Although it was my first date in a long time, I'd certainly done enough dating in the past that one would think it no longer made me nervous. I was a dating pro. Hell, for a couple of years there, I was a machine, churning out dates right and left, like a Ford Motors assembly-line worker. For some reason, none of that seemed to relieve my anxiety. It's like those people who say if you go a certain amount of time without having sex, you become a virgin again. The prospect of dating felt that way to me. It was like starting all over.
His name was Andy Baker. I'd met him at work two weeks before, on a Friday night. The Downspout, a fairly typical dance club, had a multilevel dance floor with more lights than an airport runway, and three separate bars. The whole design scheme was very blue-collar-industrial-butch—lots of commercial fixtures, stainless steel, dark colors, and metal scaffolding nailed down to anything that stood still. Two of the bars were next to the dance floor, and one, the one I generally worked at, sat off in a separate room filled with small tables—like a cocktail lounge.
Although my bar wasn't as noisy as the dance side, the open archway between the two rooms still made it difficult to hear. You ended up screaming in order to talk to people. Many a night ended with me so hoarse that I sounded like Demi Moore.
Gabby and her yawn of a boyfriend, Brad, were sitting at the bar, keeping me company while I mixed legal depressants for the clientele.
Andy came up to the bar and stood, politely waiting while I ignored him and carried on a conversation with Gabby. When I finally acknowledged him, he said, “I'll take a dirty Stoli martini, two olives, please.”
“A man after my own heart.” Gabby lifted her glass in his direction.
Andy looked directly at me and smiled. “There's nothing quite like a good, stiff…drink.”
“How dirty do you like it? The martini, that is.” I did my best to smile innocently.
Andy laughed and gave me a quick wink. “Just a touch.”
We introduced ourselves, and I introduced him to Gabby and Bran-Boy. Andy told us that he was a real estate agent and that he had just moved into town.
“Would you be interested in maybe going out to dinner sometime?” Andy asked, making pointedly direct eye contact.
“I…uh…well, um…” I was absently reaching for a martini glass and knocked over several.
“That means yes,” Gabby said with a disgusted look in my direction. She reached down and rummaged through her purse and pulled out a pen. She snagged a cocktail napkin and scribbled down my phone number, then handed it over to Andy.
Laughing nervously, I began to pull the lid off the shaker. It was stuck.
“A free drink to whoever can get the lid off.” I slammed the shaker onto the bar. As I began to wait on the next person in line, people grabbed for the shaker. It's amazing what people will do for a free drink.
After three failed attempts by men, Jackie, one of my favorite lesbians, shoved her way up to the bar. “Give it to me, ladies; Jules needs it sometime this year.” She popped the lid off, and I traded her the shaker for her drink of choice, a Miller Lite.
Andy sat down next to Gabby, and the two of them talked for a while. I tried to eavesdrop, but the damn music was so loud, I couldn't really hear what she was telling him. Every now and then he'd look up at me and smile, nodding his head while Gabby whispered something in his ear. So, I never expected to hear from him again. Then, a week or so later, on Sunday, he called, and we made plans for this Friday-evening dinner.
Andy seemed like a take-charge kind of guy. He said that he would make the reservations and pick me up at eight. He never asked my opinion, just made the decisions. I hate dealing with those details, so I was already impressed. I'd much rather be ready at the appropriate time and be whisked away without having to think about it or make any of the plans. Andy seemed like a man for whom it was worth taking off a Friday night.
I offered to meet him at the restaurant as a test. When he insisted on picking me up, I knew. He didn't want to take the chance that he might not be invited back to my place at the end of the date, so he made sure he'd get to bring me home. Unless we didn't hit it off, he'd do everything possible to ensure he was in a position for an overnight invite or, at the very least, a kiss. This was a man who thought all options through.
* * * * *
I set the shopping bags down in my bedroom, then, realizing how late I was, ran back out to the kitchen to mix a pitcher of martinis. When I heard the knock on the door, I yelled, “Come on in!”
