Sunday, October 22, 2006

The Blonde III

B*d and Jeanie’s figures were bathed in the light of their front porch lamp as we exited their drive in flurry of pea gravel and the roar of the Beemer’s V-12.

“Hey, are you sure you can handle the power of this machine?” I asked fully aware of the challenge I was issuing to the Long Tall one.

“Handle it?” She returned, “I’ve hand my hands on more power than this before. Daddy used to race his Porsche in Connecticut when I was growing up. Once I was old enough, he would let me spin around the oval during practice and nobody could catch me!”

She said this with out boast or pride, but simply as a fact, and I had no reason to doubt her. I was in awe. Here was a woman of great intellectual power, who drank her scotch neat, enjoyed a fine cigar, and drove with an aggressive edge that said she was meant to own the road.

“I wonder if she can handle a gun”, I found myself thinking. Little was I to know that this question was soon to prove prescient.

Only once before in my life had I found myself so immediately taken. It was back in the early ‘80s; the cold war had come close to a full shooting conflict several times and I was on the front line. I was on assignment in Düsseldorf, Ronald Reagan had just become President and hope was once again in the air. After years of gutless leadership, capped by the feckless cowardice that defined the Carter administration, we were once again on the move against the commies and my life had a renewed purpose.

I was in deep cover during those years. My mission: to uncover the source of funding for a network of Soviet and East German agents who had penetrated the west’s intelligence network. It was a good time for me. My cover was as a wealthy industrialist who was unencumbered by the usual ideological constraints. It was a ploy that played to the commies’ worst images of “evil capitalists”, and it was extremely effective. In their view, I raped the proletariat for my own enrichment and in my spare time I indulged my vulgar interest in the rich man’s hobby – road racing. I made quite a splash on the European circuit, both as a financier, and as an accomplished driver. Ironically, I still hold several series records under my cover identity.

It was on the circuit that I met Annette Meuwissen. A beautiful blonde from Düsseldorf, she drove for team BMW in the women’s trial. Never had I experienced such beauty, such passion and of course such competence. Annette dominated the series while she drove.

We met in ’81 and immediately fell into a passionate affair. Our shared love of driving; our passionate indulgence of Europe’s culinary treasures, and yes, our aggressive love making, defined a period of my life that I treasure to this day. Life is cruel though, and such love, while it burns hot cannot be sustained, and we soon parted ways leaving me with a hole in my soul that was impossible to fill.

Or so I thought!

Suddenly I found myself in the passenger seat of my powerful BMW in thrall with a new, exciting, challenging woman. Such desire I felt! “Could it be love?” I wondered. Surely it was too early to say, and yet, there was that sense that this was a special woman!

We zipped out of B*d and Jeanie’s and before I knew what was happening Annie was powering the Beemer up the entrance ramp of highway 70. Traffic was heavy, but she expertly guided my sleek machine through traffic and into the left lane bound for the lights of DC.

“So where are we headed?” I asked, fully knowing the answer

“Back to my place” replied Annie. “And if you’re good, maybe I’ll invite you up before I send you on your way. I have some 40 year old Bowmore from Daddy’s collection that I might just be willing to share with you.”

“You do seem to have an appreciation for the finer things in life”

“And yet here I am with you!” She said with a wink

I gazed into those deep blue eyes, and I leaned over to kiss her.

I saw it before I heard any sound. In a moment that is carved into my memory, a crimson streak cut across Annie’s forehead. The world began to move in slow motion as drops of blood formed.

“Oh” Annie said quite matter of factly

Of course I knew immediately what had happened. She'd been hit!

In the next moment my world began to spin out of control. Suddenly the back window of my Beemer exploded in a hail of broken glass and the sound of automatic gunfire was in the air! In that instant I knew that the game had taken a drastic, unexpected change and I was going to have to rely on this extraordinary woman for my life.

“What the hell is this X?!” Annie exclaimed looking towards the back of the car where the window had been moments earlier.

“This, my dear Annie, is game time.” I calmly said.

She turned her eyes back to me, and not to be denied by whoever was shooting at us, I leaned in and kissed her. Our kiss, our first kiss, wasn’t long though, since two more shots almost immediately embedded themselves in the trunk of the car.

