Positive/Negativity by D.D. Lorenzo

they executed in the design of this building, that was what contributed to The New Amsterdam Theatre remaining one of the oldest surviving venues on Broadway. There were so many details to absorb that I was attempting to commit each sight to memory. My Mother had passed on her love for all things 1930 and 1940 to me through the old movies we watched together. One of our favorites was “The Ziegfeld Follies”. When Declan told me that this was the theatre in which Flo Ziegfeld hosted his Follies, I just knew that I had to share it with my mom, so I began to discretely take pictures with my phone.
     

     
    Aria was enchanting. She had a look of wonderment as she took in her surroundings. Her ever-changing eyes reflected how spellbound she had become in her excitement of New York, and frankly, it was infectious. I was freshly seeing New York through my beautiful girl’s eyes. I only wished I were closer to her to see the spectrum of color changes as her eyes reflected her joy.
    I had become so desensitized to how wondrous a city New York could be that seeing it with her, for her first time, was fun and amazing. She delighted in every detail of theatre, as was evidenced by her use of the cell phone camera. TT
    As I introduced her to everyone, she was most delightful and gracious. I walked her around the theatre, and she reminded me of a kid in a candy store as she gazed in all directions. I found a place where she could be comfortable for several hours and helped her to settle there. She didn’t think I was watching, but I never took my eyes off of her. It might have been due to my overprotective feelings for her, but it wasn’t the only reason.
    A concern for my over protectiveness was information that Marisol might be at this shoot today. It hadn’t been confirmed, but I had a feeling she would be. Marisol Franzi could be downright vicious to other women. I knew if she treated Aria with anything other than respect, I’d react and it wouldn’t be a pleasant scene. Although I’d asked, the photographer didn’t know for certain if Marisol was the model selected for today’s session, which was odd.
    Unbeknownst to Aria, Marisol had phoned me, several times, and I politely brushed her off. Marisol could be assertive, and at times, she could be militant when attempting to get what she wanted. She was a “diva” in the most extreme use of the word. The Press labeled her a Supermodel, and although it may be necessary to be in her presence for this particular account, since meeting Aria I didn’t care to work with her at all. She could redefine the word “bitch” to reflect a more derogatory term than it currently meant. She could be cunning, ruthless and cruel, all while flashing her million dollar smile. She was known as a woman who took what she wanted, never asking for permission. She never made excuses—ever! If what she wanted wasn’t available to her, she had the obstacle removed—whatever it may be—so that she could obtain her desired goal. She cared neither if her methods were ethical or not.
    Marisol and I had a love-hate relationship. Eight months ago, we attended a party that was hosted by a client. She decided that, after the party, I’d be her sexual conquest of that night. She had been very open and suggestive about her plans that evening, making explicit comments with regard to how she was going to “ride me hard” and “be the best I’d ever had” that she was laughable. She was so shockingly blatant, rubbing her ass against me as well as other body parts, that she was downright whorish, crude, and vulgar. I found that unattractive in a woman, but really, what did I care that night? She was just going to be a “one night stand” to me. I would have screwed her because she was just that easy. The plan was thwarted when I received a phone call from the man doing renovation on my house at the beach. It seemed a very important matter came up that required my attention, and it was something that