Not All West Village Babes Are For You
He's gorgeous; perhaps the most handsome man I've seen in the City yet.
We stand next to each other on the subway platform. His eyes are fixated down the tunnel where the train is expected to arrive from. My eyes are fixated on him.
He's about 6 feet tall with deeply tan skin and the rugged, taut muscles of a rock climber. He's wearing a backwards cap over his golden brown curls, stubble peppers his chin in the perfect combination of sexy and lazy, and he's got green eyes that go right through you. He's perfect.
I stealthily open my pocket mirror inside my purse, stealing a glance at my reflection. Damn girl, I think to myself, smiling and nodding in satisfaction. You've got it going on. Bella let me borrow her curve-grazing dress, Ana did my hair, and honestly I am it. I'm it down here in this damp, grimy, underground oversized mole tunnel. I glance around at my fellow subway-goers. Just as I thought; no one comes close.
I casually wait for him to look my way and be blinded by my exuberance and beauty; it's bound to happen any second now.
I bet he's in finance, I think to myself. He's a finance guy who knows how to have fun on the weekends. He probably just got back from rock climbing with some of his old fraternity brothers. He's probably on his way to have lunch with his mom, because he's obviously a good son.
He loves me, I conclude.
But something isn't quite right. My new boyfriend is glancing at his phone, tapping his foot. Sure, these are all the telltale signs of an impatient New Yorker waiting for the train, but he's given up looking down the tunnel and is now focused on the staircase that leads down to the platform.
Maybe I've gotten it all wrong. Maybe he's not a New Yorker at all; he could be Russian or Bolivian for all I know, here visiting for the weekend. My eyes search his person for any signs of tourism: a brightly colored city map, an obnoxious and poorly curated guidebook, a large water bottle, a lunch box full of snacks, orange sneakers. None of the above. Curiouser and curiouser...
Maybe he's not all there mentally. Maybe he was in a dangerous accident and now he has trouble knowing the difference between uptown and downtown. He figures he might be on the wrong track; he's trying to gauge whether or not he has enough time to dart over to the other side.
Or maybe he just got injured during his rock climbing excursion. Maybe he hit his head on a boulder and he can barely even remember where he lives. Maybe he's been wandering back and forth between subway lines all day, trying to figure out which way is up. Let's face it: his fraternity brothers wouldn't have seen to it that he got home okay. In fact, they probably all met for a drink afterward and didn't even think to invite him.
I'm fuming now, flames practically blowing out of my nostrils. How dare anyone treat my new boyfriend like this?
Suddenly I smile, calm down a bit, soothed by the fact that he has me. This is why fate has put us together in this subway station today: so that I can rescue my man and live happily ever after.
I glance down into my compact once more, making minor adjustments on my lipstick and smoothing down my baby hairs. I toss it fully into my purse, gearing up to approach him and ask him if he needs help. Introduce him to his future wife.
I begin to move closer to him, willing him to look up and lock eyes with me. You know, fall in love instantly. This is it; this is my movie moment. This is the meet-cute we'll tell our grandchildren about...but it'll only work if he looks up at me!
Look at me look at me look at me.
Suddenly my prayers are answered. I'm within twenty feet of Future Mr. Fashion Girl when his gaze turns up to meet mine. I'm right next to the staircase when he beams at me, giving me a small wave and showing off his gorgeous white teeth. My heart skips a beat. My hand floats up next to my left cheek, half-swooning and half fixed to wave back at him. What a friendly boyfriend this guy is.
"Hey," I fashion my mouth to say, giving him a look like, Well it's about time we met. What took us so long, am I right? I shake my head a little ironically, like we're against the world and in on a joke together.
He keeps smiling, like he's anticipating something. I become slightly confused because he doesn't seem to be looking at me anymore--more like directly through me.
I whirl around to figure out what's happening, which is at the precise moment that an even handsomer man envelops my boyfriend in an embrace and plants a big, passionate, Casablanca kiss on him.
Well, he's definitely someone's boyfriend.