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Like Dominic, I met David on AOL a couple of months later. Having learned my lesson, or so I thought, after a week of talking together on the phone I actually insisted that David find a Kinkos and scan a photo for me to see.
I don’t remember what David did/does for a living, but he had the occasion to attend the Academy Awards in the past, and the photo he chose was from backstage. He looked especially dashing in his tuxedo, though the photographer wasn’t quite close enough to call it a good photo.
We made a date to meet up on a Friday night, and I tried to keep my expectations low. I thought at the very least I could get a nice dinner out of him, and really, what else did I have to do on a Friday night? I didn’t know any one outside of work, and none of them were possible mates.
I headed down to Pleasant Hill and got hopelessly lost finding his condo. I stopped at a gas station and called him to give me better directions. He told me to just wait there and he’d meet me, and we’d head straight to dinner from there.
He stepped out of his car and my first thought was, ‘I wonder who won the Oscar that year? Gregory Peck and Anne Bancroft?’* He was easily ten years older than I expected, which meant he was in his mid thirties (I was 22) and much shorter than me. I must have been a full foot or more taller. I’m 6′2″ and the top of his head would have hit between my nipples.
He suggested his favorite Chinese restaurant, saying the food was ‘exquisite’ and the place had a nice atmosphere.
I followed him to the restaurant, though I briefly considered ditching him. But I was hungry, I love Chinese food, and really, he’s not exactly UGLY, but not my type. How bad could it be?
Oh, how I wish I had just gone home and had Taco Bell by myself.
The restaurant was at one time a Denny’s or similar style building and the new owners had spared no expense in its redesign. By that I mean they literally spared NO money whatsoever to change the design. So the atmosphere was, shall we say, somewhat lacking.
And the food, well, let’s just say that there was nothing on the menu that cost more than five dollars, and it was worth. every. penny.
You know that gelatinous mass that you find covering a canned ham? Yeah, that was very similar to the sauce on my General Tso’s chicken. And there was a sizzling rice soup that David just raved about that tasted like the main ingredient may have been boiled gym socks.
The conversation was at least lively enough to keep me mildly entertained, though it was becoming increasingly difficult to lie about how wonderful the meal was.
“Don’t you just love this sauce?”
“Yeah, the parts that aren’t congealed have a not unpleasant flavor.”
Finally, he was finished eating and we boxed up the left overs.**
The grand total for the meal was $15 including the ‘appetizer.’ I paid the bill, intending to dash off home from there.
I was trying to give off the right signals, I swear. I’m usually pretty good at projecting an air of annoyance, perhaps you’ve noticed.
As we walked to our cars, David mentioned that he had ice cream at his apartment for dessert, and he had a cd of music that he made for me following a conversation we had earlier in the week. Since I knew I didn’t really plan to see him again, I agreed to stop by his place for a minute to get the disc and politely bug out.
David was standing between me and my car door, and as I made a move to get the door open, he suddenly said, “I want to thank you for dinner with a kiss.” Which is when I discovered that David was missing a significant part of his tongue. I hadn’t noticed any speech impediment, but there was definitely something wrong. I will attempt to illustrate the approximate shape of this weird mass of tissue in my mouth that tasted vaguely like gym sock soup.
I missed yet a second opportunity to drive home only slightly unnerved. I realize of course, that everything that follows from this point on is my fault completely.
We arrived at his condo and met his roommate, Steve. Steve was slightly older than me, much cuter than David, and I thought that perhaps the night wouldn’t be a total bust.
Steve was watching the television in the living room, but almost immediately after we arrived he excused himself to his room. I asked David why, and he replied, “He wants to give us privacy.”
David nervously played with the remotes and managed to start the VCR. It was certainly no coincidence that there was an old Cary Grant movie already loaded. He is one of my favorite actors, and the title was one that I had actually never seen all the way through, “A Touch of Mink.” Both facts that we had discussed earlier in the week.
I was beginning to see that there was some elaborate seduction scenario playing out, and I was feeling somewhat helpless to stop it. Remember, I was only 22 at the time, not the outspoken, self-assured individual you see before you today.
The movie started, and I resigned myself to sitting there on the couch for the next hour and a half. Periodically as the movie played on, David would inch himself closer and closer to me from the other end of the couch. I would surreptitiously inch myself further away, until I was stopped by the arm rest.
