Match Made in Manhattan

by Amanda Stauffer

  While admittedly it’s far better to buy a book than a new wardrobe addition to impress a man, I can’t recall the last time I purchased anything with the intention of impressing anyone. But I also can’t recall the last guy who really got my intellectual juices flowing. I feel a bit out of my cognitive league with Older Luke. And I like it.

  Hey, Did You Find My Doritos Yet?: Younger Luke

  May 24 at 12:38 p.m.

  Hey Luke,

  I bumped into my dad at the gym this morning (running into family members at various Upper East Side locales happens more often than you’d think when you live within a three-block radius) and he shared two good pieces of news with me:

  1.

  He somehow convinced his doctor to prescribe him high-dose Ambien last week, which (per your recommendation) means . . . happy flying for me!

  2.

  I relayed your request, and he and my mom are totally stoked for you to join us. Their only request is that you play negotiator should we get pulled over, held at gunpoint, and forced to buy pot. They’re really not so good at handling stressful situations like that. And if my eight Moroccan speeding tickets are any indication, I’m pretty chicken myself.

  So. See you at the Delta check-in circa 4:30 tomorrow?

  Great. Looking forward to it. ;)

  Cheers,

  Alison

  P.S. In seriousness, good luck with the CFA studying and with pulling off your surprise visit to Tacoma. Much to catch up on upon my return.

  P.P.S. Thanks again for dinner & for trekking to the Upper East Side!

  May 24 at 5:40 p.m.

  Perfect, see you in the security line. So, should I bring my swimsuit for the beaches or is euro style cool with the folks?

  Well, all I can say of your taking ambien is make sure someone locks you into your seat, and that your not near the emergency exit.

  Anyway, yes last night was fun - enjoyed too much coconut margarita thoroughly (just had the urge for fruity drinks, still can’t explain). Hope you enjoy your trip and I look forward to hearing about it. (Emailing from my phone, hence the brevity.)

  Talk soon,

  Luke

  May 26 at 11:21 p.m.

  Apoloğıes ın advance for the many typoş certaın to rıddle thıs email, aş thıs keyböard’s somewhat funky, and my tıme at ıt ış about to expıre. . . . But! İ couldn’t resıst relatınğ the followıng dışcovery| (hmm, can’t ever seem to fınd the colon symbol)

  The Sültan’s wınter cöttage at the Topkapı Palaçe contaıned four rooms (the entıre palaçe had 100+): a lıbrary, a throne room, a harem room, and -- drum roll -- the Room for Sweet Fruıt Beverages. Based on your proclıvıty for coconut margarıtas, I’m thınkınğ you take a page from the Sultan’s book and desıgn a “Room for Sweet Fruıt Beverages” ın your apartment? I took pıctures ıf you need desığn ınşpıratıon.

  Yep, that was my ğroündbreakınğ cultüral öbservatıön. Oh. Alşo, Turkısh hammam experıence was markedly dıfferent from Moroccan one. Way more lıke a scene they’d screen at the bar I forçed my bröther to have hıs party at. I’ll save the detaıls for another day.

  Hope all’s well on the home frönt. Any good ştorıes?

  Cheers,

  Alison

  May 28 at 6:10 p.m.

  What you can’t use a Turkish keyboard? And you call yourself an American?

  I actually don’t think the sweet beverage room would be too difficult - I mean I’ve already got the harem, so I’m half way there. But I would definately linoleum that floor - you know, jazz it up a bit more. . . . Anyway you know what they say about great minds . . . I could get use to being called “Sultan.”

  Per our conversation last week, I just googled the Room for Sweet Fruit Beverages in the Topkapi Palace. Sorry, had to do it, just cause I was curious if my theory holds. OK, so be honest. Whose photo is better, mine or yours? Maybe I could crop myself into it holding a pina colada.

  I get the feeling that place is overwhelming your architectural senses, so I hope you’re not driving. You need to pace yourself.

  Wish I had some exciting stories to share, but I’ve basically been doing the mental preparationing 24/7 and need to enter a long weekend of attempting to be disciplined and study (while catching the playoff games which require me to attend bars because I don’t have cable).

