NASTY

A month or so ago, I was having my morning bagel and lattes at my corner cafe. It was ten-ish and Polly and I had the entire patio to ourselves. In our corner booth Polly patiently sat on the banquette next to me, watching me do the NYT Crossword while waiting for her piece of bacon they bring her every day. A group of two girls and two guys came in and proceeded to sit directly in front of me. The whole fucking restaurant was empty but no, they sit two tables across from me like a big screen TV. I glance up and one of the four was Janet Jackson.

The other (*cough*) “girl” was all dowdy looks and terrified yet adoring glances so I naturally assumed she was Janet’s assistant. Chunky Mall Chick dressed up like Barbie so she’d feel “hip”, a feeling she used to justify her Slave Labor pay. The guys were pencil thin girly-boys, obviously dancers. Maybe Choreographer with New Boyfriend (naturally one of the dancers). They crossed their legs, pull out their Prada bags and start smoking. Pall Malls. Gadzooks. At least there wasn’t going to be some big “Ew, smoke” scene. They both barely looked at J.J. as if experience said ignore her, just smoke and fidget with their Cells.

Miss J.’s outfit du jour was all about rhinestones. Some coked up Costumer had freaked with a Bedazzler - her Lakers cap, her T-shirt, her shoes. I got it. Look at me. She talked in a fake British accent to the guys who were apparently actually British or at least better at faking. If there’s ever a Black version of Oliver , “J-Oliver” perhaps, we know who to call. It was an “in joke”, something they’d concoted to alleviate boredom. There was little, if any, interesting conversation. These were Kids. If I was in my late thirties and had to spend all of my time with Youngsters of this ilk, I would be crawling the walls.

By now Polly was interested, standing and sniffing in their direction. One of the dancers looked her over and cracked a tight smile. Aren’t animals cute? Janet bent her head, a “please no pictures” gesture, while pulling down the lid of her hat. Uh, Lady, there’s nowhere else to look. I finished the puzzle but still had a whole latte in front of me. I needed a cover, something to pretend to be doing while I was spying. Ah, yes. The Business Section. Fuck.

Polly, displeased with not being the center of attention, stood and did her Shake Thing. It can also mean “I’m over this.” Over the Sports Section, I noticed Janet glancing to one of her, uh, mates and scrunch her nose towards us. Yes, my beagle is shooting microscopic death rays across ten feet towards you. I can only fake-read Sports for so long. I paid the bill, Polly and I bid farewell to the Staff before trotting home.

Miss Jackson, I have seen you in concert. Great, fun, sexy. Weeee. I’ve seen you close up. Painfully so and sans make-up. Damn. We all seen your titty now. Whoop, whoop. Ride the wave, flaunt your nippy, do what you want, but don’t ever, ever fuck with my dog.

I could’ve too. That would have been so cool.

9:48:32 PM    sro home /