by Karyn Bosnak
POTENTIALLY GAY BRAD
Later that afternoon, my best friend from home, Naomi, called to tell me that she was going to set me up on my first blind date in New York with a guy named Brad, who worked in the New York office of her company. The big date was set for Saturday night. Naomi told me she likes to call Brad “Potentially Gay Brad” because he was just that: potentially gay.
“Naomi, why would you set me up with someone who is potentially gay?” I asked.
“Because he’s cute,” she said.
“Okay,” I said. That was a good enough reason for me.
The next day, Potentially Gay Brad called me on the phone and asked me to go to dinner that Saturday night. I already had plans with a couple that both Naomi and I knew from Chicago, who also now lived in New York, otherwise known as the Swingers. Naomi and I call the Swingers “the Swingers” because they have been known to pick up a third every now and then. But they were nice, and attractive—right out of a J. Crew catalog. I never swang with them, but I couldn’t help but think about swinging every time I was around them. Not that I wanted to, but I couldn’t keep my mind from wandering that way. I wondered how they asked someone to swing with them. Did they just come right out and say it? Or did they just casually begin rubbing someone’s forearm at a bar? I wondered how things like that happen. What if they asked me to swing with them this Saturday night? What would I say?
“Um, excuse me, Karyn, we think you’re great and all, and were wondering if you would be interested in having sex with us?”
What would I say if they asked me that?
“Um, ooh…yeah. I’m sorry. You know, I think you’re really nice people, and you sure are swell, but I’m not really into gettin’ it on with a married couple.” No, that might offend them….
I’d say, “Gosh, I think swinging is really great, but I just swang last night with a different couple, so I’m not much up for makin’ sweet, sweet love with you right now. But maybe later.” Yes, that’s it! That’s what I’d say! Just to be safe and make sure this didn’t happen, I asked Brad if he would like to join us, and he accepted my invitation.
Saturday came before I knew it, and Mrs. Swinger and I decided to go shopping so I could get a little something new for my date. Since moving to New York, I kept having the feeling that most of my clothes were “Midwestern.” I’m not a hillbilly or anything, but I just didn’t look as chic as most of the women did in this city. I was “cute.” But now that I lived in New York, I wanted to be snazzy.
Since Mrs. Swinger lived on the Upper West Side, she took me to Columbus Avenue to go shopping. There were all sorts of cute little stores. We went to Betsey Johnson (I just love her frilly dresses) and a place called Olive & Bette’s. They had the hippest T-shirts I ever saw for only like $70! We walked and shopped for hours, and eventually stumbled upon a store called Intermix. Now, I had never heard of Intermix before, but with one look in the window, I knew that we were destined to meet.
We walked in and my jaw dropped. They did not have stores like this in Chicago! All of the clothes were hanging on long racks that ran along the walls on both sides of the store. In the middle, they had more long racks, and a few tables with clothes folded on top on them. It was very well lit too, which in my opinion helped me to see the inner beauty of the clothes.
I walked up to the racks and began looking through the cutest clothes I had ever seen in my whole life. They had Earl jeans and Marc Jacobs—all the same clothes that I saw in my fashion magazines. I felt like a jailbird on the loose! I couldn’t flip through the racks quickly enough. Surely my blind date would fall in love with me if I wore an outfit from here! Then we’d live happily ever after! While perusing the store, I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the prettiest sheer coral top hanging from one of the racks across the store. (Coral was very hot that summer, remember? Charlize Theron wore that coral dress to the Academy Awards and BAM! Coral bloomed. The rest is fashion history.)
I ran and pulled it from the rack. It was exquisite! I picked up the tag to see the size, and was happy to see that it was a medium. Just my size! I then looked at the price—$148. That wasn’t too bad. It was good quality, you know? I tried it on and it fit perfectly. And damn did it make me look skinny! I had to have this top. Brad might be the one, you know? You just can’t take chances with blind dates. Every one might be the one. So I took that coral top up to the register, pulled out my Amex card, and swipe, sign, it was mine.
