In NY Dreaming of LA
When I was back in New York almost two decades ago, PCH (Pacific Coast Highway) held some romantic acclaim for me. I mean, all the television shows about and movies-of-the-week about driving up the coast on PCH were romantic, adventurous, lively, funny — something right out of a Judy Collins novel.
For me, as a romantic at heart living 3500 miles away in Brooklyn NY, the ambiance of PCH was focused on three things:
- Driving a jeep or convertible (top down) on a beautiful sunny weekend day
- I’m with a sexy woman who’s barefoot, and sporting a fresh pedicure and candy apple red nail polish
- The woman wears a sundress with spaghetti straps
The dream was always the same:
Angelo, cruising in a Jeep Wrangler, heading north on PCH. Beside me sits a lovely lovely woman wearing a spaghetti strapped flowery sundress. She’s reading a book and her shoes are off and her feet are placed neatly atop the dashboard.
As we drive I sneak peeks at her lovely manicured feet and red nail polish. I admit it. I do have a thing about pretty, petite feet, but it’s not some obscene thing. I simply find well-cared for, well-manicured feet alluring. And the absence of “hammer time” on these feet is an absolute must.
Anyway, the fantasy is the same. I sneak peeks at this lovely brown-haired beauty using my peripheral vision, cutting my eyes through the sides of my sunglasses. I see her wonderfully toned legs. I see the suppleness of her thighs as her sundress rides ever-so-slightly up. She is reading but she feels my eyes upon her. She reaches out and touches my hand to let me know that although she isengaged in her book, she is also thinking about me, too.
I shift into another gear and take a curve at a dangerously high speed and she doesn’t flinch. She just rubs my hand. She takes her hand away to turn the page of her book. I can’t see her eyes through her sunglasses but I can tell that her eyes are sparkling.
So I smile. And with one last glance at those beautiful toes I turn my attention back to the road and drive on.
I have never forgotten that dream or the fantasy. I never will. It is one of the things that made it easy to pick up and relocate from NY to LA. When I arrived in LA and I made my first trip down PCH (alone) I was so inspired that I wrote a poem about it the fantasy that had lingered in my head for so long.
I recently found the poem again, and I’ve listed it below. Red Nails
He sits next to her
And tries not to stare, not to look
Or at least not to get caught.
But his eyes have minds of their own
And his heart is aflutter with anticipation.
Peripheral won’t do. He must
See for himself. Dead on.
He looks…casually glancing
As he sits across from her.
His eyes follow a path
Seeing the heels of her strappy
Sandals and the thin leather straps sensually
gripping her ankle
An open toe shoe.
Five little toes peek out.
Beckoning his eyes. His heart
Beats and beats and beats
Until a sigh forces its way through his lips.
He fears she senses something,
Hears his pounding heart or
feels the heat of his gaze.
Clear and natural nails.
Soft. Demure. Feline in silhouette.
Their eyes meet and a smile
Curls upon her lips.
He knows she doesn’t know.
But she knows.
Cute, little toes embraced
By soft leather.
(c) Angelo Bell