my sixth chapter

So after Eleanor left, I rinsed the wine glasses and worked out.

The gym I go to is on a corner, and the front of it is all windows, facing a busy avenue full of traffic and dimly-lit restaurants. Sometimes, when I’m lifting weights at night, I like to look out the window at the couples sitting in the restaurants, drinking cocktails and laughing over dishes of guacamole or bruschetta. I wonder how long they’ve known each other, what they’re talking about, if they’ve had sex, if they’re happy. And then, when I start to worry that they can see me watching, I turn and face the other way.

Yesterday, my mom and dad visited. They saw the wine glasses in the sink and asked if I’ve become an alcoholic. When I told them I had a friend over, they were skeptical. Sometimes my mom likes to rub it in that most of my friends are married with kids and, thereby, too busy to spend time with me. This was one of those times.

I debated telling them about Eleanor. About how nice and attractive I think she is. How she’s a graphic designer but also a painter, and how she takes the stairs on weekends.

But then I’d have to tell them that she lives across the hall, and then they’d probably call me ‘lazy.’ Because only the laziest person in the world dates the girl across the hall.

I’m really not lazy, though. I keep my eyes open for someone new. I like to observe people when I’m out to eat with friends, and when I’m at a party or other social function, I do talk to women. Sometimes they talk back.

When people ask why I haven’t met someone yet, I used to say that I’m too busy pursuing The Arts and living at home with my parents. But now that I’ve moved out and gotten a job, I think I’ve got to think of a new response.

Maybe I’ll say ‘chemistry.’

Chemistry is one of the hardest things to find. There’s a warmth to it, you know? I really believe the temperature rises between two people when they’re talking and have chemistry. It’s like all the molecules in the room sense what’s happening between these two people, and so they zoom over to witness and marvel at what’s taking place.

When I see couples embracing in the street, I smile, because I remember that warm feeling. Sometimes I want to tap them on the shoulder and tell them that this is what they’ll never forget. But that would be intrusive.

Most of all, I think I’d like to thank them. Because when they’re standing there together, I swear that, for a moment, that feeling that they feel passes along to me, and I feel it, too. It comes rushing back. And just when I’ve had a moment to savor it and let it really warm me up, it quickly disappears, and I keep on walking.

this is my third chapter

A recap: So remember how I met Eleanor, my cute neighbor, and we were drinking chardonnay at 3pm on a Sunday at my apartment and then she asked me “What do you do?”

This is a complicated question and I really can’t stand this question. I do a lot of things: I read the Sunday Styles on Sundays, I play basketball once or twice a week, I order in Thai every now and then.

So when she asked me, “What do you do?” Admittedly, it was a bit of a downer, because I do a lot of things and they’re all very fun and interesting but I know that what she’s really wondering is: “How do you make money?”

For a moment, I thought about telling her the truth.

That before moving in, I’d hardly made any money for five years since I was pursuing a career in The Arts but not really pursuing it because I had kind of given up.

But then I saw the sweet way she was looking at me, and realized that just the thought of telling her that whole “artist-in-distress” story felt physically exhausting, so I did what any other 40-year-old, pride-preserving citizen would do: I told a half-truth. A nice little 50/50.

Me: I work at an investment firm that focuses on acquisitions and financial restructuring and merchant banking. It’s in Midtown.

Does she have to know that my dad got me the job?

That my boss is my dad’s best friend?

That I, too, don’t really know what “acquisitions and financial restructuring and merchant banking” are?

No, no. And definitely no.

All she needs to know is that I’m this 40-year-old man living in the West Village in this one-bedroom apartment, drinking chardonnay, and I’m her new neighbor.

So, of course, she did what every person does in the face of the words “investment firm,” and smiled and nodded, and I asked her what she did.

Eleanor: I graphic design, for advertisements. But I really like to paint. I do that when I’m not at work.

And then I felt a little bad, you know? Because I had ditched the whole “I’m an artist” line in favor of my new “I’m an investment banker” line, and now, how I was going to backtrack and relate to my cute neighbor who I’ve suddenly found out is an artist like I used to be before I gave up?

Me: That must be great, making a living doing what you love.

Eleanor: Hardly a living. But it beats doing what you hate.

Me: How old are you?

Eleanor: 25.

Me: You have so much time.

Eleanor: It doesn’t feel like it. How old are you?

Me: 40.

Eleanor: Cool.

Me: Yeah.

Then I wondered if she had a boyfriend, because that’s what you do when you’re sitting across from a good-looking woman and you’re both alone.

I also wondered when the last time she had sex was. Then I asked myself the same question. And then I realized I’d forgot.