Upbeat desi woman outsources herself from Minnesota to Manhattan in search of love, and finds something more...
Thursday, September 9, 2010
186. KISS THE BOYS, THEN RIDE THE BULL – Part Three
“How about Mr. Right Now?” Monkey Poop inquires. “What?” I ask unable to stop staring at his tee shirt. “Kiss me and I will be Mr. Right now and you can keep looking for Mr. Right,” Monkey Poop suggests. He is cute for a 26-year old. “Sure,” I reply. “What about me?” Preppy and then Casual ask. Why not, and like that I kiss the boys, all three of them. Wynn has become Annie Leibovitz and clicks the camera like a professional. Poor Kate, her jaw drops.
Just then Charles, the man Kate thinks she is dating, walks by with a gaggle of gorgeous and gaunt girls in runaway haute dresses. They sit down at one of the picnic tables and the sight of them silences us. “Who does he belong to?” Monkey Poop asks. “No one really. But mostly Kate,” I reply.
A table opens up on the other side of Charles and without saying hello, goodbye or thanks for smooching, I make a mad dash across the patio. Everyone has talents and mine is being the spotter. I find the BEST parking spaces at the mall and I am not afraid to hover over a table when I see people paying the bill. Wynn immediately rushes over. Kate stops to speak with Charles and then joins us. You can see hurt in Kate’s face. Her cheeks look flush and her eyes are red.
A waitress stops by and I say, “We’re going to need snacks. French fries, small sandwiches and more drinks. Lots of drinks.” “You got it,” she says and leaves. Charles comes over at the same time two Wall Street types in Hermes suits ask if they can join us. I say yes to the Wall Streeters and hear Wynn growl at Charles, “your shit is not good enough for Kate. Now shoo."
Night has set in around us and the crowd outside Ulysses seems to get stronger and louder as time rages on. The Wall Streeters are chatty and pay for most of the drinks. The married one is smitten with Kate and demands her attention even after she excuses herself to use the loo and returns to sit away from him. The other Wall Streeter is Irish and we have been talking for I don’t know how long about I don’t know what. My mind has gone numb and at some point I kiss him too. When they leave Wynn leans over the table and with disbelief says, “Who knew Manhattan’s giant prude would kiss four men, three of whom are friends in one night? You’re amazing. You’re a whole different person. I am impressed."
I don’t sleep around because I don’t have eight weeks for antibiotics to kill venereal diseases. Don’t even get me started on how picky I am about my shoes. They only go ON my feet. I also don’t want to be a single desi mom. Indians are cruel to widows, spinsters and divorcees. Also, I don’t disconnect my heart from my body, so I actually think sex means more than sex. Though I have learned, sex with meaning, is a foreign concept in New York.
When we no longer have space in our stomachs or the capacity in our tolerances to continue drinking, we decide to go home. Charles comes over to Kate and unsurprisingly they leave together. Giggling, Wynn and I teeter and totter our way along crooked streets until we reach the Bowling Green Station. The night is dark and cool, perfect Spring sleeping weather.
“Desi Girl,” Wynn whispers, grabs my arm and leads me along Broadway. “Yes?” I whisper back knowing night will keep our secrets. “I want to ride the Wall Street Bull,” she says and points at the 7,000 pound bronze symbol of American finance and greed. “Oh why not,” I reply. “How to get on it?” Wynn asks as we drop our purses, plant our hands on our hips and stare up at the bull.
A young couple walking along Broadway sees us and stops. “Do you girls want to ride the bull?” she asks. Wynn nods. “Honey, hoist her up there!” Like an obedient husband he helps Wynn. This is when I realize she had intended to do this all night. The camera was for the bull, not the boys. When is she finally perched between the bull’s horns I point, click and shoot. She slides off and says, “Desi Girl, your turn.”
Oh why not, and just like that, I, too, mount the Wall Street Bull.
(Yes that is Desi Girl herself on the Wall Street Bull)