Add Spice to Taste (7 page)

We made our way through the now-dense crowd in the dining room and out into the street. It was still hot, even though the sun was set
ting, but a cool breeze was coming in from the direction of the East River.

“It’s kind of nice out,” she said, adjusting her belt.

“Yeah, not as bad as it’s been.” I wiped the sweat that had immediately built on my forehead. “Still humid, though.”

“I hear we’re go
ing to get a really cold winter.”

“Yeah.”

Oh, this was bad. Discussing the weather was bad. We’d already run out of things to talk about? How could this be? I tried desperately to think of something to say but everything I thought of sounded trite.

Oh, wait. Duh.

“How are you liking the class? Feel like you’re learning anything?”

She perked up. “Oh, I’m loving it. I love Moroccan food and I’ve always wanted to learn how to make it. I’m so glad I finally decided to take the class.”

“Me, too.”

She
turned her face to me and I forced myself to look back at her, even though I knew that I’d be revealing a whole lot more than I wanted to.

“You’ll be able to ‘wow’ your guests at your dinner party
,” I offered.

“My what?”

“Your dinner party.”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

We kept walking, reveling in the cool breeze that kicked up now and then. I could tell she was enjoying it by the way she kept turning her face up into the air. She looked so serene when she did that and I envied her that peace. I wished that I could soak some up some of that peace just from being near her. Even the silence that settled in again seemed okay. It was now a comfortable silence, which was a little strange because we didn’t really know each other. But I liked how it seemed that maybe we did.

The
Empire State Building, lit up in orange and purple, came into view up ahead, which meant we were headed uptown. “You know what? Why don’t we turn here?” I steered Julianna across Fourth Avenue and back downtown, the direction from which we’d come.

“Where are we going?”

“West Village.”

“Okay. Any place in particular?”

“Um, let’s just see where the wind takes us.”

The sun was just lowering onto the horizon over
New Jersey. Bright splashes of purple, crimson, and pink slashed the sky, holding off the dark inkiness that was steadily approaching.

I led her through the streets of
Greenwich Village, down St. Mark’s Place, past the tattoo parlors, vintage clothing shops, and tiny eateries that required you to go below street level. The old brownstone buildings stopped at the huge intersection of Lafayette Street and Fourth Avenue, where St. Mark’s turned into West Eighth Street. Every inch of pavement teemed with city dwellers making the most of the dwindling summer evenings. No matter what month it was, summer always seemed to be dwindling. I mopped my forehead with the back of my hand and thought,
And sometimes summer seems endless in New York City.

Strands of little white
lights reflected off fences and posts, while sandwich boards declared the day’s specials. Along West Eighth Street, we stopped to peer in shoe stores and boutique windows, commenting on how when we were kids, that street was full of record stores and head shops. At Sixth Avenue, I pulled her left, then right on Waverly Place, past Gay Street, to Grove Street.

Across the Christopher Park triangle, our destination shone in neon letters: The Stonewall Inn.
At the corner, I stared across at the window of the place where the gay rights movement began, and every muscle in my body felt paralyzed. I was taking her to a gay bar, like it was a date, without finding out first if she that’s what this really was. But she had been flirting with me, hadn’t she? Or had she? Hadn’t she said I was cute? Otherwise, what was all of this about? What would such a cute, exciting woman as Julianna want with me, a slowly decaying, wallowing-in-self-pity whisk jockey? Maybe she was just being friendly. Maybe she was just a flirty person. Maybe she wanted me to make her Moroccan food.

Wow, I really sucked at this.

“Are we going in there?” Julianna asked, pointing to the Stonewall.

“Uh, well, if you want. I mean…
.” Frozen, feeling obtuse, all my thoughts congealed into one indefinable mass.

Julianna grabbed my hand and pulled. “We can cross now. There hasn’t been a car in, like, two whole minutes.” She now led me as we passed the little triangular park. When we rounded the point of the triangle, we took a few more steps before
we crossed the street. Through the open gate of the park, I could just make out the iconic sculptures of the gay male and female couples, their stark whiteness reflecting the newly shining moonlight. A haggard-looking woman, who looked to be in her sixties, wearing droopy jeans and a white T-shirt that had seen better days, stood in front of the females. She had a flower in her hand and was stooped over, gently kissing the lips of one of the statues. Was she pretending that the statue was her date? She looked lonely and sad and I felt a kick in my gut at the thought that I might be her one day: a lonely, pathetic, haggard old dyke. Alone. Kissing statues. I wanted to go over to her and gently ask her to please, for all our sakes, go to the LGBT Community Center and meet people, or join SAGE. Anything.

Instead, I found myself in front of the Stonewall
with a beautiful woman. I hesitated, looking at the posters of various events taking place each night of the week. Most of them were for men but there was one with a picture of an incredibly fit woman’s abs, her hands clutching her tank top, holding it up to show the gleaming tan of her torso. Across the top were the words “Lesbo A-Go-Go” in big, bold letters. I was having second thoughts about bringing Julianna here.

Before I could say anything,
she pulled me through the black wooden door. It was crowded inside, a mix of men and a few women. Neat-looking men still in their work clothes, and raunchy looking guys in mesh tanks, biker boots, and vinyl hats. The bear I’d seen in there a couple of times before gave me a little wave and I waved back, secretly cringing at all the thick, dark hair poking out of his mesh T-shirt and covering his arms. Two men in the corner downed their drinks, got up, and made their way toward the front door, kissing other men or waving “hello” along the way. I immediately pulled Julianna into the space and we grabbed the newly vacated stools.

