MONIQUE DROVE A CITROËN SM

SAN FRANCISCO 1983-85: One of my favorite places to go was a place called Dancers located on Harrison and Second Street. Dancers was a large, dark place with many colored lights flashing around as an industrial-beat of music kept breeding an inescapable aura of sexuality, as girls were even dancing on top of the bar.

Earlier I had awkwardly asked several of them to dance with me, but I was rejected every time. And just as I was about to become discouraged, I saw an attractive female standing near the dance floor, leaning against a pillar with her arms folded. She appeared relaxed, with her long, curly hair that fell over her bare shoulders. Her eyes were large and brown under thick, manicured eyebrows.

But after approaching her, she too would decline my dance request.
But refusing to be dismissed, I had asked her the trite follow-up question: "Do you come here often?" And it worked, a conversation ensued.

And it turned-out we had something in common: she too had worked at the Carnelian Room restaurant, and we knew some of the same people. She told me her name was Monique and then we danced. Soon thereafter however she wanted to leave the club, and asked me if I wanted to come along. It was an invitation I couldn't refuse.

Monique's car was parked under a bright street lamp. It was a Citroën, my favorite car. I was surprised to see one in the US and had never seen this particular model before. It was a Citroën SM. I was in awe and so was Monique: I with her car and she with me for knowing about Citroëns.

The nicest one I had seen in Holland was the Citroën Pallas. My friend's father had one, and drove us back from a tennis tournament once at about 180 km per hour (110 mph). The car would cut through the wind like a space ship, as its hydropneumatic suspension automatically lowered the car at higher speeds. The Citroën was one of the first aerodynamic cars, and first to have front wheel drive. And it had many other ingenious inventions, such as the swiveling headlights that simultaneously turned with the steering wheel, allowing the driver to see in advance the road he was turning into.

It was slightly past midnight when we drove off. But besides entering a new day, I felt like I was entering a new world. Instead of walking home to my basement apartment on Larkin Street or having to take a trolley bus home, I was now sitting next to a beautiful woman who was driving me down the streets of San Francisco in a Citroën SM. Life was beautiful. This was the America I was looking for. 

While Monique's eyes were on the road, mine were on her. It seemed that with each passing moment she was becoming more beautiful as the fast bypassing streetlights on Van Ness Avenue seemed to be taking snapshots of her, as if there were paparazzi everywhere.

Monique was a good driver. The Citroën’s leather interior was hugging us in comfort as its Maserati engine was purring us forward. At some point Monique glanced over and asked me: "So, where do you want to go?" I decided to take a chance and said: "Let's go to your place."

Monique smiled while looking at the road ahead. Moments later a garage door rose as the Citroën SM dipped under it into a large pool of darkness. This night the gods were on my side.

Citroën SM

The large underground garage where Monique had parked her car was dimly lit. As we walked over to the elevator, Monique pointed at a black Porsche 928 and said: “See that car? That car was in Risky Business. Did you see that movie?”

Before I could answer, she hit the elevator button. I hadn't seen the movie, but the elevator we entered seemed very small antiquated. Monique closed its door and slid a copper screen. The elevator went up slowly as we saw numerous doors slide down below us until we reached the top one.

Outside the elevator, immediately to the right, was apartment 704, and the moment Monique opened the door a four-footer approached me with a smile. I had never seen one of those before. It was a Russian wolfhound also known as a borzoi. The dog was very tall, skinny and furry with an arched back and blended well with the art-deco black leather couches, sleek lamps, vases and statues inside the apartment. It was as if Erte’ had decorated it himself.

In the corner was a bar built from glass bricks and was lit-up with different colored lights. The shelves behind it displayed a collection of liqueurs. Everything was modern and fancy.

I was relaxing in a black leather couch just letting the evening unfold as it kept getting better. Monique had brought me a glass of wine and I continued to sip it as our eyes remained locked, but I couldn't help notice the ABC Lexicon of Love album which was my favorite New Romantics band from the eighties when I was living in the Netherlands.

ABC the Lexicon of Love

Next thing I know we were watching the James Bond movie Octopussy. Bond was in bed with Magda, drinking Don Perignon champagne and notices the little tattoo on her lower back and asks: “Forgive my curiosity, but what is that?” Magda answers: “That’s my little octopussy,” and then they kiss . . . and then we kissed. It was a beautiful thing. I remember thinking: The eagle has landed. But that was a different movie.

When we woke up the next morning together I was looking for my PPK but then remembered I wasn't James Bond. I just felt like him. It was a good feeling. Monique opened-up the refrigerator and introduced me to a fruit I had never seen before: mango. I thought it had a strange looking shape and a very large pit, but I did like the way it tasted.  

"My goal is to marry this man," Monique told me, pointing at a leaflet on the refrigerator. I looked at his picture and didn't find him particularly handsome. He also looked much older than her. The name under the picture read: "Dr. Leonard Peikoff, Capitalism versus Socialism Debate."

I asked Monique why she wanted to marry him, and she said that he was the greatest man in the world. We then went out for breakfast.  

Monique drove a Citroen