As David was making his way down the couch, Steve emerged from his bedroom and walked past us into the kitchen for a drink of water. He didn’t even glance at us, and walked through just as normal as possible. Except that he was dressed in toga. Complete with a wreath on his head. He passed back through to his bedroom without a word.
I looked at David, expecting some acknowledgment of what had just occurred, perhaps an explanation. Nothing. Silence. I tried to shrug it off and get back into the movie, but my mind kept running.
‘Hmm.. it’s March, so I don’t think he’s getting an early start on Halloween… Maybe he was naked and just decided to wrap himself in a sheet to come out here… except that doesn’t explain the wreath, or the fancy clasp… or the sandals… huh.’
The movie continued while David and I did our “dance of the uncomfortable” on the couch. Approximately twenty minutes later, Steve’s door opened again, and he emerged dressed as Captain Kirk. Gold pullover shirt with the Star Trek emblem on the breast, black slacks, and his hair slicked back. Once again he made his way to the sink, drew some water from the tap, drank it, set the glass down, and retreated to his bedroom. I was outright staring at him this time, but there was no eye contact, and he never looked in our direction.
You know that creepy feeling you get where the hair on the back of your neck stands up, your heart races, and you become hyper aware of everything going on around you? Yeah, I was there. this was just too weird. David was still offering no explanation for his roommate’s unusual behavior. He was working too hard on not-so-subtly getting close to me.
Since I had run out of room to escape on the couch, he finally managed to get next to me and tried to burrow under my arm. When I didn’t protest openly I suppose he took that as a sign that I wanted to snuggle.
Suddenly, David stood up and turned to face me, and sat down again, indian style, backwards on cushion***
I said, “What are you doing?”
“I just thought this would make things easier,” he replied and threw himself into my lap, that mutant wriggling tongue pushing into my mouth, his hands rubbing up my thighs.
I pushed him back, and said, “Look… I just really want to finish the end of this movie. I’m not really into this right now.”
“Oh. Ok.” He turned around and settled back on the couch just slightly farther away from me. Right about then, Steve emerged in what would be his final performance of the night, as Dracula. White face paint, blood red lips, fangs, cape and puffy shirt. I was so mesmerized by the absurdity of the whole situation, lost in my own thoughts while he ran through his drink of water routine (couldn’t he have just taken a glass with him?), watching his cape twirl in the kitchen as he went through a fairly graceful ballet-like routine in front of the refrigerator.
Grab a glass, pirouette to the sink, arabesque and pick up the paper towel from the floor, pas de bourr�e back to the bedroom. I could hear the rhythmic breathing, gaining in speed as he moved around the room.
Wait.
‘Rhythmic breathing? Is that breath on my neck?’
‘Don’t turn your head… don’t turn your head… What is he doing? He isn’t… oh… yes… yes he is.’
I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. I was dumbfounded. I pretended to be both mute and blind. If I didn’t acknowledge it, it wasn’t happening, right?
Well when he was umm… finished… not masturbating, he excused himself to the bathroom to clean up the mess he didn’t make.
You know that sound from the cartoons when the Roadrunner zips out of sight and leaves a wake of dust?
Yeah, I’m sure had you been in the room it would have sounded just like that as I let myself out and ran to my car.
When I got home, there was a message on my answering machine from David. “Hey, I just wanted to call and thank you for dinner. I had a great time and can’t wait to see you again. Give me a call!”
I’d like to think that he is still waiting by the phone, hopeful that I will call and join him and Steve in some demented parade through the kitchen. I have the perfect outfit.
I certainly hate to leave everyone without an explanation for the tongue injury. I wish I could leave you with answers to why Steve gave us a private fashion show. Alas, these will remain two of the greatest mysteries in my life. That, and and the ending of “Touch of Mink.”
* I know, that was 1962, and he couldn’t possibly have attended the 1962 Academy Awards if he was only 35. That, my friends, is a comedic exaggeration. That is why I’m called a “master of offensive hilarity” and you’re not.
** My dish was almost untouched. It was boxed up, and offered to David for lunch the next day.
*** Should give you a sense of just how short he was…
