Last night I was at 10 Bells indulging in Aligoté love with Dave McDuff. Up for deliciousness was 2009 Alice & Olivier DeMoor Réversibilité. ($50). I told him half way through the bottle something that has been bothering me; I think I'm a magnet for serial killers. One story had been on my mind: as I don't want to go to the authorities, I would spill it here.
Last December, a good friend took me away to a spa destination in Montauk. I'm not a girly girl and I was bound and tied and stuffed on the LIRR, forced to enjoy myself and relax. On top of it, I didn't bring enough wine for the 48 hours. The situation was fraught. As it turned out, delightful.
We decided to hole up on the beach the entire weekend, only venturing out to walk the shores. Saturday night we stayed at the bar, listening to music and pretending we were locals. Somewhere around the last set a very young man, short and intense, with some Asian blood, perhaps Thai mixed with Mexican (but he claimed to be Filipino and then American, he spoke with an accent) aggressively pursued me.
He was perhaps in his thirties, flat affect, humorless. He tried to entice me with going out to sea with him, (no enticement) then he tried to convince me to take him to my room (fat chance) and finally there was that tongue in my mouth, right at the bar (the man was quick). I pushed him away and he became even more insistent.
He was terrifyingly strong.
He claimed to be a fisherman, but his take on fishing mechanics weren't really up to par. I knew more about boats then he did, and my only experience is a wooden canoe.
His hands where rough and for his size, as strong as a vise.
I was trying to get my friend Nancy's attention but she just didn't grasp the situation. This was the first time in quite a while that I felt this scared. I knew my resistance would provoke his anger.
Just as I was wondering, "Where the hell is the bartender?" he showed up with security who, tapping his stick quite elegantly said, "We thought you ladies would like an escort back to the room."
A great save. "How delightful," I said. Very grateful.
In the room to the sound of the waves I said, see what I mean? It's the red hair, it's a beacon to the crazy and violent.
Later that week I read about the serial killer dumping bodies in beach brush. I cannot help it, but I do wonder.
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