Unusual Impressions
My friend Jesse had thrown a fabulous New Year’s Eve bash this last year, but in all honesty, at my age, I should have been in bed before the proverbial ball dropped. Alas, I was not; I was celebrating way into the wee hours of the morning. I couldn’t help myself … I had met someone at the party in whom I’m interested.
His name is Billy. He has sexy, chisled features, which complement his military cut. He stands a few inches taller than I do, which is maddeningly appealing. And he seems put-together. However, I’m not exactly sure how he feels about me; I’ve been told by many that I’m about as approachable as a wasp’s nest. I suppose there could be two reasons for why interested guys stare at me with wanton puppy eyes but then tinkle the floor where they stand: either I give off a ‘don’t fuck with me or I’ll mess you up’ vibe — an absurdity because I’m a gay man who doesn’t enjoy ruining my clothes — or my natural beauty instantly bewitches them, turning them to stone. Of course, I prefer the second reason, but my gut tells me it’s the first.
Billy and I wouldn’t have met that night if Jesse hadn’t introduced us. We went through introductions, I forgetting his name as soon as he said it, as usual.
“How’s your night been?” Billy asked.
“Pretty fucking fun,” I replied enthusiastically.
He gave me a motherly look of disgust. I thought that at any moment he’ll pull a bar of soap from his pocket and wash my mouth out with it. My gut began to hurt.
“How about yours?” I urgently asked so as not to lose him.
“It’s been okay so far.”
Wow, I felt so special at that moment. We exchanged a few more awkward pleasantries that were as memorable as Britney Spears on Glee. But that’s really who I am: a man whose first impression is as light and fluid as tar. That’s until I get to know someone, usually after a few drinks; as my friends can attest, alcohol turns me into Julie McCoy, the entertainment director on The Love Boat. Because, while speaking with Billy, I felt more like Gopher, I told him I needed to refresh my drink; off I went, in a scurry, as embarrassed as if I had been standing in front of him the entire time with my zipper down.
As the night wore on, I had asked Jesse twice what was Billy’s name, and I had continued to drink alcohol … to the point that I believed I was ready to show my dance moves to the entire party. When I was younger, I could dance pretty good. I had had no formal training, but I could do club dancing with the best of them. Now, being over 40, my dance fluidity, like my first-impression fluidity, is sort of like tar. But I love dancing, and it shows, so people tend to get a kick out of watching me.
Apparently so does Billy.
After a few turns on the living room “dance floor” to a chain of Kylie Minogue diddies, I squeezed my way through sweaty bodies to the kitchen for a glass of water. Billy was waiting, at least I hoped, for me. I walked past him to the fridge and by the time I grabbed a bottled water, he was next to me.
“Hi,” he greeted me.
“Hey.” I twisted the cap off and took a long swallow.
“Tommy,” he said, “I have to say that you’re not really my type, but I’m intrigued by you, especially after watching you dance.”
I chuckled unexpectedly. “Um, okay.” “Well, then, should I give you my number?” (It was so smooth on my part, it’s a wonder I’m not already hitched.)
Billy chuckled, I think unexpectedly. “Sure.”
It took me an eternity, or so it felt, to find a pen and paper to write down my number.
“Here,” I said, finally handing him the slip of paper. “By the way, tomorrow is my birthday.”
He unfolded and glanced at it, as if checking that maybe I had only given him a nine-digit number. He slipped it into the pocket of his jeans.
“Thanks,” he said. “Well, I’d better go, it’s late. Happy New Year … oh, and happy birthday, too!”
What?! No “I’ll call you.” Does he just collect phone numbers and put them in a scrapbook like a person who collects stamps? I was bummed out, so I decided to make myself another cocktail, as if I really needed it.
The following day, my birthday — as always — had started out slow and painful. But by the time Jesse, Geoff, George, and I pulled up to Jill and Leah’s time-share condo in Deer Valley, the Alka Seltzer in a 5-hour energy drink had kicked in, and I was feeling human again, if not a little weird. Inside the condo, there were several friends, a bunch of ‘Over the Hill’ balloons (real original) and a cake in the shape of a penis, but what shocked me was that Billy was there, sitting in a leather chair by a roaring fire, and smiling at me. After a moment, he removed himself from the chair and approached me.
“Hey there,” he began. “Happy birthday! Sorry, I haven’t had a chance to call you in such a long time.”
I giggled like a dippy schoolgirl.
He gave me an alien look like I was from another planet. I then had hoped that at any moment my mothership would come and beam me up.