Date 9- Tool Belt

One of my dearest friends from San Diego is in town for the birth of her niece, so we make plans for baby admiring and dinner in my neighborhood. I remember when her sister was the baby- she seemed so much younger than us, and yet here she is holding her own child, in her two bedroom apartment with her adoring husband. My friend Sarah and I admit only to each other that no matter how happy you are for someone, there is a tightness in your chest when you wonder why some girls seem to get it right, and some of us might never get it at all. We go to Talde for delicious food and delicious conversation, and start the long process of catching each other up on life. As we chat and relax, the Italian keeps texting like a wild man. Finally I tell him where we are and say that he may join if he chooses. He is standing outside the restaurant within 5 minutes, so excited and enthusiastic he is practically leaping out of his skin. He wears a beautifully tailored shirt with the buttons undone just low enough to establish that he was not born in this country, and the most impeccably cut velvet jacket. He is gorgeous, and relaxes back to allow my friend and I to continue our conversation. I recognize that this set up is not what he had in mind- perhaps he thought the scene would be a bit sexier and more exciting, but he makes pleasant conversation as the evening progresses.

I kiss Sarah goodbye, and Marcello and I hop on the back of the Vespa and head to pick up wine before we head home. He stops by his apartment on an unknown errand. He keeps his helmet on, and emerges from the apartment holding a power drill and box of anchors for mounting paintings. After deciding that I need help to get my apartment more settled, this spicy, lively man in his perfect blazer is coming to my apartment tonight to hang antique mirrors, without my saying a word.

Back at the apartment, we open wine and begin the battle- me swatting his hands away, him trying to get his hands wherever I will permit. In moments his velvet jacket is on the ground, my silk blouse is in a heap with my jeans and heels, and its just warm bodies, soft skin and a few orange streaks from lingering spray tans.

"Che bella sei", how beautiful you are. He repeats this like a mantra, over and over and over, as he undresses me, unwrapping me like a present. His affection and adoration is so over the top, I will never believe him but could die trying. After a bit of rolling around, we get down to the business of hanging massive 45 lb mirrors that require both of us to position and lift. Wearing only his little black boxer briefs, he expertly measures, levels and mounts the mirrors. I play the role of his assistant wearing nothing but a light blue menswear shirt and wildly tousled hair. I catch our reflection in one of the newly hung mirrors and think we must be the most attractive partially dressed people in the world at this moment; he comes up behind me to pull me into a kiss. I can't think of anywhere in the world I would rather be than watching this man reorganize my apartment; the crazy wheels are turning and want him to reorganize my life towards an altar. Of his own accord, he moves through the apartment rearranging furniture, hanging shelves, sorting cords. He says, "Amore, this apartment needs a woman's touch", and I am incapable of being offended. He makes me laugh, and after the last few months of lugging Ikea boxes up the stairs, of hanging curtains, of spray painting thrift store furniture, he reminds me of the seductive beauty of having a man around to take care of a me. We have the uneaten tacos from our Saturday adventure sitting at my kitchen table in our underwear, chatting, discussing, arguing.

We sleep wrapped around each other, every nudge and movement arousing in him a chorus of "Che bella sei", aggressive kisses and seeking hands. He tries, tries, tries to get what he wants, but I can't have sex with him. I'm not sure why sex seems so much more intimate and major than what we have been doing, but its a line I'm not prepared to cross. I can't trust him. I know I can't. I wonder how his marriage of 20 years fell apart, and I think it must lie somewhere between his extreme self obsession, and this tremendous hurricane of energetic personality that must...MUST...get him a steady parade of women. I'm sure it always did; he has the bounce in his step and twinkle in his eye of a man who knows who he is and what he can get. He has spent 49 years successfully charming women; he could write a book on the topic. It doesn't matter that he isn't the most conventionally handsome man, because he has the most unconventionally exuberant and seductive personality. I am not the only one now, just as I'm sure his ex wife was never the only one. But being in his presence is like sitting in the sun; the warmth feels so good that it almost makes up for the darkness. Almost.

We barely sleep and I don't care at all. Today I will live on love, or lust, or my fantasies of whatever this might be. He takes me to the subway station on the back of the Vespa, and for 30 blocks I let this hopeful brain imagine that this is my real life- my dynamic, adoring boyfriend who makes life better and takes me to work on his scooter. I see Park Slopers rushing to the subway to head to work glance at us as we fly by, and I decide they are envious. The women want this good looking man who glances over his shoulder to laugh and talk and can't take his hand off his girl's leg; the men want a long legged younger woman pressing her chest against their back as they drive their motorcycle. I'm envious of that girl on the back of the Vespa too; she looks like her only concern is helmet hair and not losing a mule on the ride. My own concerns run a bit deeper. I wonder how a 10 day separation will affect my nascent relationship with a man who wants what he wants when he wants it, and wonder when I became the kind of girl who gives a shit about such an impossible situation.

NINTH DATE- MIRROR, MIRROR ON THE WALL, WHO'S THE MOST DELUDED OF THEM ALL?

MENU DEL DIA- 2 DAY OLD TACOS WITH A SUBTLE, PIQUANT FLAVOR

TREND REPORT- UNDERWEAR AND POWER DRILLS ... CLASSIC COMBINATION.