I arrived at the restaurant 15 minutes late, on account of a number of things but mostly lack of enthusiasm. Not surprisingly, the place was crazy busy and BGWDI whisked me out at once. We went down the block to a cozy spot called Jadis. He looked just like his pictures, but for a bit more white stubble haloing the underside of his otherwise bald head. With his thick black angular glasses and natty style he looks more like an architect or gallery owner than a software guy who works for a big financial firm, but that disparity pleases me.
We–or at least I–talked openly, freely and without effort for the better part of 3 hours. I told him about The Boy and, as I’d suspected, it didn’t seem to phase him. Dinner, as it turns out, is no longer on the menu as a first date activity since the time he endured a tortured meal with a woman who bored him to tears and had the audacity to order dessert, prolong the agony and lengthen the bill. Fair enough.
In a similarly absolute determination, the booze had to go for the time being, not because of any addiction issues according to him (from here on in, he’s just BG) but because the holidays were so filled with excess that he wanted to take a break. Whatev. He drank two bottles of Perrier to my single glass of Cotes Du Rhone and everyone was happy.
When we arrived at the crossroads of his Bond Street apt and my subway, we stopped for goodbyes. I put my arms around his waist. He smiled and tensed up a bit at the same time. The kiss was abrupt and awkward. His breath smelled a bit sour. We both agreed it had been a great night and traded promises to be in touch.
I have no idea what it all meant, but it was more fun than expected, which is all you can really ask for. For now anyway.
