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The
City Slickers
to
Billy Crystal
By Tatiana Pahlen
Some gentlemen prefer blondes, some brunettes. Someone must like it hot particularly around Christmas.
Jumby Bay! The pearl of Antigua – a promised azure island of the West Indies, halting your breath and eye in the Caribbean – a sizzling dream of real City Slickers, rushing away from thousands of pestilential Santas, possessed shoppers and starchy snow. No need to tell you: no Caribbean islander would trade their sacra-sand for a pint of snow. They may wonder why those pale bodies of the City Slickers are craving for more rather than being stretched under their palms, absorbing the soothing rays of the ever beaming sun.
Well, for such bliss you ought to keep your body in superb shape, where competition of muscles is as exclusive as the place, you had selected to explore. Let's name this place "The Club K."
I was an alien, a spontaneous guest of stately plantation owner and true gourmet, Robin Leach. His ravishing mansion full of fruit trees and neat gardens with exotic vegetables can be a subject for the next story, as his fluffy Christmas tree, delivered directly from Maine. I had not yet met Billy Crystal, when planning a Christmas toast, Robin poured a bubbly Crystal in our glasses and I stated, "Merry Crystal," emphasizing the later "Y?" Everyone laughed unaware of my meaning. "Merry Crystal!" They clinked with champagne glasses vocalizing the letter "A."
It's only by boat that you can get to Jumby Bay; don't expect Bentleys or limos on this island. The hottest vehicles are bicycles, and for the rich and famous there are the golf carts, the availability of which is poor. One must follow his stocks daily to be assured he still owns the cart, before it turns into someone else's property. Thankfully, Robin Leach had one, which was leaving his speechless neighbors, such as Oprah and Howard Stern.
You may also walk. The whole island is an hour's walk but I chose to run; that's how I first ran into Billy Crystal. He almost ran me over, riding his golf cart full of blondes and brunettes – two of them were his daughters. This I had learned later from a tattooed bartender, having a heavenly beverage — a banana daiquiri. A small establishment was built at the entrance of the "Club K" — right on the beach. Sand in my drink was small pay for using their facilities.
The road was narrow; we both throttled down, exchanging smiles.
The following day I spotted Billy at the gym – a shoebox with large windows, also the heart of the "Club K." Having a good glance at him I was puzzled: the man looked half his age. Busy pumping up his biceps, he was unshakably serious. I longed for some bits of comic relief in the reflections of the dull mirrors or at least a shadow of his last smile.
Why do men look so serious while staring at their own muscles? Not finding any amusement and losing patience, I observed Billy showing his girls the old tricks with weights.
Next day I arrived in Robin's cart and left it far behind the Crystal's. To get inside I had to hop over the comic's vehicle, parked tightly at the gym's door. Billy worked out alone without his motley dream-team, but remained serious. I began worrying, if all comedians are deadly grave in their real life and exuding humor on stage only? I started feeling sorry for him and for anyone in the entertainment business. As soon as he left the gym, I went on the floor to stretch my indolent body. It was then that I saw the little precious key lying at my feet, abandoned by the laconic comic. Glee broke into my face; I participated in a decent chitchat with Billy Crystal.
He came back morbid, bent to my feet, picked up the key and left the room without a word! Minutes later I looked at the window, his cart was still there. Within an hour I finished my exercise. Getting up, I noticed his cart remained on the same spot, meaning I had to hop over his cart again and maybe gain a few more bruises on my legs. Which I did!
To my delight I was reimbursed, finding my sacrificial victim Billy-goat was trapped inside Robin's wagon. I put on a somber face.
"Well, well, well," I said. "What are you doing in my cart? Were you trying to lift it? Somehow I knew it the minute I saw you!"
"I'm so sorry. Seriously, I thought it was mine. But the keys are the same, aren't they?"
"If they are, why don't you start the cart?"
"I apologize." He got out with his eyes staring down.
"By the way, my name is Tatiana." I said, feeling sorry for the sad man.
"Mine is Billy." He replied relieving a feeble, but so much anticipated smile.
"Well, it was nice meeting you, Billy." I beamed.
"My pleasure, Tatiana."
"No, no. The pleasure was all mine."
January 13, 1997Copyright © 2000 Tatianyc. All Rights Reserved.