Later that night, I put on my new top and paired it with a pair of great Shelli Segal black pants that I already had. The plan was to meet at the Swingers’ for a drink before going to dinner.
I was happy that I decided to take my chances with Potentially Gay Brad. Now nothing is wrong with being gay, some of my best friends are gay. But being potentially gay and being set up with me is a recipe for disaster. I don’t know what it is, but several of my former boyfriends have turned gay after going out with me. So it just seems that the guys that I do go out with that are “potentially” gay usually are gay. For example, Doug, my first high school boyfriend and first love of my life, is now a gay social worker. Luke, my serious college boyfriend who I wanted to marry, now works in a flower shop. Voluntarily. The list goes on. So if you are at all unsure about your sexuality, one date with me should clear up which side of the fence you’re on.
Anywho, I arrived at the Swingers’ apartment before Brad, and sat on the couch in my new coral top and waited for his arrival. Mr. Swinger came and sat next to me. A chill went up my spine. Is this how it happens? I thought. Is Mr. Swinger going to make his big move? He reached across me and I thought, “Get your hands off me!” until I saw him grab the remote.
“Sorry to reach. Are you okay?” he said, noticing the frightened look on my face.
“Oh, I’m fine,” I said, embarrassed for a moment. “I’m just nervous about my date.”
A few moments later the buzzer rang, which meant Brad was in the lobby and on his way up to the Swingers’ apartment.
Although Naomi assured me Brad was cute, you just never know with these things. There was a knock on the door, and I walked over in my smart coral top and opened it to find Brad standing there. He was cute! He was really, really cute! And he was exactly my type, which meant that he was probably gay.
Brad sort of looked like a cross between Jude Law and Prince William. He was devastatingly beautiful! He had light brown wavy hair that looked so soft. I just wanted to touch it. Oh, and those eyes! They were piercing blue. And he was my date! I was so happy that I’d splurged on the Intermix top….
“Hi. Karyn? Brad,” he said.
“Hi,” I replied and kinda just stared…for a while….
“Can I come in?” he asked, snapping me back in reality.
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I said, blushing. “Come in.”
“Great. Cute shirt, by the way!”
Yup. Just as I suspected: Gay. How many straight men comment on your shirt before they really know you? None. That’s how many.
Nonetheless, Potentially Gay Brad, the Swingers and I had a drink, and then set out to find a place to eat. We ended up going to a little Italian cafe called Pomodoro and ate outside.
As I sat in my chair and watched all the people walk by, I couldn’t help but notice how fashionable they all were. I looked down at my top and felt like one of them. I felt like I fit in.
During dinner, the Swingers got drunk and became really touchy-feely. Brad and I looked at each other and just smirked. It was really quite funny and I was glad that we both noticed, and noticed that we both noticed. It sort of became our little joke throughout the evening. Every time Mr. Swinger would glance over at his wife and stare at her chest, Brad and I would kick each other under the table. We were bonding.
After two bottles of wine and a great dinner, the check came. The Swingers got into some sort of drunken squabble and decided they wanted to go home. Brad and Mr. Swinger took care of the bill.
As all four of us walked outside, I co
uldn’t help but feel nervous. Was Brad going to say he wanted to go home too, or was he going to ask me to go out for another drink? I was a bit buzzed from the wine at dinner and did feel some sort of chemistry, but I didn’t know if it was mutual.
“Do you want to go out for another drink?” Brad asked.
I was so excited! He liked me! Maybe. Or maybe he was just being nice. But I didn’t really care.
“Yeah, definitely,” I said, trying to contain my excitement and sound casual.
We bid our farewell to the Swingers, who proceeded not to look at each other and sway in their drunken standing positions.
“Bye,” they said in unison, and then seemed angry that they had said it in unison.
“Bye,” Brad and I said as we watched them stumble into a cab.
