Dispatches From Paradise. Shelly Gitlow

can’t you stay where you are?”

      “Alphonse’s kids won’t let me. They kicked me out. The mercenary little shits are putting his condo up for sale.”

      I’m sure there’s another side to this, but it’s not worth pursuing. How do I get out of this without seeming like a terrible ogre?

      “How about Marjorie? She’s your good friend. Did you try her?”

      “She was my only gal pal, but I haven’t spoken to her in years. Not since she hooked up with that loser, Herman.”

      She doesn’t have an ounce of compassion. Marjorie married a much older man with heart problems.

      “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay here, Mother. I have my hands full with Darcy.”

      “I can help you. Darcy listens to me.”

      Unfortunately, that’s right. That’s all I need, the genetically blessed twosome ganging up on me.

      “I have nowhere to go. I’m begging you. Please.”

      I take a deep breath and blow it out. Claudette puts her hands together, in praying mode. She knows me too well.

      “Pretty please?”

      I can’t say no to that. What the hell. I’m already dealing with Darcy. If I really want to start a new life, I should work out my issues with my mother too. I may regret it, but why not do it all at once? Who knows? Maybe we’ll find out we all have a lot in common, see the world similarly and help each other (fat chance!).

      “Okay. You can stay for a little while.”

      “Goody. It’ll be like a pajama party.”

      My sentiments exactly. Not! Is it time for everyone to leave yet? She takes her ridiculous gun-shaped lighter and a pack of cancer sticks out of her bejeweled, fringed, leopard-skin purse and starts to light up. I shake my head.

      “You’re still smoking. I thought you quit. You can’t do it in the house.”

      “I did stop. But when I’m stressed out, it’s not easy. Don’t worry. I’ll smoke outside.”

      She heads for the door. I try to set some limits.

      “And don’t throw the butts in the bushes or on the walkway.”

      She gives me a mock salute. That is so unfair. I’m trying to assert my authority in MY house, and with one gesture, she makes me feel like a militaristic jerk. I can’t let her have that much control. I take a deep breath. This should be an interesting opportunity for a “growth experience” (if only I can maintain that perspective).

      –TWO–

       Claudette

      PAJAMA PARTY

      I’m in Alphonse’s arms. They’re not the arms of a hunky stud muffin, but he’s pretty hot for a sixty-four-year-old. We’re in his dance studio, doing what I like to call the “tango with a bango.” It’s a private lesson for his favorite student. As the music plays and we glide across the room, Alphonse gazes at me with love and, more importantly, lust.

      “You make me feel so beautiful, Fonsie.”

      “No words, mi amor. We must communicate with our bodies.”

      He nibbles on my ear, and I start to feel something down below. What can I say? I’ve been this way since puberty and I don’t see any signs of it changing. Nor would I want it to. Sex is life. If I start losing interest, start writing my eulogy.

      I notice that Fonsie’s a little flushed.

      “Are you . . .”

      He reprimands me with a stern look. I love it when a man takes charge, so I lock my lips. Keeping quiet is hard for me. It’s not my nature. Alphonse holds me tightly and dips me. When I come up, I’m dizzy from the dip and very turned on.

      “Claudie, why didn’t we meet thirty years ago?”

      I smile, but don’t say that I agree. I’ve had way too much fun with too many people to have tied myself down to one. I was married for a short time, a long time ago. One of those quickie, don’t-really-count marriages.

      My father forced me to tie the knot with Elizabeth’s father. I was fifteen and didn’t even realize I was pregnant until it was too late for an abortion. I knew I didn’t love him, but at least it was a way out of that oppressive household. Looking back, I’m not sure which was worse, my father’s iron hand or my husband’s limp dick.

      Maybe I can coast out with Alphonse and not have to find any more lovers. He does a pretty good job of keeping up with me. That’s not as difficult as it used to be. Seven times a day is too much for most men. The truth is most men are all talk and little action.

      When I was modeling and doing coke, I had a stable of guys and gals to party with. I prefer men, but not having to worry about getting pregnant was very liberating. Pretty much anything is okay with me. I don’t judge and don’t want to be judged. Why can’t everyone be like me?

      Anyway, things change. I’ve slowed down. But maybe Fonsie and I will break our record today. We tango over to the couch. He sits and I kneel in front of him. Fonsie’s already somewhat firm.

      “That’s what I like, a man with a big hard cock.”

      That arouses him even more. I take him in my mouth.

      We’ve been together for nine years. That’s like a lifetime for a normal person. The day we met I went to the movies to see The Notebook starring the gorgeous James Garner and fabulous Gena Rowlands. It was very romantic and sad and reminded me that I am so right to live my life to the max, every day. You never know when you’ll lose your marbles or become a vegetable.

      As I was walking out, I noticed this really nice-looking man who had been crying. We smiled at each other and struck up a conversation. He confided that he recently lost his wife. Over coffee I helped him realize that it was time to get on with his life. We ended up at Fonsie’s place and had incredible sex, three times. I moved in the next day, and we’ve been going at it ever since.

      So I’m really into doing Fonsie when I hear “My Way” coming from my cell phone. Fuck me. Why didn’t I turn it off? I pull it out of my bra and look at it.

      “Shit. It’s Liz. That girl has the worst timing.”

      My life would have been so different if she were never born. I wasn’t meant to be a mother. Some people shouldn’t be parents, and I’m one of them. Most of them won’t admit it, but I’m honest. The whole thing was forced on me, and I had to make the best of it. What did I know about raising a kid?

      “But Claudie, she’s your daughter. You should take it.”

      He’s such a nice person.

      “Okay, okay.”

      Alphonse rips off my bra and starts playing with my nipples. That doesn’t make me want to talk to my daughter, but I do my best. I cannot be responsible for what comes out of or into my mouth. I’m somewhere else. I put the phone to my ear.

      “Can’t talk now. Giving head.”

      I shut the stupid thing off and throw it across the room.

      “Claudie, maybe she needs . . .”

      “Who cares what she needs. How about what I need?”

      “Ay, mi amor. I can’t deny you.”

      Alphonse grabs a goat mask from behind the couch and puts it on. We’re a little kinky sometimes. Nothing sick or dangerous, but occasionally something unusual to keep things interesting.

      “You’re a horny old goat.”

      “You like it?”

      “You know I do.”

      I