Chapter 7: Denise, My Indian Maiden

Then there was Denise. I think her last name was Cole. She was the girl friend of a dope smuggler pilot from Bartlesville, who had the misfortune to have is loaded plane go down with mechanical problems. He got busted on Federal charges. I met them at a Christmas party one year at a house on Chickasaw or Choctaw. Denise filled out a t-shirt in an amazing way. She was full blooded Cherokee, with a full head of jet black curly hair. She was stunning. Anyway, I didn't see her again for a long time. I ran into her at the DI and she was alone. I recognized her, (who wouldn't have), and asked her to dance. She was with a friend, so we exchanged phone numbers. I don't think she came home with me that night but we got together soon after that. Denise was a sweetheart when she was straight. Problem was there was only about a 30 minute window when that was the case. She would light up a joint with breakfast. She confessed she had done harder stuff but didn't while we were involved as far as I knew. Denise had a daughter named Micah, who later ran off seeking refuge with relatives in Kansas. I remember the notice in the Sunset News in 1990 or there about, that she was missing. I felt really bad. The little gal deserved better. I remember her as a little freckled thing with a smile that would light up the moon. We used to go up to the family run swimming lake (was it Sunset lake?) up in the Osage Hills in my little convertible. I still have pictures of that. I'd carry her around on my shoulders in the water. When I finally had a daughter of my own, I used to remember Micah a lot. Very sweet kid. I can only guess that she ran away to escape the advances of one of her mother's boy friends. Denise was husband or sponsor shopping. I knew she had me and another guy on a line. And was looking to see who would get serious first. I still laugh about that. If she's been straight she still had a lot of baggage. Her whole family was fucked up. Her sister lost a husband out on Birch Lake. They ran over him with a ski boat and cut his arm off, pulled him in the boat and watched him bleed to death. I assume they were all too stoned to think of tying on a tourniquet. Her sister lived off the social security money from his death. They all bounced from living with their mother, to living with each other or whatever guy they could hook up with. Denise fell into this mode when the FBI (this was pre-DEA) seized her boy friends house and evicted her. Then took her car which was in his name. All purchased with drug money. So Denise was shopping. That was fine; I was straight up with her and said I was not interested in a relationship. I was seeing about 4-5 other women at the time and really really didn't want to be in a relationship since I had just gotten divorced. As I said, Denise was a raven haired beauty, the Indian blossom had not hit her yet, and she was still in her late twenties. Her hips were still about 35 or so and she had all the right curves. Unfortunately her nice rack was silicone. Not that that is a bad thing, but she got butchered. The doc hadn't given her big enough implants for the extra skin so when she was leaning forward she would have this little flap of breast hanging over the end of each of the implants. And the crescent scars around the bottom of her aureoles were pretty massive. Must have been the guys first time or he got his med degree in Tijuana. But she was sight to behold in the knit dresses she so liked to wear. She turned heads when ever she entered a room. I am not kidding when I say this, but one of the sexy things about her in my book, was the look that a lot of Hispanic women have. She had this dark hair on her upper lip that gave her upper lip a shadowed look that makes it look lip curls upward. Denise was a hairy one for sure. Indian's don't have hair. Bullshit. I used to kid her about the occasional black hair she had between her breasts. We had a great time together in and out of bed. I fondly remember the trip to the Sooner Park Art Festival. I still have a charcoal drawing of her I had done with all the thick cascading black curly hair. Gorgeous. She was with me when I bought a bunch of water fowl prints from a prominent local artist. I still have the prints I hanging in my house. We had some great times, like driving to see Don Henley together in Tulsa at the Old Lady on Brady. She stripped her panties off in the little convertible, legs pedaling in the air as we sped down US 75. Then woops! Off they flew to land in the road. I had to stop and go back to pick them up. Don't ask me why she took them off.... I was uncomfortable parking near the Federal Jail the night of the concert, as that was where her ex was being incarcerated at the time. Fun times. But it didn't last. Things went down hill. The first signs were when she ran into a telephone pole on Adams Avenue on the curve near Margarite Ave near 123. This was about the time she got evicted. I went with her to get stuff out of her impounded car. The something included a (9mm automatic belonging to her ex-boy friend). When she pulled it out of the car, the cop escorting us was not amused. She got in a rage when he took it. I calmed her down, and I guess I looked sane and safe, wearing a suit having come from the office. He gave me the gun. She exchanged words with him, and then hiked her short skirt up over her panty-less bottom in a kiss my ass parting gesture. I had to calm him down again. He let me with the advice that I had better get my girl friend under control. Good advice. The next episode was at a party with my co-workers. She got drunk, left in a huff and took my keys. I had to catch a ride and found her at a convenience store calling for a ride. Some good Samaritans dropped her off at my house and had my friend drive me there too. When we got back to my house and she pulled the gun out, ostensibly to show the concerned Samaritans that she could protect herself from me if necessary. That was the last straw. I can put up with a lot of erratic behavior, but when the erratic one has a 9mm in their hand, I bail. I never saw her again. Good pussy or not. In 1988 I ran into her at a concert at the Fairgrounds, REO Speedwagon I think. I was with future Ex#2. She was with this young kid a boy half her age, stoned and barefoot. She saw me; I had just come back from my short lived transfer to Houston. So some time after the concert I looked her up. The guy at the liquor store on 6th street at Cherokee knew her and remembered me coming in with her and was able to tell me where she was staying. During my short stay in Houston during the 1988 crash I had sent her a plane ticket to come visit. Yes, I liked her enough for that. But she had cashed in the ticket I guess because she never showed. I dropped by to see her; she was living off Chickasaw with her mother and sister, dating some teenager. I realized it was a lost cause for good then. I regret things didn't work out with her and wonder if she is till amongst the living.