Pleasance

I was in NYC this weekend; every time I go to NYC, I go alone. Do I really want to be alone. No, I really don’t, but it seems to be my destiny right now.

I could stay home and be with the kids, the cats, and Monty; however, every now and then, NYC calls to me. It tells me that my life is largely in Massachusetts where I am a mostly a Mom and a technical writer. Yet it also tells me that from time to time, I can live my other life as an avid music lover, theatergoer, and person who sometimes likes to think that “Awake is the new sleep” at 2am in the morning.

A few weeks ago, the call from NYC came, and I answered like I always do.

She said, “Hello, Jean. One of your favorite musicians is playing on a Friday night. This time, stay the weekend and see a Broadway show.”
I said, “You’re right. Let’s do it!”
She said, “Life’s too short not to live a life you wished was part of your everyday life.”
I said, “You’re right again. Thanks, my friend.”

You had to love a city that called you regularly, made you feel special, and got you out of the house for a weekend when you needed it the most. NYC was my girl when it wasn't my mini-me, Iz. It was my city, even if while in my city, I didn’t know where the hell I was most times nor where I was going and often thought that any one of my trips might easily end up as an episode of “Law & Order.”

Last week, I told a friend about my impending trip. She asked, “Who are you going with?” I said, “Me, myself, and I.”

She asked, “All by yourself?” I said, “Yes.” She said, “You’re brave!”

I thought people who survived cancer, natural disasters, and Justin Bieber concerts were brave. I was not brave. I was only determined to not let the fact that I was alone prevent me from doing the things I loved the most, things that most others might feel more comfortable doing with a partner.

When I get on the train to NYC, I am always excited. But, I'd be a liar if I didn’t admit that I was always a bit fearful. While I planned, packed, and ventured out on my own for the trip, it was sometimes difficult looking at myself in the mirror while in the ladies room at the Amtrak station in Westwood, knowing that I was going to get on the train with just this girl, me.

In retrospect, I believe I was the only one of my friends who was willing and able to venture out on such a trip, which some might also see as a whim. In my defense, I am a Taurus; thus, I will be impulsive! Also, while I’m a responsible parent and gainfully employed professional, I am also a free spirit, prompting one friend to label me a “hippy chick” not too long ago. And, can you really be a hippy chick if you’re a Sephora devotee, love clothes, are fond of shoes, and shave your armpits regularly?!

After I attended a great concert on Friday night, I ventured out on Saturday afternoon to see La Cage aux Folles. I had loved the movie, “The Bird Cage,” and I knew the show would be even better. When waiting outside to enter the theater, a lovely woman sashayed out from a theater door dressed from head to toe in pink and rhinestones and wearing pink rhinestone stilettos.

She strutted down the sidewalk and spouted off joke after joke. I fell in love. Yes, I think I have a thing for men in drag, or maybe it’s just that I respect and admire someone who’s willing to be who they are regardless of anything else.

Near the end of the first half of the performance, Harvey Fierstein sang “I Am What I Am.” And, while he doesn’t have the voice of John Barrowman or Anthony Warlow, I cannot recall being so emotionally moved by a song since I heard “No One is Alone” when I saw “Into the Woods many years ago. I began to cry, and then I sat there feeling stupid, wondering why the song and the words had me sneaking a Kleenex and dabbing my eyes before anyone sitting next to me would know that the song had made me cry.

During intermission, I sat there and pondered my tears. It then struck me that I, too, had tried so hard to be myself for the last 10 years. I had only met with frustration, a terribly lonely frustration.

I was not a perfect person. Actually, I thought I was a pretty good person when I wasn’t cursing the women in the locker room at work for not turning out the light in the bathroom (my 70s energy-crisis upbringing) or wishing my neighbor contracted a bad case of head lice for choosing to use his power tools at 7am on a Saturday morning. To be honest, the first time he did that, I wished for imminent death.

When I left the theater, I passed a store with a handbag that caught my eye on my way into the theater. Did I need a bag? No. Did I go in telling myself, “I’d just look.” Yes.

Shopping in NYC somewhat intimidated me. At home, people rarely asked you if you need help with something. As soon as I walked into the Fossil store, a lovely young woman approached me and asked, “How are you doing today? Can I show you something?” I said, “No, thank you. I’m just looking,” because I needed to remind myself in the next two minutes that I didn’t need a handbag to be my friend just because I was alone.

I found the bag that caught my eye. I picked it up; it was lovely and very, as another friend would say, “me” because it was "hippy chick." The lovely young woman came back to me, and I thought, “It looks like I will not be alone while here.” She saw the bag I was holding and said, “Oh, I love that bag!”