Tense and buzzed, I looked over at Brad. He looked at me. We both burst into laughter.
“They were wasted!” Brad said, laughing.
“No kidding! You know, I don’t know them very well,” I said, trying to make the statement sound like some sort of disclaimer.
“Yeah, right,” he said jokingly. We decided to walk to a cheesy Greek bar on the corner and get another drink there.
“Yeah, I know,” he continued, “Naomi told me they were a bit odd.”
“She did?” I asked, surprised.
“Yeah. She told me they like to hook up with other people.”
“Really? She told you that! That’s so funny, I heard that too, and I’m always so nervous every time I’m alone with them,” I said.
“Yeah, about as nervous as I was when you invited me there for drinks. I was thinking you may be into that sort of thing too and invited me over there to make the moves on me.”
“Liar!” I said, laughing and hitting him. He grabbed my hand.
“I swear!”
“Brad,” I said, looking him straight in the eye, “I, Karyn, am not a swinger.”
“Good,” he replied, looking me square back in the eye, “I, Brad, am not either.”
After a night of endless flirting, I decided that Potentially Gay Brad might not be gay after all. Sure, he had all the mannerisms of a gay man, and was well groomed, but he was so flirty! And we had such chemistry…. After two more drinks, Brad walked me all the way home. It was such a beautiful night. He told me all about the neighborhood that my new apartment was in. It was a neighborhood called Sutton Place and he said it was very ritzy—old-money ritzy. Like the Vanderbilts used to live in the neighborhood and stuff.
When we arrived at the entrance to my building, Brad politely kissed me on the cheek and said good-bye. The cheek? Okay, Brad just turned back into Potentially Gay Brad. What kind of man in his twenties kisses a hot girl in a sexy coral Intermix top on the cheek to say good night? My loins were burning and his weren’t? Oh, well. I smiled and thanked him for the lovely night. Despite the kiss, or lack thereof, I still had a crush. And I think he did too….
I turned and walked through the front door, and when I was almost at the elevator, I looked back over my shoulder at Brad, who was still standing there watching me with a big smile on his face. Yeah, he had a crush too….
TWO
GRAND DEBT TALLY $3,970.00
NO USE CRYIN’ OVER LOST UNDERWEAR
That Monday my alarm clock woke me up at 7 A.M. The new curtains that I bought on Sunday kept the sun out nicely. They were an emergency. They were an emergency because I am not a morning person, and my day gets off to a bad start when I’m not able to sleep in. The windows were so big that I had to buy six panels to cover them completely. I bought six sheer panels at a store called Gracious Home I found on the Upper East Side. Gracious Home is a home store that carries everything from doorknobs and curtains to French linens for your table. And just like ABC, it was split into two stores right across the street from each other. I wondered if a lot of stores did this in New York. Anyway, I bought the panels and a nice long rod, and some pretty tiebacks for when I felt like letting the sunlight in.
But as much as the curtains were an improvement, the feather bed wasn’t much better than sleeping on a pile of clothes. I could still feel the hardwood floor beneath me and my back still hurt.
I got ready for work and decided that I would try to walk to work again in my new sandals. Maybe my feet just needed to get used to them. I put on some fresh Band-Aids and off I went.
All I can say is that I tried. But a few blocks later, I looked down at my feet and again they were a big aching Band-Aid mess. As I stopped to try to readjust the straps, I looked around at all the other women walking to work. They had on heels and sandals and their feet seemed just fine. Maybe mine were extra sensitive. The logical thing for me to do would be to walk to work in a different, more comfortable pair of shoes, and then change into my sandals when I got there. But I didn’t really want to do that. My sandals looked really nice, and I wanted people to see me in my new sandals. Besides, I think it’s tacky when women walk to work in fancy business suits and sneakers. Women in Chicago did this all the time, but I noticed that women in New York did not. Or at least they didn’t while walking down 57th Street.
