My best friend D and I had been spending almost every day together on Halsted. Regulars at Roscoe’s, we had even been given nicknames. Because of our poise, style and harsh judgment of others, D was named, P.B. (Pretentious Bitch) and I, B.B. (Bitter Bitch); names we happily accepted. Could you blame us?
We perched on our usual stools, located at the front of the bar. Where else would we sit? We had a bird’s-eye view of the hotties and not-so-hotties. While critiquing our latest victim; mid to late 30’s, balding slicked back hair, wearing a shiny club shirt, tapered jeans and sneakers.
“Oh, my,” I began. “Who’s his stylist? Helen Keller?” We started laughing.
“That was bad,” a snickering voice offered. I looked over to see an extremely attractive, average built man in his late 20’s, with olive skin. We will call him The Hot Man.
“Well,” I smirked. “As a freelance fashion consultant, I feel it’s my duty to give my professional opinion.”
“Freelance fashion consultant,” he inquired. “Is that so?”
I nodded confidently.
“Well, in that case, what do you have to say about me?” He stood back to give me a better view. I tilted my head with my hand on my chin, analyzing.
“You could stand to lose a few pounds,” D intruded. I apologized for D’s outburst and explained our nicknames.
“You? A bitch,” he questioned, surprised. “You’re too cute to be so bitter.” Flattery will get you everywhere. I decided he could buy D and I a few drinks. When we were sufficiently buzzed, we headed over to Hydrate to complete our drunkenness. As the night ended, The Hot Man and I said our goodbyes to D and headed outside to grab a cab to his place.
As we stumbled into his apartment, he mumbled, “I love you.” I wrote it off to his lack of sobriety.
“And I love you, too,” he said, licking his cat which was sitting on the table by the door. I raised one eyebrow. He’d better brush his teeth before coming near my mouth. I walked in and sat on the couch. The Hot Man dropped his keys on the floor, missing the table, then went to hang his coat up and missed the coat rack by like a foot.
“Oh, I wanna show you something,” he said with excitement, staggering over to the t.v. He put a DVD in the player and began to skim through the menu. My eyes half open I tried to stay awake/stop my head from spinning. All of a sudden, Madonna appeared on the screen, covered in gold paint. Then, the music began.
“This is it,” he shouted with glee.
With that, he got down on all fours and began to reenact the video for “Fever.” That woke me right up. I didn’t know what to think, but I knew I had to keep from laughing…Even as he sprawled out and began to attempt to seductively roll over. As the song neared its end, he crawled over to me and then onto my lap as if he was a cat. I think I’ve had enough. I stood up and excused myself for the bathroom. After splashing some water on my face, I exited to find him lying in bed naked, except for one sock. I walked over and he sat up.
“I wanna marry you,” he said sincerely. Alrighty then… on that note…
“Um, yeah,” I began. “I should really get going. I have an early day tomorrow.”
“Oh, ok.” He jumped up, covering himself, clearly feeling vulnerable.
Not wanting him to feel totally rejected, I asked if I could call him. He smiled and relaxed.
“Sure!” He grabbed a piece of paper and jotted his digits. Handing me the paper, I reached for the front door. He leaned in for a hug and a kiss. I squirmed and turned my head so that his lips only touched my cheek. I walked out into the hall.
“I’ll talk to you later,” he waved. I faked a smile and headed down the stairs and out of the building. I passed a garbage can and threw his number in.
That evening would set the tone for the month.