I released her from my embrace and looked into her eyes. “Time to put Daddy’s driving lessons to good use” I yelled as the sound of more gunfire filled the Maryland night.

“My God!” I thought, “Where did these guys come from?”

Not needing additional instructions, Annie hit the gas and I reached between her legs to remove my Smith and Wesson 500 from its holster under the driver’s seat.

Next: A Crash On MD 70

Sunday, October 15, 2006

The Blonde II

The remainder of the evening, at this point, is a bit of a blur. Of course since I tutored under the great Alain Ducasse and was born with a nearly inhuman taste memory I remember the meal perfectly.

We began with Tempura Lobster Tails which were paired with a Cake bread Chardonnay. The chipotle smoked honey dipping sauce and buttery lobster meat were the perfect compliments to this chardonnay’s citrus and spice notes.

The story of how this meal ended up on our plates in Annapolis is quite extraordinary. Our host had discovered the caterer, Mr. Nguyen Thanh Binh, cowering inside his roadside banh xeo crepe stand, during that unfortunate war which so many Americans choose to forget. After B*d led his team in clearing out a particularly lethal nest of the Cong, “Thanh My Man” as he was subsequently called, was so grateful he whipped up a batch of the most amazing crepes B*d had ever tasted. Well, as you can imagine B*d, who stands down to no man save yours truly when it comes to obtaining a quality meal, had Thanh expatriated to the U.S. pronto and set him up in a D.C. catering business. As it turns out, Thanh was classically trained during the French Vietnamese expedition, and as a result of his savant like ability to whip up the most amazing sauces with virtually any ingredient at hand, almost immediately developed a devoted following among our country’s political and culinary elite.

As a semi tragic side note, Thanh was destined for television greatness when he was tapped by the Food Network in its early days to host “Thanh (as in Bam) Live!” Sadly, whenever he was expected to exclaim “Bam!” as his trademark exclamation, the poor soul would dive under the cooking counter and yell, “Incoming!” – An obviously traumatized response to his days during the war. Clearly, an unworkable situation, Thanh was replaced by some New Orleans based poseur who has gone on to assume the fame and glory that rightfully was should have been Thanh’s.

After the Lobster, Thanh brought out a selection seared tuna, and paired it with a lovely South African Chenin Blanc – Forrester, if I’m not mistaken. The combination was profound, the crisp slightly fruity Chenin cut through the meaty taste of the lightly pepper corned Tuna leaving a lingering sense of the tropics that our host said reminded him of some of the meals Thanh had prepared in ‘Nam prior to his expatriation. Following the Tuna, we were treated to the most succulent Veal filet I believe I have ever had. Served with a side of mustard spaetzle (Thanh could never get enough of sticking it to the French!), and lightly sauced with a foie gras – veal reduction the dish paired beautifully with a Chateneuf du Pape, that Thanh had selected from our host’s cellar. Decadent indeed! We finished on what was for me a bit of a down note, crème brulee (can we please retire this over-served dish for at least 2 decades?) that we enjoyed with a Moscato d’Asti.

Not surprisingly the Long Tall One and I were seated across from each other, and I’m a bit embarrassed to say that we served as a bit of an amusing side show for the rest of the guests. We had been obviously attracted to each other from the moment she walked through the door, and during dinner engaged in conversation to the exclusion of the others. I use the term “conversation” quite loosely here, as I’m aware that my SAGE peers would have been appalled to witness our vulgar performance.

Annie and I engaged in an endless debate. The topic didn’t matter and the fact that in most cases we were in complete agreement on the larger principle had no bearing on the tenor of our debate. The simple fact is that our budding romance (yes even then it was apparent – to the obvious delight of our conniving hosts!) was clearly fired by a passion born of the intercourse of our superior intellects. To agree would have been to lay impotent our desire for the thrust and parry that for the next few months would form the basis of our love.

Following cigars and after dinner drinks - Annie chose a Don Suerte vintage 1984, saying that the essence of bittersweet chocolate blended well with her 18 year old Lagavulen (I could not disagree) – we bid our hosts a good night. Realizing that Long, Tall Annie didn’t have a car; I offered to escort her home.

