So we see Gypsy and both more or less (him more, me less) hate it. “Not my kind of theatre,” I say and he agrees. Which is fortunate- can anything happen between two actors who have completely different theatrical tastes? (I’ll let you non-theatre types in on a little not-well-kept secret- the average actor is grotesquely obsessed with “their craft” and therefore )I’m thinking no. But who cares! Clearly with our mutual dislike I don’t have to worry about that now! Anyway the date can only get better as we walk away from the theater discussing our disappointment (too presentational, didn’t believe it, blahblahblah- we are both in full on snob mode and I like it) and find ourselves in the heart of Times Square. It’s Friday night and it’s in full shows letting out, swarming tourists, traffic jam form. “Want to go for a drink?” Heehee! look at me on a date that’s going well!The subtext of my “Yes.” response. “I don’t really know a good place to go around here.” ” Well we could always just go to Toys R Us and ride the Ferris Wheel.” I say, being cute, prompted by the iridescent seven-year-old’s paradise looming in front of us.
“Let’s do it.” This plan absolutely adorable, even romantic, in theory. But as we make our way down the escalator of the store, actuality with its long lines of screaming spoiled brat children and insanely overpriced tickets make us decide the idea is better left in theory. Better left in lue of beverage.
“Have you been to the bar on the top of the Marriott? No? Okay, that’s where we’re going. It’s one of those revolving restaurants and the view’s amazing.” So goes Adorable Idea in Theory #2. Have I stumbled across the last hopeless romantic New York? Is that, contrary to popular belief, not an oximoron?
After a struggle with elevators and coat checks we discover that Theory #2 is also better left in theory- 45 minute waits and double digit cover charges (surprise- romance is easier achieved with a wad of bills) are not my style, nor his. O-m-g we just have so much in common! Third time’s the charm and we settle down at the bar on the third floor of the hotel at a window seat that is conveniently vacated just when we want it to be, overlooking uptown Broadway (it’s a great view here too), sipping wine (him red, me white…maybe we don’t have as much in common as I thought…), talking about same sex summer camp experiences, Maine, singing, being only children (haha! Nevermind yes we do!) and I am genuinely having a good time with Cute Theatre Boy and it’s really nice.
It’s almost one when we leave the bar and walk over to Grand Central (we both take the Lexington line, this was clearly ment to be). I’m searching the sky for the moon which I know is somewhere in the sky as I saw it rising on my way to meet him.
“Wow, look at the moon.”
I point straight up above our heads as we stand on the street waiting for the light to change. It’s a full moon, big and bright, not obscured by building or cloud. The hopeless romantic in me- who has been stirred from her usual dormant state by the night’s proceedings- is looking up at the moon and looking at the boy next to her and wanting a first kiss in the crosswalk of Madison Ave, surrounded by whizzing cabs and smoking manhole covers (what kind of cliche would I be if I didn’t want a kiss under the moon?) But I’m an old fashioned girl (what kind of cliche would I be if I wasn’t an old fashioned girl?) who waits for first kisses and so the light changes and we journey on sans lip action. We go inside Grand Central and again are staring up at the stars, this time the golden constellations of the painted art deco ceiling of the Grand Concourse.
“Did you know they restored this whole thing not all that long ago? It was a mess. If you look over there, they left a square of what the whole this looked like,” he says and points to a small black square in the north west corner. Wow I can not imagine this whole view blackened. He takes my hand and we star gaze, identifying constellations and zodiac signs (he’s a Scorpio which after thorough searching we discover is not represented in this sky though my sign Cancer is. Whatever that means. Good thing I’m not into astrology.) A man aproaches us, he’s at some level of intoxication but not messy, “You guys from around here??” he slurs. “No, we’re just visiting for the weekend from Montreal,” responds Cute Theatre Boy. “Oh New York’s a great city,” says Drunky. “Yeah we went to the Statue of Liberty today, it was swell.” This continues on for several minutes. “Well you kids have a good night,” and lonely drunky stumbles off. I give my date a look that prompts “Don’t worry, I only lie about things that don’t matter. It’s fun to mess around with strangers.” I decide to believe him. After all he is an actor, an affliction I must sympathize with. He squeezes my hand and pulls me in and we’re kissing in the middle of the terminal, under the stars, total New York Cliche, and it’s lovely.
