The dirty little secret about Mania is that it’s the greatest feeling in the world. At 57 I’ve seen much of life – I’ve witnessed birth and death up close, I’ve taken drugs from A-Z, (I’m Hendrix vintage – once saw him in a tiny club), fought forest fires in Alaska, I’ve had experiences. But there is simply nothing to compare with that adrenaline-fueled euphoria that mania provides – before the house of cards collapses. This chapter of Invisible Driving (www.invisibledriving.com) is taken from early on in the episode, when everything, simply everything was better than it could possibly be. The writing attempts to mimic the speed and sheer righteous glory of a manic high. The rest of the chapter – Let’s Get Busy – follows.
 
            Had a man-to-man conversation with myself, which left me with a few men to spare. You want to hit on her, that’s apparent, but you’re on your way to see two other women, be cool, relax, enjoy the ride. Don’t blow it all by talking, you talk all the time, you talk to everyone and no one, you’re the talker other talkers dream of being, but for once, just bathe in the perfection. Those legs, holy Christmas, no stockings.
            You know that I know you, I know you know me, kitten, everything is here for us. I know that your senses tell you how alive I am, and I know you know I know women. We both know right now, which is the only time there is, all of the time in the world, I’m the only male riding on these rails who truly meets the standards of a man. Trou, yes, suits, commuters. Nimrods bedabbed with after-shave, men leading lives so tedious and gray they should be shot for the effrontery of breathing in our air, men who wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if she came with an operating manual. They are commonplace but I’m unique. You know I know we both know I know what you want, and I will give it to you. You want me to notice you’ve been naughty. Very familiar with the type. Waiting for the headmaster to punish you. Slip those cotton panties off your rosy derriere, and spank you until your buttocks glow. Not my slice of heaven, ironically, but I give kittens what their hearts desire, anything at all to shed delight.
            Rocking, rushing, racing on the rhythmic wheels of steel I stared in fascination as the past consumed the now. “Oh all right,” mock gravitas, “I can’t take it anymore. What is your name?” Diane, getting off in Baltimore, visiting her parents in Annapolis. No time we’re discussing single-parenthood, dealing with a psychotic ex, human loyalty compared to canine, and the ten things we liked best about sex. Squeal of the brakes made us silent, already sad it would end. Phone number safe in my pocket, names of her kids, her address. Deal done sealed zaparoopie, kitten with a capital It. Opened up the kitten hall of fame for her alone, inducted her into the Puss Corps. Didn’t have to call her, the seduction was complete, she would have done me right on the train.  Knowing one can visit a Vermeer in the museum, in some respects is preferable to owning one.
            Train got to the station, said goodbye to all the staff, knew every one of them by name. No matter where I found myself I had to work the room, trying out material, breaking in the act, making an impression everywhere I went. Always talked to somebody, frequently myself, if an audience was unavailable. Really got a charge out of being overheard, my objective was, of course, to be outrageous. When I hit Union Station it hit me right back. Recently restored to drop dead gorgeous splendor, turned out to the max for Christmas, sweeter than a millionaire’s debutante daughter slowly sweeping down a spiral staircase. Felt as though I’d stepped into a new reality. Unemployed, close to broke, and facing the emotional demands of the season, forget about it, child’s play. Don’t think even Mick, big lip, Jagger strutting on the stage at the height of his career, ever felt more cocksure, cool, snozzy, handsome, or radnopolis.
            There to pick me up, speaking of a millionaire’s daughter, and I was, she was hypothetical and descending a spiral staircase when we left her, was Lilly. With Christmas carols ringing across the high arches of Union Station’s grand hall, and I love Christmas music despite the commercial degradations it’s subjected to, and Lilly, all five feet, ten inches of her wrapped in fur down to her ankles, things were perfect. Rather like a movie set. Suspiciously perfect. Almost too perfect. As if the entire situation with all the people and things had been put there specifically to mislead me. Felt like I was in a movie. I was in a movie. What a groovy movie at that. There was a bizarre extippitox sensation of hyper-reality. Not unreality. Had the feeling that I was an altered version of myself in a suddenly different world. As though, don’t laugh, or do if you feel like it, aliens had scrambled my chromosomes while I was sleeping. Still had all the same parts but they were arranged differently. Had an enormously heightened sense of awareness, awareness of all things. All my senses were supercharged. Constantly restless, noticed everything. Endless streaming in of sensory data was snozzling, dizzying, sometimes overpowering. Look at those fabulous shops, gold trim over white, very royal French, tasty.
