Mr. Unavailable #113: More Nouveau, Please

See The Phoenix Rises... and Paper Perfect for the background on this one. 


With his arm still around me, #113 said, “I have something for you.” He let me go and reached into his pocket, pulling out a CD. It was his latest album. Confident.

“You talked about this when I saw you in Arizona,” I said.

“I did? When was that again?”

“Over a year ago,” I said.

“It’s been more than a year? I thought it was just a few months ago,” he said.

Confident and absentminded.

Now that #113 had seen that Kevin was not a girl, he let Kevin pay for our drinks and then #113 sprung for a cab. He sat close—to me, not Kevin. At the party, there were kids, which made me remember  #113’s earlier text. We looked at each other: “Everyone has kids.” 


The three of us mostly kept to ourselves in a conversation dominated by #113. He talked. And talked. And talked. About how he went to Sundance every year. About how he got his niece the same toys the kids at the party had. It didn’t seem like self-aggrandizement. Maybe he was nervous. I couldn’t remember how he was when I originally met him. Surely, he didn’t talk this much.

I’m a tiny bit ashamed to report that I succumbed to the urge to shush him—more than once. Things like, “Oh, we’re about to start the game, look…” and, even, “We should pay attention now.” He was mostly glued to me, which was 90% flattering and 10% annoying. And when he did talk to other people, I was glad to see that they were not attractive young women. (This sentence brought to you by…Jealousy: How you know you like someone.)

When we left the party, Kevin headed for the subway and #113 and I grabbed a cab and headed back to Manhattan. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. Go home? Stay out? I was kind of up for whatever.

“Do you want to go home? Do you want to get a drink at the hotel bar? Are you hungry? Do you want to go to Blue Ribbon Sushi?” he asked.

“I’m up for anything,” I said.

“Let’s go to Blue Ribbon Sushi,” he said.

When we walked into Blue Ribbon Sushi, the staff greeted him like he’d been there the night before—because he’d been there the night before. When our order arrived, he pointed to the two rolls he ordered and said, “I got this for you and I got this because I want you to try it.”

Confident, absentminded and thoughtful.

We talked about various things--our mutual friend, how I really don't like sushi, how one day I plan to live in the Domino Sugar factory, “I'll have one of the smokestacks.”

“You don’t want to live there. With all that sugar, it’s full of rats and mice and bugs. OK, if you really want to live there, you can live on one side of it and I’ll run a cracker factory on the other.”

He was silly. I liked that.

The next thing we knew, it was 3 a.m. The restaurant had closed at 2 a.m., but the staff, hanging out folding napkins in nearby booths, hadn’t kicked us out.

We went outside and hailed a cab.

“Who should get dropped off first?” I asked.

“Let’s go to my hotel first, it’s closer,” he said.

Still apparently up for whatever, I got into the cab before him. He closed the door and the cab turned onto Houston and then Varick. I don’t remember what was said because whatever was said was really just a transitional bridge that took us from friends who hang out at Blue Ribbon Sushi to more-than-friends who kiss in the back of cabs. Ergo, we started kissing in the back of the cab.

After about two long blocks of making out, I said, "It’s been a while since I made out in a cab."

“I never did.”

“But you had a girlfriend for in New York for three years,” I said. He looked at me. And then I remembered he’d told me about their passion deficiency. “Oh, right.”

We pulled up in front of the Mondrian. “I don’t want to be presumptuous…” I muttered.

“Just come up,” he said.

Confident, absentminded, thoughtful and decisive.

To walk into the Mondrian hotel at 3 a.m…. with #113’s arm around me…the door held open by one of these nouveau doormen….to the plush elevator bank…up to his suite (an upgrade, naturally)...felt decadent. Something I could get used to.

Fully clothed, we rolled around on the bed. I got to hear flattering things like, “I can’t believe you’re here.” and  “You’re cute. And hot. Cute and hot.”

Eventually, we fell asleep in that way you never really fall asleep the first time you try to fall asleep with someone.

Signs of Hope: I guess I like him more than I thought I did.

Red Flags: Do I like him, or do I like the attention and all the nouveau stuff around him?

Turning Point: When we kissed in the cab. I guess I really was up for anything.

Diagnosis: For him. He got me into bed with him. He must be smoother than I give him credit for.

For me: Um, apparently I’ve forgotten, but I’m currently working my way through a book called “Calling in the One.” I’m supposed to be taking a break from men—including having trysts in hotel rooms with them—so I can find that long-term, commitment relationship for which I long. Well done.