by Karyn Bosnak
After a few minutes of slight stretching, I slowly rose and got ready for work. It took me twice as long as it usually did. When I finally left, it was just my luck that the elevator wasn’t working that morning and I had to take the stairs. And going down stairs when you are sore is horrible. It’s actually worse than going up.
I started my descent and every step down was more painful than the one before. Other people taking the stairs just whizzed right by me. I almost lost my balance a few times from the breeze. I finally arrived on the first floor and said hello to the doormen, who assured me that the elevator would be working by the time I got home. I may have lived only four floors up, but those four floors seemed like forty.
That day at work, it hurt just to sit at my desk. Every time I moved in either direction, I would wince in pain. The thought of going out to lunch seemed crazy, so I had the local deli deliver me a tuna melt. And fries. I was hungry. Working out worked up quite an appetite in me. Just as I started eating my sandwich, my phone rang.
“Curtis Court,” I answered with a mouth full of tuna.
“Karyn,” said a familiar male whiny voice, “hey, it’s Paul. How you doing?”
Paul? Who’s Paul? Oh, wait. It was a guy that a friend of mine had set me up on a date with. I’d gone out with him one night for dinner after work the week before, and it was just horrible. He told me that he waxed his back within the first five minutes of me meeting him. He owned a bunch of pet stores or something. Eww! Why was this joker calling me again?
“Oh, hi,” I said, lacking excitement. “How are you?”
“Good, thanks. So I got the tickets for the show Saturday night and wanted to let you know the plans,” he said.
Saturday night? What plans? Huh? Just then I realized that I’d forgotten to cancel on him. He had asked me to do something this weekend and I said yes, thinking I would cancel but I forgot. Oh crap! Not another night with this guy! I had to think of an excuse quickly.
“Oh, my, is that this Saturday night?” I asked, still racking my brain for an excuse. “I forgot all about it.”
“Yes, it is this Saturday and I already bought the tickets. So you aren’t bailing on me, young lady,” he said, trying to sound charming.
“Oh, um…,” I said, still at a loss for words. I just couldn’t think of anything to say. “Um, okay. What are the plans?” I asked, realizing that I was trapped.
“Well, I thought that you could come here to my apartment for a drink, then we could go to dinner at this great sushi place around the corner, and then on to the concert after that,” he said.
“Okay,” I said reluctantly. I did not want to go out with this loser again, but I’d forgotten to cancel and he’d already bought the tickets and well, it was just too late to do anything. So I had to do the right thing and just go. He was a friend of a friend, after all.
“Alrighty then. I’ll see you at eight.” Paul gave me his address and I kicked myself for forgetting to cancel. How could I have been so forgetful? But the damage was done, so I would just have to suck it up and go. This date definitely wasn’t worth a new outfit. But then again, maybe I’d buy myself something just to make the night more fun. A bad date in a new outfit would be more fun than a bad date in an old outfit. Right? Right.
SATURDAY NIGHT CAME and I got ready at my apartment. As I listened to my new Stevie Wonder CDs (I bought the box set and put it on shuffle—cuz how can you choose just one Stevie Wonder CD?), I put on my new Banana Republic shirt and skirt that I bought to make the night more enjoyable. I also got one of those sparkly rhinestone belts that clips to itself and hangs down. And I got a necklace to match it. I bought those at this cute little store in SoHo called Flying A.
As I hopped in a cab to go to Paul’s apartment, I realized that my body was still sore from the workout and decided to use it as an excuse to call it an early night. Paul’s apartment building was a fancy high-rise. Way fancier than mine. He lived on the twenty-third floor. When I knocked on his door, I heard a dog bark from inside. A few seconds later, Paul opened the door.
“Hi, Karyn,” he said. He was wearing a blazer with a T-shirt underneath and a pair of jeans. He’d worn the same thing last time. He was a real Mr. Miami Vice. “Sorry about the barking,” he said, referring to a big golden retriever in the corner. “She gets excited when we have company.”
