So, �Danger� Dan, neighborhood stuntman, is going in for an operation today. He stopped by the boat to say hello yesterday, holding a bag of laundry and mumbling something about Vicodin. Dan woke up one morning not too long ago, and his arms and legs were numb, and after a lot of tests and a couple of MRIs, the doctors explained that one of the disks in his neck is pressing into his spine. Bad news for a stuntman, or for anyone, really, but Dan is especially not looking forward to it.

One day last year, the Keelhauler called from offshore and, in conversation, mentioned that Dan was getting off work early to attend something called the Stuntman Awards. Naturally, because I didn�t know Dan very well, and hadn�t been invited, and knew nothing about the awards, I immediately wanted to attend them.

�Where are these awards?� I asked.
�In LA, at some studio.� (That sounded promising. More promising, anyway, than �In this guy Derrick�s back yard.�)
�Who�s he going with?� I asked.
�No one,� answered the Keelhauler.
�I want to go!� I said.
�Yeah, I know,� he said, �I told him he should take you.�

I had to weigh the semi-diss of the Keelhauler offering me up as some kind of cut-rate call girl against the idea that I might actually be able to attend the event. I ran into Dan that evening in the laundry room, and feigned ignorance of the reason he might not be at work. He told me about the awards show, and joked, �Yeah, the Keelhauler told me I should take you, but I told him, Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, I�m not going with my buddy�s girlfriend�.� The way he trailed off indicated to me that he might be open to it, but was uncertain how I�d react. (This is just another example of the way I use my �interpersonal skills� to manipulate people into doing what I want.) I told him that I would be the ideal date, because, as we weren�t actually dating, he could introduce himself to all the foxy stuntwomen he wanted, and I�d never be jealous. I left, to give the idea time to percolate.

I was in Nordstrom�s the next day, when the call came.

�Ya got a dress?�
I pivoted and walked toward the �dress� section. �Of course,� I answered. We made arrangements to meet the following evening (in the parking lot at the marina, because I deserve nothing but the best). After much consultation with Tahmi, I decided to wear a black Donna Karan cocktail dress, very high, pointy, Italian wedge-heeled ankle-strap shoes, with a black silk organza shawl embroidered with uncut rock crystal. I was the hit of the parking lot, but when Dan saw me, he grimaced and said, �You�re taller than me!� which I technically am, even without the heels. He was wearing black pants with a satin stripe down each leg, a white thermal undershirt and a cropped Western-style black evening jacket. �We can�t go; you look better than I do!� he complained, but we got into his truck and headed for LA. (�The insurance on this thing just expired, so I guess I better be careful!�)

The Taurus awards, as the event is known, was held on the Paramount lot, and suffice it to say that I was by far the most conservatively dressed person of either sex. It was a very strange crowd, consisting of compact guys in see-through silk shirts, gold chains and white brocade dinner jackets, and muscular women in bright satin gowns or Lycra. As guest presenter Arnold Schwarzenegger joked, �The difference between the Oscars and the Taurus awards is that at the Oscars, the breasts are fake but the jewelry is real.� (Hey! I�ll be here all week!) Dan, who loves to make conversation with everyone, began talking to the woman next to him�a girl in a skin-tight fuchsia velour bell-bottomed jumpsuit, strapless, to show off the definition of her biceps, but with auxiliary, detached sleeves, each also ending in a wide bell. Each leg of the jumpsuit and each sleeve tube featured six-inch fringe of large translucent plastic beads in lavender, peach, pink, and yellow. She caught me staring at her matching earrings, and said hello. I knew that I should comment on her attire, but the proper adjective escaped me. I opened my mouth and heard, �That�s a dynamite outfit!� come out. She seemed pleased, and revealed that her �designer� had �created� it for her.

Dan was in his element�he greeted all the big celebrity stuntmen by name, introduced himself to all the pretty girls, and at the party afterwards, we walked around the back lot amongst the fire-dancers and hula-hoopers, but even the open bar could hold our interest for only so long. On the drive home, he critiqued the party, assessed the number of celebrities he had greeted (four), and deemed it a success. I had to agree with him, albeit for slightly different reasons.