  I did pay a visit to the old iTunes and buy a Bloc Party album - pretty good stuff - the highlight of my week. Hardly compares to yours I’m sure.

  Safe travels. Hey, did you find my doritos yet?

  luke

  May 31 at 10:46 p.m.

  I mean, I see your point - why travel halfway across the world to soak up culture/art/life when you can do it from your office desk, so long as you type in the right keywords? But the compositional framing of my photo is so much better! And the shadow effects coming in from the window? No light blotch things marring the lower right corner of mine . . . not to brag or anything.

  That being said, you inspired me to do some online photo hunting of my own (did you know you’re in the Google Images database?). Please see attached. I’m pretty sure this is an attainable aesthetic. From an architectural perspective, I think the gilded plasterwork and decoratively painted floral/fruity motifs would nicely complement your checkered linoleum flooring. Think your landlord would dig it?

  I figured with all the chaos & Excel sheets that must be flying across your desk, a moment of Zenlike daydreaming of coconut margaritas served in a harem straight out of your apartment might appeal to you.

  Ah well, another productive morning catching up on work emails for me. Good luck plowing through the earnings.

  Cheers,

  Alison

  P.S. I went to the hotel gym this morning and you will NEVER guess what I spied. OK, maybe you will. But I’ll give you a hint: it’s prominently featured on the Carousel of Progress. I plan to track one down on eBay when I get back and have it shipped to my apartment. Think of the money I could save if I relinquished my monthly gym membership!

  June 2 at 7:31 p.m.

  Thanks for the moment of zen. I might make that my desktop background. I like how you photoshopped my face onto some other dude’s body. It actually took me a moment to realize that wasn’t my shirt. I take it google failed to deliver a photo of me clutching a now much-needed pina colada? That coconut filled harem sounds pretty nice right now. But I try not to think about such things when I’m waste deep in spreadsheets. Though the doodles I create during conference calls somewhat resemble the designs in this room here.

  Didn’t I tell you I already own the fat-jiggling machine? You might want one of your own, but your welcome to come borrow mine any time.

  When do you get back here anyways?

  luke

  The Verrrry Slooooow Dater: Older Luke

  After I unpack and put up my laundry, I make plans to meet up with Older Luke the next night.

  “Well it sounds like you had a wonderful trip. Don’t forget, I want to see photos.”

  I nod.

  “So when does the bride arrive, and when do the festivities start?” Older Luke asks.

  “Catherine gets in Thursday night, and we’ve got some quality time just the two of us. Maybe with Cassie, too.” I reach for my water glass. “The other girls get in on Friday after work.”

  “What do you have planned for the bachelorette party?” he asks. I rattle off details about Southern barbecue dinners, the Russian bathhouse down on Wall Street, a burlesque show, and a lingerie bridal shower.

  “That’s pretty comprehensive. Whatever happened to the singular night of dinner and drinking on the town?”

  I shrug.

  “Well, it sounds like you’ve planned quite the weekend. Is this the first bachelorette party you’ve hosted?”

  “No, I cohosted my sister’s. And I’ve been to a handful of others. But this is the first time I’m doing all the planning solo.”

  He nods. “It’s weird when the wedding circuit begi
ns. I still remember the year I went from having, like, zero weddings to being in and attending what felt like dozens all at once.”

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “The save-the-dates and invitations slowly started trickling in recently. . . . It makes me feel old. Like I blinked—” I blink hard then shake my head, miming discombobulation, “—and, all of a sudden, my friends were all grown up.”

  Older Luke agrees.

  “Life moves fast! . . . And then, sometimes I think it moves slowly. . . . Somehow both seem true?” I laugh at my own convoluted assertion.

  He smiles pleasantly and again agrees.

  As the server’s placing our dinners before us, my cell phone rings. The screen flashes JASON. “Oh, it’s Jason. . . . Do you mind if I pick up for a second?”

  “No, go ahead,” Older Luke encourages in his harmonious twang.

  “Jason! Hey. What’s up?” I watch Older Luke, who watches the pedestrians go by. “No, I’m just having dinner with . . . Luke. . . . Yeah, I don’t think you’ve met him before. You guys would get along well, though! He’s all science-y, too, and trained as a marine.” I cover the mouthpiece of the phone and whisper, “Jason wants to know if we want to meet up for drinks later. . . . Do you want to? If not, I can easily say no.” I shake my head for emphasis. “So. No pressure.”

