The City Slickers
to Billy Crystal

By Tatiana Pahlen

     Some gentlemen prefer blondes, some brunettes, and some like it hot, particularly around Christmas.  
     Jumby Bay! The pearl of Antigua – a promised azure island of the West Indies, that takes away your breath and captures eyes in the Caribbean – a sizzling dream of real City Slickers, rushing away from thousands of pestilential Santas, possessed shoppers and starchy snow. No need to tell you: no Caribbean Islander would trade their sacra-sand for a pint of snow. They may wonder why those pale bodies of the Urban Dwellers are craving for more rather than being stretched out under the palms, absorbing the soothing rays of the ever beaming sun. Well, for such bliss you must keep your body in superb shape, where competition of physique is as exclusive as the place you had selected to explore. (Let's name this place "The Club K)."
     I was an alien, a spontaneous guest of a stately plantation owner and true gourmet, Robin Leach. My original plan, to spend Christmas in Miami, Florida, was scratched by the sudden engagement announcement of two of my friends who were determined to bring their engagement party to the West Indies. Next I found myself a willing hostage, on the first flight to Antigua, anticipating a big feast! 
     Upon my arrival in Antigua, I was surrounded by a ravishing mansion full of fruit trees and various gardens of exotic vegetables, which could be an appetizing subject for another story, as was Robin's fluffy Christmas tree, delivered from Maine, for the event.
     I spent two jolly hours decorating the tree while the host and his guests made magic, decorating the table with steaming delicacies made from scratch by Robin himself. I had not yet met Billy Crystal, and when planning a Christmas toast, Robin poured bubbly Crystal Champagne in our glasses. I stated, "Merry Crys'tal," emphasizing the "Y" in Crystal. Everyone laughed unaware of my meaning. "Merry Crystal!" They clinked with champagne glasses emphasizing the letter "A."
    Jumby Bay, accessible only by boat, is less than two miles off the coast of Antigua. This pristine 280 acre island was previously known as Long Island for it svelte shape. "Jumbies", are friendly ghosts, who, according to Antiguan legend, can enter your soul and inspire you to dance and celebrate. The island was acquired by the British in 1632, and still has living descendants with massive croquet lawns; but don't expect Bentleys or limos on this island, as the hottest vehicles are bicycles. Of course, for the rich and famous there are the golf carts, not readily available to the general public. One must follow one's stocks daily to be assured of continued ownership of the cart, less it be turned into someone else's property. Thankfully, Robin Leach had such a vehicle, making his chatty neighbors, such as Oprah and Howard Stern, speechless.
     One may also choose to walk. The whole island is about an hour's walk, but I chose to run; that's how I first ran into Billy Crystal. The road was narrow; we both throttled down, exchanging smiles. He almost ran me over, riding his golf cart full of blondes and brunettes – two of them were his daughters. (I learned that later from a tattooed bartender, as I was having a heavenly banana daiquiri). A small establishment was built at the entrance of the "Club K" — right on the beach. Sand in my drink was a small price to pay for using club facilities.
     The following day I spotted Billy at the gym — a shoebox with large windows, which was also the heart of the "Club K." Having a good glance at him, I was puzzled: the man looked half his age. Busy pumping up his biceps, he was unshakably serious. I longed for some bits of comic relief in the reflections of the dull mirrors or at least a shadow of his last smile. Could it be my baseball hat with the Blue Dog on it I donned to protect my head from the scorching sun that made me appear like a stalker?
     Why do men look so serious while staring at their own muscles? Not finding any amusement and losing patience, I observed Billy showing his girls the old tricks with weights.
     Next day I arrived in Robin's cart and left it far behind the Crystals'. To get inside I had to hop over the comic's vehicle, parked tightly at the gym's door. Billy worked out alone without his motley dream-team, but remained serious. I began wondering: "Are all comedians deadly grave in their real life and exuding humor only on stage"? I started feeling sorry for him and for anyone in the entertainment business. As soon as he left the gym, I went on the floor to stretch my indolent body. It was then that I saw the little precious key lying at my feet, abandoned by the laconic comic.
     He came back morbid, bent to my feet, picked up the key and left the room without a word! Minutes later I looked out the window — his cart was still there. Within an hour I finished my exercise. As I was getting up, I noticed his cart remained on the same spot, meaning I had to hop up and over his cart again, gaining a few more bruises on my legs!
     To my delight I was redeemed, finding that my sacrificial victim Billy-goat was trapped inside Robin's wagon. I put on a somber face.
     "Well, well, well," I said. "What are you doing in my cart? Were you trying to steal it? Somehow I knew it the minute I saw you!"
     "I'm sorry. Seriously, I thought it was mine. But the keys are the same, aren't they?"
     "If they are, why don't you start the cart?" "I apologize." He got out with his eyes staring down.
     "By the way, my name is Tatiana." I said with sympathy for the sad man.
     "Mine is Billy." He replied showing a feeble, but much anticipated smile.
     "Well, it was nice meeting you, Billy." I beamed.
     "My pleasure, Tatiana."
     "No, no, the pleasure was all mine!" I said, as I rode off into the sunset...

January 13, 1997 Copyright © 2000 Tatianyc. All Rights Reserved.