Place of Refuge

Place of Refuge

01 March 2011

Charlie Sheen and Me

Over the last few days,
I have been continually reminded of the fact
that once upon a time,
I met Charlie Sheen.


I met Charlie Sheen.

It was in a grocery store in Malibu.
I was with an old friend of mine, who
had asked me to help her drive home.

"Driving home" in this case meant
driving from the East Coast to the West Coast,
a journey we took
in  a Drive-Away car, a red Mustang convertable,
packed with someone else's huge collection
of shoes.

My friend's "home" was a rather ordinary ranch-styled house
that happened to be in Sheen's neighborhood.
It belonged to a 
a wealthy plastic surgeon.
She "managed" it for him, and
she was his mistress.

All across the country, she kept telling me
she intended to break up with him,
as soon as she was back on her feet.

(Before I go any further with this tale,
I would like to say: 
she did.)

Anyway, so there was I,
grocery shopping
in Malibu,
on a hot-steamy July day.

Now, I'll tell you:
one of the reasons you have not seen
my face
is because, at my advanced age,
I'm very bashful - in fact I always have been -
and I'm also very self-conscious
of the arti-face
of it all.  At various times in my current life,
I've also been singularly unimpressed
by people who are overly impressed
with themselves.
So I have made no attempt to look appealing
to them.

I was in that frame of mind
when I met Charlie Sheen.

"Oh, look, there's Charlie," 
my friend had giggled,
and I looked,
and there was Charlie.

Given how old I know I was at the time,
I'd wager he was maybe 24,
in shorts,
and sauntering towards the exit,
carrying a six-pack,
and slightly glassy eyed.

 "Isn't he cute?"
my friend squeeled.
He was.
Sort of.

We went to say hi;
he gave me a quick once over,
a wink, and a smile;
I remember how much I was sweating,
how I probably smiled back 
and said "hi" before glancing out
at a gangly teen-ager
pushing carts across the steaming parking lot,
and Charlie and my girlfriend
exchanged flirtatious small talk,
and then we parted.

I will admit:
At various times since then, I have thought
I should have given Charlie a little more
than the time of day,
but I didn't.

Today, though, I'm very proud
of my naieve wisdom,
because now I can make the following
claim, and it is
an absolute truth:
I am a member of a very elite and, by all reports, very very small group:
that being that handful of women
in the world
who met Charlie Sheen
and didn't end up
in bed with him.

1 comment:

Debra She Who Seeks said...

Say it loud and proud, girl! Cute story!