“I'm here as promised.” Gabby walked through the doorway and tossed her purse onto the sofa table. “Let's get to work on your fashion emergency, and please tell me there will be some sort of liquid inspiration provided.”
“Of course.” I slid the bottle of vodka out of the freezer. “I went shopping after lunch, so we have a fresh palette of clothing to choose from.”
“Jesus, Julian,” she said, twisting a long red curl around her finger, “you have a walk-in closet packed with clothes, not to mention the armoire that's so full, the damn doors won't close.”
“It's a first date.” I scowled. “I need virgin clothing. I see no reason to wear old clothes that may still have the bad juju from nightmare dates of the past. It might alter the outcome of this one.”
“Where in God's name did you hear that load of bunk?” She went to the smokers' sill and lit a cigarette.
“VH1's
Behind the Music
, Lenny Kravitz.” I snagged a couple of glasses out of the cupboard and walked around the island to head toward my bedroom. “That's why he cut off his dreads. They were filled with the bad aura from all the shit he'd done over the years.”
“Do you actually believe all of the crap that comes out of your mouth?” Gabby hot-boxed a few quick puffs before tossing the butt into the jar and followed me into my room, shutting the door behind her. She flopped onto the bed in a very slumber-party sort of manner.
“Ya huh.” I smiled.
“I'm almost afraid to ask.” She crawled across the bed and poured herself a martini. “But exactly how much of your time is spent reading horoscopes and astrology love books and researching psychic phenomenon?”
“Well,” I said, pulling the clothes out of their bags and hanging them up on the curtain rod, where they could be viewed from the front, “I never actually read any of that stuff. I believe in it, but I don't actually read about it. I just sort of go with what I see on TV and what I hear other people saying about it.”
“That's worse than I thought.” She looked over the clothes. “Wait, you can't tell me that when you read the paper, you don't flip over and read the horoscope. That's no good,” she added, pointing to the clothes. “I'm going to have to see them on you.”
“Well, sweetie.” I pulled off my pajama bottoms and cringed. “And don't take this the wrong way, but I don't actually read the newspaper.”
“Funny,” she said, as I pulled the camel-colored suit off the hanger and began putting it on. It had tiny embroidered flowers, in a slightly darker shade of shiny thread, vining up one sleeve and down the back of the jacket. “I know you read the paper, because you always know what my articles are about.”
“Well, Danny always reads the paper, so I just ask him what your articles are about.”
Her mouth fell open, so I picked up the martini pitcher and refilled her glass. “Gabby, I'm sorry, but it's so depressing.” I began taking off the suit. “When I read the paper or watch the news, especially in the morning, I'm starting my day off on a negative foot. It's all murder-serial killer-manslaughter-armed-robbery-tragic-car-death stuff.”
“It is not.” Gabby sat up on the bed and crossed her legs.
“Plus,” I continued with a serious expression and reached for the black pin-striped suit, “I wind up getting that ink stuff all over my hands. Then I end up touching my face and walking out the door without noticing it.” I stopped momentarily and looked at Gabby. “Why don't they do something about that stuff? They can clone a sheep, but they can't come up with a newspaper that doesn't get your hands all dirty?”
“Who are you?” She stared blankly up at me. “The bulk of the stories in the paper are about current events and politics, things you need to know about what's happening in the country and around the world.”
“I know, but let's face it.” I went on, as if stating the obvious. “People are sick. If I pick up the paper with the intention of only reading the undepressing stuff, I know I'll end up reading the sick stuff. It's like those horror movies.” I pointed at her while sliding off the black jacket. “When the person hears the noises coming from the dark room?
You
know they shouldn't go in, and
they
know they shouldn't go in, but hell if they don't go in anyway and end up with their intestines lying all over the floor.” I let the pants fall to the floor and kicked them out of the way as I reached for the gray suit and began putting it on. “We can't help it. As a society, we're drawn to the bad stuff.”
“It's a good thing you're pretty.” She shook her head “I like the gray one; it gives one the impression that you're intelligent—and sane.”
