Lost: Passion on
Hudson Street
by Walt
Giersbach
I’m
desperate for help from anyone who can find my
girlfriend. She was last seen stalking out of a
club in New York’s Meat Packing District.
I’m not sure which bar, but that’s not
important because she’s not there now and
I’m not allowed in anymore either.
Her name is
Caroline. Caro-line. Remember that, because there
are a lot of Carolyns out there. Caro-line
is someone’s idea of a joke at a girl’s
school in Connecticut, but her folks deserve the
blame for that.
Caroline’s
last words—to me anyway—had to do with
lust. She was against it. She said, “My
body’s not a Game Boy.” I thought it
was the martinis talking, but she made it clear
it was love—not lust—she wanted. Maybe
she’s posting a reward for lost love, so if
you see any relevant notes taped to lamp posts
you could notify me.
Love and lust
are sometimes confused because both words start
with L and have the same number of letters.
Magazine ads shoot for lust, however. Lust goes
to the head of the line every time. Nobody would
pay seven bucks for a magazine offering love
unless it was making a pitch for adopting cats. I
thought Caroline understood that, even if the
magazine cost a dollar.
Love is full
of self-control and responses measured in
eyedroppers. Love grows wrinkles before you
recognize it’s tapping at the window.
It’s what your folks are working on if
they’re up to anything at their age.
Ah, but lust
leaves a trail of bra and panties and locks
decorous behavior out in the hallway. The
Fed’s Ben Bernanke would tell you lust is
critical for stimulating the economy, which is a
substantial part of our American Way. Would
Pfizer make billions selling a pill for devotion?
Would Victoria’s Secret send out catalogs to
make people like you? I don’t think so.
I told
Caroline, “Love doesn’t get any sleep
when carnal pleasure’s working overtime.”
That’s when she grabbed her pocketbook and
hiked out the door.
Caroline
should know love is second best. How can you rely
on something so yielding and fuzzy? Half of the
parking meters you choose are broken, you
don’t know if the voting machine got your
vote right, your iPhone stops working as soon as
the warranty ends—and these are
scientifically designed things! On the other hand,
lust is a slot machine that pays off with a
thousand coins of pizzazz and makes your headache
go away.
Caroline is
about as tall as my chin, wears a crooked smile,
and her long hair looks different every time I
see her so I can’t really describe it. Oh,
and she has the greatest looking legs this side
of a chorus line.
So, if anybody
finds Caroline, please ask her to reconsider and
come back. I have the greatest respect for all of
her body parts, including her heart. I’m
offering dedicated allegiance to rollicking
through life together, an eternal ride on an out-of-control
train. And I take back what I said about renting
her body. I’m thinking more now of a long-term
lease.
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