Sex & the UES: Stalked

(Continued from Ditched)

…Suddenly, I was in a cab, headed towards the Upper East Side—without Benjamin. I looked at Juan Jose with knowing eyes. He was right. Benjamin was not for me.

As our cab barreled up the FDR, weaving in and out of traffic, Benjamin incessantly called and I continuously sent him straight to voicemail. I was unsure of how I would even explain my abrupt Irish exit from Bar 13 to him and, truthfully, I was still in shock that I had just left my date behind. This was one of few moves I had never pulled before.

I closed my eyes and sighed as my phone rang for the fifth time in a row. I felt awful, but not awful enough to answer his call. Nevertheless, I knew I had to be somewhat considerate and let him know that I hadn’t taken a quick trip around the corner to Starbucks or been abducted by a sewer-dwelling serial killer—and most importantly, that I was not planning on coming back.

As my thumbs began flying over my Blackberry’s keypad, Juan Jose reached out and grabbed my hand.

“Who are you texting?” he calmly, but nosily asked.

“Juan Jose, I need to tell Benjamin something. We just deserted his ass at a bar.” I replied.

Juan Jose slowly took his hand off of mine and let my thumbs do the talking.

Bacchus: Hey. This isn’t going to work. Sorry.

Missed call from Benjamin.

Benjamin: Wait, what’s the problem? Should I just go back to Beauty Bar? Or did you go back uptown?

Two missed calls from Benjamin. My stomach was in knots and I couldn’t figure out why I felt so guilty about ditching a guy that couldn’t keep my name straight after a few beers and a little sexual arousal.

Benjamin: Hey, I don’t know what I did. What happened?

Missed call from Benjamin.

Bacchus: You totally ignored me when your friends came tonight. This just isn’t going to work.

Juan Jose and I pulled up in front of Danny & Eddy’s where Jenny Saurs, Annie Smalls, and their boyfriends were waiting for us. Through the window, they saw us arrive and stumbled out to greet us. Juan Jose went to pay for the cab, only to realize that his wallet was missing from his back pocket. The cab was, of course, a minivan, the largest and most awkward version a New York taxi cab can come in. As Juan Jose and I scoured the van with our asses in the air, squeezing between the captain’s seats, and blindly feeling for his limited edition leather Miu Miu wallet on the cab’s swine flu-infested, plague-ridden floor, Jenny Saurs and Annie Smalls watched with amusement while sucking down Marlboro Menthol Lights.

“You two are hot messes right now.” Jenny Saurs slurred as she exhaled a lungful of smoke.

“And where is Benjamin? The three of you left dinner so you could make it to the play on time.” Annie Smalls noted.

“Benjamin is actually still downtown,” I informed Annie as I pulled my phone out of my purse. There were five new text messages, all of which were from abandoned Ben—and he was no longer downtown.

Benjamin: I went to Mad River. Please talk to me. I’m up here by myself.

Bacchus: Babe, this just isn’t going to work.

Missed call from Benjamin.

Benjamin: This is almost the best relationship I’ve had after only a week. Please forgive my rough-around-the-edges friends. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be outside your apartment right now.

Almost the best week long relationship? What criterion was this honor even based on? And now he was at my apartment? Christ, I thought to myself. How did I not get the blue ribbon? And how the hell did he remember where I lived?

While stalkers were very Fall ’09 (both Vinny Chase and Serena Van der Woodsen had obtained them on their respective television shows within the past week), I began to panic that my non-fictional self had just acquired one in real life. This could potentially call for a restraining order, a billy club, and a six o’clock news debut.

Bacchus: Ok. Heading to Mad River. Meet me there.

It was time for me to resolve the situation, once and for all. Between my full-time job, bartending, and broadcasting my sex life on the Internet, my time was both valuable and limited—Benjamin was about to lose his time slot. At least there’s always The Realtor, who was a good lay, readily available on weekdays, and most importantly, drama-free.