“That depends”, she said “I only ride in style you know”.

Resisting the urge to remind her of her “stylish” entrance, I simply hit the key fob on my BMW 7-series and enjoyed the glint of recognition in her eyes as she responded to the familiar “beep, beep”

“Oh, a 7-series?” she asked.

“Like Pavlov’s dogs” I thought to my self.

“Can I drive?” She purred.

Without a word I handed over the keys.

Little was I to know that this stunning woman who had already captured my heart was about to take me on the ride of my life!

Next: Annie’s beltway performance reminds me of my former love, Ms. Annette Meuvissen.

Monday, October 09, 2006

The Blonde

Long, tall Annie.

Even now, years since our season of love I reflect wistfully on our passionate affair. In retrospect I see that it was fated to end and end badly, but at the time I was blind. Visions of a life together, a family, and small little X’s everywhere, their blond locks bouncing as they ran to welcome me home from the office pre-occupied my mind. I would come in, as we say in the business, and take an analyst role perhaps. Leave in the morning, back at night, Soccer games on the weekend, bar be ques with the other agency staffers on the weekend. A sacrifice? Yes, but what I would gain in return!

We were brought together by our love and respect for The Gipper, and found passion in our common belief that a strong America will lead the world to greatness. She was a law clerk, brash yes, but only in private. Her public image had yet to be developed. As for me, I was serving state side at the time, debriefing East German intelligence agents, and combing through millions of files that came under our control after the Ruskies imploded.

It was mind numbing work, but after a decade spent in field service, I welcomed the relief of a comparatively civil lifestyle. And it had its privileges! My colleagues will tell you that for a while I became quite the item in DC social circles. Women have always found me attractive, but as rumors began to circulate about my exploits (some true, many not!) I found that a certain sort of Washington female tended to take an interest in yours truly.

Moths to the flame I joked at the time, and I burned especially hot.

They say love finds you when you least expect it, and in my case it was all too true. I was a young up and comer at the agency (Annie loved that term!) known for my operational creativity under moments extreme pressure. You see, I had a knack for delivering the goods, where others had failed before me.

The truth is that so much of my success was due – as it is with most of my great peers - to simple luck; dodging the random bullet, being out of the room when the bomb explodes. That sort of thing. But who was I to say anything when McF**nd announced, right there in the Langley Ops Center in front of the Veep and everyone that, “That man just gets it done!” All the training in the world can’t hold back the rush of pride one feels at the moment of praise from one of the greats!

I was on a satellite uplink at the time, and the next words I heard were to change my life forever, but not in the way an intelligence agent normally expects.

“X, see that you’re back here by 1600 Saturday night, Jeanie and I are having some people over to celebrate another success and there is somebody we’d like you to meet. Blonde, and all legs son, you’ll be wise to clean up and give her the living dangerously bit!”

Not one to argue with my superiors, or turn down a dinner invitation – Jeanie always employed the best caterers - I made sure I was in place at the appointed hour. The evening began as most do, the men in B*d’s study mixing business with outlandish boasts of athletic and/or sexual prowess, while the women rolled their eyes and took leave of our company. I didn’t say anything, but I had failed to notice a single female in our party, let alone anyone who could be accurately described as “blonde and all legs”

I was just about to ask my host about this unfortunate situation when there was quite a commotion coming from his front drive. Standing by the window, I parted the curtain to see the amusing spectacle of the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on, beating the tar out of her taxi driver with a black Kate Spade purse!

My host and I ran to the door and opened it just as she stormed in. “Long, tall Annie!” B*d exclaimed. “So glad you’re here. We were beginning to worry!”

“Worry? About me?! Hell, I’m disappointed in you B*d! If you want to worry, worry about that falafel loving miscreant they call a cab driver! Damn fool drove me all over Annapolis and then expects a tip!”

“Well at least you’re here”

“Yes I am, now get me a Talisker and let’s get this party started”. “And who, by the way is this overly testosteroned fool? He’d better be careful not to drool all over that nice tux; it must have cost him a fortune! Hmmm, a civil servant who can afford Armani, I'll have to keep an eye on him!”

I didn’t know it at the time, but at that moment I had just fallen in love and my life would never be the same.

Nor would Annie’s.