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New York City
May 1982
Sunday, Monday and Tuesday, the usually decisive Adah Ameen — To call John or not to call John? — remained indecisive.
By Wednesday, she came to a decision — no call, bye, bye John.
By Thursday, Adah Ameen changed her mind again — and why the hell not! Why should every man she went on a date with be a GRU target? Was she not allowed to have a male friend?
What was wrong with spending time with a charming, intelligent, good-looking chap for a charming evening of intelligent conversation and good fun? Not a damn thing.
At 9:43 p.m. she called John. She insisted she’d pay for everything, but told him that since she did not get out much could he please choose a nice place to eat. He suggested a pub in the East Village near Cooper Union. He mentioned that he’d eaten there before.
“The food is good and the prices even better.”
“Sounds great,” Adah replied. “I’m so looking forward to this.” And she meant it, too.
Anticipation carried her through the final brain-numbing day at Wilton. Adah Ameen had another date! And it had been her choice.
***
NO RESERVED SEATING at the pub, so John took the actor/waiter aside and she overheard him go into his romantic table spiel. The actor/waiter looked at Adah, arched his brows and said, “For her, the best one we have.”
Beauty does have its benefits.
The actor/waiter nodded in the direction of a table next to the window, currently occupied by a yuppie couple. Then to both Adah and John, “They’re almost done, if you don’t mind waiting?”
“Will you be serving us?” John asked the waiter. When he said it would be someone else, he discreetly pulled a five out of his wallet and handed it to the young man. The actor/waiter thanked John and shot another quick glance at Adah. His face read: You lucky guy!
Adah and John sat at the bar to wait. She turned heads on both men and women. John had nothing to drink while she ordered a black Russian, which she finished by the time their table was ready. After they were seated by their new friend the actor/waiter, a cute little waitress came over and asked if they would like to start off with drinks. Adah ordered another black Russian, and John said he’d have a glass of red wine with dinner.
Adah instructed the waitress, “Make that a bottle, please.”
“I can’t drink a whole bottle, Adah, I’m driving.”
She said that was not a problem they would take the bottle with them when they left.
Adah, a reader of nonverbal clues, easily read John’s. He expected that when he took her back home she would invite him inside for some wine and snogging. But a free bottle of wine would be all he got tonight. If she did invite him inside it would be for a cup of strong Turkish coffee to keep him awake on his drive home.
The cute little waitress — she looked like a dancer — scurried away while they read their menus. She overheard John’s new friend the actor/waiter tell the girl to take good care of them. Maybe she thought they were VIPs. Adah sure looked the part, no wonder she’d put a Gaga! in everyone’s eyes. She wore a black blouse that showed just enough cleavage to be on the correct side of good taste. The blouse also displayed a bit of bare belly at the mid-drift. Her black jeans were tight like they’d been spray painted on and a crossed belt lay just above her crotch.
Adah was a 1980s fashion statement.
John was dressed to display his best assets. Since he’d been roofing all week, his face had a healthy tan and well-toned muscles. He wore tight blue jeans to show off a tight ass, and a short-sleeved shirt, sky blue print on yellow. Given his tanned face and forearms, Adah thought he was hot, too.
Adah found the antics of this silly little girl serving them amusing. Somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty-one or twenty-two, the pretty blonde had the tight body of a ballet dancer. And she was in serious flirt mode with John. The girl was so petite she could stand on tip-toes and still have to look up at Adah. Adah would never go on a date in flats, and to wear sneakers would be a true horror. Always heels, and tonight she wore black stiletto ankle boots.
Some girls were like that. They see a man with a super hot woman and, regardless of what he looks like or who he is, they get competitive. John, to his discredit, enjoyed this tiny hummingbird flitting in and out at him as if he’d be the one who paid the check and left the gratuity. And John the fool, why would he even direct one byte of his attention at a hummingbird? Tonight Adah was not simply hot, she scorched. Was there another woman in the City of New York who could compete with her at this level?
No, no, hell no!
Yes, Adah was quite full of herself, but so what? What others called arrogance she called confidence. Time to let their server know who would be leaving the tip: “I’ll have another black Russian, dear.” Then to John: “Would you like our server to pour you another glass of wine?”
“No thanks, Adah, I’m good.”
The hummingbird went from being merely civil to Adah to being her best girl-buddy. Still the girl’s darting in and out asking if everything was all right, did they need anything else, and the girl’s overall chirpiness — Adah wasn’t sure if hummingbirds made any sounds other than buzzing wings — was growing quite tiresome. Adah had had enough. It was time to tell the tiny dancer to fly away.
