Single and Subversive
A caveat of the New York dating scene: if he’s over 45, single and extremely successful he’s subversive—more sexually subversive than the rimless Silhouette glasses or Helmut Lang suit could ever suggest. After Friday and Saturday nights I feel like crossing the Mason-Dixon—running, screaming—and marrying the first gentleman cotton farmer that crosses my path…
The first man we’ll call Andrew. We met at the Four Seasons bar, “5757,” and in that beautifully muted, tasteful setting he seemed interesting, normal—almost refined (real-estate developer, weekend home in E. Hampton, China and Brazil are favorite vacation locales, plays basketball with Adam Sandler at Reebok). Nothing was excessive that night, not the drinking, innuendo or sexual tension. Two martins for me, 3 Sam Adams for him and I then I left for late-night escargot with a neighbor at Blue Ribbon on Sullivan Street.
He called the next morning. I didn’t answer because I hadn’t had my wake-up hour of coffee and the “Times.” Did I find his prompt response to be courtly or worrisome? I wasn’t sure so I didn’t call back. He rang again. I hit the “7” delete button and began to realize that the hard-to-get act really does drive men crazy. A last ditch effort on his part:
“Hi, B, this is Andrew and I’m in desperate need of a decadent, champagne lunch. I just closed a major deal and I need someone to celebrate with me. It’ll feel like playing hooky, promise. Call me back and let’s set up a time.”
Should I really respond to his blatant bribe of champagne and imported food products?
Of course.
We decide on “Cipriani’s Downtown”—my favorite locale for spotting men like him and women like me (except that the women are prettier, thinner and being paid by the hour). I know our roles: he pays for the exorbitantly-priced lunch, I pay my keep with a sexy dress, towering heels and soft eye-makeup. I arrive 15 minutes late and Andrew whistles under his breath, “Whew, you look fucking fantastic.” Expletive red flag—you’re too into me too soon, very déclassé.
We have champagne, prosciutto, mozzarella di buffalo, the utterly perfect grissini as only Cipriani’s can make and then, “How does it feel being beautiful, knowing you can fuck anyone that you meet?”
Whoa! Put the skids on your mouth and tuck it back in your pants, Andrew. “I don’t think about that mainly because it isn’t true,” I reply, looking down at my Branzino alla Veneziana “Come on, don’t be modest. If a woman like you can have whatever whenever, what do you dream about? What’s your biggest sexual fantasy?”
I want to say something so off the charts, so kinky that he’ll redden, harden and then knock over his $9 Italian beer on the starched, white table cloth. But, I feel that he would enjoy it too much. It’d be a waste of my imagination.
“I don’t think I know you well enough. But, if you’d like to share your fantasies with me, feel free.” You’re gonna back down, aren’t you? I think. You’re all smoke and mirrors and really a fan of the lights off and a woman that loves missionary.
“Ok, I’ll tell you my erotic fantasy,” he said, visibly readjusting himself at the table. “I saw this porn flick a few weeks ago and the black leather-clad blonde—who looks a hell of a lot like you—strapped on this huge, black d…”
My eyes must have widened just enough to let him know that he sickened me, that I all I wanted was to leave him at the table, retreat to my apartment and watch back to back episodes of the “Golden Girls.”
“I’m sorry, have I said too much? Have I offended you?” he asked, suddenly a meek, well-bred boy from the Upper East Side.
Check, please.
September 14th, 2005 at 10:26 pm
You are one fine writer. Want to eat some boiled peanuts with me?
September 15th, 2005 at 9:15 am
Wow Belle you are an excellent writer. You really are. Make your dreams a reality and phone the biggest paper around to do a column for them and show them your website.
Tell them their competitor newspaper just made you an offer and that youre waiting to hear back from them. Go with your dreams. Life rewards no couch dreamers!
Love your work. Deb
September 15th, 2005 at 12:15 pm
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September 15th, 2005 at 12:17 pm
It’s a truth universally acknowledged that American’s can’t swear. This is why, whenever they attempt to deploy a profanity, it always seems inappropriate, whatever the circumstances.
If you want world-class swearing, you must come to an Englishman. A Scot, yes, for grumbling, a Welshman for sheer incomprehensibility and an Irishman for deedily-deedily lilting tones but for swearing, only an Englishman will do.
And why? Because we learn it at our nannies knee. We breath it in on the school ruggar field like air. We rhyme it, we sing it and, when we reach adulthood, we learn how and when to deploy it.
For instance, on learning that your mother has perhaps appropriated something less than tasteful on e-bay, it is appropriate to tut in the very strongest possible terms, but inappropriate to declare ‘for ****’s sake, what the ******* *** have you gone and bought now, you ****** ****!’.
However, when out hunting and, at full gallop jumping a hedge only to discover that on the other side is not a fox but rather a) a 30 foot drop and b) rusty, sharp and upward pointing agricultural machinery, it is entirely appropriate to scream ‘three ****s and a ****!’ before coming to grief and being whisked off to intensive care, with various important bits of you thoughtfully packed in ice.
September 15th, 2005 at 8:30 pm
Belle - you are a class A writer - keep them coming and maybe pen a decent sitcom for us to enjoy (or screenplay)
September 23rd, 2005 at 7:25 pm
Great writing style. I think you’re going to be a regular for me…
October 2nd, 2005 at 4:15 pm
you just are finding a lot of weirdos that know you are hard up.
no one would say that to a lady. you are really stupid. and then you write it is that supposed to impress people? our guys do not act like that to women unless she’s asking for it and a slut like you.
I don’t think i should give them words to work with I know how thes people are trying to get sites. not telling me and then taking it off don’t they think they are funny. like keeping both of us. it doesn’t work that way. you’ll find out. they said i could tell the temp to go home and I wish i could tell you to go home. If anyone knows me and wants to get in good calling me the typist etc when i’m not get rid of this ludicrous southern piece of decrepid shit.
October 2nd, 2005 at 4:15 pm
you just are finding a lot of weirdos that know you are hard up.
no one would say that to a lady. you are really stupid. and then you write it is that supposed to impress people? our guys do not act like that to women unless she’s asking for it and a slut like you.
rats b ha ha
October 23rd, 2005 at 8:57 pm
love reading your work.
hope you don’t mind; i’ve put a link on my sidebar to your site, in hopes that other people would also appreciate your artistry.