I was down at the Chamber of Commerce office dropping off some marketing material and other goodies for the nice lady there to give out in the packets she sends to people who make inquiries.
I sat in there for a while and we chatted about goings-on in town. Just as we were about to wrap things up an older gentleman (not OLD, just older than me) came swooping into the room. The door flew wide open nearly hitting the wall and he paused dramatically in the doorway and surveyed all that was in the room before he fianlly entered.
Donna, the Chamber of Commerce lady, seemed to know him. I could tell by looking at him that he was "from off" (i.e. not from here, not a native of the area). His hair was grayish and a little wild. He was smartly dressed and had boatloads of charisma at his disposal. He started immediately disposing of it all around the room. Some of it got on me.
After a short time, Donna introduced me and when he discovered I was a Realtor he immediately launched into a story about this piece of property in Kansas City that would make us all rich if only I could find an investor to purchase it. And then he spun the tale about various ways we could turn all this into our advantage, most of which sounded suspicious and not entirely legal.
Talking to him was a bit like wallowing around in quicksand, but a quicksand that is a really lovely shade of lavendar or delicate rose pink and perhaps smells a little like warm apples with cinnamon. I could sense the danger, but didn't really care. I could see, though, that if I were ever going to get out of there I'd have to come up with some dire excuse like "Oh, I forgot my house is on fire..." or maybe "oops, I'm incontinent!"
Eventually I extracted myself and headed to my car. To my dismay he was behind me and seemed to be not just leaving at the same time as me, but actually following me. I stopped before I got to the car and turned around. He started talking about parties he goes to and muckety-muck politicians and celebrities who sometimes attend. He mentioned one party in which he was the escort of a very rich and classy woman. And when he said "escort" I assumed he meant "date" because I'm a silly, naive sort of girl.
He continued, "I do that sometimes, act as an escort to these woman who need someone to attend parties or dinners or whatever with them. Upscale endeavors where looks are important and discretion is required."
I thought about this for a moment wondering why he was telling me all this since I'm about the last person in the world who attends any upscale endeavor where looks are important and discretion is required.
And then he added, "I'd offer these services to you, of course, if you ever had need of them."
"Oh," I said, it suddenly all becoming clear to me. "Er, well, thank you. That's a very thoughtful offer, but no, definitely not. I'm sure my husband would not be too keen on that."
"You're married then."
"Oh yes, quite married, thank you."
"Well, please do keep considering the other offer of selling that property. I hope you can find someone for it. And tune in to my radio show. There's the number on my van..."
He waved his arm to a hand-painted hippie wagon that made me forget his creepy offer and made me smile at his eccentric ways, his free spirit, his energy and his determination to be himself in a community where that sort of behavior frequently goes unrewarded.
I waved and watch him go, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.