Yesterday I had left the chiropractor and was walking down the street at the border of West Hollywood and Beverly Hills when I saw something interesting. A beautiful smiling woman with shining blond hair, dressed in a sharply tailored black suit, was standing on the sidewalk beside a half million dollar car talking with a middle aged, not yet middle class man from Mexico. Blonds with millions don't smile at poor immigrants, in my experience, so I wondered what was going on.
I spent the day as usual at a cafe, read a nice email accusing me of shameless self-promotion - actually I read only this title, deleting the message unread - and set off on the long walk home. Along the way I stopped at another cafe, for no particular reason. And while I am looking for more interesting email messages I look up to see who has just taken the table next to mine, and it was a young woman who looked strangely familiar.
- I think I saw you somewhere else today.
- That's possible. I am always driving around.
- Where are you going?
- It's my job.
- You're a driver.
- For a family. I do errands too.
- You drive a Rolls Royce.
- Robertson Blvd. I looked very carefully at you. What happened in your life that got you here?
- A bad marriage. A bad economy. I have a motorcycle parts business, but I had to take another job to keep it going and wait for times to improve. I work all the time. I wish I had another life sometimes. But wouldn't have done anything different.
- I can match your bad marriage, and did a little business in old watches. And you are from Los Angeles, like me? And you like it here?
- And you are still wearing a wedding ring? Me too.
The wording of her email address is a bit of a shock, and she talks tough about competitors who try to steal her business name. A very elegant biker girl.