how very lucky to be a girl

Ben Gurion International Airport.  Words from an old correspondence with Danny describe it best.  It was “7 different kinds of hell in a three-stage rocket”.

After answering 27 different questions about what I was doing in Israel, I was directed to a baggage inspection area. I had two bags to check (one was mine, the other filled with gifts), a carry-on with my electronics, and my purse. They proceeded to empty each and every bag (and any bag within a bag) and scan everything for bomb residue. Once that was done, they insisted that I repack my bags – with the caveat that I had to put almost every item in a different bag than it had been originally. It was literally the Chinese Fire Drill of Luggage. And it took two hours.

The long flight home was infinitely more tolerable following a Xanax and a 6 hour nap.  I was happy to be home.  If only I didn’t have to wait an entire week to see Danny again.

I responded to his e-mail the day after I returned.  I relayed my airport security story and said

I’m happy to be back home. I’m also happy that you’re joining me to see the play.

Can’t wait to see you. I’ll even bring you some yummy halvah if I can succeed in keeping my sticky fingers off of it for a whole week!*

*NOTE: I did not succeed in keeping my sticky fingers off of said yummy halvah.

One day, two, three and four came to pass with no response.  I spent those days crazily deconstructing the words of my email.  I shouldn’t have e-mailed him.  I shouldn’t have told him I was happy he was coming to the play.  And I definitely shouldn’t have told him that I couldn’t wait to see him. I was unfairly critical of myself.  But I wasn’t yet ready to turn my focus where it actually belonged.

A week later, he responded.

Oh airtravel…. yes it can be a real exercise in inanity. (Writer me just wrote that but Editor me thinks pairing “in” with “inanity” is, well, inane.)

So glad you had a great time, as I knew you would. It must have been thrilling to make all those new discoveries.

Sorry to have taken so long to respond. This week in particular has been the heaviest workwise in a looooong time and I’ve been burning the candle at both ends. I’ve also been dating a couple of people. Not sure why I think you should know this–it may make no difference to you at all–but it seems right to mention it. Hard to believe our speakeasy pool night was over a month ago.

Looking forward to seeing you, too–and hearing of the adventure. Let’s grab a drink afterwards so that we can properly deconstruct the work of Mr. Shawn.(and swap travel stories).

Danny

I was speechless.  My palms were sweaty.  My mouth was dry.  I felt nauseated.  I hated this e-mail.  I hated everything about it.  I hated that he had taken a week to respond to me.  I hated how distant and mechanical it felt.  I hated that he had just told me he was dating other people.  And I hated that he still planned to join me at the theatre, despite that disclosure.

It’s not that he was dating other people.  Of course he was.  I’d assumed he was, and I’d be an idiot to think otherwise.  It’s that he’d felt the need to tell me.  I’d only ever told one person whom I was newly dating that I was dating other people.  And that was to get him to back off.  To tell him, without telling him, that I wasn’t that interested in him. And now, this had just been fed back to me. By someone I liked, or thought I liked.

I wrote him back.

Of course you’re dating other people. You don’t know how great I am yet.

That was it.  I had plenty else in my mind, but nothing else to say.  To him at least.

I figured he would call or text to find out where and when we were meeting for the play, but days came and went with no contact.  I was annoyed. He couldn’t put forth even a modicum of effort to solidify our plans?  He wasn’t doing me any favors by allowing me to treat him to a play at my expense.  And he was going to make me do all the work. Needless to say, I didn’t want to go. I wanted to cancel. But I decided that I would honor my invitation and that would be that.  He’d forced my hand.  I sent him a text the morning of the play.

Good morning, Danny. The theatre is on 42nd Street. Show starts at 7. Do you want to meet there at 6:30 so we can grab a pre-show cocktail?

 

Sounds good. See you then!

 

It didn’t sound so good to me.  I was dreading it.  But I left work a little early, went home and primped.  I was determined to look my best.  This man who wanted little to nothing to do with me was going to see what he was missing. A fitted black dress with a deep v-plunging neckline, that hugged my curves perfectly and showed off “the girls” beautifully?  Yes. That was the dress. Fixed my hair, went light on the make-up so I could wear a bold red lipstick, had a cocktail to calm my nerves, and shuffled off to meet him at the theatre.

He was there waiting when I arrived. He looked so handsome. Handsomer than I remembered him being. He had dressed for the theatre and looked so distinguished and charming.  My stomach was turning somersaults as I entered the door and forced a smile upon my face.  I figured he’d greet me with a kiss on the cheek, if anything.

I figured wrong.

He walked over, smiling, took me in his arms and kissed me.  Really kissed me.  It was hardly what I’d expected after basically being told he’s not that into me.  I was flustered and, once again, confused.

I told him he looked sharp. He thanked me, but didn’t return the compliment. He’s never mentioned my appearance.  It left me wondering if he even found me attractive.

I retrieved our tickets from the box office and handed them to him.  We went upstairs and had a seat at the bar.  I was nervous.  And distracted by how attracted I was to him. I felt as though I stumbled over all my words and thoughts.  I have no idea what I said in those moments, but I was convinced I sounded like an idiot.

We sat through the play. He loved it. I’d been invited to the Cast and Crew party afterward, so we stopped by for a moment, but decided to move on so we could talk. We found two seats at a bar across the street and took them, ordered cocktails and sat talking for a couple of hours. The conversation flowed smoothly and easily now. I wasn’t nervous anymore. Trouble is, I also hadn’t eaten anything since noon, so after that cocktail, I was basically drunk. Not good. Not good at all.

As a result, some of my memory of the rest of the night is fuzzy. It was clear that he seemed interesting and interested and engaged and there was smooching-a-plenty over the course of the evening. As to the fuzzy part, at one point he suggested that we go home together.  I stuck a pin in that and said that we wouldn’t be sleeping together while either of us was dating other people. He didn’t react much to this, but nor did he react to my question of when I’d see him again at the end of the night. That was hardly the most regrettable part of the evening.

That prize would go to the three drunken texts that I sent from my seat in the cab ride home.  The cocktail had decided that we should, in fact, go home together.  That he should come over.  Please.

No response.  Thank god.

I was so embarrassed by this when I woke the following morning that I e-mailed an apology. I thanked him for exercising the restraint that I would not have and for not indulging in my alcohol-infused texts.  This, too, he ignored.  Not completely, but just long enough for me to see clearly.

 

 

to be continued…

 

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