by Karen Russo
Part 1: The Non-Date
indulging in a sybaritic gluttony of pork loins, lobster
and red wine, my friends and I moved to a late spot for
a drink on a recent Friday night. By 2 a.m., I was exhausted
and left my half-full Coleman (Maker's and Coke) and friends
at the bar. But when I stepped outside, the air awakened
me and I did what any good, single New Yorker would do:
I met my friend, Evan, at a club that I am confident was
cool when I went there for the first time two years ago.
Evan was in prime form, barely standing, inhaling bourbon,
but still adorable as always. He moved his preppy-boy face
dangerously close to within kissing distance of mine, but
there was no intent by either of us to proceed.
For some odd reason, I was in a very anti-dating mood that
evening. Perhaps its because I'd left a crush at an earlier
bar or perhaps it was because I was enjoying Evan's friendship.
Regardless, it was one of the only nights that I can remember
when several men hit on me and I had zero interest. At one
point, I found myself surrounded by eight guys, eager to
buy me a drink. Each time they asked, I used Evan as my
cover. "Oh, sorry, but my boyfriend just stepped away
for a minute. He's coming right back," I said. Of course,
Evan was off flirting with women, but they didn't need to
Eventually, Evan and I arrived at our third watering hole,
where my cover story got me into trouble. It's now 4 a.m.
and I'm sitting at the bar, chatting with an extremely good-looking
Latin American Izod-streamlined type guy who wants me to
leave Evan and join him at a late-night jazz club. I give
him the line about Evan being my date and me feeling bad
leaving with someone else. At this point, his friend leans
in and asks, "Are you sure he's your date?" and
motions to Evan, who is working three women just a few feet
away. She alludes to the fact that he has already hit on
her. Game over.
"When did we start dating?!" Evan screams at me
when we get outside the bar. "We're just friends! When
did we start dating!?!" I tried to explain, but he
didn't care. By then, the bar had closed so Evan, Izod,
Izod's French-speaking female friend and some annoying tall
guy from Boston who was wearing a golf visor and I walked
to Evan's apartment. My anti-dating stance was weakening
just as my final moments of clarity were upon me. I remember
slipping my business card into Izod's jacket pocket before
I climbed into Evan's bed; I hoped he would outlast Annoying
Tall Guy, who would not leave me alone despite my outright
asking him to leave. Unfortunately, when I lifted the covers,
both ATG and Izod were gone. Even worse, I had awoken to
Evan kissing French girl in the bed next to me. I dragged
myself out of his apartment and walked home in the pouring
rain at 7:30 a.m.
Later that day, I told my cousin about the evening. She
berated me for not getting Izod's number. My only hope is
that he will find my card.
stay tuned for more next month.....
THE FIRST INSTALLMENT