Array Seka - Inside Seka

Toward the end of my relationship with my boyfriend, Jim, we went to Florida. We settled in the first day. But, as expected, he was gone first thing the next morning. Ditto the following. I didn’t know where he went every day and I didn’t want to know what he was doing. All I cared was that I was in Florida in a swanky hotel and could do what I wanted. I loved the sun and lay by the pool all the time. The pool boy fixed my lounge chair and brought me mimosas.

I like being a princess.

I was there just under a week when I saw the most stunning man I’d ever seen. I loved the way he carried himself, commanding the space he was in. He owned it; you knew he was there. I could see his crisp green eyes across the pool. Obviously Italian, he had dark hair combed straight back. He was oiled up and tanned as could be. He glistened in the sun; it was like it bounced off him.

About five foot ten, he had broad shoulders. Although not extremely muscular, in his yellow swimming trunks with his slender legs and glowing tan, the whole package made one amazing man. I had to check that my tongue wasn’t hanging out of my mouth because I didn’t want to look like an idiot.

It was August and in Florida it gets hot very quickly. I walked down to the shallow end of the pool and it wasn’t just the sun that was making me warm.

By happenstance, at the end of the pool there stood the object of my fantasy. He took a few steps toward me and just stared before finally blurting out, “Hi, my name is Carl.” He kept looking at me for what felt like the longest time. “You know, you remind me of someone.”

“That’s okay,” I responded.

“You remind me of Seka.”

I just smiled at him and said, “Hello, nice to meet you.”

Turns out I met him before at the radio station in Chicago because the company he worked for had done a lot of advertising. The station was always having cigar parties and different events and would invite all the advertisers to their functions. They had a show with Tom Jones at Grant Park. It turns out I was backstage and Carl was with one of his ex-wives when he came up to me and wanted a picture together. He tells me we had spoken for a good forty minutes. Oddly enough, I didn’t recall it at all. Nor did I remember several other functions where he claimed we had chatted. But when I saw him at the pool this time, he was etched in my memory forever.

Carl was with a couple guys at a local trade show where he’d do his job in the morning and then come out to the pool. Each and every day we’d talk. And boy could we talk. It went on for hours. But nothing romantic happened. We shared cocktails, lunch, and conversation and that was it. Plus, I doubted my being sixty pounds overweight would turn him on. Nonetheless, I couldn’t wait to see this wonderful man each day.

When he told me his marriage wasn’t going to last, I wished we were both available. But he didn’t even ask for my number. Nor did I ask for his. I was just thankful for the short amount of time we had together.

When he left a day earlier than I did, I had this empty feeling like vacation was over and someone I had truly connected with had just walked out of my life. When I got home I was still thinking about him.

It was about six months later when I got an e-mail from Carl through my website. A rush of excitement shot through me. I immediately e-mailed him back, “You old dog, you. Here’s my number. Call me.” And when he did I was simply thrilled.

He had just left his wife and by this point I had left Jim as well. With another trade show for him to hit not that far from me, I invited Carl to sleep on my sofa. But he opted for renting a room instead.

I went over to the Marriott to pick him up and he was sitting at the bar. I had lost those pesky sixty pounds. When I tapped him on the shoulder he looked at me and just went, “Oh, shit.”

He kind of expected it would be a very expensive evening and that I was — as Billy Joel put it — an “uptown girl,” demanding champagne and caviar. Instead, I took him to this little Italian restaurant that was great and reasonable. I said, “Why don’t we split an entree?” That shocked him.

We had a great time. The conversation flowed effortlessly from where we had left half a year earlier. We talked about anything and everything. I said, “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

I took him to a little pizza place where a bunch of my friends were hanging out. They all liked him a lot. Except for my best friend, Agnes, because he was competition for her, I suppose.

I didn’t want the night to end. I asked if he wanted to hear a little music and he said, “Sure, why not?” I took him to a place where a friend of mine, Nan Mason, was singing. It was a beautiful mansion and she was a torch singer. She’s a great lady with tremendous talent who should have made it bigger than she has. We had some delectable desserts while listening to her perform and it couldn’t have been any more romantic. Plus, we were pretty well tanked.

We got in a cab and I couldn’t stand it anymore. I kissed him. It was electric. I said, “Do you want to go back to the hotel or my place?” We ended up back at mine. He never saw that hotel room at night the rest of the trip. And so the great romance of my life began.

Carl and I dated for three years. It was wonderful. He didn’t have children; I didn’t have children. We liked the same things like lying out in the sun, drinking wine, and going window shopping. He was the right age — not some young punk. Even better, he was employed.

When he explained to me why his marriages didn’t work out, I accepted his answers. Frankly, it was refreshing to know he’d had marriages and wasn’t still married to someone who might be calling me in the middle of the night. But Carl, like many men I’d known, would say things like, “I’m no John Holmes.”

To which I’d reply, “I certainly hope not. I want a normal person.” A cock like John’s could kill a woman if she wasn’t careful.

I was still in Chicago, he was out in the suburbs, and it was about an hour each way. He’d stay with me on weekends and I’d go out to see him as well. But it was a pain in the butt. Inevitably, one of us would forget something like toiletries. Yet I never thought of moving out of Chicago. And since he’d already had two wives in his home, I didn’t want to be number three and not feel like it was my own place.

As in love as I was with this man, I had some real concerns. He had been married several times and was used to living with someone. Me, I didn’t know how to play well with others. For example, I never liked when my kitchen utensils were out of place. Little things like that would make me crazy if someone moved them.

As things got more and more serious, I wondered if this would work. But I loved the guy to death.

One day, I just decided we should be living together. With both of us being burned so many times, I actually had us draw up a kind of prenuptial agreement where if it didn’t work out, we’d both leave the relationship with what we brought in. We also drew up living wills at the same time. I was included in his and he was included in mine. It encompassed things like his pension going to me if he passed away. He didn’t have much family. I had things of value like a website, which could bring in a decent dollar if something happened to me. I also had jewelry, art, and a condo.

I only had 1,200 square feet of space. We couldn’t fall down and hit the floor because it was so packed. He needed office space as did I, so we eliminated the dining room and turned it into a work space.

It was a little trying, to say the least.