THE STORY OF ELIZA PT. 1 OF 2

Nothing beats summer in New York City for my friends and I. Days and nights filled with an abundance of friends, laughs, ladies, music, parties, food, and tons of free top shelf liquor and merch all Thanx to the wonderful marketing folks vying for our loyalty for their client’s brand of the moment and inturn your patronage. They've dubbed us the cool kids, so all these marketing folk think if we like it, then you’ll buy it. The girls and the wannabes think if the marketing folk like us, maybe they should be around us. Therefore, those parties tend to be filled with some of this city’s best draft picks looking to be our first pick. We are more than obliged to check out their stats then give them a tryout. All the while hoping to find our next superstar player to lead our team to the championship. Sorry for all the sports references, The NFL draft is here again and all we’ve been doing for the past week is hitting draft parties, it must all be sinking in. Guess those marketing dollars are working.

So a couple of years ago at one of those top shelf “my brand is better than that brand” events for some brand that I swear taste and looks just like the brand from the night before I met a girl. Let me rephrase, I noticed a girl. She was the complete opposite of anyone I, or anyone who knew me, would have picked for me. She was short, light, young, immature, ill dressed for my world and my future (tomboy), too perky, and did I mention short? She amused me though. The first time I met her, she was hopping up and down for attention while I was having a conversation with her friend (who by the way was closer to “my type.”) It was funny to me. I wanted to tap her on her head and tell her to go sit somewhere until her friend and I finished our grown folks business. I didn’t. I watched her hopping there with a big smile on her face and all that hair going everywhere and allowed her to amuse me. It made me happier than I had been that whole day.

I left both of them to head to the downstairs patio to speak to some of my like-minded friends who probably hadn’t hopped in 20 yrs and probably saw no good reason to ever do so again. I laughed to myself about that while I chatted with them. At one point, I turned around to check the talent coming out the doorway onto the patio. A steady stream of five-inch heels and super tight jersey dresses that would make any man happy to be alive and straight. As I watched the steady stream, she came to the top of the stairs. The sun was setting and the light hit her in just the right way. I thought to myself: “She’s beautiful. I should help her bring that out.” Pompous ass, aren’t I?

At that moment, I decided to make her my new pet project. I was going to dress her in big girl clothes and debut her to society. I told her of my plan and she was more than in love with the idea. Come to find out her favorite movie of all time was “My Fair Lady” and she had dreamt of one day being her own modern day version of Eliza Doolittle. I was to be her Professor Henry Higgins.

The plan was set. We spoke every day for two weeks about whom she was and who she wanted to be for her debut, a weekly event I used to produce for all the people of my ilk. I gave her pointers, but told her she could select her own ensemble for the event, but it had to be a dress and she had to wear heals. She reluctantly agreed.

I showed up to the event that next night and waited for her. I felt a tap on my shoulder as I spoke to a patron. I took a quick glance back, noticed a woman standing there in a black and green patterned dressed. After initially not recognizing the woman, I turned back and as I was about to continue my conversation, it hit me. I snapped by neck back again to the woman, and after a blink I realized it was none other than my very own Eliza Doolittle. Wow! I thought. She looked amazing. I congratulated her on the selections she had made, took a moment to take it all in, and then went back to doing my duties for the evening.

At different points in the night, I would look around for her to make sure she was doing okay. Eliza was doing more than great. Every man turned his head when she passed. Those who weren’t with anyone (even some who were) attempted to get her attention with an offer of a dance, a drink, a trip abroad, anything just for a moment of her time. The DJ had learned her name and shouted it out so much that I was asked at least half a dozen times if someone by the name of Eliza was having a birthday or was about to get her car towed.

I could see how much she loved the attention and I loved the attention for her. She was happy and I felt like a proud parent whose child just won the spelling bee. All the hard work had paid off.

That night she got a ride home from one of those gentlemen callers. It was the first time I realized I cared about her. I went off about how it was unsafe to get into the car of a stranger, no matter how good a friend of mine he was. It wasn’t to be done and I never wanted to see her do it again. “WTF was that?!” I thought to myself as I let the words escape my mouth.

TUNE IN TOMORROW FOR PT. 2