She wanted to go places. It was obvious.
I had a mysterious e-mail, followed up by a cheesy, yet romantic, phone call. The whereabouts of the call wasn't clear, but the voice on the other end of the line was a no-doubter: sounded like a hottie, and she was.
She wouldn't tell me much other than the fact that she was on the air here locally and wanted to make an impression. "Impression?" Like what, goddess? Be more specific.
I couldn't make out the voice, but at that point, I didn't care. She offered to meet me at the Fisherman's Wharf Holiday Inn. At the bar. For some reason, she insisted it be after 9 PM.
I reluctantly agreed.
I garnered up my best Armani and fedora and took a cab to the hotel bar. As I sat near the red futon by the canary lounge, nuzzling on some fresh cheese goldfish and a glass of cab, she arrived.
Wow, what a goddess!
I had no idea what she wanted, but I was ready to listen. Maybe I'd be lucky. Perhaps she was just trying to impress me and wanted nothing more than pure friendship. Yeah, dream on, fat blogger.
Right away, I detected who she was, but fear was the last thing on my mind. The seduction element was quite vivid. She was wearing a short lime-green dress with a jet black coat and matching pumps.
What a broad! And dang, a local TV hottie. "Is this happening, really?," I thought. Yes, big boy, she's right there, you better get to the point. Wait, it wasn't me who set up the meeting.
She began to get down to business. It was stunning, not that I was surprised. She wanted to get to know me, but she made it clear, no risky business--just a chance to show me her wares. She admitted that the whole scene was a bit awkward, but she didn't back down.
Finally, I was getting impatient. The bartender was slowly running out of the goldfish and my wine glass was at the limit. What exactly did she want? I demanded to know.
She began to giggle uncontrollably. I was getting confused and quite perplexed. Making matters worse, the guy at the piano in the background was playing endless renditions of 'Hall and Oates', "Kiss on my list." Surreal scene? You betcha.
I was in a compromising position. I couldn't be more furious, but dang, the way she carried it out. Quite convincing. Although she didn't directly come out and say it, I could smell a quick victory route to her pad near North Beach.
She wanted me to know that while she was a new kid in town, she read my blog and wanted to be a part of the action. AT ANY COST. This represented quite a dilemma. I mean, she looked utter hot. Like, shit, picture a young Diane Sawyer! And she even promised me complete discretion. Ka-ching!
I stopped the commotion at once. I told her that I admired her perseverance and passion, but I couldn't deviate from what was right. This wasn't right. I have credibility and loyalty to my readers and fans, even her. Believe me when I tell you she was ripe for the picking, but doing the right thing trumped a quick sack in the saddle. That's for amateurs.
I told her to back down and we ended up hugging. She caught her senses as did I.
The temptation was real but I did the right thing.
I feel better. I do. And I'm sure she does too. Hey kid, you're gonna do just fine in this town. You don't have to butter me up. Believe me, there's been plenty of attempts--sure, this was a first, but in the end, right was right and wrong was wrong.
We both took the high road.
Have fun, kiddo.
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