Aftermath of “Maiden Voyage”.

     Making the call would be catalytic to the dating phase of my post divorce life. One business card, a less than 10 minute encounter in a dark club, a night with a brief surge of courage, and all the stars had aligned for another visit from Pandora. The questions still remained… how big, how good or how bad? (I hear eerie whistling.)

     Safely on the end of a phone, I had flashbacks to a dark club, turning to my right, a man seated on a purple velvet tuffet, slicked back silver hair, glasses, and what looked like a tan. How many men in New York fit that description, minus the tuffet?

    I chose a place I knew. It was a Moroccan style lounge, kind of cool, but I had the strategic advantage of knowing one of the owners who also hosted. I was in my typical Manhattan uniform, all black, jeans, boots, camisole, and fitted blazer. I told my date where I wanted to meet, the time, and then, got there early.

    Giving Jabar (the host), a warm hug, I put him in damage control, and briefed him on the situation. I let him know it was my first date since the great divide. (It was actually over 20 years since a date with anyone but my ex). Apprehensively, I  filled him in on having met this man in a dark club, late at night, a few weeks ago. I described him as mostly salt and some pepper, gave him the benefit of being 50’ish, elegantly handsome, and admitted, I might not recognize him. Jabar promised to give me a heads up when any facsimile arrived.

     After about 10 minutes I saw Jabar peek around the corner, mouthing, “I think he’s here.”  Followed by, “He’s too old for you!” Escorting my date, Jabar’s face contorted into an unmistakable look of horror and disbelief as he scrambled to calm his other customers. Within moments I understood what I witnessed on Jabar’s face, and began considering escape.

     My date, entered the room almost hitting the gauzy fabric hanging from the ceiling. Was he that tall skewing my perspective, or was his head unusually small compared to a body that got larger, and larger, and larger as I panned down? The earth trembled Jurassic Park style, as I watched my glass of water eddy with every step. If not for a save by Jabar, the man would have knocked over one of the vacant diminutive Moroccan tables. As he continued, he managed to rock a couple of others, leaving drinks and patrons perilously on edge. Trying hard to hide my amazement, I waited for him to reach me with my very best brave smile on. Everyone else in the lounge was busy composing themselves.  I couldn’t help but think they must be curious who this disaster was meeting, as I made every effort to not make eye contact. He seemed oblivious to his impact, or was it years of practice?  I attempted futile camouflage trying to lean into the intricate Moorish patterns. Pandora was officially at work.

     No where in my calculations in choosing a venue, was scale supposed to be an issue. This was a romantic Middle Eastern oda of gilded drapery, pillows, perforated brass tables, 10 years off lighting, and padded banquettes. While still only processing his entrance, I realized that my date was not going to be able to fit behind our table. In my head I committed myself to 90 minutes. Anyone could make conversation for an hour and a half with serious time outs for staring at the menu, trips to the ladies room etc.

     I turned to face him after our drink orders were taken, but he continued to look straight ahead.  Doing the math, I concluded that it was a physical impossibility, for him to sit at an angle, or turn his head imprisoned by the table and the banquette.

     Looking at only a profile while trying to have a face to face was challenging my significant social pain threshold, but there was yet another test for me. While I focused on being polite, by not checking the time, not watching Jabar’s distant comic gesticulations, my date’s face began to go off. He began having tics. I watched, as these facial spasms went off at random points. First it would be his eyelid. Then, one eye would wink. Next, an artery would make an appearance on his neck. With frightening speed his right cheekbone would take the spotlight, as his left eyebrow competed for attention. For the duration, I don’t believe the same spot fired twice.

     He had my compassion. I have suffered many embarrassments in my life, but I knew my bar was higher than this. Forty five minutes later he had successfully exceeded my imagination with regard to what could happen over one drink and drove home the reality that 90 minutes was much too far away. I thanked him for the glass of wine and said I had an early morning.

“Would you like to go out for dinner sometime?”  He could now face me because he was standing.  

“I’ll call when my schedule frees up.”

      The date was disembodied and surreal. A brief eternity had passed. Jabar followed us out and while my date trundled up the staircase Jabar took my arm and whispered, “He’s too old for you. Have dinner with me.”


....and a short time afterwards....I did.

Lesson number one: Do not go out with a man that you’ve only seen sitting down.

Lesson number two: When you think you have a back up plan, come up with another one.

Lesson number three: Pandora does exist.