I took off the suit and pulled on my pajama bottoms. Gabby made me sit on the bed while she drilled current events into my head, stating that Andy probably wasn't the kind of man who would understand my position on the horrors of news and what it's doing to our society.
Knowing that she was upset with me, I indulged her, though if Andy were to ask me if I read the newspaper, I wouldn't hesitate to tell him the same thing I told her. I'd been lied to enough in the past to know that pretending to be someone you aren't will only end in disaster.
Gabby was going on and on, talking very slowly as if I might be damaged in the head. I held back the urge to explain to her that it wasn't that I'm incapable of understanding the news.
I decided I'd ask Danny to cut out her articles, and I could at least read those.
“What are you going to wear with the suit?” she asked with a mock-angst expression. “A shirt and tie…maybe a summer sweater?”
“A black Gap T-shirt,” I said, getting up off the bed. “It was good enough for Sharon Stone and the Academy Awards; it's good enough for Andy Baker.”
“Well, I'm going to get out of here and let you start getting ready.” She finished off the last of her martini. “Don't think for a minute that our newspaper discussion is over. I'll take this weekend to decide what your punishment for deceiving me will be, and we'll continue this at lunch on Monday.”
“I thought having to listen to all that current events crap was my punishment.” I frowned, sticking out my lower lip. “Besides, you can't stay mad at me. We have too much history.”
“No, no.” She shook her finger at me with an evil smile. “Nostalgia isn't going to get you out of this one, Julian. You will pay.”
Laughing, I asked, “So what are you and Mr. Bran doing tonight?”
“I think we're going to a movie. I'm not sure. At least he reads the fucking newspaper!”
“That's his problem!” My eyes widened, and I pointed at her. “All of that bad news has clogged up his chakras, and that's why he's so dull. That boy needs a high colonic.” I swirled my hand around in the air in simulation. “Flush out his system.”
“Your neurotic brain needs the enema.” She laughed at me. “Maybe you should consider Prozac?” She turned her head and tapped her finger on her cheek. “Knock me a little kiss.”
I gave her a quick peck and walked her down to her car.
“For Christ's sake,” she said, sliding into the seat of her Jeep, “go upstairs right now, find your keys, and put them next to the front door.”
“Thanks,” I said with a smirk.
As she pulled off, I waved and headed back upstairs. I walked through the front door and spied my keys on the island in the kitchen. Danny came out of his bedroom, startling me. He'd been gone when I got home from the mall, and I hadn't heard him come back.
Danny and I met the summer just before my last semester of school. I was in the student bookstore he owned, waiting impatiently in line while he was on the phone placing an ad in the paper for a roommate. I happened to overhear his conversation. I'd seen him at the bars a couple of times, so I knew he was gay…not to mention melt-in-your-mouth-
and
-in-your-hands hot.
As I waited in line, I imagined that I'd move in with him, he'd become enamored with all my idiosyncrasies, beg me to never leave him—like anyone would—and we'd spend every night lying in front of the fireplace, Danny propped up on a pillow reading, me with my head on his stomach, content to lie back and watch as he read to me. Just like Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford in
The Way We Were
. When I got up to the counter, I handed him my book list. On the bottom, I had written:
Gay White Male desperately seeking new living situation, as he is currently rooming with two drag queens who fight over things like who used the other's Aqua Net. Gay White Male swears that he is clean, unobtrusive, and will stay out of roommate's way…unless said roommate would prefer he not stay out of his way, in which case Gay White Male would be more than happy to get in his way. Help me, Obi-Wan, you're my only hope.
Danny laughed and gathered up my books. Before ringing me up, though, he picked up the phone and called to cancel the ad. As if his physical being wasn't enough, he also rode a motorcycle, which gave me flashbacks to
90210
—the first one. I had such a crush on Luke Perry. Danny's bike was a Kawasaki Vulcan something or other. It was big and black, with lots of shiny chrome. It had an extra seat on the back, and I desperately wanted to wrap my legs and arms around him and take a ride. But two things stopped me. One, I knew I'd have an instant boner, which would be difficult to hide pressing into his back, and two, my mother would kill us both.