The first cab ride I shared with him was not the fairy tale meeting a woman in my position would have desired. It seems that no matter how many times we have our delusions about happily ever after shattered we have this inexplicable tendency to still expect the handsome prince instead of the wolf in man's clothing.
However, he was quite unlike any man I had ever seen, and having lived in New York City since I was twenty three, I have seen a lot of men. He sat quietly, staring at the tall buildings and glittering signs and throngs of people which flew past the window.
I played with the hem of my Channel skirt suit and tried to make conversation, "It this your first time in the city?" I asked him. When he had spoken he sounded foreign, French I thought.
"What city is this?" he asked in a dazed sounding voice.
I bit my lip and ran a hand through my hair; what had I gotten myself into? I thought he had to be either on drugs or have the worst case of jet lag in the history of the red eye, "This is New York," I said slowly, and then I had a thought.
"We don't have to go out to dinner, if you had other plans or something," I thought I sounded kind enough and not as thought I was making a desperate run for the back door out of my situation, "I can just have the cab circle around,"
For a moment I thought he was not going to respond, then he said slowly, "I want to eat," I raised my eyebrows, but not so much that he would notice.
"Alright then," damn, I thought, locked in.
Then came the problem of where we would go. It was still early, not yet seven o'clock, so it would not be too difficult to get in somewhere. I had the cab take us to a small two level place I knew called The Three Guys. The cab stopped and we got out; I threw the fair at the driver and the yellow cab tore away.
It was true that is was not quite the dinner hour, but there was still going to be a wait; about thirty minutes, the host told us, and I saw him glance nervously at my new friend, who I realized I had not even introduced myself to yet.
We waited outside, and in the awkward moment I decided to light my cigarette; but it did no good to alleviate the situation, so I tried something else.
"Thank you for playing along with this, I know it is silly and I never, ever do things like this but I desperately needed to get away from that guy," I blew smoke into the air, hoping he would say something; and of course he did not,
"My name is Olivia Moss, by the way," I said, and I wondered if I sounded as stupid as I thought I did, and I extended me hand for him to shake.
"Erik…Duval," he said, and instead of shaking it, he did something so unheard of in New York I had thought it was nothing more than a myth; he kissed my hand.
As a firm believer in the idea that romance had gotten a corporate job and a suit, I was unsure of his angle. But as I surveyed him I did not detect that strange vibe sent off by men who are trying too hard to be romantic. It seemed he really and truly believed that that was what he was supposed to do.
There was no further room for speculation at that moment however because the host came out to us.
"I am sorry, but I have to ask you two to leave," he said bluntly, and I stared back at him,
"Why the hell do we have to leave?" I was not happy, I had had enough harassment for one day and I just wanted to eat.
"The manager feels that…well…" and he looked over at Erik Duval.
"Is it because of the way he looks?" I said indignantly.
"Well, yes; he is frightening some of the people who are already eating,"
"Well fuck them!" I said, "Let me tell you; I can make you have a very very bad day if I feel like it; I work at a law firm and I know a guy down at the health department who can give this place an inspection Buckingham Palace could not pass; so think hard before you kick us out of here,"
The man quickly reconsidered.