Just when I hit a good groove in my life, things change. I guess change is the only constant, right? That the universe is moving towards entropy, and all that.
I've been working seven days a week, 12-15 hours a day for a month plus now. Last night, Saturday night, when I left work at 10, I had a party to go to. Not just any party, but The Beauty's farewell party.
that's just the way it is...
things will never be the same...
Two weeks ago, I went to Carnaval on Sunday night, just like I always do, and it was their last night. I had to go to court the next morning, so I could only stay a few hours, and I was out with someone who I wanted to take home, so I couldn't stay out too late anyway.
I said my farewells to the place, listened to the salsa, introduced my date to The Beauty, and slipped out, never looking back.
A few weeks earlier when I went, she⤁d introduced me as the only man she⤁d ever consider marrying.
I⤁m going to miss the hell out of that girl.
We gotta make a change...
It's time for us as a people to start makin' some changes.
Last night, I spent five hours in the house with The Beauty and her roommate, and I⤁m at a loss for words to describe the experience. I left smelling of stale beer and cigarettes, which is one of the marks of a good party. I got hit on by a beautiful woman who kept bringing me beer and trying to get me to stay, which failed. When I left at 5:30, I was drunk, and very very happy. I⤁d gotten some quality time with The Beauty and her roommate, and I realized that I am going to miss the living hell out of them.
They⤁re like my big sisters. My sweet, debauched, awesome big sisters.
And they⤁re moving out of the city. The Beauty is moving to another continent, and her roommate is just generally moving out of New York.
The end of an era.
Let's change the way we eat, let's change the way we live
and let's change the way we treat each other.
On New Year⤁s Eve 2001, I took a trip north to the Berkshires with The Beauty. I couldn't believe that I was there with her. I mean, my best friend invited her, and it it's logical because she was his girlfriend's roommate and all, but he knew how I felt about her. He also knew that originally, I had invited my fuckbuddy to come up with us, but I cancelled on her after I started dating the Colombian.
The Colombian wouldn't join us in the Berkeshires, because she's headstrong and didn't want to spend New Years Eve in the middle of the woods. I thought she was just being a selfish bitch.
I opted for the trip, and to be away from her. I wasn't ready to be dating her, so it was time to go.
My best friend invited his girlfriend and her roommate, the Beauty, to join us. This wouldn't be a problem, except that the Beauty radiates. She glows. I mean, she walks into a room, and I go blind. For someone who claimed to have conquered his fear of beautiful women, I certainly had a lot of trouble talking to her.
I don't even remember the first time we met. It was about eight months before new years. I do remember that as soon as I lay eyes on her, I was suddenly staring at the floor, struggling for breath, and hoping that I could still squeak out the word "hello" and "what's your name." I do remember afterwards that my best friend was laughing at me. "She's totally your type, dude" he snickered on Instant Message the next day.
Of course, back then I was still dating the Freshman who, ironically shares the same first name as the Beauty. There would be no pursuit of the Beauty - I was too attached to the Freshman, the Beauty was too far out of my league. Plus, if things went badly, well, we⤁d be stuck in my best friend's cabin until after New Years.
Visions of ⤦Heeeeere⤁s Johnny and kitchen knives flew through my head. So I figured, what the hell, I could just throw up on my shoes every time I see her.
Which I proceeded to do. She ran a monthly party at Parley on the last Tuesday of every month - ⤦Honeycomb. Dutifully, I would rearrange my schedule; spend a ton of money drinking when I shouldn't have, and hang out with my best friend, all in order to get those few minutes of conversation that she would have with me when she spotted me at the door. Very friendly, very touchy, and I⤁d sort of float after each incident.
I was a promoter groupie, and it gave me the creeps, but it also gave me a valid excuse to keep going. My best friend's girlfriend also threw the parties, so my cover wasn⤁t going to be blown, and my best friend was there, and shut up, I had perfectly good reasons to be there. Deep down, I knew I was going to catch a glimpse of her, to see what amazing thing she'd be wearing this time, how much of her body she⤁d show off, and I was starting to drive myself a little crazy.
I did talk to her for a few hours one night when I visited my best friend in Brooklyn, and we went to his girlfriend's bar. I walked in, we sat down, and my best friend pointed out who was there.
⤦Hey Bad Man ⤳ look ⤳ it⤁s the beauty
I had a major attack of the butterflies. "Oh god no I just wanted to drink and talk to my best friend holy shit she's beautiful oh god" and then the worst possible thing happened.
She started talking to me.
It was the worst thing because in addition to being beautiful, she was also really nice, and talking to me. My brain decided to take a few deep breaths and launch into conversation mode, my mouth went into witty banter mode, and stomach kept trying to go into bowel evacuation mode. I managed to keep it together with the aid of several stiff drinks.
