It was another Tuesday at Mad River as I strolled in at a quarter to eight, sweaty from an intense session of squats and cycling at Boom, smelling of sweat mixed with a spritz of my signature Lanvin Eclat D’Arpege, ready for my weekly Alex Trebek-inspired trivia night stint. And who do I see leisurely lounging at a table in the back, Yankee hat slightly sideways, sipping a Coors Light draft from a plastic cup, but Yankee Jim.
I internally rolled my eyes and sighed, ready for the awkward Groundhog Day conversation that was about to ensue, as I obligingly approached his table for a courtesy hello—he was one of my most consistent Trivia Tuesday groupies, after all.
“Hey Bacchus, how are you?” Yankee Jim somewhat tautly asked.
“Oh hey, what’s going on?” I replied as I tried to play it off that I hadn’t seen him from the moment I walked in and was simply walking by.
“Listen, I’m sorry I never called last week. I ended up going home to see my mom.” he explained.
Although New Jersey was a somewhat uncouth and undesirable destination (in my book of travel preferences, at least) I was most certain that it was at least civilized enough to have reliable cell phone service, considering that the cast of the Jersey Shore seemed more than capable of texting, BBM-ing and Foursquaring from their mobile devices.
“Oh, no worries.” I waved off as I headed back to the kitchen to give my weekly “que tal” to the cooks and pick up my turkey burger and side salad.
Jim’s attempts to make engaging conversation and witty comments between rounds over the next two hours were both noted and dismissed. After the previous week’s bullshit antics from Jim’s across the board, my interest in Yankee Jim could have been equated with a gay man’s interest in a NASCAR race.
As I packed up my belongings and said my goodbyes after the evening’s games had come to an end, Yankee Jim stopped me before I could sneak out the side door.
“So what are you up to this week? Do you have plans Thursday?” he inquired for approximately the fifth time in the past six weeks.
“Umm, probably just happy hour with some co-workers. Nothing notable,” I offhandedly replied.
“Okay, well I’ll call you and we can meet up for some drinks, okay?” he eagerly suggested.
I raised my eyebrows and literally laughed out loud as I said goodbye and walked outside to hail a cab. At this point it would have benefited both of us to revert our conversations to weekly trivia-girl-to-patron/patron-to-trivia-girl courtesy hellos in an effort to save both time and oxygen.
Fast forward to Thursday happy hour with Tiny and Lindsay. As I was bitching about the frustrating week of love I had had the week prior, I suddenly received a text message from none other than Yankee Jim, asking if I wanted to meet for a drink.
The fear of bad karma for speaking too soon mixed with the two dirty martinis that I had knocked back in a matter of forty-five minutes, I responded with a yes, on the condition that I would be bringing a wingman.
Of course, Jim was inconveniently well below 59th Street, but the vodka flowing in my veins had put a little adventurous pep in my step, so Tiny and I hopped in a cab and headed down to the unchartered territory of theVillage, a neighborhood ridden with hipsters and falafel stands.
As we headed to where Jim and his co-workers were happy hour-ing, we passed a palm reader, who beckoned us in, waving through her window. She was old, overweight, toothless and bra-less, but only charged $10, so we un-soberly couldn’t resist to see what our futures held.
As she grasped my wrist with one hand, caressing the lines of my palm with her other, she asked, while intermittently spitting through her gums, “Do the letters M, S, or J mean anything to you? They hold something very powerful and important in your future.”
M was for my nephew, S (I hoped) for sex, and J—could it be for Yankee Jim?? I excitedly paid my oh-so-economically appropriate tab, grabbed Tiny, and headed to meet Jim, ready for my magical future of M’s, S’s, and J’s that would for certain bring me a good man and multiple, magical orgasms.
Ends up, magical wasn’t exactly how my night ended up…