Mr. Unavailable #126: Business or Pleasure?

See The Imprinter for the background on this one.

#126 called that night and asked if, instead of going for coffee, I wanted to go for dinner. I suggested the Thai place I’d gone to with #111 (last date) and #12o (first date). He said he’d meet me there.

When he walked in, he looked as if he’d just woken up—mouth hanging open, eyes alternately wandering and staring, walking like he could bump into something at any moment. With a white undershirt pulled over his gut and a pair of plaid shorts on, he woozily plunked himself down in the seat across from me. And then I remembered that was just how he looked. I wouldn’t have been surprised if there'd been a trail of dried drool running down his chin.

We ordered and discussed the apartment. He again outlined the parameters:

• He wanted someone who looked like his sister so he could save $100 in maintenance.
• He wanted someone who didn’t mind if there was construction going on.
• He wanted someone who could find another place to stay during major overhauls.
• He wanted someone who could help him make decisions on exactly how to redo his apartment.
• He wanted someone who would alert him if coop board meetings happened.
• He wanted someone who didn’t mind if, when he had to come back to New York, he crashed on the floor.

It was one of those uniquely New York City scenarios with all the elements I love: impersonation, deception, cheap rent in exchange for a bigger place and small print most people wouldn’t put up with.

I told him I’d be subletting my place anyway to short termers, so I could arrange to stay there when any construction was going on. As far as the crashing, I was game.

"Cool," he said.

"Cool," I said.

Eye contact lingered over our pad Thai and noodles.

I really didn’t want to spend the whole dinner talking business, so I was glad when he started asking me about my family and where I was from. I filled him in on my family’s sad-but-true details and he did the same.

“My dad likes to walk around without any clothes on," he said, nodding and wiping curry off his face. "He even answers the door naked.”

“Doesn’t that frighten the neighbors?”

“They’re used to it. My dad’s a famous porn star from the ‘70s.”

“Oh, it all makes sense now,” I said.

“Yeah, he really likes his body.”

My thoughts, naturally, went to the part of his father’s body that got him jobs.

“I didn’t end up with anything like what he has,” he said.

I was surprised he offered up the information. Why not just let me assume? Or maybe he was managing expectations.

Although I’d deduced from Facebook that he was a veterinarian, when he started talking about the job in Arizona, telling me he was going to get to work on exotic animals, I feigned surprise, “Oh, you’re that kind of doctor.”

“Yeah, I’m a vet.”

I told him that my cat had been scratching at her ears for weeks. “If you want, I can come over and take a look at them,” he said.

I called Zoe. “Are you awake? Just wanted to let you know that my friend [#126] is going to come over to look at Molly’s ears, so hide the bras and panties.”

“Actually, don’t,” he said.

When the bill came, he said, “I’ll get this. It makes me feel like I’m on a date. And I feel good when I’m on a date—especially if I’m out to dinner with a beautiful woman, which you are a beautiful woman.”

I smiled.

We walked back to my building and, when I unlocked each door, he leaned close and held each one open for me.

Upstairs, Zoe had done a brilliant job throwing things into closets and under the sofa and bed. I introduced the two of them and we all stood there for a moment. I could feel his eyes on me. Then he put Molly on the kitchen counter and took a look at her ears.

I looked at Zoe. She exaggeratedly looked me up and down and then pointed to him. I nodded.

“Yeah, it looks like she might have some kind of infection,” he said.

“OK, I’ll take her in. She’s due anyway.”

I walked him out the door and, holding it open behind me with my foot, hugged him. He looked at me, we had a moment and then I said good-night and went inside.

Signs of Hope: The compliments, the familial admissions, the "date" reference.

Red Flags: All the checking out he was doing. If he was doing it that much to me, he was probably doing it all over town.

Turning Point: When he paid for dinner.

Diagnosis: For him: Is he just the nice veterinarian next door or does he have other designs on me?
For me: I hope to god he has other designs on me. I know he’s not boyfriend material, but there’s chemistry, I’m sufficiently flattered and it's been months since #121, so I'm incredibly bored.