His Thomas Crown Approach

[AMERICONORMAN]

It is the way he came into my life that makes him unforgettable, he who is omnipresent still. He sat next to me and said, “You’re pretty,” and some other things. My immediate feeling was jealousy because I wondered whether he did that often. And then I felt disgust at the idea that he would hold me in such low regard as to be treated like a floozy sexual tramp. And then he started to speak some more. Struggling to hear his words, I also wondered how I could bear to take our meeting into the next day, letting him not be with me always, traveling and mingling with the rest of the city, perhaps approaching others with the same words, and thus betraying me.

I knew I loved his audacity. And I loved the fact that I was wishing the same thing in that moment, that he speak to me and tell me I was pretty. I let him look at me for a long moment, he purposely silent, holding me in his eyes as some work of art, perhaps comparing my nose to my chin, and my cheeks to my lips, closing his eyes in one quick moment, biting his lips occasionally, but mainly just looking with an angelic smile on his face, like a being who has just seen his deity. And while he did that, and I tried not to look at him in the same way, I had visions of him in a dungeon I would make; I would have him chained to the walls, and when I allowed it I would have him tied to my bed posts, and handcuffed to the metal bar inside the shower stall. If he was going to dare to look at me as if I was his commander, then I would envision states in which I was his master. Such visions I could not hold in consciousness for much longer though.

By them I knew that I wanted this man already. I had to accept the tantalization within my soul. I smiled at him and let his ideas enter and mingle with my subconscious. I would treat him as a man who has come so far, a man who took his opportunity, and who executed it well. Thus spoke Don Diego.

“… It is perhaps unfortunate to the success of this endeavor with your heart and great regard as the goal that you do not seem to remember having seen me before. Perhaps it was the black fedora and the dark black sunglasses that I wore. But I surely remember you. You wore your hair tied in a pony tail that day. I remember how that accentuated your neck and throat. I can see by your eyes that that comment does not bother you, nor would the statement about me seeking you out for long-term co-habitation.

“But at this moment you know nothing of my soul, except that I sometimes elect and prefer to wear a black fedora and dark sunglasses. Thus what mean these seeming brutish and carnivorous compliments from me? He who speaks so knows nothing of your fundamental magnificence. But I did hear you speak, I did grasp your meaning.

“It was actually she who spoke first, the woman in pink on her cellular phone. She told a Charlie on the other end that she would love to watch Thomas Crown Affair with him because it was her favorite movie. She hung up the line saying that eight-thirty would be fine.

“And then you spoke to her; (I was sitting two seats behind you). ‘I love that movie too,’ you said. And she said, ‘Crown’s attitude is so sexy!’

“‘Yes; such a touching story.’

“‘I love how everything fits together tightly, and yet there are still surprises and suspense.’ was her comment.

“‘Do you remember the character played by Faye Dunaway?’

“‘Yes, the shrink.’

“‘Didn’t you love it how she laughed at Crown’s romance situation? What’s that line? If she is anything like you she’ll never know what she’s lost until it is too late. But she’s not laughing in a mean way, as if she resents Crown, and lusts for his failure. She admires Crown, and perhaps does not know why he is in therapy. But she laughs at him as if she knows he could be greater, and therefore, his predicament is silly, and thus simple to get over. Dunaway pulls it off beautifully, even with hysterical laughter.’

“‘Thank you,’ she said to you, ‘I’ll point it out to Charlie tonight.’ She soon got off the streetcar.

“I was surprised that you know about that issue. I know that you cried and laughed when the painting was given to her on the heliport. I know; you don’t even have to admit it: I know. I did too by the time she got to the ticket counter. I know that it is impossible for you to hate a man like Thomas Crown. But you love more about him than just his financial wealth. You love that aspect of his character that would achieve the right to let a cherished Renoir fall into the fire. You love a man who could set the price of the stakes of the game he is playing—but life is not a game—who would toss away his fortune for the chance to win the right to kiss your lips forever, if such a privilege were the right and good thing to want.”

I simply asked him a poignant question, “So what do you want?”

“I have the rest of the evening free. I own a copy. I live along this streetcar line. Will you agree to watch it with me, right now?”

“I own a copy too.”

“Do you have the DVD, with the special features?”

“No. But I was going to go home and cook; I’m hungry.”

“I can offer to make you a hot kosher corned beef sandwich and a Russian Salad, giant pickle on the side of course.”

“Can you make French fries too?”

“Yes. I wasn’t sure whether you would approve of such a thing. Yes, of course I’d be honored to fry you fries.”

“Sounds divine.” was what I decided to answer.

THE END