“Everything is marvelous, dear,” said Adah, “you will leave us alone now please. I’ll call when I want the check.”
After the humbled girl finally went away to annoy someone else, John said, “That wasn’t nice, Adah. She’s just a kid.”
“An annoying child; I find children quite tiresome, actually.”
That did not go down well with John, friend of the working class.
A long silent interlude began.
The hummingbird returned later with another black Russian for Adah, placed it down on the table, and left without a smile or a word. Adah took and sip and, with nothing left to say, stared out the window praying for this date to end.
Damn Americans and their false sense of social equity. No matter how much you all lie to yourselves, the sad fact is not all Americans are equal, John.
Adah could feel his eyes studying her as if trying to figure out a puzzle. What was he thinking? And did she even care?
It didn’t matter, and, no, she didn’t care.
Finally, she spoke: “It’s impolite to stare, John.”
“I know. You have a stunning profile. Your face reflects your Arab ancestry.”
She smiled. “Are you telling me I have a large nose? That won’t score you any points.”
Sharply, “I’m not looking for points, Adah. You look Semitic, that’s all.”
A snarky, “Perhaps because I am Semitic.”
By now there was more frost on the table than all the beer bottles in this pub. Silence continued to reign. They still had a movie to endure together. Since he was the brash, native New Yorker let him be the one to suggest they call it a night.
Instead, “I don’t wear a watch. Do you know what time it is?”
She pulled up her sleeve. “Twenty minutes passed ten.”
“We better get going if we want to make the movie.”
Adah signaled the waitress for the check. She said, “Don’t worry, John, I shall give our little hummingbird twenty-five percent. In spite of what you might think, I do appreciate the laboring classes.”
He gave her his Paddy Beaver smile and helped her on with her bomber jacket.
“Thank you,” she said, and in a moment of weakness, returned his smile.
***
THE MOVIE THEATER WAS a short walk from the pub, so they arrived in plenty of time. The movie was Flash Dance. John picked it because Adah had told him although she loved American cinema, she was unfamiliar with what was currently playing.
As they waited in a long line, she asked, “What is it about?”
“It’s about a girl welder who dreams of becoming a dancer.”
Smiling, “I am intrigued. And what does a roofer dream of, John?”
“Cool weather.”
She laughed.
He wanted to pay for the movie tickets, “After all, you paid for dinner,” but she said, no, the entire evening was on her.
They took their seats and waited for the movie to begin. Adah was excited, she loved musicals. During the movie Adah stood up a couple of times to feel the music. Finally, the couple sitting behind them told her nicely that they couldn’t see. She smiled, apologized, and sat down again. She grooved in her seat, moving her arms, shoulders and legs in time with the music. It felt good to let loose.
Near the end of the movie, when the last flash dance came on, Adah felt the music once again and stood up to dance. Many others in the audience did too.
Then a high-pitched, female voice from behind told Adah to, “Sit the fuck down, bitch!”
A furious Adah whirled around thinking it was the couple behind us. But they pointed to three teenage, skanky girl Goths sitting behind them.
“Sorry,” she said to the couple, and then to the teeny Goths, “You talk like that to me that again, la-dies, and I’ll come back there and rip your fucking faces off!”
The three Goths grumbled saying something to the effect that Adah was one crazy bitch. Lucky for them, Adah let her fury pass out of respect for the nice couple behind them. She did not want them to be in the middle of the carnage.
No doubt in her mind, Adah could have taken all three of those baby vampires and put stakes up their bums.
As they left the theater, she smiled at John and slipped her arm between his. Instead of back to the car, she tugged him in another direction.
“The night is still young,” she said. “And now we dance. We passed a club on the way.”
“Ah... I’m a lousy dancer.”
“No problem. I will teach you.”
Inside the club people were mindlessly gyrating on the dance floor. They found a table and sat down. Adah ordered another black Russian and John a coke. The music was ear-splitting, so they had to shout at each other to be heard. Once the drinks arrived, and she told the waiter to run a tab, she grabbed hold of John’s arm and yanked him onto the dance floor. Adah, feeling the music, did a sexy belly-dance sort of thing. John’s movements were completely out of sync with the beat.
“FEEL THE MUSIC!” Adah shouted.
“I AM. I FEEL LIKE A DRUNK CHICKEN.” Finally, “I GIVE UP, I’M GOING BACK TO THE TABLE.”
“I’LL GO WITH YOU.”
“NO, NO. I WANT YOU TO ENJOY YOURSELF.”
