Adventures With Drinking Buddy

I was pleased to see, upon entering Nick's last night, my friend and neighbor Drinking Buddy sitting at the bar, where he was using a combination of Amstel Lights and shots of Milor to combat the effects of the jet lag incurred during his return from Europe. Drinking buddy is a walking, talking barrel of a man---a high school offensive lineman who was good enough to play big ten football as a walk-on, his other foot is firmly planted in the artists' colony by virtue of his skills as a jazz musician. His bald crown is sometimes exposed, sometimes covered by a pork-pie hat. His intense gaze is filtered through Elvis Costello frames.

D.B. has a physical frame conducive to consuming huge quantities of alcohol, but, unfortunately, not a temperament; he can switch from engaging raconteur to argumentative churl over the slightest perceived disrespect and there are some regulars at Nick's who hate his guts.

This past winter, Len, D.B. and I were sitting at a table in Nick's when two women came over to flirt---one was a mortgage broker and the other, a trading clerk. The flirting was relaxed and fun--Trading Clerk agreed in principle to see a museum exhibition with D.B. and slipped him her number, while Mortgage Broker told me that she knew a good looking guy who would be perfect for me.

I knew what she was doing, and it's a game I've played before and will probably play again. At a certain point in the evening I would be expected to kiss her and dispel any remaining doubts about my sexuality.

I should mention at this point that a sizable number of people, on meeting me for the first time, speculate on my sexual orientation. It's fair: I have Byron's lips and chin, I don't belch in public, I'm thin and well-groomed and I enjoy opera---none of which has been a hindrance in my pursuit of the fairer sex.

After a few more drinks, the five of us left for Mortgage Broker's apartment. D.B. went outside in the cold rain for some undetermined reason which left Mortgage Broker and me on one couch, Trading Clerk and Len on the other. It was time to establish myself as a heterosexual, but first I needed to occupy Len and Trading Clerk.

"Hey, Len, why don't give her a kiss?"

We all laughed and Len started making out with Trading Clerk. With that as my cue, I planted a kiss on Mortgage Broker's lips. A minute later, just as our breathing and heart rates were kicking up on notch, I heard D.B. enter.

"What the fuck is going on? I leave for a minute and you're making out with some guy you just met?"

Mortage Broker got up from the couch and escorted D.B. onto the porch, from which I could hear
muffled conversation. I heaved a sigh and looked over at Len---he and Trading Clerk were locked in an embrace.

Five minutes later Mortgage Broker returned.

"Would someone please talk to your friend? He's getting.....philosophical"

I walked outside in the cold mist to find D.B. with a drink in his hand. He was philosophical, indeed. He couldn't believe that Trading Clerk was making out with my dork friend from Iowa. He talked about the possibility of leaving Chicago for New York. He attacked my preference of Leonard Cohen to Bob Dylan as "retarded." After roughly 45 minutes of letting him talk, I suggested we go back inside. I was cold, and I hoped the alcohol had dulled rage.

Inside, Trading Clerk and Len were horizontal on the couch.

"What the fuck? You slut! You're letting some strange man you just met touch your body?"

I had had enough.

"Get the fuck out of here! Get the fuck out! What the fuck are you trying to do?" I shouted at him as I marched him to the back door, closing it behind him. I was fuming.

Mortgage Broker emerged from her bedroom to hear D.B. knocking on the door.

"Why are you disrespecting my house?" she asked as she opened the door. "David, it's my house, I'll hande the situation. You can climb into bed---I'll be there in a bit." She stepped outside onto the porch with D.B. and closed the door behind her. I made myself another drink. Len and Trading Clerk were still horizontal.

An hour later, Mortgage Broker climbed into bed with me. "You have some interesting friends," she observed, before falling into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Mortgage Broker made coffee. She was leaving for California that afternoon. We exchanged numbers and kissed goodbye. On the way back to my apartment, Len revealed that he and Trading Clerk had slept together.

"You're welcome," was my reply.

The great thing about friends is that they accept you, and you accept them, despite your fuck-ups. Drinking Buddy and I had a heart-to-heart about the evening a few nights later. Over drinks at Nick's, of course. In a fight I'd have his back and he'd have mine. We get together regularly for drinks. We've watched playoff games together.

I'm just not sure I want to pick up women with him, anymore.