Walking in a sweet fog, I hitched a ride on the number 9 cloud that was rolling up the street to Dolce Vita. I had to tell Anna to call off the dogs. She was sure to flip out. She wasn’t there, so I ordered a double demitasse of espresso to calm myself down. Mona was behind the counter. God, was she cute. And as it turned out she was Anna’s new roommate. And you know what? None of that mattered to me on a guy level—I didn’t fantasize for more than ten seconds. I was focused. A battery of cupids were hard at work making certain that the mythology of love would survive in one more soul, and I wasn’t about to let them down.

I tipped Mona my last cash and penniless, I glided over to yesterday’s window seat. Yesterday?! How could that be yesterday? I began to realize something Einsteinian about time. Yesterdays are relative to nothing when you are on another planet. I had jumped planets and made the past irrelevant. The present became a very amusing place, and the future seemed comically predictable. As I smiled my ass off in the present state of Dolce Vita’s window seat, I began to write it all down to make it real.

Across the street, I could see Crawdaddy’s Restaurant. "Thank you," I said to the clever cupids who drew my attention to this perfect Cajun meeting place. I could meet Shelly there to discuss our future over a bowl of filet gumbo. Hopefully—make that: Clearly, she would be free to join me at the New Orleans Jazz Fest in a couple of weeks. When life starts to write itself out like a Hollywood script it feels like a living poem. I was curious if other people sustain this feeling and if that’s why they seem so free of existential trauma. If so, I was on the right track and heading across the street to Crawdaddy’s to make reservations.

The nice looking waitress was standing behind the counter watching me as I seamlessly navigated the empty tables and chairs and approached her to see a menu. I double checked with her about what time they closed and if my Visa card would be accepted. My heightened sense of the present made me feel very organized, and I took in the whole scene picturing where Shelly and I would sit; how’d she be dressed; the way the red light of the strung crayfish lights would play off her blonde hair. The waitress smiled at me, as if charmed by my contagious high spirits. I felt compelled to blurt out the whole story: from meeting Shelly in LA to the revelation at Big Wally’s—but I didn’t. But I think I did dance out the door.

Back at my motel, I sat on the bed holding my breath as I dialed Sonny’s number. She was home. She said, "I just called Paco’s house and talked with his mother." "Did you tell her about me?" "She’s not very good with messages, so you’re on your own. Shelly’s at work or something." I thanked Sunny a lot and told her we’d invite her to the wedding. With my tape recorder rolling and my pulse pumping, I phoned Paco’s number. The mother answered.

"Hello is Shelly there?" "Yes, who’s this?" "This is Gordon, a friend from LA." "Shelly’s not here, she’s at work." Then I hoped I’d come off brashly funny as I replied, "What are you lying, old lady, you just said she was there." It must not have come off that bad, because she giggled and said, "I’ll get you the number." It was taking her a long time so I clicked off the tape recorder. The next voice on the phone was Paco’s. "Who’s this?" Returning to seventh grade for a moment my voice crackled, "HI, tHis Is GoRdOn, a frieND of shELLy’s fRom LLLA." "WHO?" I answered again, feigning composure. "What do you want?" he demanded. "I just blew into town and I thought I’d look Shelly up…for a chat." "Well she’s not here." I was starting to feel like Woody Allen, but if you remember I was actually Bogart. "I know she’s not there, she’s at work. I need the number." Meanwhile, Paco was being Brando in Streetcar, "Why do you need her work number?" Bogie rose to the challenge, "You got a problem with that?" He actually gave me the number. Then he hung up.

As I was catching my breath Paco must have been dialing like the devil. "BEEbau, BEEbau, BEEbau," was all I heard for the next five minutes as I repeatedly tried the number. A day ago all this would have put me off. But a day ago didn’t exist. I already covered that. Today I was the product of divine intervention. God was driving this train now, I was just going along for the ride. "BEEbau, BEEbau, BEEbau." Let the phone be busy. Let Paco go off on some jagged jealous rage, and let Shelly see what kind of Neanderthal she’s been saddling herself to.