“Oh, no problem. I love dogs,” I said, entering his apartment and walking toward the dog. “What’s her name?”
“Goldie,” he said. “She’s great. She’s getting old though.”
“Hewwo, Gowdie,” I said in my “animal voice.” Like any normal person, I save my “animal voice” for when I’m alone or with friends. I don’t use it in front of men I’m attracted to, and I try not to use it in public too much either. But I wasn’t trying to impress, so I pulled it out here too. The dog looked up at me and panted. She was so cute! I felt sorry that she was stuck living with this loser.
I wasn’t being overly mean. He really was a loser. After our first date, he pushed his drunk self all over me in a cab and told me that he wanted to please me “down there.” Seriously. I had known him for four hours—and we didn’t hit it off. He had been rude to our waiters all night and was just horrible. So you would have felt sorry for his dog too. But maybe she was happy. He did own some pet stores, after all. If my parents owned a few department stores, I’d be happy as a clam!
While Paul made us drinks in the kitchen, I checked out his apartment. Just like when I go running at night, I like to see how people live. It had one bedroom, a nice-size bathroom, and a balcony that overlooked Central Park. Not too shabby. I walked out onto the balcony and Goldie followed.
A few minutes later, Paul sat down next to me and Goldie crashed in between us. (Tank you, Gowdie!) We chatted for a while, and for a moment I thought that maybe the night would be tolerable. He told me how Goldie understood the words “walk” and “outside” and how he has to spell them out in front of her, because she freaks when she hears them. I told him all about Elvis the Bush Cat, and Sam, my new trainer. And to get him prepared for my early departure, I told him that I was still in pain from the workout.
“I seriously can’t move,” I said. “My body just aches.”
“I could fix that for you,” he said.
“Huh?” I asked naively.
“Your body,” he said, looking at me “down there” again. “I know just the thing that will take all your pains away.” He was so gross. I couldn’t believe he just said that to me. I looked at him and then looked down at Goldie.
“Gowdie, bay-by. Do you want go outside? Huh? Do you want to go for a walk?” I asked teasingly. With that, Goldie jumped up and started to run around in circles. She then looked at Paul and started barking. Paul looked up at me and gave me a dirty look.
“Now why did you have to go and do that?” he asked, obviously irritated.
“I just wanted to see if you were telling the truth,” I said with a smirk on my face.
“Well, now you know I was,” he said. He stood up and headed toward the kitchen. “I have to take her for a walk now,” he yelled back at me. “Do you want to come with me?”
“Oh, no, thanks. I’ll wait up here,” I said proudly. Paul put Goldie’s leash on her and told me he’d be back in about ten minutes. Ahh…ten minutes all to myself. I sat on the couch and enjoyed it.
When Paul returned a short while later, I asked him when we were going to eat. He looked down at his watch, which was a Rolex, and made sure I could see it.
“Well, the concert starts kind of late, so maybe we should wait a while,” he said.
“Late? How late?” I asked. “I’m kind of tired and I don’t want to stay out that late.”
“Well, not that late,” he said, avoiding the question. “Yeah, you know you’re right. Let’s go eat now.”
“Okay,” I said. I said good-bye to Goldie, and Paul and I headed out the front door.
We walked to the sushi restaurant, which was only a
couple blocks away. It was bright and empty, and not exactly the kind of place where you’d take a Saturday-night date. But who was I to complain?
My friends and I always debate if a sushi restaurant is a good place to take a date. Basically you are shoving large pieces of raw fish into your mouth, which isn’t very attractive. And sometimes the pieces are just too big to fit, and half of it ends up on your face, which is even less attractive. But I wasn’t there to impress Paul, so I guess it didn’t matter.
Seeing as how there was no big backup in the kitchen, the service was pretty speedy. I made a note of the restaurant name, but doubted that it was in my Zagat guide. Zagat-rated restaurants usually have a sign in the window and this one didn’t have one. But the food actually looked pretty good. Well, at least mine did anyway. When I looked over at Paul’s, I noticed something that looked like a raw egg on top of each piece of sushi.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to it.
