I was buzzed into the apartment building and I barely got my foot in the door of the suite before Zilli pulled me into her diningroom to show me the ‘National Post’ laid out on the table. There was a picture of a male model: white boy from White City, Saskatchewan: Population 1,000. “Oh boy, white boy, white city boy, be my boy; My Boy Toy,” Zilli chants. “Forget the Love Shop Stop… how can I get one of him?!” Zilli demands, and quickly adds, “Look at those eyes… those lips!” “A little too photo-shopped for me,” I respond. I remind Zilli that I like a rugged male with a slight odor of danger around him; like My Guy. Feigning disbelief in my conviction, Zilli turns her attention to pulling on her driving gloves and black belts the keys to the Benz into her Birkin. She commands me to go shopping with her. What a surprise!
Zilli and I zip into a vintage shop on Main Street and 22nd Avenue where I spot a photograph of Elvis on a high shelf – his sulky features are all I need to trigger a string of fantasies; those sexy eyes and lips… and hips which were censored on ‘early’ Television Shows (no low camera shots).
Sex aside we kept busy looking and saw a faux leopard three-quarter length coat that looked just like the one Zilli has. We suddenly spotted the ‘frowzy fur’ and howled over which one of us should buy this bargoon and transform it into a “look.” I wouldn’t even embarrass a stuffed animal by making it out of this coat. Who had been the owner??
I pointed to some dresses standing apart on display and said, “This looks like something Miss Cain would have worn.” She was the fearful grade four teacher. Zilli said there were stories of her outbursts; some weren’t true, but she did throw chalk. When Zilli and I graduated into the next year’s grade five class, Zilli’s Dad told her Miss Cain was a cousin of his – she was quite a bit older I think or maybe she just got that way from her mind… and her ‘old bird’ hats and shoes and dresses. We killed ourselves laughing when we looked at these:
Miss Cain's Original Suit
Zilli and I know how to laugh together, shop together, and even how to end up agreeing with each other: Zilli would remain a ‘White City Boy Woman’ and I’d stand firm on Al Pacino.
“Baby Man!” Wet your pants, man! Not for me though. I like the Al Pacino type: a guy who looks like he’ll rip your blouse off once you’ve given him the look– the visual yes! White City white boy does not look like someone who would rip your blouse off.
Jack the ripper. Did he begin his career in life intending only to rip off women’s blouses and then depravity pushed him to extremes. One rip led to another, and another, until it all became, R-I-P, R-I-P.