She didn’t look like she was a hippy chick. In fact, she looked like she had only been parked in front of the TV watching “Sesame Street” a short 15 years ago. I saw another bag nearby, and I surrendered to the fact that I had a friend now who wasn’t a handbag yet had the same good taste I had, so I squealed, “Oooo. I like this one, too!”

She said, “Would you like to try them on?” I said, “Nah, well….” I knew I really liked my new friend, who wouldn’t leave me alone, so I caved and said, “Okay.”

We walked over to the corner of the store. I saw a full-length mirror, and I flung the bag I saw in the window over my shoulder. I said, “Oh, I love this.”

My friend said, “That’s one of my favorite bags, too.” I then said, “Oh, but I like this one.” She said, “I really like this one better,” pointing to the one that was in the window, and so did I.

I said, “Oh, I really shouldn’t. But, I love it, But I shouldn’t, but I really need some retail therapy, you know?” She laughed out loud, raised her hand, inviting my hand to a high-five and said, “Oh, I know!” I high-fived her, and now the Mom in me wanted to adopt this lovely young lady, who was going to make sure I walked out of the store with a new friend.

I said, “Okay. I want it.” She said, “I’ll put this back and go get you a new one.” She then asked, “What’s your name?” I said, “Jean.”

She said, “I’m Pleasance.” I said, “Pleasance, really? That’s a beautiful name.” She thanked me for saying so and was off to find my new friend, my hippy chick doppelganger purse.

Unfortunately, due to my recent rhinestone overexposure at the theater, something sparkly caught my eye. Okay, that’s a lie. Sparkly things always catch my eye, especially when they’re pink.

I saw a watch that suddenly wanted to be my friend, too. “Pssst. Come over here. Try me on. I’m so you!” it said. (Objects often talk to me. Do they talk to you, too? Just asking.) By then, Pleasance had come back and handed me my hippy chick doppelganger purse wrapped in plastic.

I said, pointing to the watch, “I love that. Can I try that on?” Pleasance laughed and then said, “You’re so funny!” I then asked, “Pleasance, what are you doing to me?” And she giggled.

Pleasance was wearing the same watch my friend, Suze had. I loved Suze's watch, but I knew that I couldn’t buy the same watch; it was the girlfriend code. You could not buy the same thing a girlfriend had if you saw her on a regular basis; this was just an unwritten rule that I always liked to follow.

Pleasance strapped the watch on my wrist, but not before mentioning that the band I had was interchangeable with a rainbow of other colored bands. I said, “Oh, I can change the plastic band.” She was then quick to point out, “Rubber not plastic.” It seemed as though “plastic” was a four-letter word in this store, and Pleasance's job description said that as an employee she must make it clear that rubber ruled and plastic was so not cool.

I tilted my wrist forward; I tilted my wrist backward. The rhinestones twinkled. I looked up at Pleasance and smiled, and she twinkled too.

I sighed and said, “Oh, dear. I’ll take this, too.” Pleasance said, “Let me get you a new one. You can go over to the wall and pick out a box for it.” I felt silly going to pick out a box for a watch, but I also felt silly for being totally enthralled by pink and rhinestones twice in one day – first, a transvestite and now a watch.

I got my pink, white, and blue box covered with birds, and I went over to Pleasance who was at the register. I looked at the wallets, I gasped, and I said, “Oh, those are so cool, too. In Massachusetts, the department stores don’t carry all of this.” Like a good friend, she threw a catalog into my bag and said, “You can order online!”

I laughed. She asked, “Are you here visiting for the weekend?” I said I was and that I had just seen La Cage aux Folles. I added, “It was so good,” and then she said, “I really want to see that!”

She then asked, “Are you here on your own?” I felt a small jab in my heart, and I said, “Yes. I am.” She asked, “And how’s that going?”

Since Pleasance was now an accidental BFF in my middle of my afternoon, I said quite honestly, “It’s okay.” I think she put “retail therapy” and the tone of my voice in an equation and summarized my mood. She said quite heartfelt, “Maybe next time, it’ll be different.”

I said, “Maybe it will.” I paid for my purchases, Pleasance handed me a large paper bag, and she wished me a great rest of the day. I did likewise; I turned around to leave, took a few steps, then I turned back. I caught Pleasance’s eye, and I whispered, “Thank you so much,” and she sparkled like she was wrapped up in pink and rhinestones.

Ironically, "pleasance" is a feeling of pleasure or delight. I had delighted in transvestites, hand bags, pink, and rhinestones yesterday afternoon. Amazingly, I had experienced half of that delight with a real Pleasance. And, most importantly, I would take pleasure in being alone until there's a different "next time," which was a hopeful delight I took from Pleasance. ♥