Out of nowhere, a big bus pulled up and stopped right in front of me. I looked up and realized that I was at a bus stop. I decided to jump on because my feet just couldn’t take it. Luckily I had $1.50 in change in my purse, because I didn’t have a subway card and the bus didn’t make change. After paying, I made my way to the back and found a seat. The bus was a lot cleaner than the subway. The people were better looking too. As I sat in my seat and peered out the window, I came to terms with the fact that I had to give up on trying to walk to work. It was just too much of a hassle. I looked a mess when I got there, and honestly, my feet just couldn’t take it.
The traffic was horrible, but the bus dropped me off right in front of my building. I looked down at my watch and realized I was twenty minutes late. My boss was a stickler for promptness, and so far I had been on time. So I decided to get a coffee and a muffin.
You see, the best thing to do when you are late is get a coffee and a muffin. Then you drop your bag/purse/briefcase/coat just outside of where your boss happens to be and walk in with just your coffee, as if to say, “I’ve already been here (and was probably here before you, actually) and just left to get some coffee. But now I’m back and am heading to my desk to get back to what I was working on.” Once you’ve made sure your boss sees you, it’s safe to go back and get your bag/purse/briefcase/coat.
This morning I did just that. And it worked. Like always. As I sat down, I logged on to the Internet and went to American Express’s website. I just wanted to check my balance again to make sure the lady on the phone had it right. She sure did. It was $3,000. As freaked out as I was about the balance, I also started to think about how I was going to pay Spiro. I then noticed something on the left-hand side of the screen: American Express Gift Cheques.
American Express Gift Cheques. Hmmm. I clicked on the link and was taken to the page. “Better than a gift certificate—the American Express Gift Cheque,” it said. “Overnight delivery available.”
I started to read further.
“Available in denominations up to $100,” it said. From what I gathered, people could order these checks, charge them to their American Express card, and give them to someone as a gift. That person could buy whatever they wanted, and pay for it with a Gift Cheque. They were kind of just like traveler’s checks, but had a different name.
I started to think. I remembered that the last time I used traveler’s checks on a vacation, I had some extra left over when I got home. So I called up the traveler’s check company and asked what I should do with them, and they told me that I could just cash them or deposit them into my checking account. Just then a light went off in my head!
I decided that I’d get these American Express Gift Cheques and give them to myself as a gift! Then I’d deposit them into my checking account. That’s it! I knew there must be a way to get some cash out of my American Express card
.
Sure, there were fees. But I needed the money now, kind of like how Wimpy on Popeye needed his burgers. He was on to something when he said, “I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today.” Well, I’d rather pay them $20 at the end of the month for $200 today.
After figuring out what I needed, I decided to get $300 worth. That would cover the amount I had to give to Spiro and give me a bit extra to last me until Thursday, which was payday. After clicking on the “Order Now” button and choosing the overnight delivery option, I was all set. Federal Express would deliver my Gift Cheques tomorrow before noon, at which point I’d take them to my bank and deposit them right into my checking account. They’d go in just like cash!
As I leaned back and smiled, my phone rang. It was my friend Mark in Chicago, who was taking care of my cat until this week, when he was going to fly with him to New York to drop him off.
“Honey, hi!” Mark said.
“Hi! How’s my baby?” I said.
“I’m fine!” he answered, knowing full well I was talking about my cat.
I have always been a bit obsessed with my cat. His name is Elvis. Well, his full name is Elvis the Bush Cat. My mom found him in a bush about five years ago while visiting a friend in a shady town north of Chicago called North Chicago. It’s kind of like “the hood” there, and Elvis was just living in a bush outside her friend’s house for a few weeks. One day while my mom was there, he came out of the bush to say hello and he was all beat up. He had a big hole in his leg where he must have been attacked or something, his tail was broken, and so was his front tooth.
So my mom is like a big “save the animals” fanatic and took him to the vet, who gave him stitches and fixed him all up. But she is allergic to cats, and asked me if I would take him. I didn’t have a pet at the time and wanted one, so I said yes.