Sixty two year old Wallace Stone wasn't from Saratoga Springs, he was just passing through on business. When after dinner he walked through the park and stopped near the little stage where an angry young man was singing angry songs, mercifully without benefit of amplification.
Most of the couple dozen or so folks who were around the performer listening didn't seem much more interested than Wallace was, but the salesman didn't care about them. His eyes were focused on the skinny kid who had one foot on a skateboard, slowly rolling it to and fro in time with the music.
"You sweet thing," Wallace whispered to himself as he took in the sight that was glorious to him, perhaps in part because the lad looked much like a roommate he had back in school four decades ago.
The lad's dirty blonde hair was long and unkempt like his roommate's had been, back when a hippie-looking fellow got noticed more than they did now. The skateboarder was skinnier too, almost painfully so, as was revealed by the sloppy outfit that hung on the boy.
The tank top showed much of his scrawny shoulders and arms which were devoid of tattoos and piercings but had plenty of scrapes, likely from skateboarding mishaps. The baggy shorts revealed a particularly nasty bruise on the kid's bony knee as well, so while Wallace though he was beautiful looking he looked like he needed some tender loving care.
Would that lad even feel that knee injury if he were on all fours in Wallace's hotel bed, he fantasized? Would the boy like a fistful of his scruffy hair in the salesman's grip while he gave the lad something he probably never experienced before?
Never the shy one, Wallace worked his way over to the fellow, happy that he didn't seem to be there with anybody, and after a song ended he gave a couple of claps while leaning over to the boy and asked, "Pardon me - is he anybody?"
"Dale," the boy responded, looking up at the tall old man and noticing him for the first time. "I only know who he is because he goes to Skidmore too."
"Oh? You're a college man?" Wallace asked, and when the boy nodded the salesman got more interested.
It only took the persuasive salesman the time between songs to learn that the skateboarder's name was Essex Franklin and he was about to start his sophomore year tomorrow at the pricey college. Essex had a part-time job washing dishes in town and used the skateboard for transportation to and from the campus dorm.
"Essex. That's an unusual name," Wallace said, quickly added that he liked it a lot. "Let's see, there was a music group back in the 60's called the Essex, but I'll bet that you were named after..."
"David Essex," the lad interrupted. "My Mom had the hots for this teen idol from ancient times so she named me after him."
"Rock on," Wallace chuckled in mentioning the signer's claim to fame. "Well, I think that if she chose between David and Essex you got the best choice. Distinctive names get you remembered."
"I guess," Essex said, and when he moved his head his long locks parted a bit to reveal he had an earring - a little rainbow earring - and suddenly Essex got even more interesting to the salesman.
"So tell me Essex," Wallace said as another song began. "What do you want to be when you grow up - or better put after you graduate from college?"
"I dunno. Are you a cop mister?" Essex asked.
"No son, I'm a salesman," Wallace chuckled. "Why? Do you think I'm interrogating you?"
"Kinda," Essex admitted. "But I don't have to answer if I don't want to, I guess."
"That's right," Wallace agreed with a smile.
"I thought I wanted to design video games but now I'm not sure," Essex said. "I used to want to be a model. I did some things for this local rag..."
Essex pulled out an old clipping that showed a very neat and tidy Essex modeling a shirt, and after Wallace said he looked good added, "Your hair was much shorter then. I like it this way better. And I like your earring too."
"Oh," Essex replied.
"Of course if you were to model full time you might have to give up the skateboarding," Wallace observed as he nodded down to the boy's wounded knee, noticing for the first time the light dusting of faint light brown hair that graced the inside of the lad's wiry calves. "That must hurt."
"No, not really," Essex responded. "You know who you look like?"
"No, but I'm almost afraid to ask," Wallace kidded.
"Harrison Ford sort of. I guess you might be taller but..." Essex said but as he started to explain Wallace cut him off.
"Say no more. I'll take it," the older man replied. "You made my day. So tell me, since I'm new around here, where do Harrison Ford type men go for fun around here. This isn't exactly my cup of tea."
"Dale? He sucks. Thinks he's Kurt Cobain. I'm just here because there's nothing to do. Can't get into bars yet," Essex lamented.
"But you like an occasional cocktail I assume?" Wallace asked, and after the boy sheepishly grinned he continued. "Of course, if I didn't want to get arrested I could always invite you to my room for a drink or two."
"Who would know?" Essex suggested shyly.
"I suppose that's true. When I was your age I could not only die for my country but drink in it too," Wallace remarked.
"One year 9 months and 1 day," Essex calculated.
"Until you're 21? Have it all figured out I see. Well, let's just say that maybe it's because I'm an 62 year old fossil but you don't look 19," Wallace said. "I mean that in a good way."
"You don't look 62 either mister..."
"Wallace," he reminded him.
"Wallace," Essex said.
"Still old enough to be your father - or even grandfather," Wallace commented. "If any of your friends have seen me talking with you, tell them I'm your Grandpa."
"Don't have many friends," Essex said. "With school and my job and all, plus I'm kinda shy."
"Shy? You don't seem like that to me," Wallace opined. "You've been quite charming and are an excellent conversationalist."
"Thanks. Guess I get along better with people that are - not my age."
"Very diplomatic," the elder remarked. "Well then, I'm staying at the Hilton Garden. If you would like we can stroll up and have a drink. Would we pass any stores?"