“They’re quail eggs,” he said. “They’re so good.”
“They don’t look very good,” I said.
“Oh, but they are,” Paul said while lifting a piece of sushi up, balancing it so that the slimy quail egg wouldn’t fall off. With one big swoop, he shoved the whole thing in his mouth. The quail egg burst instantly, and yellow goo oozed all over the inside of his mouth. I normally wouldn’t stare at this type of thing, but since he chewed with his mouth open, I kind of didn’t have a choice. It was the most grotesque thing I’ve ever seen. Some pieces of rice were hanging out on his lip too. They either fell out, or never made it in to begin with. I thought I was going to vomit. I suddenly agreed with my friends: a sushi restaurant is a very bad place for a date.
I looked down at my plate and tried not to look at Paul for the rest of the meal. I had to concentrate on my own raw fish. Every so often, I heard eating noises like “mmmm” and “ooooh” coming from his side of the table. He’d made these same noises last time we went out. Didn’t this boy’s mama ever teach him table manners?
When we were done, the waiter cleared the table and left the check. Paul picked it up and paid for it.
“Thank you,” I said.
“No problem. I’ll take you to every good restaurant in the city if you want,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said, trying to smile. I wanted to say “No, thanks,” but I decided to be polite.
We left the restaurant and jumped in a cab to head toward the club. I tried to talk the whole way there because I didn’t want him to make any sudden moves on me again like last time. When we arrived, there was a line to get in, so we waited. I looked up at the sky and yawned.
“Are you tired?” he asked.
“Yes, I actually am. I had a really long week,” I said. As much as this was my plan to escape early, it was true. I really was exhausted. When we finally arrived at the front of the line, Paul handed the guy our tickets. I looked at my watch. It was 10:30 P.M.
We entered the club and walked upstairs to the second level, where the band was supposed to play. Every time I asked Paul what time they were going to start, he avoided answering me.
“I’ll go get us some drinks,” he said. Fine by me.
A few minutes later he returned with our drinks and quickly slammed his. He then went back to the bar to get another. And another. I quickly realized that he was completely wasted.
When I wasn’t looking, he snuck up behind me and wrapped his arms around my stomach and pressed himself against me. And boy was he excited! And boy was I irritated! I quickly pulled away.
“I really wish you wouldn’t do that,” I said.
“Why not? What’s wrong?” he asked in a drunken haze, trying to stroke my hair.
“Um…,” I said searching for an excuse.
“Um…what?” he asked.
“Um…I’m a lesbian, that’s what’s wrong,” I finally said proud. Yes, that was it! That was a good excuse. “I’m gay!” I yelled.
Just then about five people turned around to stare. I felt like Ellen DeGeneres on that coming-out episode. I don’t know why I just couldn’t say “I don’t like you,” but I couldn’t. I was a chicken. So I just told him that I was a lesbian. It was easier.
Paul just looked at me and then a perverted smile crept across his face. “Cool,” he said, shaking his head up and down. Oh no! I just turned him on more! I’m positive that as he was looking at me he was thinking about the last lesbian porn he’d rented.
I turned my head and looked away. Just then I looked up and saw a big clock on the wall. It was midnight. I had been there for an hour and a half already and the band hadn’t started yet. I looked at Paul. He was still looking at me, smirking.
“Paul, seriously, what time does the band start? We’ve been here for an hour and a half,” I said shortly. I felt like I was talking to a child. He started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“They don’t go on until one A.M. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you were tired,” he said.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” I asked, irritated.
“No, I knew you would eventually,” he answered. “But I was hoping you’d be drunk by the time they started and would forget that you were tired.”
“Well, I didn’t forget. And I’m even more tired than when I got here. I really want to go home,” I said.
“Okay, in a bit,” he said.