As my best friend and I were preparing to leave, she stood up and gave me a hug goodbye, and as she pulled me to her, I was thinking "Jesus Christ don't touch me because then I'll want to kiss you and oh my god your body feels as good as I thought it would this is evil" she just lingered there, forehead to forehead, talking quietly in my ear.
We talked about her apartment, our love of Macintosh computers, and how frighteningly cute My best friend and his girlfriend were. We talked about tons of things, but my heart was beating so loud in my chest that I could barely hear what we were talking about.
A few minutes and a lost opportunity later, she released me, and I scurried out of there with my best friend laughing at my flight.
I thought that I'd handled it alright, I thought that I was being subtle, and I thought that she had no idea how I felt.
Their parties eventually ended and I no longer had an excuse to see her once a month. I wrote it off as another opportunity lost to beautyphobia, and probably not even an opportunity, at that. I assumed I'd never see her again, or at best, perhaps at my best friend⤁s birthday party. With her boyfriend. Because women that beautiful always have boyfriends. It's a rule. Or it was in my head.
When I was told that New Years Eve was going to be a party at My best friend's log cabin, I got excited, because I always wanted to see the place. It's big, a nice fireplace, three bedrooms, a lake in the backyard that froze in a very satisfying way, a good kitchen, and a supermarket with excellent produce nearby. And a fully stocked liquor cabinet. But there was a snag - the roster of invitees, which was originally me + 1 and My best friend + girlfriend was now just My best friend + girlfriend + me, because the Colombian was being a bitch.
So when my best friend's girlfriend emailed me that the Beauty was coming, I had three simultaneous reactions. The first was elation. Three days in a cabin with the Beauty! At least I could bask in her glow, and stalk her at close range. The next was fear, because how in the hell am I to enjoy New Years when all I want is to kiss the girl, and I can't bring myself to? Finally, it was worry, because the Colombian had been making a lot of noises about "girlfriend" lately, and I was still not really clear on that concept.
Screw it, though, I was going. Fuck the Colombian, I want nothing to do with New Years Eve in New York City.
At nine in the morning on the day of our trip, My best friend arrived at my house, grabbed me and my stuff, and we were off to pick up the girlfriend and the Beauty. They were both bartenders. They were working the night before, so we stuck them in the back seat, figuring they'd sleep the whole way up. Which they did. My best friend and I spent three hours doing a study of mindless banter, when all I wanted to say was "dude, what the fuck, why is she coming, I'm so confused, this is so good, this is so bad, do you have a motion sickness bag, I think I gonna yack on my shoes." Instead, I mostly navigated.
When we got to the cottage, I offered to take the couch in the third bedroom, and gave the spare bed to the Beauty.
The day meandered on, and the girls made some drinks, we had a bottle of wine, got a little stupid, and then we went to dinner. My best friend and his girlfriend all couple-y and cute, and the Beauty and I were warily eying each other. How could I do this? I mean, if things went wrong, we're stuck up here and I have to deal with this.
So I did what I figured was the smart thing. Nothing. We returned to his house, there were more drinks, a bunch of weed, and the beauty and I started to watch Titan A.E. on my laptop while my best friend and his girlfriend did their thing. We were stoned, on the couch, there was a roaring fire and we were getting comfortable. The perfect recipe for romance.
If you've got any balls at all.
Of course, I'd left my set at home.
We watched the movie, and eventually went to our respective beds, where I consoled myself by reminding myself that if things went badly, there was a whole lot of time up here in a small space, and things could get ugly.
The next day, New Years Eve, we got up late, made some food, did some errands, played around on the lake, and did all those cutesy things you're supposed to do when two couples are up at a lakeside cottage in midwinter. We drank enough to paralyze a small bison, the girls smoked enough to knock out a Rastafarian, and missed midnight of New Years Eve because we were too fucked up, and watching Quills, which totally mesmerized us.
Now, somehow it had been my brilliant idea to make dinner after midnight, on the theory that we shouldn't eat to help keep us up.
Theoretically a good idea. And cooking times on the meal (boiled lobsters, mussels in a coconut curry sauce, asparagus in a mustard vinaigrette and steamed artichokes right on the stem) should have been around an hour. Of course, being the drunkard that I was, I ended up standing in the kitchen, trying to explain how to cook everything to My best friend, only I was doing it in slurring Spanish. I don⤁t speak Spanish. Things were boding ill. It was now one in the morning, we were having trouble with the electric stove, and getting irritable.
A minute later, the girls popped out of the bathroom together, all made up radiant. I had finally warmed up to the Beauty, so I was able to just stare at her and feel ok about doing so. She looked, well, if I may borrow from Italian - Molto Molto bene. Bellissima. Good lord. The two of them were the picture of desire, sitting at the living room table playing with the laptops that we⤁d brought. Sexy nerdy girls. In that moment, I was in love.