“What’ll you have?”
I asked her.

“
A martini, please.”

“Gin or vodka?”

“Gin.”

“Olives or onions?”

“Olives.”

“Shaken or stirred?”

She gave me a wry little grin. “Poured.”

Taking that to mean that her preferences ended there and that I should get going, I went to the bar and returned a few minutes later with our drinks, her martini and a
bottle of Dogfish Head beer for me.

“Oh,” she said after a languid sip of her drink, “I see you’re into craft beers. So am I.”

“Oh, I could’ve gotten you one,” I said, pointing in the general direction of the taps. I had half-lifted myself off my stool, ready to go back to the bar for a beer for her.

“No, no. This is fine,” she said, extending her hand, palm down.

“Sure?” I sat back down and took another sip of my beer, ready to jump back up on her word.

“Yes.
It’s what I always have on a first date.”

Some Dogfish dribbled down my chin as I briefly lost control of my motor functions. I quickly pulled the bottle away from my face and wiped my chin with a cocktail napkin. “Is this a date?”

She blinked once, a deliberate, contemplative blink. “If you want it to be.”

I regarded her for a moment, wondering how I should reply. Then I decided that I thought too much. I’ve always thought too much. So I just said, “Yes.”

“Good.” Although she said this good-naturedly, there was a serious undertone to it. I think this was when she decided to take no prisoners.

I took a long, thirsty gulp of my beer and stared at the table tent, advertising the daily drink specials. God, what was I supposed to talk about now?

Thankfully, she already had it worked out.

“So, you were telling me about your ex, your café, and how you ended up teaching at The New York Culinary Institute.”

I thought about her statement for a moment, wondering how far I should go with my answer. Should I just say that I wanted a job that kept semi-normal hours, and leave it at that? Or
should I explain that the café kept me away for many hours and sucked money like a sponge and eventually drove Brenda into the arms of another woman? Should I tell her that my business—once my dream—had sucked me dry?

What the hell. The box had been opened. “
The café drained me. Physically, emotionally, and financially. And it didn’t do any favors for my relationship. So I shut it down and started teaching. I survived. The relationship didn’t.” A chord of insecurity sounded in me then. Was I saying too much? I decided to switch topics. “Tell me about yourself. I know you’re into yoga, but what else?”

“Well, to pay the bills, I’m working in a natural foods store.
” She smiled shyly. “But what I really am is a filmmaker.”

“No kidding?
What kinds of films do you make?”

“Mostly documentaries. I’m doing my very first—on my own, that is—out of film school
on the gay movement from the perspective of immigrants.”

“Wow
. How interesting. I’ve never thought about that.” I took a swig of my beer, glad to be off the subject of me. “When is it going to be ready to be seen? And where? I promise, I’ll be in the front row.”

“
It may be a while,” she replied with a sigh. “I don’t have the money to continue the project right now. I’m barely making enough to live on at the store. I’ve applied for grants but, so far, nothing’s come through yet.”

“Oh, bummer.”

She was just about to say something else when I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, and I jumped slightly for the second time that evening. I took it out and looked at it, and apologetically looked at Julianna, who busied herself with her drink while I looked at the ID.

I didn’t recognize the number but then remembered that Brit was supposed to call me. I didn’t really want to leave Julianna, but I was hoping that this would be a job I could take. I really needed the money.

“Hello?” I closed off one ear with a finger and repeated myself. “Hello? Hold on a second.” I got off the stool and press the phone to my leg. “Um, you know what? This might be in reference to a possible job. I’m sorry, but I really should take it.”

“That’s okay. Go ahead.”

“Okay.” I again looked at her apologetically. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here,” Julianna said, winking. My entire head tingled in response.

“Hang on,” I said into the phone and I stepped out. The change from the air-conditioned bar to the hot street was a shock. The breeze had died down and now the air was still and heavy. The sidewalk was crowded with people coming and going to and from the plethora of restaurants, clubs, pubs, and all-night markets in Greenwich Village. Seventh Avenue hosted a nonstop stream of cars heading farther downtown, or to the bridges and tunnels to head out of the smoldering city for a long weekend.

I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?” Between the people talking and laughing and the sounds of motors and horns honking, I found it almost as difficult to hear outside as I had inside.

“Hi, it’s Brit. From class.”

Yep
. Pelvis Woman. “Hi.”

“Have I caught you at a bad time?”

“Well, I’m out right now, so I’m having a hard time hearing you.”

A couple of guys walked by, hand-in-hand. As they passed, one of them let out a lungful of smoke right in front of my face and it hovered in the air. I waved my hand through the haze to dispel it.

“I’ll make it quick,” Brit said. “I
wanted to ask you about doing a private party for me. I saw on your bio that you do stuff like that, and I really, really need someone. It’s kind of short notice, but I was hoping you could do it.”

How short? Well,
whatever. A gig was a gig. “Okay, sure, we can talk about that. Listen, why don’t you stay after class tomorrow and we can go over the details.”

“
Sounds good. Okay, see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow. Thanks.”

A drag queen approached the door to the bar just as I was about to re-enter, and I held the door open for her.

“Thanks, doll-face,” she crooned in a
baritone as she sauntered in.

I made my way back to Julianna, who
se face brightened when I appeared. “Welcome back.” Even over the din of the bar, and macerated in alcohol, her voice was sweet and sensuous.

“Thanks.” I
sighed. I hadn’t realized I’d missed her until just then.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“What? Oh, sure. That was Brit. You know, from class? She needs someone to cater a party.”