Chapter 11
A Night out with New Shoes, Beverly Feldman’s of course.

This STORY is so remarkable to me that after calling two of my friends, Laura at midnight right after it happens and Lucy, the morning I woke up, I decided this should be my next diary entry.

Last night I went to an art exhibit of modern Russian painters combined with Spanish classical artists all from the Alicante area. I go for the networking, especially since I just found out that my curated email list of 10,000 fans had been corrupted and has been going to 10,000 men in Europe with bars, discos, resorts, and garages. That is how my week started off on Monday. After that discovery, things calmed down as I had no internet for the entire week, after my IT team decided to give me a new package. You know that saying if its not broken, don’t fix it? Well put that up on Instagram and Pinterest. And speaking of Instagram please never unfollow me, it is so emotionally crushing, even if you are a tattoo artist or can give me 10,000 free followers.

The best part of the show was I heard one of the Russians artists had just left his girlfriends apartment, had stolen all her money, and jewelry and was at the Alicante airport trying to escape. The police were there, and he could not make an appearance at the gallery. Wow! My kind of guy! His paintings now had a new kind of appeal.

So I walked around showing everyone my new shoes, which I have to tell you thrilled and delighted me as it was the first time I had had on “new “ shoes for a while and they were really comfortable. And especially Gorgeous! I met a few new people who had friends that were real estate agents and fortunately had my iPad so I could show them my house on the spot Finca Belón, but of course it would embarrassingly not download….

This isn’t even the STORY! It is the prelude to the STORY. I am dressed up, made up and out of the house. After the show, I decide to go to my favorite place El Portal and have a tapa. It is a great place to go alone, and they treat me like royalty (as they should) and I sit at the bar.

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El Portal, the perfect place.

Four Spanish women to my left, and an interesting man to my right. He starts to get up and says “What a shame I have to leave such a beautiful woman and sit with my friends!”, and I say “ You have no idea what a big mistake you are making and what you will be missing!”

So he stays. Must have been the shoes! Actually he wanted me to make him a pair to wear with his black silk kimono robe for “at home”.

It’s interesting what these bar interviews give you, or what info I managed to pull out.

He was half Swiss and half I don’t know what. I think he said Spanish but acted much more Italian. Was living in Alicante and said he had several houses, was well dressed and had on very nice shoes, long and narrow if you get what I mean. I saw a gold watch peeking out under his cuff, thin, could not see the brand. His hair was grey, thinning on the top and long on the sides, nice.

I ordered, he ordered. All small stuff. It was great conversation. I talked about me and he kept telling me how beautiful I was, how wonderful my smile was, how sensual I was. My conversation was would you like to buy my house. I have no luck with Spanish men, they are all intimidated by me and I have had only 3 boyfriends in 40 years, all married. I did say my current one was great in bed and very rich (Chapter 10).

I have to tell you I felt like I was at the Four Seasons Bar in NYC. It was just so amazing to meet a man this sophisticated, speaking such a perfect English. I asked him what he did before he retired and he said you know Geneva, Banking. With every sentence I was getting more beautiful. I gave him my card, not that he asked, but of course I tried to show him my house, didn’t quite download, but enough so he got the idea. He, like everyone else, knew someone who could sell it. I think I am the only one in the world that doesn’t know someone that can sell it. He loved my shoes, and I told him how famous I was, why not?

Then after an hour he says he is going out for a cigarette. “ Oh that is the kiss of death “ and really it is. I was married to a compulsive smoker, and now am allergic to smoke. While he was out, and I really thought never coming back, I got quite friendly with my buddies to my left… then he returns, snuggles up and kisses me on the cheek and I get a living cyclone of smoke. Awful, so awful.

I ordered my own desert and then I wanted to leave. I say in the sweetest way, with absolutely no misunderstanding, as this is a wealthy retired banker from Geneva, and a true European gentleman, with or without smoke damage. I am going to order my check, but I don’t want to embarrass you, if you have plans on inviting me? Meanwhile the hour and half we were there, he never offered a drink, so he says in perfect English “ I don’t want to feel pressured to pay for you” if I want to invite you I will, but not under pressure.” The some total of what I ate and drank with dessert, was 15 euros. That is like having a Big Mac special in the States. The check came and he said, “Anyway you are a rich woman, and I responded, “Yes I am, would you like me to pay for you?” .

So it is definitively a girlfriend “analyze that” story. But I did turn to my bar friends and said: “Can you believe he did not pay for my tapa?” Tapa is appetizer, not even a meal. They, as I was, were horrified. I left and stopped to say good night to Samu, my favorite DJ and repeated the story all over again. He said don’t feel bad he is in here every night and does the same thing to every woman, all talk all night long, and never puts his hand in his pocket, except maybe to touch himself. LOL.

 

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