Eventually, the meal was cooked. I was right, the cooking process took 20 minutes. The prep, of course, took an hour and a half.
After dinner, the ladies wouldn't let me clean up after myself. Instead, I was to sit, have more to drink, and wait for the dishes to be done. I dozed off. When I came to, the dishes were done, My best friend and his girlfriend had disappeared, and I was alone with the Beauty, again on the couch, again in front of the fire.
And this time, I did something that I almost never do with a woman whom I can feel myself getting comfortable with.
I did not a goddamned thing. She still scared the crap out of me.
At five in the morning, she got fed up with me.
"It's really cold in my bedroom. Come and cuddle with me. Keep me warm tonight."
Of course, when you put it that way, all my fear should have disappeared. Obviously, you want me in there with you, so we're good! We're in.
Except, somehow, my fear remained.
We went to bed in her room, and the only thing that I could think of was "holy shit, the beauty, christ, she wants me here in her bed. The beauty! The beauty! Umm holy shit."
I stayed paralyzed for way longer than is cool to admit. I wrapped myself around her, just feeling all of her against my pajamas.
God was toying with me that night. He does that, sometimes.
The moon, at five in the morning, streamed into the bedroom through the blinds. There's a string which pokes through holes to raise them. And the moon, well, the moon was streaming through the holes. Little tiny pinpoint shafts of moonlight. I opened my eyes, and she had a crown of moonlight.
It wasn't fair.
I'd finally gotten into the Beauty's bed, and I was finally comfortable, and now suddenly she's even more beautiful, and she's wearing this crown of light and oh my god I can't do this I'm freezing up here.
So she did the only sensible thing in that situation. She kissed me. All the high school sleepovers, all the college backrub parties, all of the things I missed in my life, culminated in that moment, and I forgave myself for being a retarded teenager.
I kissed soft, warm lips that fit nicely with mine. I kissed long, cool neck, and I nibbled an ear.
And then, when it was five thirty in the morning, we both collapsed, exhausted, without doing anything more. The fear was a bit less, of course, having tasted a bit of the object of my desire, I was pleased to report that I⤁d savored every bit.
The next night was a near exact repeat of the first night, except that it was just after midnight when the night started to wind down. She invited me to lie with her on the couch in front of the fire, and again, the moonlight streamed in, bathing her already pale skin in a white light that made her look ethereal and goddess like. I told her that she looked really beautiful in the moonlight, and felt a bit like a ridiculous Brat Pack character.
She laughed a nervous laugh at me.
We moved to the bedroom for the night, and I gave her a massage. Found and worked out a kink in her back, learned the contours of her body, and gave up being afraid to touch her skin.
Afterwards we returned to the holding of the night before.
"Do I scare you?"
"Yes, you do."
"God. Why?"
"Because you're stunning. I suspect you scare a lot of people."
"Jesus."
"Sorry."
To make more clear to me what she was after, she moved my hand onto her breast and kissed me. Whatever hesitance I had disappeared. I mean, you only have to get me into bed, kiss me, force me to fondle your breasts and get me wasted before I notice that you might possibly react well to my advances.
By all of my standards, I was fucking up, and doing so in a most embarrassing way.
At this point I finally started to take control of the situation. I started to reposition myself to kiss her, and then just as quickly, she had control again. I noticed a condom on me, and I hadn⤁t put it there. Just as suddenly, I was in the process of having sex with her and my only thoughts were "how the hell?" and "oh my god!"
We lasted awhile, and then collapsed into a smiling sweaty heap, and rapidly fell asleep.
The next morning, we woke up, dressed, and said little about the night before. The others were up before us, so they were obviously on to us, and knew that something, at least, had happened. They were laughing and giggling, so I⤁m betting they were talking about us, but I never found out.
I tried to keep things light, my mind racing to figure out what the heck was going on here, but when that failed, I eventually gave in to my primal urges and made breakfast for the four of us.
We left the cabin the next morning, locking it up and taking Amtrak back. I tried to get the Colombian on the phone, but she was quite obviously dodging my calls. I left The Beauty and her roommate at Penn Station to go home and process what had just happened.
That was three years ago. It⤁s nearly New Years again, and now she⤁ll be off in another country, having and adventure. That⤁s what she does. She has adventures. And lands on her feet, like a cat. I⤁ll miss the hell out of her. After that incident, we never hooked up again. We became friends, and she was a confidante, and my favorite bartender.
I⤁m melancholy, now. The Beauty is moving to Australia, and I don⤁t know if I⤁ll ever see her again. She was as influential on my life as anyone else I⤁ve ever met.
Last night, we had some drinks, had some laughs, talked a bit, and then I slipped out without saying goodbye. I just couldn⤁t do it. I hope I⤁ll see her again someday.
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