I don’t know if he technically counts as my first “odd” encounter – but thanks to the Manilow this blog came to fruition – so I guess I owe you one buddy.
There are few first dates as painful as this one and even less that have as much shock factor when I am finally able to retell them to friends. But the Manilow for good or for bad takes the cake. This is technically a two-part story but for the sake of continuity I will be putting his entire tale together as one entry.
I met the Manilow at a party for my close friend L’s 24th birthday roughly one week after ending a six-year rollercoaster ride of a relationship. I was not looking for anything serious – and I was definitely not looking for him. My type as I have come to discover is a taller build, slightly muscular or at least fit, a great smile and deep voice. The Manilow in all fairness was maybe an inch above my 5’2 stature, was still built for puberty and was 2 years my junior. This dear readers, already was not a match made in heaven, but being as we were at the Empire Hotel bar, I had on a gorgeous black and silver cocktail dress and it was a birthday party, I let him buy me a few drinks and decided to just go with the evening. Little did I know that my behavior would equate to a future date with said person…
It was approximately a week after when I first heard from the Manilow (a nickname he has earned all on his own). He called when I was in class and unable to pick up, but left a voicemail saying how wonderful it was to have met me and how much he wanted to see me again. Being recently broken up and ready to get back out there, if only just for fun- I agreed it could be a nice evening and texted the Manilow back the same. A date was planned for that Thursday – during which we would meet in Times Square and take it from there. We met on a cold January night, and spent the earlier part of the evening walking about the shops and lights of Broadway. After spotting a cute and quiet wine bar we decided to move out of the cold street and finish our “conversation” inside.
At this point many “red flags” had already been raised - for one he had brought a camera in hopes of photo documenting the evening, umm no. Then I had to listen endlessly while he rattled off every quirk and dislike he had in his armory - which proved quite extensive – he hated democrats, the president, Manhattan as compared to Brooklyn, coconut and the linchpin coffee. COFFEE – seriously! - Yes in fact, even though he had never enjoyed a cup of life’s blood he was thoroughly convinced it was disgusting and just the mere smell of brewing beans would send him into convulsions. I can remember staring at him in awe and inquiring whether or not he liked oxygen.
After being seated and the wine list coming round, he asked me what types of wine I liked (finally a question that was neither rhetorical nor directed at the waiter)– I responded fairly generically saying that overall I preferred reds to whites. He decided to step up to the plate and ordered us a glass each of - you guessed it Pinot Grigio, a white. Clearly this was not going to work. After scanning the restaurant quickly and realizing the only exit available was right in front of our table I used the therapy tactic of radical embrace and just accepted the fact that I was locked in for at least this glass. Our waiter however was far more receptive of how horribly this was going – perhaps it was my deer in the headlights expression that tipped him off– so he frequented our table and would grant me reprieve from one of the longest filibusters of my life. It appeared that within this seemingly inoffensive companion lay a great Barry Manilow fan. He regaled me with lyrics and quips from all his greatest hits, in particular, Mandy. Oh Mandy! Indeed.
About an hour in I glanced at my empty wine glass and my watch and decided it was now or never time if I hoped to evade further discussion as to what the great Manilow really meant in such ballads as Look to the Rainbow and My Moonlight Memories of You. Righting my blouse and straightening my hair I fixed him with the most serious expression I could muster and lowered the gauntlet. “I am terribly sorry, but I have to go medicate my cat.” For a minute the world froze and you would have thought I had said something as strange as “My ears are filling with blood and I have go… away….” In the pause I made a play for my purse and offered to pay for the check, something I have come to realize is a first date faux pas but one that facilitated the easiest exit. As the Manilow signaled for the bill I felt a slight twinge of empathy for the little guy, obviously this had been his attempt at opening up to me, essentially handing me the keys to his inner psyche and monologue, he reached for the wine list once more and I just as quickly suppressed it.
“No, really I do have to go.” “Oh, to feed your puppy? That is fine.” I gritted my teeth against the use of puppy to describe my gorgeous tabby but said nothing. “Yes, exactly right, if you are ok here I am going to head out, it is important that his medicine is spaced correctly.” He made a slight nod of his head, I took this to mean, yes, of course I am capable of finishing up, I realize this wasn’t going anywhere you are free to go. So, I grabbed my coat and purse and bolted. Ran up Broadway and descended into the nearest subway platform. On the ride back uptown I thought to myself, if I never see him again it would be a day too soon. Finally calm, I looked around at other young couples holding hands and cuddling on the train and smiled to myself, incredibly relieved I wouldn’t have to experience that level of intimacy with the Manilow.
FLASH FORWARD TWO WEEKS
It is now Valentine’s Day eve. I have not heard hide or hair from the Manilow which is fine, I have been out of some other dates which will all have their turn of being recounted here and was gearing up for a round of midterms. When out of the blue sky a text pops up on my phone. “Hey, just wanted to say Happy Valentine’s Day, hope you are doing well.” After reading it twice to make sure I was actually seeing it, I sent back this very non-committal response “Thank you and same to you, take care.” I changed into pajamas and set up my study spot on the couch -getting ready for a big mug of coffee and the textbook note taking that was about to commence. I never received a further response from the Manilow and brushed it off as him being a nice guy.
Perhaps an hour later my doorbell started ringing incessantly like someone was leaning on the buzzer. Alarmed that my favorite door person was in distress I threw on a sweatshirt and flip-flops and beat feet down the stairs, I got to the lobby in record time and N my door lady looked at me like she had seen a ghost. “You ok girl?” “Yeah N, are you? My buzzer just went off and you are the only one who ever rings for me.” “Nah, wasn’t me, there was a guy by the bells but he must have pressed yours by mistake.” I accepted the answer and turned back to the stairwell, I checked my phone – no other texts had arrived and as I was coming to my landing turned and dropped my keys. Standing on my Welcome mat was the Manilow apparently trying to see through my peephole. “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked after the key dropping on marble had announced my presence. He broke into a wide grin – I came in from Brooklyn, I wanted to give you roses on Valentines and I texted first to see if you were around. Umm now the “red flags” were back. “How did you get my address?” “Oh, I did a bit of facebook stalking and figured it out from there, here.” A dozen red roses were thrust at me and I was so startled and scared that I didn’t know what to do.
“I would let you in but I really need to study and my cat doesn’t like visitors” I lied, putting on my teaching voice trying not to come off as shaken as I was. “Oh that is fine I have a pretty bad case of pneumonia anyway (eww) and should be going” was the response I received. I directed him toward the stairs and waited till I heard him descend the first flight. Calmly walking around the hall to the incinerator, I watched the brilliant bloody roses fall deep into the black, ran back to my apartment and locked every bolt and put up the chain. All I could think, was what the hell just happened here? Does he have a screw loose? I gave my cat a pat on the head and settled back into my study spot. As I put on a netflixed season of Angel, David Boreanaz’s character began singing karoke and how about this for uncanny; the song was Mandy. I sang along and laughed off the entire ordeal. New York, was this the beginning of the end?!
