Well, I'm in my favorite Dunkin' Donuts, crying in my coffee, when one of the other regulars sits down next to me.Well, I'm in my favorite Dunkin' Donuts, crying in my coffee, when one of the other regulars sits down next to me. This guy, Mr. Harper, hung there, too, and was always polite but not quite friendly, keeping his distance. I could deal with that. He wasn't like the sleaziods always coming over and drooling down my neck. He asks what's wrong and I tell him. I didn't have any friends, and after almost a year on my own, it felt nice to have somebody to talk to. We talked and talked and he offered to buy me lunch down at HarborPlace. It was a beautiful day and the food was great and Mr. Harper was so concerned about my welfare. His timing couldn't have been better. FOR WHAT? His proposition. HE PROPOSITIONED YOU? No, that's just it, HE didn't. At least, not for what you think. Here's this older guy, who looks like he could be a college professor or something, and he's being nice to me -- without any hint of coming on to me. And I'm beginning to feel better. I still feel safe and now I'm actually laughing at some of the funny things he's saying. We spent the day at the harbor, and he even takes me on a boat ride. Over dinner, in a `Little Italy' restaurant with candles on the tables, he asks me where I'm staying. Immediately, my defenses come up. Why's he want to know? He tells me he knows a place out in the county. He said it's clean and cheap and he knows the owner who would keep an eye out for my safety. I ask him why I'd want to move out of the city and he smiles and says that he might have a good-paying job for me, if I want it. Here comes the proposition. He tells me a friend of his owns a couple of clubs, two on "The Block" and two more in the county. He says if I would dance (`AND ONLY DANCE, SANDY,' he says), I could soon make enough money to really live on my own. I tell him no, but he's not done his sales pitch, yet. |