  “No, I told you I wanted to meet Jason. Pick a place near here where we can find him after dinner.”

  “Hey, Jason? We just ordered dinner, so we need an hour or so. Do you mind trudging to the Upper East Side?” I wait for his reply. “Okay. Auction House? Have you been there?” I cover the mouthpiece again and whisper, “Is Auction House okay?”

  Older Luke nods.

  “Cool. Yes, we will see you there. . . . Nine. . . . Okay. Bye!”

  “That’s great.” Older Luke smiles, seeming genuinely enthused by this idea. “When you said I trained as a marine, did Jason do that, too?”

  “No, but he spent summers at Officer Candidate School, so you guys have all that bootcamp experience in common. And probably make equally perfect hospital corners on your beds.”

  “He’s a college friend?”

  “Yep. And a biomedical engineer, so you two have that shared zeal for pharma-medical stuff, too.”

  “Well, as we discussed, I could use male friends. Is Jason single?”

  “Are you looking for a wingman?” I ask, half-teasing, half-serious, because I actually do think Older Luke and Jason would get along. And be a dynamic duo out on the town.

  “Not right now,” he says. “But maybe some unmarried guy friends who like . . . throwing around a baseball or cycling, whatever.”

  “Maybe. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

  I see empty glasses before Jason and Older Luke, so I offer to go get the next round. I come back, awkwardly clutching three glasses in hand, and I start to distribute them to the men, who seem engaged in rapt conversation, but lighthearted, smile-filled rapt conversation.

  “Hey, we were just talking about you, friend,” Jason says.

  “Oh? I can . . .” I gesture to the bar, “go get napkins or . . . hit the bathroom, if you want to continue talking about me? . . .” I smile.

  Jason laughs. “No, I was just saying how . . . amusing it’s been to watch you ease back into the dating pool.”

  My eyes widen, and my heart quickens. “Uhhh,” I stammer. “Oh?” Shut up, Jason!

  Jason and I have long acted as sounding boards for each other. He’s keenly analytical and approaches problems like a management consultant, asking targeted questions and offering pointed, novel suggestions or advice—often served up with a healthy dose of optimism or cheer. I confided in him about the craziness that was James, but between wedding travels and Turkey and the Lukes, life’s been so hectic lately, I haven’t had the chance to bring him up to speed on who Older Luke is, or that I’ve been going on dates with him. I now regret not having filled him in.

  “Yeah. Well, you know.” Jason shrugs. “I met you when you were in a serious relationship freshman year. And for the years I’ve known you since, you were always still ‘taken.’ So I feel like this social blossoming . . . newly high jinksed life of yours is a whole new side of you.”

  I stare at him, my heart pounding in my chest. My widened eyes pleading, Yes, I know I didn’t tell you that I was on a “date” with Older Luke, but just please, PLEASE stop talking.

  “Oh, come on, Alison. I mean it in a good way. Your life is way funnier now.”

  “Ha? Ha, ha,” I force out mechanically, through a frozen smile. “I’m glad you find it funny.” Older Luke looks at me, and I look nervously back and forth between him and Jason and him again. He raises his eyebrows playfully, as if saying, “No big deal. This Jason character is hilarious!”

  “So anyway, as I was saying.” Jason turns to me and says, “You don’t mind, right? You always make fun of yourself anyway—” I wince, open my mouth, but am too paralyzed to speak. “—Alison is a verrrrry slooooooow dater. She amasses all these guy friends left and right, then strings them along forever, then gives them the Pants Speech, and it’s like an endless, Sisyphean task for all those dudes who try to date her.”

  I instantly palm my forehead, then realize they’re watching me, and slide it down my face, trying to play it off as rubbing fatigue from my left eye.

  “So, how do you guys know each other anyway?” Jason asks.