            Lilly was a spoiled child, in plain English. In plane geometry she would be something else. I knew this instinctively all along but I’d been kidding myself that there was a future for us because she was so damned attractive and vital. Tall, black hair, green eyes, plain, open face, wonderfully animated. Always talking. Vivacious. Irresistible, girlish voice. Only in her mid-twenties and already making serious money. Hopelessly self-centered. Hard drinker, party animal, tease. For all that she was ravishing in fur, surrounded by Christmas carols and the bitterly cold wind. We got in her car. Our plan was to drive into Georgetown and have dinner, then hit the spots for some music. Lilly played the radio. I played hard to get, but it wasn’t working. Perfect taste in music, jazz, soul, rhythm and blues that I liked. Uncanny really, the way her tastes in music matched mine, and mine were highly developed, highly refined. Music, (along with details, timing, a good profile, and having enough money in your wallet to leave town if you have to), it must be remembered, is everything. It’s emotion. That Lilly got my music was an omen, a sign we were right for one another.
            Rock star sensibility, chauffeured by a queen, music absolutely impeccable, reefer with a lot on its mind. Power window whined as I lowered it. Night air swirled bloody cold, that’s right, he said bloody cold, knowing full well it was British English and sounded la-di-da from an American, loving it more for that reason, but it felt great. Toured me through D.C., could not believe it, street walkin’ women everywhere. High-heel, hot pants, parade of prostitutes. Good God almighty, hot pants! Way below freezing out there. I’d already seen 42nd Street, the French Quarter in New Orleans, even the boulevards of Rio, never saw anything that brazen before.
            Dealers drifted in and out of shadows. After Lilly learned that they were interesting to me she pointed out the ones I overlooked, proudly showing off her knowledge of the city’s outdoor theater of pain. Even found a drive-through crack mini-mart, cars backed up for a block. Could not believe the depravity, right out in the air. Of all of it the homelessness was hardest to absorb. Steam vents, lumpy blankets, death on the installment plan. Mad, alcoholic, helpless, each to his own disability. In the land of e pluribus unum, where guardians of the trust collected checks, where senators made billion-dollar phone calls, an almost invisible army stuck to the pavement like gum. Despite my lofty status I felt empathy. How could we allow this to happen, we who had so much? Nation of gluttonous waste and affluence. Dizzy-headed giddy from intoxicating rage. No safety. No protection. Abandonment. Chewed up by a cold and heartless government. This was what the world would do for those who couldn’t make it. Nothing! Let them rot.
            Lilly looked at me differently, almost as though we’d never met. After dinner we took in a club, but when we got back to my friend’s house, she wouldn’t even come in. Two of us hadn’t made love yet, but we’d steamed up the windows a bit. Called the next day, whoops! She had plans. Did not make no kind of sense. Me being there was big. For months we’d been melting the telephone lines, now she had an engagement? Hot, pissed off, and furious. Told her that was it, I’d had it, really didn’t need bullshit anymore. Told her she was losing the best man on two legs, the best man she’d ever know. Asked did she want to see me again, fish or cut bait situation. Lilly was demure, and she was never demure, not the way you are right now.
            So Lilly never made it as a kitten, never joined the ranks of the Puss Corps. Oh what the hell, it was her loss, not good enough to make the cut. Suitable once perhaps, when my standards were lower, but not a likely companion for the meteor I was becoming. Called Hilary, singing to myself, You don’t want to crack up, get yourself a backup. Hilary and I had seen each other a few times and she had a little crush on me. She was surprised, and thrilled, that I was in town. Was I really in D.C.? Took a cab to the restaurant where she worked. She was tickled, couldn’t wait to get off. I couldn’t wait to get off either, he said, unable to resist the cheap line, which wouldn’t be the first time. Waited in the bar while she finished up. Snatches of a poem I’d forgotten, floated to the surface of my brain. You know how to make me sweat/Sometimes you’re sweet/You’re everything I haven’t had yet/You’re everything I want in a pet.
