“Hi, it’s me, it’s Eve, from this weekend.”
“Oh, Eve. Hi, Eve. I was hoping you would call.” (Hoping? Did he actually hope? The cockles of my heart are warm, my stomach is turning, other parts are reveling in the possibility of finally getting some attention.)
“Well, I meant to call yesterday, but I had a hectic day. You know how it is.” I can hear Tabitha applauding me. My weekend was obviously too intense and already full, my job is taxing and challenging.
“Yeah, of course, this is one time I’m actually at my desk.” Inferiority alert! His job is actually taxing and challenging. “All weekend I had to check out these horrible new acts and get schmoozed by their wanna-be managers, who are totally clueless types from Long Island or Jersey or something.”
“Ick.”
“Exactly,” he laughs. A nice laugh, a warm, masculine laugh. Heather has to be his sister. When Zeke and I are each established in our careers and ready to make the plunge, I will make her a bridesmaid. “So, Eve, are we going to go out together or what?”
“Sure. I would love to.”
“How about tomorrow?” Tomorrow? Probably too short notice, but before I can put him on hold to consult Tabitha, his other line beeps so I agree and he says he’ll call me with details.
I arrive at the restaurant five minutes late. I am perfumed, I am blow-dried, I am waxed in all the right places. (“Just to be safe. Don’t let it make you a slut,” admonished Tabitha.)
The place is exactly what I envisioned—a trendy little East Village spot full of beautiful people. I’m trying not to be impressed but wait a minute, he isn’t at the bar. Curses! If he gets here later than me, he’ll think I got here early. Maybe he is sitting already. I ask the beautiful woman in the kimono if there is another room and she gestures toward the back into a traditional Japanese dining room where shoes are not allowed. Thank God I let them grate off the dead skin at the pedicure.
He waves me over from one of the low tables. His shirt brings out the green flecks in his eyes. There is an awkward moment as I slip my shoes off before entering the room.
“Hey,” I say, kneeling at the table.
“You look beautiful.” Wow! Am I going to blush?
“Well, thanks, you’re not so bad yourself.” He reaches across the table and touches my chin. I hadn’t expected the physical contact so soon, but I lean into it.
“I ordered for us, the first round, at least. Then, we’ll see what you want.”
“Great.” He pours me some sake. I drink it, it’s very warming. I pour some more. He smiles.
“I have a very high tolerance,” I say.
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, I was never very popular at frat parties.” He has a disconcerting habit of just staring at me smiling. I gulp some more sake. “What?”
“You are just breathtaking.”
“You’re embarrassing me, really. So tell me about your job.”
He starts to talk about the people his company represents and although he doesn’t tell a lot of stories that involve him, it’s interesting enough to entertain me. He gets a lot of CD promos and has two thousand CDs.
“I have a thirty-disk changer. It puts me to sleep.”
“Oh, is it just you in your apartment?”
“No, I have a roommate. A friend’s ex-girlfriend. What a bitch.” I have this aversion to hearing a man call a woman a “bitch.” It’s overused and I think very distasteful. Zeke seemed like a sensitive enough guy in my alcohol-affected impression, so I am about to give him my views on this in a nonthreatening manner, but the sushi arrives. It’s lovely and multicolored. I love sushi. Zeke pours us more sake and presses his hands together, pleased with his selection. There really isn’t anything sexier than a man who knows how to order.
“You start.” I get to it.
“So, Zeke, where are you from?” He chuckles a little.
“Well, I’ve basically lived all over California, Maryland… I live way over on West 12th.” That’s sort of hip, but, I bet he’s lying about where he’s from, I bet he’s from Long Island. As long as he doesn’t turn it around. “Where do you live? Where are you from? Tell me everything, Eve.”
“Oh, I’m crashing with a friend who lives on the Upper East Side. I know, awful. We’re looking for another apartment.” Time to deflect, I will not admit to living in Jersey. “Good thing you got two of everything. I love yellowtail.”
We eat for a while and I always feel less awkward when I’m stuffing my face. I am so into eating that I don’t realize he is staring at me again. I set my chopsticks down and wipe my mouth.
“Don’t stop. It’s nothing. I just like to watch you eat. It’s very erotic.”
“Maybe you should just concentrate on your dinner.”
“That would be like masturbation.” I practically spit my sake onto the remaining sushi. I cough. I might be choking, the waitress brings water and Zeke reaches over to thump me on the back. I regain my composure and take a deep breath. Is he for real?
“I didn’t mean to offend you. Really. I’m sorry. I can’t help who I am. I’m a very sexual person and I’m enjoying this very much. I want you to relax.”
“Oh, I’m relaxed.” The sake pitcher is empty. I nod for more, “Completely.”
When Zeke isn’t cataloging my every chew, he does a lot of talking about himself. Well, he does a lot of hinting about himself, he hints at things. A possible summer home, an expensive college education, a book he might want to write, friends who work in independent film. It sounds too good to be true. And also, (try not to wince) he has a tendency to refer to himself in the third person. Example: “Zeke thinks that every woman should be up on a pedestal.” Believe me I’m sparing you the really bad dialogue.
For whatever reason, I agree to go to Veniero’s with Zeke. By this point the sake is making me really loopy. We get shots of grappa “to help us digest.” I stop him before he can force me to lick the cannoli cream off his fingers.
“You know the thing is, Eve, a woman’s pleasure is more important to me than my own. Her pleasure,” he says, interlacing his fingers, “is worth more than her pain.”
“Well, Zeke, that’s a very admirable ideology.”
“Do you really think so, Eve?” I can tell he’s really pleased with himself. “It’s been a long time since I’ve indulged in satisfying my senses so completely. I’m having such a great time. I feel like growling. I feel so basic, like an animal.” He runs his fingers through my hair and growls. Yes! He actually growls! The old Italian men at the table next to us look over. Maybe they’ll rescue me. Does this actually work? Am I having a drunken hallucination? Is he really saying this?
“Let’s