  Chasing the Free Case of Beer: Younger Luke

  While I was in Turkey, it felt like Younger Luke was everywhere. I found myself constantly searching gas stations for Doritos, ever aware of the belted vibrating workout machines, and actually thankful that my mom and I had such an awkward hammam experience because it would give me another funny story to regale him with after the fact. So once I returned to my apartment, I didn’t last minutes before I picked up my phone to call him.

  “Hey Luke, it’s Alison. Just got back from Turkey and have many a good story for you. Like . . . did you know that Doritos aren’t the only differently shaped snack food overseas? Yeah. So, clearly, much to discuss when you’re back. . . . I’m digressing, though—the point of this message was to say: I hope your surprise visit went off without a hitch and that you’re having fun in Tacoma with your family.”

  He calls back shortly, and we talk for half an hour. It’s all giggles and story one-upmanship.

  “And? The surprise? How’d it go?”

  “Yeah.” He laughs. “They were pretty surprised. It didn’t have quite the impact I expected because my mom was outside gardening when I arrived, so she saw me coming up the driveway. I was kind of hoping to surprise her and my dad together, in the middle of their party. But I got there a bit early.”

  “Gosh, I can’t think of the last time I was on a flight that landed early. What are the chances?”

  “I know. But, they seem pretty stoked I’m here.”

  “Should I let you get back to them? You must have a red-eye to catch soon.”

  “Yeah. I should probably go. I’ve been studying all afternoon, so I want to get in some quality son time before I head to the airport. . . . But thanks for calling. I was wondering how you were finding things in Constantinople. Wanted to make sure you didn’t, you know, explode from sensory overload.”

  “Close. Not quite, but close. . . . Oh, also good luck with your studying. When will this whole CFA thing be over with anyway?”

  “That was a joke, by the way. You know it’s not called ‘Constantinople’ any more. And uhh, next Saturday and Sunday.”

  “I just came from there, remember? So, yeah. I know. Also, there’s a famous They Might Be Giants song about it. . . . But, that’s soon!”

  “Look at you and your knowledge of passé music. Not bad. . . . But yeah, it’s soon. I’m starting to get nervous.”

  “Well, at the very least, it’ll be over, right? Pass or fail, over?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Now I was kidding. You’ll pass. . . . Come on, of course you’re going to pas
s. But also, it will be done. No more studying, no more nerves after Sunday, so that’ll be nice.”

  “Such an optimist. Okay, now I really gotta go. Have a good niiight,” he says in a singsong.

  “You too. Safe travels.”

  June 11 at 7:43 p.m.

  YOUNGER LUKE: FYI - THIS PLACE IS KIND OF FANCY. THERE’S A BOUNCER.

  ALISON: SO YOU’RE SAYING I SHOULD WEAR MY PROM DRESS?

  YOUNGER LUKE: GOD YOU’RE ALWAYS SO EAGER TO GET EXTRA MILEAGE OUT OF THAT THING.

  I see Younger Luke sitting in the cobblestone courtyard reading his phone. He looks up and sees me, too, as I walk in.

  “How did it go???” I exclaim, running over to give him a hug.

  He wraps his arms around me, lifts me off the ground, and kisses me hello, surprising me with this easy affection.

  “It was good. It’s over.” He shrugs.

  “Do you think you did alright?”

  “Yeah, I think I did okay. . . .” He nods. “I guess I did. I hope I did?”

  “Yaaay!” I instinctively pump a fist in the air. “I’m so happy to hear that. I’m so glad for you that it’s over.”

  “Thanks again for your good luck call Friday night. That was really sweet.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly. . . . So, what do you do with your results? Like . . . once you become a CFA, does anything change at work?”

  “No, but it gives me greater potential for upward mobility . . . one day. . . . Sorry, do you want to go up to the bar now?”

  “Um, of course!”

  He places his hand on my lower back and guides me in the right direction. A happy tingle runs up my spine.

  “Sooo, did you learn anything . . . interesting? . . . from your exam prep? Stuff you can apply to work?”

  “Some stuff, maybe. Not really though.” He opens the door for me.

  “Thanks. That’s . . . disappointing, I guess. To put all that time into something for a credential. . . . Though,” I muse aloud, “I guess that’s what grad school was for me. A credential. Dunno.” I shrug. “Deep thoughts. . . . Anyway! Do you think you’ll work in finance forever?”