storeeze

“Fair primrose, we weep to see you fade away so soon”—from Elizabeth Bowen “I'm freezing!” exclaimed Charline. Unnoticed and unobserved in the swirling snow, Charlie and Charline stepped around a pile of rubbish in front of a disused warehouse in Old Soulard. The heavy iron door clanged open to a large glowing cavern. Condom on Your Tongue boomed from the walls. Nude models in body paint roamed the floor, stirring the pot for the grand opening of Naughty Gras. Charlie gestured, “Now this is what I’ve been talking about!” “We can stay here, I suppose,” removing her coat and gloves. “Dang! I’m shocked by what you can fit in a Winslet,” exclaimed Charlie. “You don’t like it?” she said, feeling cute. “No, sexy.”  “You asked for it, and tonight I'm giving it to you.” “Can you breathe?” “Barely.” Four hundred revelers had flocked to the bacchanal, away from the veil of everyday life. Sexy art, sensual costumes, a urinal crafted from a female figure, an eye staring out from the female...

“Two photo ops, dinner at the house and Ron Carter at the Bistro. Be here by 5:30.” I was late. We raced to St. Louis U and the rarefied atmosphere of the Beaux-Arts. A lady with a charming smile handed me a brochure. Richard found me at the Pinot Grigio and round cheeses. “Can't take you anywhere!” Was it my blazer-baseball cap ensemble? I finished the tasty stuff and drifted into the Michael Eastman Retrospective. Large photos, curiously dead (no people), nicely framed, an architectural feel. A cactus resembling a building ornament. Horses with a human countenance. (Why the long faces?) I asked Richard, “What about the sheep?” “We don’t have time.” Wham! Across town and two flights of steps for 70 Years of Martin Schweig at Webster U. Richard was all-in for Schweig. I tabbed Eastman.  Richard’s house was next. Pineapple chicken in the crock pot. Stretching on the sofa to Paul Butterfield. Sibelius after dinner to think it over. The Bistro has no signs proclaiming MAGNIFICEN...

“This is it?” asked Charline. “The map showed just beyond Fox Park,” replied Charlie. “Are you sure?” “Heard about it from a friend.” Unnoticed and unobserved in the swirling snow, Charlie and Charline stepped around a pile of rubbish in front of a snow-capped warehouse in Old Soulard. The heavy iron door clanged open to a large glowing cavern. Condom on Your Tongue boomed from the walls. Nude models in body paint roamed the floor, stirring the pot for the grand opening of Naughty Gras. Charlie gestured. "Now this is what I’ve been talking about.” “Why don’t we just leave?” “Yours?” “Oooooh no. We can stay here, I suppose. I have a treat for you,” taking off her coat and gloves. “Dang! I’m shocked by what you can fit in a Winslet!” “ You don’t like it?” “No, you look sexy. Can you breathe?” “Barely.” Four hundred revelers had flocked to the bacchanal, away from the veil of everyday life: sexy art and sensual costumes, a urinal crafted from a female figure, an eye staring out fro...

“We take this action not for the purpose of expanding the war into Cambodia, but for the purpose of ending the war in Vietnam and winning the just peace we all desire.” —President Richard M. Nixon, Address to the Nation on the Situation in Southeast Asia (April 30, 1970) Out in the boonies, away from the gaiety of modern life, one perilous day bred another in Vietnam, a confused and horrible country that I had zero interest in. Imagine my delight, my joy, when Capt. Martinez interviewed me for a job I never saw coming. I listened attentively: “Sgt. Barclay is going back to the world. We like your background, McClish. You’re high on our list. As of today, you're the company clerk if you want it and think you can handle it.” What would life be without fetid water, oppressive heat and rain, random bouts of violence, maddening insects, flies everywhere, loathsome diseases, and beefy loads?  “Uhm, yeah, I guess so. I mean sure, Captain. Yeah!” I tossed my trusty M79 grenade launcher, C...

My wife Babs heard about a history professor at the University of Minnesota who crafted wine cabinets, and thought it would be the perfect birthday present for me. We saw him one evening to pick the style, wood, and finish. A month later we brought the finished cabinet home in the back seat of the car. We were so impressed we decided to have a dinner party for it. Babs invited the professor, her shrink Paul Arnold, and his wife June. I brought the menu to Haskell's, a fashionable wine dealer, and came away with nine bottles and precisely when to drink them during the meal. The christening came on a warmish evening, beginning with Weingut Muller Privat Rheinriesling Spatlese.  Chateau Thivin Cote de Brouilly, was uncorked when Paul and Babs went to the kitchen. The professor sampled the rogue bleu while he stared at the Girl with Red Chair, Brick Wall, hanging over the fireplace: “She has a beautiful little body, hasn’t she?” June leaned in, wearing a clingy red jersey knit. “You sh...

She came in the rain offering a ride, her hair wet  the day I left Vietnam. “Get in, I've been expecting you.” We rode on, smoked cigarettes. Someone in back was sleeping. She stopped in the long green grass, clasped my wrist, and crowned my lips— “The thirteenth part has run.”