In the Summer 2010, I was living in a converted loft in Williamsburg Brooklyn. My next door neighbor – Junior – was a wheeler dealer financial consultant, who had more best friends that I had hangovers (A LOT). I planned to be in Bruge and Prage for the first week of July, but Junior told me that if I missed his birthday party, I would be dead to him. Falling in line, I flew back from Prage, stepped of the plane, and went direct to his birthday party. Junior told me that his best friend – TheBoss – had recently started a hedge fund. Junior would be doing the clearing, and was hoping TheBoss would hire me for the Investor Relations. This was brilliant! Later that evening Junior introduced me to TheBoss. The thing was, we actually hit it off in a more flirtatious way and chatted most of the evening about art and food. Having been awake for a straight 24 hours, I gradually faded and retired to my apartment without making proper goodbyes.
THE FIRST DATE
The day after Junior’s birthday party, TheBoss contacted me. He said that the prizes he had purchased for Junior’s birthday raffle had never been distributed. These were not normal prizes. They included 2 Lady Gaga tickets in NYC, 2 U2 tickets in Barcelona, a seating at PerSe, and probably a couple of bars of gold housed in a Swiss vault or something. Since I had been such a trooper coming straight from Prague, I had honorarily earned the Lady Gaga tickets at Madison Square Garden for the coming Monday. Oh, and the concert was at 8 PM, so the two of us get go for a lite dinner ahead of time.
On Monday, I left work early to go home and get ready for the concert. I did my hair, applied fresh make up, and put on a low cut dress. I got to the restaurant early, so I went to the bathroom to refresh. I checked myself out in the mirror and realized that I could see my bra in the cut of the dress. (The dress was the same cut as the one Baby wore for the dance with Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing.) I took off my bra and actually the whole dress looked better, so I stuffed the bra in the trash can of one of the stalls.
When I re-emerged from the bathroom, TheBoss had arrived. We ordered a little fare and some wine and everything passed pleasantly. Then, we went to MSG and watched the concert from some really excellent seats. But, again, everything was just passing pleasantly. I started to wonder what I was doing to zap the energy from the date. I hadn’t so much as gotten a hand on the back, so I started turning to him and excitedly grabbed his elbow during particularly high-production moments. Remember this is Lady Gaga, so I am sure he had permanent, boney finger marks impressed on the flesh of his elbow. But, again, nothing reciprocal.
TheBoss and I lived about 15 blocks apart, so we shared a cab ride home. I was sure he would invite me for an after drink, but instead he ordered two stops: my apartment and then his. I wondered what kind of date ends like this? And then I answered myself. A job interview does. But could this really be a social job interview? In my jet-lagged, boozey haze of the birthday party, I thought we were flirting. Had I had just gone on a braless job interview? When the cab stopped, I thanked TheBoss for a nice evening and he leaned in. Good! This really was a date! So, I leaned in to kiss him and he went for the double cheek kiss, as my open lips brushed across the front of his face and our heads jerked back. Ok. My baaaaaad. I guess this was still a job interview and I imagine I’m not acting like the kind of Investor Relations he is looking for.
The next morning I woke up to this text: “Now we can’t work together. You kissed our boss. You’re such an ass.” – Junior