Here we go a cougar-ing

One Friday evening, our friend Andrew accompanied us out for an evening of diversions and fine libations. The night was fairly typical: Brendan pedi cab rolled up outside our door, sporting his coveted double cart. we asked him about his finace, per usual, and he informed us that they were still trying to conceive. He also informed us that Sarah does not like her gig as a pedicab driver. I responded, "It takes a special person to really embrace this job."  We were also privy to experience his new trick: a double wheelie with no hands ( i thought i was going to die).

This was one of the first nights that Andrew had explicitly come to Scottsdale to engage in our dalliances. Once inside the W, he learned quickly he has a hit. Dressed in a light blue seersucker jacket ( Andrew, if you read this and that detail is wrong, please, correct me), a wiry, tanned 40 something blonde pounced at him. "You are soooo cute," she shrieked while sloshing her apple-tini, "I love this jacket, this whole--" and just as she began to tug at Andrew's face, timmmber: her left ankle twisted in its platform wedge and she nearly bit it on top of the flourescent floor light below. But by the grace of God who may have a soft spot for vulnerable, inebriated cougars, she caught herself. I felt bad for her, so I told said to her that I had done the same thing the night before. "And I didn't even save my drink! You are so graceful!"

With that, we became a 20 minute fixture in Patricia's world. We were introduced to her friends, one a weathered blonde with the extensions of a 20 year old that really just made her look like a more haggard version of Stevie Nicks. Appropriately enough, she departed promptly to sidle up next to a handsome WallStreet Look a like at the bar. I would momentarily catch Stevie sliding her hand around the man's waist whenever she tilted back her head to cackle loudly. 

We also met Billy, Patricia's personal trainer turned beau. Billy was exactly what one would expect a personal trainer from Boston to be: squat but fit with an accent that still lingered after 10+ years out west. He wore tight light jeans, no doubt to show off his quads or maybe because he really didn't know any better. I suspect a little of both. I began to converse  with Billy while Kate and Andrew talked to Patricia about shoes and other novel, assorted topics.

While Patricia promised Kate could stop in anytime to check out her shoe collection, Billy revealed that he used to play baseball in the minors and of course had to quit for an injury. He now worked as a personal trainer at a resort in Gainey Ranch. That is where he met Patricia. 

"You know, I trained her," He turned his head proudly as if gazing on a Grecian Bust, "she looks great doesn't she?" I smiled... awkward city. 

Since Billy was quite the talker, I decided it was ok to ask details about how their relationship had developed. I received only vague answers in which Billy tried to segue back to talking about his baseball days. I did learn that Patricia's divorce from her former betrothed had almost come to a close. 

"It was really messy," Billy shook his head and looked sad, "But I was good through the whole thing. I didn't start seeing Patricia until they officially began the divorce process." I assumed he meant that he did start seeing her until they were separated.

"That's very moral of you," I responded, eyeing for Andrew to rescue me.

"Yeah well I'm kind of old fashioned," Bill nodded still staring at Patricia who had made her way to the bar for another martini. It was true: Billy was old fashioned, or so far i could tell from his clothes,  and that may have stemmed from the fact that he was, well, old. He looked at least 55 or so. 

I used this moment as an excuse to duck into the bathroom. In the past 20 minutes I had learned about a wealthy Scottsdale woman who left her unhappy marraige to find solace with her personal trainer. It was so .... typical. This was exactly the sort of story I would expect to surface underneath the beach fascade on top of the W hotel. However, I had to give her some credit for not actually having preyed on young men like Andrew. Maybe, Patricia was also old fashioned.  

Exiting the bathroom, I spotted Stevie intertwined with Wallstreet and found my friends crowding around a heat lamp across the bar. Stevie laughed and held on tight to Wallstreet. Which was smart, I supposed, considering that she might not be so lucky the next time she went a cougar-ing.