When I first decided to spend the holidays house and dog sitting I was less than enthused at the prospects of doing it solo. Yes of course, I loved the idea of being single, strutting the streets of Manhattan, evoking a Bradshaw-esque attitude but I wondered what would happen to that sense of fearless when the sun turned in and the city’s nightlife took over the social hustle of the day to day. And for a few days and nights, nothing did. The frustration that came with the realization that I was wasting precious hours feeling sorry for myself helped turn my luck around. Fuck it, I thought. Why the fuck not… A neighbor in the building, whom I was acquainted with, suggested one night that I take her place at an artist book reading at a new store in Soho. So I put on my best blazer, accompanied with my “I’m too cool to talk to you in a Woody Allen sort of way” outfit (p.s. not the most approachable outfit for a networking night) and went for it. Of course I was running late and my fear of walking in to have everybody look at me coupled with the anxiety of new social situations, made me increasingly less confident about my seemingly foolproof plan. But I pushed onwards and sucked it up. I soon as I got there, I chastised my ego for being so convoluted as to think that anybody would care about me. I stood at the back listening to a man that I had never heard of before, and wondered when the free champagne would get passed around. At last, the reading concluded and the bubbly began to flow freely- too freely. I had promised my neighbour that I would say hello and apologize for not making it in on her behalf and so I stood within the crowd of praisers and waited for the artist to give me his attention. Once finally it was my turn, I decided that I was determined to make enough conversation that he would not only remember it, but remember me at the next event I would conquer. But that didn’t happen. He shook my hand, returned the hello and turned his back to me. Defeated, I left, sneaking a champagne road pop out with me, and pounded back down the streets of Soho daring anyone to approach me in my crushed and slightly tipsy state. And of course, someone did. A small man, well dressed and distinctively English asked if I knew where the Tribeca Grand Hotel was and I, dismissing him with as much attitude replied, “ I’m not even from here, so, no.” And instead of leaving it at that, he pursued a conversation – where was I from, what was I doing here (what was I doing here?) and where was I going that evening. When I said that I was on my way home, he persuaded me to join him for a drink at the hotel where he was headed for a holiday party, which conveniently was located just around the corner from where we were chatting. I ensured him that I would not be sleeping with him or participating in anything of the sort that evening, conceded to his proposal and followed him in, emphasizing once again that it was indeed going be, just one drink. A doorman at the hotel, catching on to the conversation smartly joked that that was what they all said as he opened the door for us. Thinking nothing of it, I mentally patted myself on the back for getting back to where I was when I had first set out that evening and was determined that this time around, I would make the best of it.
Once inside, I mingled and freely offered to anyone who asked how we had met, that I didn’t even know this guy. The woman who had organized the party actually turned out to be a Canadian expat who had grown up in Mississauga. I reveled in the small world idea, posed for a couple of pictures and let the night happen.
Not too long in (and well into my complimentary gin and tonic) I settled in on a velvet couch next to my new date and proceeded to explore the customary getting to know you questions. It didn’t take long for me to realize that although I was keeping with my end of the bargain, the little man beside me was not. I removed his hand twice from my thigh before he went in for the kiss. Amused, I pushed him off, finished my drink and gave him the ol’ "fuck you," the perfect addition to my grand departure. It was like a scene from a movie and I, its' heroine, stormed out of the hotel feeling empowered and invincible. I had done what I had intended- to a degree- and was proud of that. I felt confident about ending my night on that note. Little did I know, the night was only just beginning…