Well, a bit came and a bit left. A warm-up band finally started and they were horrible. Every time I asked Paul if we could go, he said “in a bit.”
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I decided to go downstairs to escape the noise.
“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” I said to Paul.
“Okay,” he said, swaying back and forth. He was spilling his drink everywhere.
As I walked down the stairs to where the bathrooms were, I let out a big exhale. It was much quieter. As I waited in line, I looked to the left and noticed that the front doors were propped wide open. I saw a taxi drive by, and then another one. I looked up at the stairs leading back to the second floor, and then back through the open doors at the taxis. And before I knew it, I walked right out those doors and hopped into one of those taxis.
“Four hundred East Fifty-seventh Street, please,” I said to the driver. As the cab pulled away, I turned and looked at the club. Paul was inside. He had no clue that I’d just left. For a split second I felt guilty, but just for a split second. Otherwise, I felt great!
When I got home, I told my doormen all about my horrible date and they just laughed. I asked them if they thought I should call him and tell him that I went home and they said no.
“It may sound mean, Miss Karyn, but hopefully it will teach him to listen to a woman next time she asks him to go home,” Sam said.
“I guess you are right, Sam,” I said. I bid the doormen good night and went upstairs to go to sleep.
The next morning I awoke to a message on my voice mail from Paul, asking me why I’d left the bar. I didn’t even hear the phone ring. He said something like “you must have gotten sick.” How dense could a guy be? On my way out to get the paper, the doormen told me that Paul came to the building drunk at 4 A.M. looking for me.
“I told him that you were safely upstairs asleep,” Osei said. “He wanted me to call up to your apartment, but I refused because it was too late. He then got disorderly and started yelling, and we had to kick him out of the building.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said.
“That’s okay, Miss Karyn,” Osei said. “He was a loser.”
“I know,” I said.
When I got back to my apartment, I called Paul back out of courtesy to tell him that I was alive. I got his voice mail.
“Hi, Paul, it’s Karyn,” I said. “I’m so sorry that I left you at the bar last night, but I really just wanted to go home. I hope you understand. Anyway, I hope the band finally started and it was good. Take care.” I hung up the phone and sighed a sigh of relief. I then hopped in the sho
wer and got ready for my day. I had some buying and returning to do!
THE BUY
Bloomingdale’s looked just as lovely this Sunday as it did last Sunday. The flags were billowing, the clothes were fluffy, and the sunglasses were shiny. As I roamed around the store, I pondered what to buy. I decided that the best thing to do was to buy one big item, and then a smaller one to make up the difference.
The thing is, when I don’t have any money and shouldn’t be buying things, I want them really, really badly. So I charge them and feel satisfied, and then briefly guilty, then satisfied again. But today I had to buy something. I didn’t necessarily want something in particular. I wasn’t looking for a new outfit for a date, or looking for a new pair of shoes or something. Today I had to buy something because I had to return something. I was under pressure. And because I was under pressure, I became very indecisive. Even though I was going to return whatever it was I was going to buy.
Anyway, after roaming around the store for almost an hour, I finally found the item. It was a beautiful $650 Burberry trench coat. I found my size on the rack and tried it on. I don’t really know why I did this, because I was just going to return it anyway. But if I was going to splurge on a $650 coat, then I wanted to at least pretend like I was going to keep it.
I walked over to the three-way mirror and looked at the coat. Damn I looked good! The coat was khaki and had the signature Burberry plaid on the inside. It really blew my Banana Republic one out of the water! It was just gorgeous! Now I know why Burberry is so expensive. This coat fit so nicely! It really was much better quality. After making sure the other women in the section saw how fabulous I looked in my new Burberry coat, I took it off and walked up to the counter to pay for it. The woman rang it up.
“The total is $702,” she said. “How will you be paying for that?”
“American Express. I don’t leave home without it,” I said, giggling. I was so excited to buy the coat that I was downright slaphappy!