She was beautiful, not like me–maybe not even like you. You are the most beautiful person in the world. But her body… She was shapely.
“You have such a nice figure,” older women told her. You could tell even though she was wearing clothes.
Her face was beautiful as well. She wore makeup and worked for a while at a high end beauty salon. All this to say she was desirable. And widely desired.
She was the finest of the fine, the one percent. My second husband met her and shook. I hated how he wanted her–I tried to keep them apart. Now things would be different, but I was very young.
We went out to restaurants, and I was invisible. Every waiter flirted with her. She wasn’t just a person–she was a prize, something symbolic.
We met at school. She had studied Italian and had just come back from Italy. She was rich–her dad was a neurosurgeon and supported her. But of course he wielded nasty power over her in exchange.
She had a boyfriend, and he was crazy about her. He and I didn’t get along. One night I’d like to tell you about.
I was living with my first husband before we married. The beautiful bestie was older than me, done with school, living in LA at her parents’ house.
She was in love with David Lynch, the filmmaker. He did Lost Highway, Dune, Eraserhead. David Lynch was being interviewed at the big modern art museum, and his film Lost Highway was being screened. She got us tickets. She wanted me to love David Lynch
I went down to LA and stayed with her. That night she was sitting in a chair on the patio of her parents’ backyard. I was 21.
She was troubled, and I think I knew why. She had her boyfriend, and I had mine–monogamous. It would be our first time sleeping together in the same room. I had wanted to have sex with her for more than a year.
She stared at me. I tried to talk to her about other things. But she stared at me in a way that silenced me.
I think we were deciding. She saw me as a good person and loyal. I wanted her,
but I was afraid of destroying her respect for me by fucking her.
Next day she went to work, and I went swimming in the pool in her parents’ backyard. I read one of her books– something about Twin Peaks, a tv show by David Lynch. I thought we’d have another chance some other time, but we never really did.