Conspiracy Theory was by no means rich, but he's the closest thing I've ever had to a sugar daddy. And I always really wanted a sugar daddy.
Still do.
At least in theory.
Conspiracy was sweet to me in many ways. During final exams, when I was in the computer room at 3 a.m., sweating it out for a paper that was due at 8 a.m., suddenly he'd appear out of nowhere, swaggering into the room with a big grin and an arm full of hot chocolate and sandwiches.
He also gave me the most beautiful coat I've ever owned. The coat was a soft, brown-plaid wool with a big belt and the coolest coral-colored buttons I'd ever seen. I loved that coat. (Not everyone did. My brother called it "the ugliest coat I've ever seen, but you wear it with such panache.")
My fabulous coat (since when is my brother a fashion expert?) was one of many gifts of clothing from Conspiracy. You see, one of the local hustlers found out that Conspiracy had a new lady friend, and he'd periodically knock on the door with hot clothes at super-discount prices.
The apartment was another way Conspiracy showed his devotion to me. It was a two-bedroom apartment, and I had my own room. I paid Conspiracy rent money, but it was not a 50-50 roommate split. He subsidized my existence, in more ways than one. Moving me in caused a bit of family friction, because he had initially promised the extra room to one of his sons, then retracted the offer because he preferred the thought of living with me.
I don't think he could help it. I think he was totally smitten.
He was extremely protective of me. The apartment was around the corner from the New Haven YMCA, which at the time was Homeless and Ne'er-do-Well Central. One of the hang-out-at-the-Y guys scared me. He was short and brown-skinned with an unkempt afro and a thin, tight slash of a mouth that made him look like a demented Muppet. When I would walk by on my way to and from class, he would mutter threats and eye me like easy prey. I told Conspiracy, and he leaped into action. I don't know exactly what type of bodily harm he threatened, but I never, ever had a problem with any of the guys at the Y ever again.
Once, I slipped in the bathtub with a loud thud, and Conspiracy was in the room faster than lightning to make sure I was OK.
He really did care about me, and I also cared about him.
But that didn't stop our relationship from going from good to bad, and plain old ennui drove a lot of that deterioration. Conspiracy was hip and young for a 50-something, but he was still a 50-something. I was a 20-something, and it was inevitable that boredom would set in.
3 comments:
why you really want a sugar daddy? a necessity?
@healy - LOL. Not a necessity, just a fervent wish. Seems like such an easy life ... no job ... no bills ... just a man taking care of everything. Wishful thinking, I know.
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