So, like I’ve said before: I know four single men. One’s an alcoholic. The other’s a drug addict. The other two just aren’t interested in me. Of those two, one’s a womanizer and the other belongs to the Future Wife Beaters of America Club.
THAT’S when times were good. Now, I know ONE single man-- an ardent, flag-waving, gun-toting, tobacco-chewing, Trump supporter. And that’s simply unacceptable. So, here I am again in NYC, checking out the dating scene.
Tonight, I’m meeting Mathew, who’s invited me out for drinks and dinner. He’s a Brooklyn-born Jew, published writer, a cat lover, smart, adventurous, successful, funny with a dark sense of humor, who loves to travel. I’ve got a good feeling about this one.
We’re meeting at a hip Brooklyn bar close to my Airbnb. When I walk in, he’s sitting on a dark leather couch. He stands to greet me and gives me a quick hug. He’s handsome—tall, clean-shaven head, cool tinted glasses. I sit down next to him, and we start talking fast and furiously about books, movies, writing, travel, growing up Jewish in New York City.
He asks what I’m working on. I hesitate for a moment. A lot of men get turned off when I say I’m writing a book called “All my Bad Boyfriends”. But when I tell him, he smiles.
“That’s great. I’m writing something similar. It’s a romance, horror, science fiction, female revenge book.”
“Really!” I say.
He launches into his story, which is about Lilith—the woman Adam married before Eve. They had seven daughters together, who become immortal with superhuman powers to disembowel disingenuous men.
“That’s awesome!” I say.
Usually, my eyes glaze over when people tell me about their ideas for books. But I’m mesmerized. I like this guy! If he were a dress in a shop, I’d already be taking him off the rack and handing him to the cashier and saying, “I’ll take it!”
He asks me about my teaching, and I tell him, “I try to get my students to give the words more life. I tell them, ‘ Godamnit! There are no deceased people in this classroom! There’s only dead people! You don’t assault someone. You beat the shit out of someone.'"
Matthew sits there smiling. “Right. Right. I get it. Maybe I could have you take a look at my book,” he says.
“I’d love to,” I say.
We’ve been sitting there for half an hour and I’m getting hungry and thirsty. The waitress hasn’t come by and Mathew hasn’t made a move to get us a table.
Just then, a young girl, about 28-years-old sits down on the couch adjacent to us. She’s got long glossy black hair and carmel-colored skin. She's stunning. When I was 28, I used to be stunning, too. Not stunning like this, though. She overhears us talking and interrupts. “Are you writers?”
“Yes,” we both say. We chat with her for a few minutes, but I’m annoyed she’s interrupted our flow. A young guy, who I’m assuming is her date, joins her and hands her a drink. I’m wondering where our drinks are.
We keep talking, though-- about rafting down the Colorado river, how we both love pot, and staying up late at night and waking up late in the morning.
I am totally into this guy. I am already imagining the trips we’ll take, the pot we’ll smoke, the bad karaoke we'll sing, the books/movies we’ll collaborate on. Still, there’s no sign of drinks or food, even though we’ve been here for an hour. I’m getting a headache.
“Um, do you think we ought to order some drinks?” I ask.
“Oh, yes. What would you like?” he asks.
He comes back minutes later from the bar and hands me my drink.
“So, do you have kids?” he asks.
“God no!” I say. “They’re too expensive, take too much time, and cause too much heartache. When I’m teaching, I tell my students to have dogs, not kids!”
“Yes, I totally agree, except I prefer cats,” he says.
“I love cats, too!” I say.
I am really liking this guy. We talk about the horrors of Donald Trump and the GOP trying to take away women’s reproductive rights. I’m getting a little tipsy.
“If you want to know what I really think,” I say, leaning into him conspiratorially, “I don’t think men should be allowed in congress at all. Most of them are misogynistic. And, they shouldn’t be allowed to own guns either. If you think about it, it’s men who start wars, men who commit mass school shootings. It’s never women who do these things.”
He’s smiling and nodding, his eyes glowing. “That sounds like the beginning of a book,” he says.
I smile back at him. This date couldn’t be going any better. He’s a feminist, a pot smoker, handsome, successful. Just then, the gorgeous girl on the adjacent couch asks us, “Are you two friends?”
“We’re on our first date. We just met,” I snap back at her like a lioness guarding her watering hole
“Oh,” she says, “I’m on my first date, too.”
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“Good,” she says. “He’s cute.”
He’s cute, but not stunning like her. She gets up to leave with her date. Mathew watches her for half a second too long.
“So, what are you looking for?” I ask Mathew, finally trying to get to the bottom line.
“I’m looking for my best friend and partner. I’m probably not going to find her,” he says. My heart sinks.
“I think you’re really cool, but I’m just not feeling that other kind of connection. Do you think we could hang out as friends?”
“Yes, of course,” I say a little too fast.
Aw, shit. This is a punch in the gut. I want to ask him if he likes much younger women. But I stop myself. I think of how the gorgeous girl's date brought her a drink and then how Mathew sat there chatting with me ordering nothing, despite having invited me for dinner and drinks.
It all makes sense now—his reluctance to spend $12 on a drink for a woman he doesn’t intend to sleep with.
I think back to the guy who was two inches too short for me, and how nice he was and how I didn’t accept a second date with him. Maybe this is karma. But then again, our conversation was flat and boring compared to this one I'm having with Mathew.
Mathew and I talk for another 15 minutes and then walk out together. I order a Lyft and he walks home alone. As I wait for my ride, I bend down to pet a Bulldog, lying on the sidewalk.
He’s got a huge underbite and big bulging eyes. He’s ugly in a beautiful kind of a way. I sigh. I suppose not everyone can see the beauty in everyone else.
I look up and see my driver is here. The Bulldog gives me a big sloppy kiss on my cheek. I smile at the dog and then step into my Lyft.