This happened way before I stopped drinking.
I’m sitting at Bemelmans Bar waiting for a date, and not just any date mind you, but a blind one. No, it’s not Andrea Bocelli, but it is someone I’ve never met before.
What was I thinking saying yes? I wasn’t, I was fifteen sheets to the wind when Tabby, the model no one likes, said, “Do oy have a goy fa you. You’ll laav-em…he’s such a whaahsp, and sooo clay’-see.”
It sounded like I was being fixed up with Ken, or a Polo player, someone pale and prosperous I could pet like a Cocker Spaniel.
Remember, I’m drinking, my imagination running wild.
I have to go through with it since this goy is flying in from Tampa just to meet me. Talk about pressure, airborne or otherwise.
Let me say, dating doesn’t remotely interest me at the moment. After the Italian banker I met at the bar way back when who gave me a run for his money, I’ve flatlined in the romance department.
Tapping my pump, hoping it will all be over soon, I remember my pal Camille’s reaction. “OOH, I so hate that Tabitha Sweeney who should just mind her own business, however…since you’ve already said yes, meet him at the Carlyle since he’ll no doubt pick up the check.”
This rang a bell since my funds are below sea level this month. I can’t afford a bottle of Ripple, let alone a 19 dollar glass of Merlot.
When I asked Lowell what he looked like he just said, it’s best I surprise you.
Was he missing a leg? Did he need a phone book to sit on? What could it be?
“Well, whatever it is,” Camille said, “you can just drink fast and run.”
This brought up every bad date I’ve ever had. Like the lawyer who I only spoke to because he kept winking from across the room.
Turned out he had a twitch.
And that Italian I mentioned, was one kinky customer wanting to play doctor, naked, wearing my Prada tube top around his…well…need I go on?
I raided the minibar which felt was only fair before escaping down the stairs. I’m a good sport, but come on, a girl has her limits.
That tube would have fit Mama Cass after he was through with it.
Yes, I could lecture on what’s acceptable and what isn’t for a night on the town.
Rather than Lowell, who comes storming into Bemelmans but Tabby. “Oh Suz, I’m sore-ry ta tell ya, he’s not comin,”
“He’s not?” I said, trying to conceal my joy. “What happened?”
“I dunno how ta say this but, he met someone at the eer-pawt, a wedhead that, well, from the seeounds of it, gave him some in the LAY-dees room.”
Despite being happily stood up, I was a bit stunned. I mean to miss your flight?
“But why the ladies room?”
Tabby didn’t answer right away. I thought it was because of all the Botox in her face. It’s always as if you’re talking to a plate.
“Come on Tabs, what aren’t you telling me?” Then I remembered there was that something I didn’t know.
“He was weerin a little black dress, the ky-nd you like, which is whoy I knew you’d hit it awoff. He loykes women, no boys for this goy, but he dresses like Awe-drey. But he’s great lookin Suz, and built.”
This was a bit much, even for me, but I couldn’t help saying, “Audrey, was anything but built.”
It then dawned on me now I have to pay my own check.
When I waved for it, Laurie, the barmaid, said it was taken care of.
“By whom? “Tabby did you pay my check?” famous for being cheap.
“Don’t be ra-diculous, of cors oy didn’t pee it.”
Turns out, it was Audrey. He called telling Laurie to tell me, he was sorry, and maybe we’d meet in the future.
Oh yeah, when Prada makes a rubber tube top.
I do miss writing these. sigh