the men in my life and the cars they drive

i guess what ultimately distinguished yesterday from any other was several confident, upbeat men. emily and i floated around the cashwrap; she was a wonderful sales associate, encouraging a healthy blonde woman to try on more clothes while her husband leaned against the counter, watching me wrap and sticker and arrange their package just so.

“riccardi? i heard it’s a good place for…” emily paused for just the right moment waiting for his response and then, “it’s a really awesome boutique i go to a few times during the week. they have great stuff. it’s a little expensive, but whatever. good stuff though.” his face grew more expressive, slowly growing from a light-hearted flaneurian grin to a boastful confident upturn in the sides of his lips, not unlike a smile. “you know, prada, gucci…” “it’s really awesome emily. they have comme des garcons and maison martin margiela sometimes…there’s even like an upstairs-downstairs thing going on,” i interjected.

impressed with my knowledge of the boutique, the guy fully smiled and told us that the boutique owner’s son built the downstairs installation. “it has more fresh stuff: bbc, trovata,” he said. emily mentioned hearing about good sales in the urban downstairs and i talked about how i almost bought this “really funky pair of billionaire boys club waffle sneakers”.

i’m not sure why he used the following adjective, but i have a feeling the word just sort of slipped out of his mouth: “you two are just so carefree.” and in the spirit of his compliment, i vacantly lost focus in my eyes and asked him what he had planned for the holidays. “oh….we’re not even sure yet. what are you doing?”"oh, well. i’m going to go home and tell my family that MIT was not stimulating enough for me, so i’m going to live in new york for a bit while i look at art schools…” his eyes widened briefly and then he laughed a little bit. “well that’s just great.” and then he left. emily and i smiled at each other and finished up our shift.

the time approached 10.00 and then 10.15 and having expressed that she need to do a lot of work, emily nudged hesham, one of our store assistant managers, to let her go early. “one of you will have to stay.” i, of course, let emily go knowing that both emily had schoolwork and that i wanted to be fashionably late to the 462 christmas bash. i goofed around in the mirror, tried on my sunglasses, brushed my new hair around, and then… “BZZT,” the store pager announced. hesham told me that i could wait downstairs in the office, which seemed awkward as i could only attribute two connotations to his terse suggestion: one of playful sexual advancement (which unfortunately, i know would /not/ be the case) and another of…well. i guess i was really just hoping for that first one. so i guess it was just the one… i went downstairs and sat on the spinny chair and spun around while he talked incomprehensibly on the phone, holding it close to his mouth as if he didn’t want me to hear whatever foreign language i clearly did not understand. he turned me and then…. “marcus, do you like dogs?”

“….i used to have a dog?”
“good.”

he continued talking on the phone and then hung up. he then asked me where i lived and after i told him cambridge, he asked how i got to cambridge from newbury street. “oh….by bus or subway, whichever is more convenient for the part of campus to which i want to go.” he looked puzzled, but only briefly. he then said we were ready to leave. he put his blazer on, making himself look even more dashing than the dozens upon dozens of girls that flood into the store to adore him usually find him to be. he set the alarm. he locked the door and before i reached my second step from the threshold,
“marcus, where do you think you’re going? hold on for a second.”

we wait and he talks about what he wants for dinner. “there’s this falafel place in cambridge i want to go to,” he says. “you’re not talking about falafel palace, are you?” “my friend owns it,” he boasts. i tell him about how much i love their food and we both get really excited and then all of a sudden, a bright gorgeous black beamer flies up and stops at our feet. out steps a stunning brunette with a poufy dog jumping out of her arms and onto icy newbury street. she scuttles around the pay meter. “you got out early tonight. it’s before eleven. usually i have to come pick you up so much later,” she teasingly remarks. he then introduced me to his wife, lucia. it was a pleasure, of course. and then we all pack into the car. hesham takes the driver’s seat and begins to drive down newbury street.

i always forget how wonderful BMWs drive. it felt really nice. then, he drives faster. escalating fifteen to twenty to twenty-five miles above the speed limit and careening the turns to get from newbury to commonwealth to massave, the car evokes what ninety-eight percent of all female french connection shop goers crave in hesham: his confident masculinity.

