night. I nodded, but then quickly remembered the murder scene in my car. Let's take your car this time. And smiled. The forced smile.

Dinner was a dream. A cool breeze came off the mountain as we ate shrimp skewers on the balcony and talked about his childhood. He asked about mine and somehow the topic came up about my living at home. Bob seemed to have eaten a bad piece of shrimp because he grew quiet and asked for the check. I had become the "Skateboarding" girl.

I swore I heard Bob's tires squeal as he left me standing back at the hotel.

For an instant I felt disgusted with myself. What was my problem? A thirty-one year old back home with her parents.

Then I got angry. No one will ever judge me again. It is my choice. My decision only. I felt a way of guilt when I realized that I had judged the "skateboarding" guy. Karma is a bitch.

I'm happy spending time with my parents again. If you are happy where you are, that's all that matters. A person that really cares for me won't care what I do for a living, where I live, or what I drive....cherry Dr. Pepper and all.

I don't need the high life. Just my life.