Posted by : Stephanie | December 30, 2014
On my ideal San Francisco New Years Eve it wouldn’t be raining, and Uber wouldn’t charge like 20x fare. It’s okay if I start out single. I’d gather my best friends at my house to share a bottle of ridiculous champagne, maybe some caviar canapés too. Everyone would be there: Dan and my sister and Nicole and Lisa and Zarah and Morgan and Krister and even Dilly who hates New Years. And Porcupine would of course make an appearance. He’d be dressed in a tuxedo and pretending to be James Bond most of the night, quoting copiously from his vast film knowledge. I would be wearing the most spectacular sparkly party dress, and I’d be having a great curly hair day, no frizz.
From my house, we’d trundle into a reasonably priced ride share or the flat bed of Yoshi’s truck and hit up the nightlife. Lots of people, particularly the amateurs, would be out of town so our favorite bars wouldn’t be too crowded, and everyone in them would be pretty cool.
The menfolk would have all shaved their beards and would be wearing at least sports coats. And the minute I enter every bar, they would act like the hunters they used to be and buy me drinks all night. The drinks on the menus would have just two ingredients and I’d recognize all the words. Rum n Coke, Gin n tonic etc. Remember them? I’d flirt and flirt, and it’d be getting on towards eleven pm, and I wouldn’t yet have made up my mind whom to kiss at midnight.Though I would have already had several trial runs.
At these hip bars of manageable populations, no one is on their phones and everyone is looking at each other making eye contact and living in the moment. And they all have plenty of festive accoutrements for us that haven’t run out so I get a pink sparkly tiara that says 2015 on it. And a matching noise maker.
Suddenly at 11:30pm, the door to the secret subterranean speakeasy we’ve found flings open and in walks a tall drink of water. He’s in a tuxedo but it’s not Pat. The man walks in alone. He whips off his top coat and scarf and sits down next to me; I notice his monogrammed cuffs as he reaches for the cocktail menu. He frowns as he reads. He asks the bartender politely about champagne options. And the feline lilt of a French accent spills into the air around me. I tense in arousal.
The bartender indeed has put a special vintage aside in case of an assiduous drinker. It’s a gorgeous bottle whose luscious curves draw near me as Mr. French inspects it. “Two glasses?” asks the bartender. The monsieur looks over at me for the first time, and his electric blue eyes wash over me like a Mavericks wave. I’m going under. “Two,” the Frenchman manages to say as he continues to gaze into my eyes.
He makes the most gracious toast I’ve ever heard and the fine bubbles hit my mouth like nano-shrapnel from a tiny war. My lips part in pleasure, and my breasts heave with desire, quite visibly in my low cut party dress. A single bead of perspiration from my glass drops onto my cleavage. The Frenchman deftly wipes it away, lingering, exploring.
But tipsy Dan dances over and asks for some alcohol. The man laughs and pours a third glass. The rest of my friends join us and Frenchman invites us to a huge party in a nearby penthouse. So we all go up and it’s gorgeous full of fabulous people and great champagne. Everyone there is convivial and has interesting stories and jobs and lives. There is someone magical for all my single friends. I’m thinking Irish documentary filmmaker for Porcupine, an Israeli comic book writer for Dan, an Italian wine maker for Morgan, a Californian political kingmaker for Nicole, a Bostonian chef for Lisa, and a former exotic dancer for Dilly.
Midnight arrives with a kiss from Guillaume that makes even my eyelashes tremble. As dawn breaks over the beautiful city of San Francisco, my monsieur hands me a set of ancient keys to his titled family’s French chateau. Where we live happily ever after, because Dan and my sister and Porcupine (I’m sure his dream NYE is the same!) and Nicole and Lisa etc etc all come live in the adjacent chateaux around us. As a group, we become the most famous meddling mystery solvers Europe has ever known. Justice is always served, the jewels big enough to have names are always returned to their rightful owners (but most are given to me in undying gratitude of my expert sleuthing) and Porcupine Sundae dutifully tells each thrilling tale. The End.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!