The best girlfriend I ever had was a buyer named Ron. Ron was my dear friend, my soul mate for about 10 years. He was gay, I wasn’t. I sold ejection seat sensors for the F-16 ACES II ejection seats. Ron was the buyer for the company that made those seats. He got me a yellow “eject” handle from the F-16 scrap bin for my RX7. I used it to threaten my son’s teenage friends with a trip through the moon roof. They all thought I was “real cool.”
I loved him so much I threw a birthday party for him January 1983. He showed up in chaps. Thank God he was wearing jeans underneath. Joey asked him if he was cold. He laughed. When I went to his house we would go shopping for material for curtains, which he would then sew, calling me to ask what colors went with what.
He was 6’4″, blond, stunningly gorgeous, had abs no one would believe, and came to my office wearing beige slacks (with a pressed fold), a hot pink golf shirt, a white jacket, loafers no socks. I’m 4’11” and everyone in the building thought he was madly in love with me. One could only dream. He played everything to the hilt, driving his aqua Cadillac convertible with white leather seats down Hollywood Blvd. He called me “Babe” and “Dear” during a time when everyone minded, but me.
He called screaming everyday at 9 am and 1 pm sharp. I would lay the phone on my desk speaker side up and let him scream for 30 minutes. The secretary and I would look at each other and howl silently. We were always late on parts. He would drive from Burbank to Torrance and scream at all the big wig vice presidents. My boss would hand me $400 in cash and tell me to get him out of building. “Take him to lunch, anywhere he wants to go.” We would leave in my RX7, go to Redondo Beach, and wait till we crossed 190th Street to start laughing. Lunch was three hours of gossip and stories – mostly whom he picked up on Hollywood Blvd in the aqua Caddy. It was 1982 and the aids virus was only a whisper in certain circles. What did I know? I didn’t travel in those circles.
If I could get a redo a year it would be 1992. It was not a good year for me on any level – personally or professionally. He died that spring of complications from the aids virus. I remember so many tiny details of the ten years we were best friends I often surprise myself.
After the funeral I sent his Mother a Flavia card that read “Some people come into our lives and quickly go, some stay for a while, leave footprints on our heart, and we are never ever the same.”
All rights reserved. ©2009 by Sara Fryd