At one mansion, a pretty docent gave me a private tour as well as her telephone number, urging me to call her. She was attractive, and brought to mind Lauren's prediction of a lust-fulfilling trip across country. I chuckled to myself about what a remote possibility that was.At another mansion, I walked to the waterfront and scattered an envelope of Karen's ashes. The act of leaving part of her behind in the ocean pulled me into a melancholy mood. I had to jar my thinking to a happier time with Karen. I chose to recall when we'd taken a weekend trip to Cape Cod. We'd rented a summer home for four days; all we could afford. We had ideal weather with an offshore breeze the entire time. In my most vivid memory from that trip, Karen ran with glee along the beach screaming in joy like a child a third her age flying a kite she'd bought. In those moments, on that beach, I wondered if she'd ever been happier. I closed my eyes for a few minutes and pictured the scene again. I'd never forget. He wasn’t there, my heart sank. I must have went back a dozen times, before I gave up. Filled with disappointment I sat in my room. I thought, I can leave a note! Carefully I started writing one. After a few tried, I finally settled on, “stopped by to see you, I’ll try again tomorrow night.” When it came time to sign my name, I paused, I couldn’t give him my actual name. I needed a girl name. “Crissy, that’s a good one,” I thought. So I signed it that way, with a little heart over the “I”. I slipped out of my room and slid it under his door.The next day seemed to drag by. Finally I went home and changed, repeating the same process as the night before. I again stood before his door. Timidly I knocked. The door quickly opened. Before me stood the man from two nights ago. He smiled, “Hi Crissy, come in cutie, my name is Charles, but my friends call me Hollywood.” Hesitantly I entered, trying to remain as calm as I possibly could. No one had seen me like this, except this guy. Hollywood?.
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