There he stands, all six feet, two inches atop a breathtaking blue and white sculpture filled with cool, clear water. A spectacular glow of harvest yellow emanates from the leaves of a nearby tree, bouncing off the sky-blue walls of the Music Hall creating a hum that I can see with my eyes. At the center of this transcendent image is Clement, the color of wine, perched atop the sculpture like a playful god. His smile is the perfect combination of the sort of confidence and lack of responsibility I imagine everyone will exude in one hundred years.
In the midst of this beguiling beauty I suddenly wonder if Clemente would be of any use to me should the security guards of the Disney Music Hall have no interest in simply removing us from the premises, but demand blood as payment for our trespasses. My baby jaguars and I can take three, maybe four guards but I would need skilled backup if faced with worse odds.
As I gaze upon Clement’s svelte figure, the powerful fingers that moved with ease through his hair, those long arms with their capable reach, the dark eyes that darted back and forth, and the knowing smile of a man that has a secret or two I realized in that moment, no…. he is too damn pretty to help me in a fight. I mean, look at those lips.