Everytime I saw Bruce my heart went crazy and my stomach tried to jump on top of it.
He had schoolboy charm in the distinguished and mature body of a grown man. Dark hair with the perfect touch of grey over the ears, bright, young eyes and a quick, mischievous smile. He told jokes in the elevator and played guitar on his balcony. He used to teach creative writing, wrote three books that never got picked up by a publisher and then found his fortune teaching managers and executives how to give presentations.
I met Bruce the day I moved in across the hall from him. I was waiting for an elevator in the lobby and he was telling jokes to the concierge. We ended up in the elevator together and without even introducing himself he started telling jokes.
At the time I was still a lot like Audrey: pedicures, flip flops and all. But unlike Audrey I couldn’t maintain a cool distance from Bruce’s good nature or funny jokes. I couldn’t help but smile every time I saw him, and laugh every time he told a funny joke.
He had been living with Audrey for twelve years, they had no children or pets, but apparently changed their furniture or found a new apartment every few years. I found these things out from Audrey in the elevator one day.
We didn’t usually run into each other, and on this rare occassion she was intrigued by the little dog in my purse, which brought up the subject of pets which led to the subject of children. She was averse to having any of her own. I assumed Bruce felt the same way, though it seemed odd on him.
But then, they were an odd couple except for looking good together and having similar tastes in furniture and fashion.
Aside from his charm and charisma, my favourite thing about Bruce was -- and I say this shamefully -- the way he smelled. It was a clean, subtle smell without the mustiness or spiciness of men’s cologne or aftershave, but distinctly manly the way those things were.
