At least once a week, we drop off big sis at school early and go to a cafe nearby to do some freewriting or drawing. As we were crossing the street to enter the cafe today, my youngest and I waited for a shiny, black Corvette to park. It was extremely loud as the owner, behind smokey windows, revved the engine. My daughter commented that the car was “cool but really loud”. Indeed.
We went into the cafe, found our favorite writing table and I got in line. I felt him there before I saw him. He was standing too close and his energy creeped into mine; he was prowling. When I turned around to see what I was feeling, I saw his aged face, dyed hair and leather jacket. I realized immediately that he was the Corvette driver. He asked how I was doing and we had a mini-conversation as we waited in line. I told him I am writing a play. He told me he’s retired and what he used to do for a living.
After I got my coffee and sat down, he came over to my table to hand me his card. He showed me the villa in Mexico that he owns. He saw my daughter was drawing and asked her about the picture. As she answered, he interrupted her and began talking over her. Not listening. Talking. She noticed this and said, “Nice car, man. Loud, but nice.”
“Yeah. Not fast enough though,” he said facetiously, “it only goes 205.”
As he left and got in his car, my daughter said, “I bet that car is a real woman magnet.”
I told her that might be true for some women but told her that what’s in a person’s heart is what matters. I told her to always notice how someone treats her, not how much money he has.
As I biked around the lake later, I thought about all of that. I thought about how, as much as I actually ADORE fast cars, more often than not, the people who drive them seem to carry some kind of air of entitlement that is just repugnant to me.
As I rode, I thought about how the size and openness of a man’s heart and mind are so much more appealing than the size and openness of his wallet.
I like men who define success for themselves.
I like men who are vulnerable.
I like men who listen deeply.
I like men who will comment on the dew on the grass in the morning.
I like men who care.
(I like men who take chances too, don’t get my wrong. Sexy as hell.)
I wish I could say all of that to Corvette Man. I wish I could say, “I can’t be bought. Trust me, people have tried,” but the truth is, he’s having his experience and I’m having mine. I know underneath the bravado and the money, his heart is hungry. I understand.
Still not going to Mexico with him though.