he dropped me off at seventy-seven and then fled away further into cambridge with his wife and dog. i walked through the infinite corridor, lighting a cigarette and thinking about the upcoming party. the big clock read four before eleven and i was delighted that my fashionably late appearance would be right on schedule. i arrived to an undercrowded suite, filled with a few dozen students and in the back, the people i love most: violetta and james and sarah. people i know gradually fell into the suite; the betas came in cheerily, katherine lewis cheney entered flawless and lovely, as always, gregory stepped in with bright red slacks, et cetera et cetera. i found myself talking to mike haimes about clothes and shopping and new york and being hipstery and doofusey, yadda yadda yadda and he told me that we have to go shopping this weekend, so i made a note to take michael haimes on a shopping date. somehow, our conversation suddenly turned into a circle of bright-eyed beta underclassmen and john herrera, who mike asked to pass him a beer, and then our discussion became slightly more trivial and boring.

thirsty for another beer, i made my way over to the cooler where i bump into john.

“hey marcus. what goes good with eggnog,” he asked.

“oh you know….dark spirits,” i responded.

“brandy?” he guesses.
“cognac, spiced rum, amaretto, whiskey may be fun,” i continue.

we then both look at the clear plastic bottles of vodka and large handles of bacardi light rum. i laugh silently and without flinching. the party loomed and while anjuli and gregory were found huddling close in the dark recesses of the hallway, i passed to use to washroom.

as i stood there, against the door, listening to them flirt, i consumed gregory’s charm, what escalated him to the top of that dreadful list that i somehow keep slipping into recent conversations. i don’t find his blonde hair or sporty build attractive so much as i do his voice and personality. being in that washroom isolated both qualities and amplified them tenfold. and i died a little. i left downstairs to use the computer station at the house desk, trying to get clifton to open bexley, but there was ty. it has been months since i have talked to/flirted with ty. he’s really hot. even more so now with his new mohawk….and so, i kind of just forgot about going back to bexley! a few minutes passed and we said everything expected. when will i see you next? i like your new hair. how’s the art? and then, from the corner of my eye, i see okie grinning as he always does, which is wholesomely and blindingly.

“do you want a ride, marcus?” and then, without even thinking, i say yes.

he drives me to stenchhouse and i brought up how much i like mathematics and then we stopped to look at all of the green lights. “look at all of the green lights okie. go fast!” he doesn’t go fast, but instead drives steadily, stopping at the third light, which had then turned red. we get back to stench house and i sit in his room. “i like that book. i like that book too,” he says. i study his books. “have you heard the song alice’s restaurant?”"i have not, okie.” then, he plays me the song on his system and i listen and while his back is turned to me, i begin to mouth the words.

okie has been working on a levitating light bulb christmas present for his parents and he delightfully shows me jeff lieberman’s instructional video of how to make a levitating light bulb. “look.” “watch this.” i watch as intently as i can, trying not to let the glaze of the night’s stupor get the best of me. i hug him and then leave to use james’s computer. james was asleep on his couch in classic james position, awkward and with mouth ajar. tiptoeing past him, i tried to make as little noise as possible and used the computer. i said dumb things to martin schatz and flirted with ty some more. and then i went back downstairs.

“do you need a ride somewhere?”

“i don’t know. i’m not sure if i want to walk or i want a ride.”

“i’ll do whatever you want.”

“can you take me back to campus?”

“yes.”

we got our coats on and harold spotted us from the third floor. tiresomely, he yammered something at us.”shut up, harold,” okie said. “yeah, shut up harold!” i exclaimed. he did so and okie and i smiled. okie drove me back to campus. this time, we really didn’t say anything other than him mentioning how much he loved to drive his car. we each smoked another cigarette. we arrived at senior house. he hugged me. i got out of the car and then, revving his engine, he dashed off much more quickly and flirtatiously than he had previously driven. i went inside. i found anjuli. i found gabe. i found matias. and then i took a siesta in gabe’s bed for a few short hours.