            Drove me back to her place, townhouse in Alexandria she shared with two other women. By the time we got there the sexual tension was like perfume in the air, in fact I think it was, Eau You Kid. Hadn’t seen each other for a couple of months. Got inside, mixed some drinks, went straight to her room. Never had been to her place before, when I saw it I busted out laughing. Looked like it belonged to a teenager, catastrophic clothing situation.  Not a mess, more like a maelstrom. Clothes on the bed, the floor, hung from the corners of pictures, hardly a place to step. She had a huge, walk-in closet filled with clothes. I’d always known Hilary to dress exquisitely and now I understood it for the passion that it was.
            “Hilary, my dear,” broad smile, “I think you should clean up your room.” Then, without a clue to where the notion came from, added, “for flavor, just to make it interesting, try them on for me, nice and tasty, before you put them away.” 
            Relatively innocent at twenty-six years old, Hilary was game but inexperienced. Clever and excited, she caught on rapidly. After all, the rules were in her favor, all she had to do was get dressed and undressed, one of her favoritest activities. Only difference was, this time she’d be watched, every activity observed. Felt the blood roaring in my ears at the thought of what would happen next. Hilary was the girl for the job, built to electrify a runway. Tall, small breasted, svelte, firm and lovely bottom that gave way to a pair of exquisite legs as long as a sentence from Faulkner. Snatched up a handful of clothes from the bed and vanished into the closet, modestly closing the door as she did. Came out in an opulent silk kimono, long auburn hair around her shoulders.
            “Delight me, Hilary,” I instructed her, “pay close attention to the lingerie.” She smiled, if she was scared, it didn’t show.
            Her arms had been folded, when she dropped them, the kimono parted wide enough to see she was divinely naked underneath. Smoothed on sheer silk stockings, clipped them to a garter belt. Shrugged her shoulders, ever so slightly, the kimono slipped to the floor.
            “Is this what you had in mind?” she inquired. Play-acting coy, flirtatious, but, genuinely wanted to know.
            “Yeah,” could barely choke the word out. Then she picked up one of her brassieres, lacy and sweet as it could be, and adjusted it with sensual attention, until her girlish breasts were painted by its pattern.
            She found a pair of black stiletto heels and put them on, gathered up more articles of clothing. Watched her every movement, mesmerized. She must have felt my gaze against her skin. Everywhere I went there were angels! She turned her back to me and from the perch of her high heels bent over to the floor and fetched some stockings. Stiff as a rake handle, buddy. Before we called it quits she’d been a dozen different beauties, statuesque in ball gowns with nothing underneath, cunning combinations of underwear, even some complete ensembles. She’d put her hair back up, and put it down again, half a dozen different ways, fiddled with necklaces and earrings, improved upon perfection with cosmetics. I was the mountin’ man, she was the highest peek show, Everest about to climb Hilary.
            When all of her clothes were neatly put away, we did, finally, make love. The heavy-mental foreplay had primed her to the point where she came almost instantly, thrashing back and forth like a tigress on the hunt, making sounds outside of my experience. Finished she descended into sleepy coziness, thanked me for my help with the room. Ushered instantly into the Puss Corps Hall of Fame, kitten with a capital ten. The satisfaction only fed my energy, dizzy jitters, wide-awake. Dreamy Hilary dreamt peacefully, all of her clothes put away, while I took care of business, feverishly, dusted, wiped, arranged, everything had to be precisely in its place, everything had to be just so. Finally the room was satisfactory, it looked as though a team of cleaning ladies had been working on the place for a week. Hilary had not noticed anything. I felt the breath of claustrophobia.
            Dawn tracked me down at the station, by noon I was rocketing north. God only knows what she thought when she woke up, God only knows what she thought. Came home to the chaos only teenage girls create, woke up in Donna Reed’s guest suite. Snat, rabazibby, magical man, magical wherever he goes.