She said...

I stood next to her as she peered down thru a veil of tears at the chalk outline on the pavement. The drops hit the cement like ink from the nib of a fountain pen dripping on the parchment. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing when I looked over at her. The mascara that had streamed down her face left her looking like Alice Cooper. I could hear "Welcome to My Nitemare" emanating from her cranium. It was then that I heard her mutter between sobs, in Greek the only language that she knew. She said, oh God, it still tugs at my heart strings. She, she mumbled "phi beta kappa" which loosely translates to "I would have loved him anyways". As she said it she spewed out a mix of mucous and baklava. A piece landed on my forearm. Not wanting to be rude I pretended not to notice. The more I ignored the more it bored into my flesh and burn into my blood stream. Trying to forget about it I stared down at the outline.

Something wasn't right. The blood stain showed the entry wound to be on the right hand side. The chalk drawing depicted that a gun had been held in his right hand. But he was left handed! His strength was in his right, but dexterity in his left. I learned this the hard way. I walked in one day to see him sitting at the end of the bar. The bartender told me he had been there for eight hours. He had started the day sullen and worked his way to surly. I suppose that is what eight hours of nonstop thinking will do to a man. I walked up and said "Hello old chap" only to be greeted with a right hook. From that day on I have wondered two things. First, how can some one think for eight solid hours and land a punch so squarely on the jaw? Second, will I ever be able to blow bubbles again? My suspicions were to grow even more when I saw the crime scene photos. He wasn't smiling. Had he done himself in he would have done so with a smile just to give us cause for thought. He oftened smiled for no apparent reason to those outside of his head. But back to the present.

I looked over again at her tear stained face wondering if she was masking her emotions. Were those actually tears of joy being camoflauged with sobs? My head was reeling. I was overwhelmed with theories. I was starting to sweat and needed to sit. I directed her to a near by bench. As I sat down on her lap passers by stared in wide eyed wonderment. Some made comments such as "Peter Ustinov is trying to eat Audrey Hepburn". There were multiple Mr Peanut and Colonel Klink mockings. In this day and age of tolerance one is not free to use a monacle. It was not as if I was a bear on a unicycle wearing a fez. Noting my discomfort she invited me to her home in Palisades.

It was a sprawling estate with the main house, guest house and pool spead out over two acres. Very park like with topiary trees in the shape of old time actors. She directed me to the pool as she went in to get lemonade. She came out wearing one of those new fangled bathing suits that revealed the entire calf and foot, and the peg at the end of the other leg. Her arms were bare from the shoulders down. As she approached the only option I had to disguise my excitement was to jump into the pool. "Semper Fi?" she queried. Not being up on my Greek I figured she was either asking if I liked sushi, or if I always swam in my clothes. I laughed a nervous laugh and said yes. She walked over and cranked up the Victrolla. It played Little Feats "Fat Man In the Bathtub". Edison was mocking me. I vowed on that day to collaborate on a song with Johnny Cash called "A Girl Named Alva".

She walked over to the edge of the pool and extended a glass of lemonade to me. As I stepped out she put her hand on my shoulder, leaned in and whispered in my ears those three little words that to this day sends shivers down my spine. She said "Phi Beta Kappa". I would have loved him anyways.

The above is an excerpt from THE TRINI LOPEZ DIARIES

Actually where it all came from I really don't know.