Loose Change. A Memory

The harbour was calm that day as I sat at an open air booth waiting for my lunch date. He'd asked me to lunch earlier that day and I agreed.....and sort of reluctantly. I wasn't sure I wanted to be seen with him for obvious reasons. Reasons that seemed oblivious to me at that moment.
He was a big buffoon of  a man. Above average height, burly without being fat, very good looking in his youth...that time being long past.... and very, very manicured. There was no trace of elegance in him though he often pretended just the opposite. He enjoyed giving the presentation that he was monied and he was to some degree, though not as much as he wanted you to think.
The whole of him was just too oaf-ish to be believable as a dandy of any sort. Besides that, he was getting old. Nothing worse than a well dressed bumbling oaf who put on heirs of sophistication where there were none.
Fifteen minutes later he appeared at the hostess desk, spotted me at the far end of the restaurant and came walking towards me. I was on my second glass of Merlot and I gave him a warm smile...belying my true suspicions of him. Lunch was ordered , delivered and gobbled up by both of us. For me because I was genuinely famished but for him it was just pure glut. The conversation was thrilling and I was glad of that. We were both lovers of arts & letters so the talk was joyous and animated. He was largely learned in that arena and I admired him deeply for that. His eye was discerning, his thoughts were enthralling and his opinions, unique. We wrapped up lunch by making earnest plans to go visit a gallery on Newbury St. in Boston the following day. A friend of his was the curator and the place was jammed full with Deco and Nouveau treasures---even a genuine Lempicka or two.
As he un-wedged himself from the booth and stood up the bill had arrived. He gave the young waitress a lascivious wink and took the bill from her hand. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead and his nose and cheeks became red. I thought he was having a heart attack. It turns out he didn't have enough money to cover the bill.... probably in part to my thrice guzzled Merlot. I felt only slightly embarrassed for him. As he reached into his trouser pocket for some change he hoped would just cover the remainder-- coins came crashing loudly onto the wooden floor. He'd had a hole in is pocket that had finally given way and coins were falling down the inner leg of his pants and rolling to the floor. My cheeks stung with humiliation as he fumbled to catch all of it...bending down to retrieve every last penny as if they were all he had left. At that moment a handsome young waiter gave me a sympathetic but amused grin.
Despite his expensive, tailored appearance.......he'd had a tattered gaping hole in his pocket.

Over time I would begin to understand it as a searing metaphor for who he was.

                   

                                                                                                      CJ Ellis