Pick Up the Pieces

Last night I met Blondie for an afterwork drink at Nick's. I got a text from her informing me that she was running late (which I was expecting, of course)so I ordered a martini and talked with the bartender and manager. My choice of Nick's was by design---I realized that she would be late and I wanted to be engaged in conversation by the time she arrived. Having a date show up late and see you unoccupied (visibly in "waiting" mode)makes a man look weak.

So, I ordered my first martini (yes, the first. This is the first hint of trouble here)and felt her hand on my shoulder mid-sentence. She sat down, we each ordered a drink and compared notes---her day was supposed to involve looking for a job, but she went shopping instead. Nice.

Blondie has been in Chicago for approximately one week. She was accepted to graduate school here and was obliging enough to give me her phone number on Saturday night. From appearances she also has an upbeat, friendly and outgoing personality, which is always a plus.

We engaged in social conversation with some people around us and one of the managers bought us shots. For those keeping score, that's one beer, two vodka martinis and a shot of Jameson. After another drink we decided to go to my apartment and sample my vodka collection.

"Oh my God, I love your book collection," squealed Blondie, "I only have one thin shelf. I would love to have this many books."

I have an ample (for my station in life)library consisting of five tall shelves that takes up a wall in my apartment. A girl's reaction to this is usually an indication of how the date will proceed. If she says, "Wow---you must read," it's all downhill from there. As it was, it led Blondie and me into a conversation about Milan Kundera. For some unkown reason I put on Bach's orchestral suites followed by Leon Parker and poured us each an ample sample of Finlandia.

The banter was humorous and at some point I kissed her. She kissed me back, then broke off with a witticism that I forget. I wondered, is she unsure she likes me? Or is she unsure about my intentions? Or is she setting a pace?

We talked for awhile and I kissed her again. She returned my kiss but broke it off before we got into makeout mode. She was smiling, however.

Alcohol sometimes acts to suspend our better judgment. I wondered, am I moving too fast for her? Is she unsure about me? Those are natural things to wonder about in first-date type situations. What happened next is a bit hazy, but I have the feeling I said something like this:

"Hey....you like me?"

And I think she laughed and said something like,

"Yes. I think you're cute."

My sober self winces to think that my intoxicated self actually said something like that. Fortunately I seem to remember that the mood was light and fun.

Unfortunately, I remember nothing after that point.

I woke up with a bit of a hangover. I had undressed for bed. The door was locked from the inside so Blondie had not let herself out. How was our leave-taking?

I called and left a message for her:

"Blondie, I don't usually drink that much and I can't remember what happened last night. I'm trying to re-construct the details. Give me a call."

A few hours later, I got this text:

"I just listened to your voicemail. I don't remember leaving either. Give me a call later if you would like to piece it together."

I would like to see Blondie again.