See that tiny slip of a thing, that delicate, refined old lady, sitting in the corner at The Beanhouse, daintily sipping her coffee and eating her gooey cinnamon roll? That’s Michael; she’s a regular. And I love Michael. She always accessorizes herself with something unusual, handcrafted — a carved necklace from Guatemala, an embroidered scarf from India — and she’s always on her way to the nearby art museum, where she is a docent. This is her routine every day … with the coffee and the dainty and the gooey. Obviously, Michael is some kind of magical cinnamon sprite to be able to do gooey while being dainty and staying tiny.
She looks frail almost, but she is one zesty old lady. She lives like she really means it. She relishes everything. I love to watch her, secretly, as she finishes her gooey gob of cinnamon roll, smushing every last buttery bite beneath her fork. She dabs the crumbs from her lips, waves a wrinkled hand to me and grins, declaring, “Mmm-mm-MMM! Tracey, that was so good!” Then, as she scurries off to her gig at the museum, we always have a brief conversation and she always has something interesting to say.
Like yesterday.
I was telling her about the drama camp I do every summer. Her eyes grew large as she smiled and said, “Oh, Tracey. My father taught drama, too.”
“Really?” I replied.
“Oh, yes! And do you know who one of his students was?”
“No! Who??”
I was dying.
“William Holden.”
Was she kidding me?? William Holden? WILLIAM freakin’ HOLDEN?? I felt giddy and grabbed the back of a chair for support.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “And do you want to hear something else?”
(Did I ever!?!)
“All the teachers there thought he was just a pretty boy no-talent. Except for my father. He would always say to them, ‘No. NO! You watch him. Just watch. You’ll see. He’s got something. You’ll see’.”
Wow. WOW.
I sputtered this word several more times, slack-jawed and senseless. Michael chuckled and patted my arm as she walked by.
“Yeah. Now think about THAT.”
My mouth was still hanging open as she grinned and left me.
WOW.
See why I love Michael?
!!!
I LOVE William Holden. Awesome story! And I love Michael, too. 🙂
red — I heard some more of the story today when I saw Michael.
She said, “My father wasn’t surprised when he became such a star. As a matter of fact,” she said, “they become quite good friends. But then, well, they both became drunks.”
It sounds so sad, but somehow the way she said it was hysterical. And it’s not REALLY funny, but I wish you could have heard her!! She just looked at me and shrugged and ate her cinnamon roll. I had to go in the back so I could laugh!
WHAT is wrong with me — laughing that her dad and William Holden were drunks together??!!
And I LOVE William Holden, too, so it’s not funny — and yet IT WAS!!
What stories her father must have had!! The drunken exploits
— Holden just was in the grip of that addiction, and it killed him in the most gruesome way possible. It hurts me to think of how he died.
I know! He might have survived! It’s awful to contemplate.
I love little old ladies; they rock. You hear the BEST stories from them.
I’m convinced that it’s feistiness (and the ability to enjoy a good cinnamon bun without whining about how it’s going straight to their hips) that carries them through and lets them get to be little old ladies.
ricki — I think you’re probably right — on both points!