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I love New York. It’s not because of the tall buildings that make me look up into the sky like a lost tourist. It’s not because of the sexy Jewish boys coming out of the synagogues on Saturdays. It’s because when I’m there I can be with my best friend. Irene is my best-est best friend. When we are together, rain or shine, it’s like we are kids again.
Kids…Giggling on the subway in our Hindi that we hope no one can understand. But alas! Some ‘aunties’ and ‘uncles’ always do. “Tsk…tsk,” they nod their heads, as we gossip about men and boys and boys and men.
I went to NY this time to see Irene after she gave birth to her first baby boy, Arun. It’s not quite like being a kid again when you have a pram with you and a little one wailing in the subway at every opportunity. But we managed.
We did the usual things. Went to a coffee shop, talked about how hot some guy looked in a movie. About how we cried during that tearful scene, and after that, how we spent an hour in the loo wiping tissue paper off our clothes and trying to not look like someone died.
The kid cried a lot, too. Irene’s methodology for managing a baby is to give him a toy to lull him to sleep. A teddy bear that simulates the mom’s heart beat. Or a glowing worm. Whatever works, and works like a charm, except when, say, his mom and auntie are giggling like school-girls.
We had a great day and Arun was completely after our fourth subway ride. The rattling of the car put him to sleep. Even we shut up. And he kept quite except for the popping sounds he made when he yawned, as though he had eaten a whole bag of Rice-Crispies.
And then, just as we’d stopped at the last stop, and found a place to sit down, then Irene began to tell me how Steve had left.
I stepped back. I looked at her.
She said, he’d been cheating. It was over.
I didn’t know what to say, but I didn’t put on the ‘told you so’ face. Instead, I looked surprised. But I knew I sucked at acting.
She sat down and began to sob uncontrollably, and I just looked on. “Can you believe it? After all I’ve been ataşehir escort through for him,” she pointed to the baby, and began to wail.
You can tell, I’m no big-hugger. Wasn’t raised by the most expressive people. What can I say? But I did it. I gave her a hug. And like a parent, I said to good-old Irene, “Now. Now. Don’t let him ruin your life. He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t.” And I am not lying, as I say it. I remember the first time I went to see her in New York. It was the first time I had met this Steve character. I had never been wrong with first impressions. I could tell, right away, he was bad news.
Steve…Steve who acted all mature and calm and collected during dinner, who’s aura of wisdom would make you believe she didn’t just marry anyone, she married the sage, well, this Steve had more secrets than not. There was the time when they had returned to the house, after dinner, when Irene had gone to the bathroom and I was in the room with Steve. As soon as she was out of the room, he had turned to me with this strange kinky look.
I never spoke of it to Irene. Didn’t think I could visit them after that either, though as fate would have it, I ended up seeing her when he was not home, on vacation, or some such.
Well, I knew then, Steve was Steve.
And now nothing Irene was telling me was surprising. Not one bit.
“I guess men and men,” Irene blew her nose between sobs, turning to me for approval.
Steve had moved into his lover’s house. Steve the prick. Steve the dick!
I sighed, but didn’t say anything.
I thought of that bastard Ungar I was seeing. Well…was.
“Jerks. ALL of them,” I finally replied..
At night, when Irene was in bed, I logged into my computer to check for messages. Anything.
There was nothing!
Nothing but spam in my bulk folder, a folder I wanted to gift to Ungar now. Maybe there was a place up his ass for a yahoo bulk folder!
I looked instead at his online album, we had created the summer before, when he had mysteriously disappeared for the second kadıköy escort time.
Ungar had been gone for a whole year, without one word. And then he had popped into Philly with a hot blond chick who was a real woman, presumably to show me. All at Erich’s party.
“She’s cute,” I had said, looking at the woman in the yellow dress who was if nothing a stunning model. “Is she a woman?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes!” he said, those keen eyes tracing the contours of my face like daggers. But I still couldn’t move my eyes away from them.
The rest of the night I stayed away from him, though I could feel his eyes following my every move.
“Is he straight now,” I finally asked Erich.
“Straight as a wire,” he rolled his eyes. “No. Straight like your hair,” he giggled, playing with my hair, like he always did. “Here. Put it down, for heaven’s sakes,” he pulled down my bun.
I giggled, turning to see what Ungar and his new friend were up to. They were on the divan now, making out.
I looked away, trying to look casual.
Inside me, a part of myself was having an argument with the other. “What the hell were you thinking? Letting go of a sexy man like that. A man! Who had offered you a life time of amazing sex! Who could make your insanely aroused with those mesmerizing eyes. A man who everyone wanted!”
At night, when everyone has ready to leave, I saw them get into his car, and drive away.
They were not going to the bar with all of us. We are going clubbing because it was Erich’s party and that’s the next thing on his agenda. The party never ended until Erich said so.
I got into Erich’s car and he droves down Olde City towards a night club. It was Saturday and under my circumstances I preferred being drunk with my friends at a gay club, than back in a stupid graduate-school dorm with no one. Erich thought it would be fun too. He was in his new red skirt. And yes, there was a new man in town he was checking out. A Greg person we all heard about and were going to meet, because this was the place our new Greg visited on bostancı escort bayan Saturdays.
“Is he gay?” I ask, a little tipsier than usual.
Erich laughs. And then pads his face with powder. “He’s also hung like a horse,” he says, giggling like a school girl. I recall how much I miss giggling like a school girl, as the margarita’s keep coming. And, I am sipping my fourth margarita with the gals when who do I see but my very old gay ….Ungar.
Back in the gay scene, he is. And I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But I am so happy.
“She didn’t come?” I look at him as he sits across me, looking positively stunned. “You came?” he looks amused. And then he sees me drinking. And I never drink. I giggle, looking at him above the rim of the thin glass.
His beard is just right now. I want to pull him close to me and kiss him.
So, I put down the drink and shake my head at the waiter. “No thanks!” I yell, above the Duran Duran song. It’s retro night on Saturdays. Suddenly, I notice it’s not a gay bar at all. The strobe lights are on and a hand is pulling me towards it.
In no time, I’m dancing with him. Ungar. Cheeks brushing against his bristles. My mind wondering…
As he pulls me closer, he whispers something into my ears, but I can only hear his breath. Soon, his hand begins to move up and down on my back, my waist and then my face. I feel something on my mouth. A surprisingly wet pair of lips.
My knees are just about to give way, when he pulls me to a corner, and I can feel him fumble in the dark for me. I giggle. What’s this we are doing? Kissing in the dark. A straight woman and a gay man? Except, the way he’s body is responding to me says he’s not so gay anymore.
I giggle. Push his hands away from me. Push him into a seat and sit down on his lap.
He giggles. Pulls me to him and kisses me like never ever.
In a few minutes we leave for my place.
Six months to that day, and there’s no word from Ungar. There’s no e-mail. No phone call. No letter. No card. You get the drift.
I woke up in the middle of the night and found a man’s hand on my shoulder. The man had bristles. He snored. And as I moved to get up I saw who he was.
He said something in his sleep — my name. And in the morning he was gone.
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