An Eye For Beauty

BeautyI think of the stupid shit I bought when I was younger because of beautiful sales girls. In the late 70s I bought a pair of jeans that were the biggest bell-bottoms ever. They were the pants equivalent of wide lapels, with so much extra denim it was like wearing sails. Years later I see Ashton Kutcher wearing them on ‘That 70s Show’ and they look – no, they still look really stupid.

It is 1988.

I am living with one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. We go to Century City for dinner and wait with the crowd outside Brentano’s. She goes to check on our progress, disappears into the crowd. I know when she’s coming back. I can’t see HER, but there is a mass, coordinated movement, like a crowd doing the wave, or synchronized swimmers. The head of every straight man in the crowd locates her, then clocks with her as she moves towards me.

She is THAT beautiful.

We are at Cedars Sinai Medical Center, checking on her grandmother. We get on the elevator and hit five. Just as the doors close, Bruno Kirby makes it on and presses four. It starts up. He turns, looks at us. We smile, nod. He smiles, nods. At me. Then he looks at HER. He smiles. He seems to go somewhere in his head. His eyes glaze over. He seems to forget he is smiling, or that he has a face.

She makes some comment and we all laugh. It gets quiet as the elevator reaches four. The doors open. He doesn’t get off right away, like he forgot it was his floor. The doors start closing. He is startled, then looks surprised – not that the doors are closing but that HE IS IN AN ELEVATOR.


He steps off, turns and looks at HER. He wishes us both (HER) a good evening. He moves to the drinking fountain adjacent to the elevator. He doesn’t take his eyes off HER. Somehow his hand finds the knob as he leans down, still looking at HER. He turns the knob.

A stream of water leaps from the faucet, arcing through the air.

Into his eye.

I don’t feel so bad about those pants anymore.