Too Much Chet Baker
Is it too soon for a pandemic love story to be a period piece?
During lockdown I had joined a Slack writing group, which is now sadly defunct. I had forgotten all about this piece until this week when I was going through my writing group’s Slack channel, making sure that I had saved my works. This was written on February 15th, 2021. What timing.
Too Much Chet Baker
Perhaps it doesn't help that I spend all morning, day and night listening to Chet Baker. At first I thought it was due to fond memories of sitting at Starbucks with my laptop, but what it comes down to is this city and how much this music suits it.
During my evening walks with my dog Leroy, it is now routine to check if Paul's light is on, wondering if he's home, is he alone? Luckily, a light up the street distracted me, it was the way the lamppost shined so brightly on a particular cobble on the street and not the others. I tried my best to focus more on where my dog was planning to poop, instead of rehearsing in my head the many ways I can nonchalantly act like I had forgotten where he lived.
We are not having an affair to remember, Paul and I. It's inconsistently consistent and it's comfortable. Although I don't recommend or advise anyone to date their neighbor, it's frankly the dumbest thing to do. There were a few months we didn't speak, maybe a "hello" text once in awhile. There were even times when I thought maybe he had stopped walking his dog Marvin on account that he didn't want to bump into me. An absolutely ridiculous thought that was only confirmed when he got back in touch with me after Christmas. Paul had been hiding upstate with his family, only to return a few days before New Year's Eve. This world doesn't revolve around me.
For New Year’s Eve, seated with early bird 7:30 reservations at Minetta Tavern, my gay bestie Chris and I toasted to many things, one being that neither of us would ever leave New York again unless it was for some town in Spain, Rome or London. We drank more than we ate, the heat lamp was frying the right side of my face, which led me to believe that it was toasty enough for me to contract Covid. Then more wine arrived to the table and I was normal again.
At 8:57 pm I received a text from Paul, "any plans?" Instant reaction was very 2019, how dare he assume that I don't have plans for New Year's Eve, even though I did not. I mean, who did in 2020? I hesitated to respond to which Chris and I toasted to that. A few minutes went by, Paul texted again. (Does he want me this bad, I thought) "Well, happy new year to you and Leroy, let's go for a walk or something this week". This was the text I was waiting for, it deserved me putting my wine glass down. I stretched out the slight inebriation from my eyes and read the text again and again. After staring at it for what seemed like 5 minutes, I looked at Chris. I said nothing.
"I'm not getting in the way of New Year's hook up," Chris said. Women and gay men have pacts.
Feverishly, I texted back as if to think that he was on his way out, to catch a long flight somewhere, he's out the door, and I needed him to know, "Hey! I'm finishing up dinner with a friend." Send. .... “but then I’m just going home.” Send. ….
My past includes a few too many shitty New Year's Eve memories. I've cried, I've been cheated on, I cried, I shroomed, I cried. This one was actually nice. All it took was a global pandemic.
We had an hour until the new year, no one bothered us and our fur babies as we smooched and snuggled on my couch. "Who is this?" Paul asked.
"Chet Baker."
Two weeks went by without a text nor did we see each other around the neighborhood. I was fine, albeit I had tiny moments whenever leaving my building would recite to myself "don't look at his window don’t look at his window.” And then suddenly Paul would text, he would come over, it became consistent.
One day we ventured out into a "snow date" as he called it. We walked around, we rode on trains, we walked aimlessly around the city forgetting about the cold. Paul loves New York, like I love New York. He doesn't want to live anywhere else.
City corners are a slippery hazard, or if you're a clumsy walker like me, a death wish. On the corner of Horatio and Hudson Street, Paul grabbed my hand tightly and pulled me super close to him, making sure I wouldn't slip. We held hands for the first time, all through the crosswalk until we decided to take refuge inside the White Horse Tavern. Inside was warm, cozy and all I could think about was the next time we would be holding hands. Just as it started snowing again, the view from the window was picturesque, the music changed. “Hey, this is that jazz you like right?” he asked. I nodded yes, my mind exploding over the fact that he recognized it and remembered it. Our first official outside date had the makings of a Netflix rom-com. Three pints in, I decided that this was our place.
Chet Baker.
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5 GOOD THINGS
I’ve gotten into the bad habit of telling myself it’s time to rebinge this show, and then only to drop it to start rewatching another show. These shows are Normal People, Younger, Call My Agent and The Good Wife. Hasn’t streaming culture turned us all fickle? These are all excellent shows btw, for now my ‘continue watching’ carousel are all on attention-deficit stand-by.
What I seriously binged over the weekend was Apple Cider Vinegar (Netflix). So good, easy to binge.
It’s been a long while since I’ve updated my little black dress, luckily this 60’s mod style is on sale at Cos
Already planning spring outfits, this graphic t-shirt is perfect for its cut to wear w/jeans and ballet flats.
May you surround yourself with a significant loved one, your ride or die friends or it’s a celebration of self-love, either way you are deserving of the love that’s given. Happy Valentine’s/Galentine’s!
And a special hello to our new subscribers! 👋🏽
Cupid,
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