“I WANT YOU TO ENJOY YOURSELF, TOO.”
“SEEING YOU HAPPY MAKES ME HAPPY.”
She smiled, nodded, and whirled away.
She was in her own world out there slinking by herself and for herself. Other dancers, especially those with penises, watched her. A few did make a move, but she ignored them. When she came back to the table, her face was flushed and sweaty. Then she finished her drink and ordered another one. She noticed John keeping track of her black Russian count.
“DON’T WORRY, JOHN, I’M A CAMEL.” Then she laughed hysterically. “ARAB, CAMEL, GET IT?”
He grinned and nodded.
The blaring music played non-stop. They hardly had any vocal chords left, so they didn’t talk at all. Adah got back up to dance a few of more times, and John even joined her once or twice — more marking territory that enjoying the beat.
Finally, they closed the place down.
As he helped her on with her jacket, he said, “It’s Sunday. We’ll be late for church.”
She laughed. “Not me. Told you I’m a heathen.”
As soon as Adah hit the crisp early morning air her brain began to spin on its axis, casting shards of itself in every direction. She staggered against John to keep from toppling over. She began to laugh and laugh and laugh.
“What a silly goose, I am,” she said. She heard the slur in her own voice.
His body was as sturdy as she had imagined. A rock, an anchor, she felt safe, secure, and in sync with him.
“I do beg your pardon, Sir Knight,” she said, “but you might have to carry me home.”
“Maybe we should stop and get some coffee into you? We can stop at an all night diner. Jersey’s loaded with them.”
When she finally steadied herself, “I think I can make it.” She snuggled close. He put an arm across her shoulders. They walked passed a homeless man sitting up in a doorway. He was drinking his breakfast. The sun was rising over West Broadway.
A quick glance, “Just like Moscow,” she grumbled.
Apparently Mr. Stone Pillow heard. His dignity must have been affronted because he stood up and staggered towards Adah. She had been walking on the inside of John facing the buildings while he guarded her on the street side. She saw him coming. So did John, he stepped between Adah and Mr. Stone Pillow. Instead of a sword and shield, John had been carrying that half-empty bottle of wine with him since they’d left the pub. She had told him to leave it behind, but he had insisted. It was about to come in handy.
John, holding the bottle by its neck, shoved it into Mr. Stone Pillow’s chest. “Get the fuck outta here!”
Mr. Stone Pillow staggered backwards and almost fell over.
“Hey, pal!” yelled Stone Pillow. “That hurt!”
“It’s supposed to. Now get lost before I crack this thing over your fucking head,” he said making hammering motions with the bottle.
Adah kept her eyes on Mr. Stone Pillow. “Here he comes again,” she said aloud to herself, nodding her chin.
All those black Russians she had absorbed in her system were suddenly overwhelmed by a rush of adrenalin. Mental clarity and calm determination took hold. John had defended her, but she was so much better at these things. She would protect him.
Stone Pillow came back at them, his red eyes aflame with hate. John readied himself to stick that bottle in Pillow’s mouth, thus knocking out what few brown teeth the man had left. Instead, Adah struck quick as a black-clothed cobra. She pushed passed John and planted a spiked heel in Pillow’s pill box. He grabbed his crotch, collapsed onto his side, and coughed out his agony.
“I feel so much better now!” she told John. “I shan’t need that coffee after all.”
Wide-eyed: “Wow Adah, where’d you learn that?”
“The Egyptian army, remember?” Then she threw her arms around John’s neck and kissed him. “You defended me, Sir Knight!” Adah had always been a big fan of King Arthur and his round table. Had she found a Lancelot?
“Clearly you didn’t need my help.”
With her arms still wrapped around his neck, she whispered in his ear: “You’re still my hero.” Then she kissed him on the cheek.
They continued their arm-in-arm stroll back to John’s Dart. When they passed a policeman, who had obviously witnessed the entire incident, he tipped his cap to Adah.
Nodding her head in the direction of Mr. Stone Pillow, still rolling on the sidewalk and coughing, “Mr. Policeman, sir, you will please see to the removal of that pile of trash.”
And speaking of trash, as they passed a can, John tossed the bottle into it.
“What a waste,” he said. “Can’t drink it after it came in contact with that grimy fuck.”
The sun began its ascent over lower West Broadway. Adah’s bleary eyes squinted into it. Her mind began to swirl again. And so did her stomach.
“Oh, God,” she said, “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“OK OK,” he said, helping her to the curb.
Between two parked cars, she purged herself.
“Thanks for not doing that in my car,” he said.