Je regrette

I’ve been listening to Édith Piaf, the chanteuse of France in the forties to the early sixties. If you’ve never heard her song “Non, je ne regrette rien”, listen to it on YouTube, or any number of channels. Her voice is amazing, you don’t have to understand the words.

Anyhow, the title basically translates to: “No, I regret nothing”. Wow, I wish I had nothing to regret. The mistakes I have made over my life would require writing day and night for a thousand years.

I’m going to share with you one of gravest mistakes. And there are many that achieve this dubious honor, but this one is hitting me tonight.

It was near Christmas 1984. I was the night manager at the Sheraton in the City of Industry, and was invited to the manager’s party at a chic restaurant in Beverly Hills. Doug and I were anticipating the experience. We were a couple at the time and had been for five or six years. Shortly before the event (maybe a week), I was informed that one of my co-managers would be ‘uncomfortable’ if Doug attended. His invitation was rescinded.

I knew at the time who it was. It was the woman who espoused right wing rhetoric. Just as a side note, her husband beat her regularly. Heavy make-up couldn’t always cover the bruises.

But I went anyway.

I am a fucking coward.