Memories of Martini Summer
We called it Martini Summer, and it was just as fun as it sounds. It was one of those rare, short periods of time when you have a little money, a lot of friends, and endless iterations of food, booze, sex, and more food. Enough food to reverse my stress-induced slimness. Enough gin to help me socialize.
We were in Providence — back before the apocalypse was created, incorporated, and sold on the NYSE. Back when we shared lipsticks and kissed each other hello and goodbye.
My old friend, who I had recently reconnected with, was that singular person who made everyone she met feel like the only person in the world. My magical friend would come home with groceries from a little gourmet shop. Hard and soft cheese, salami and prosciutto, fresh strawberries, jars stuffed with fat olives, French bread, and fancy crackers would fill out the plates that covered the small table in the tiny kitchen of the tiny apartment my boyfriend shared with this amazing, beautiful woman.
Scott would mix different drinks and serve us martinis of every flavor. Raspberry was made with Chambord and always had three perfect berries in the glass and sugar on the rim to lick off with our young tongues. Lemon…
