Chapter 23
Speed dating takes place on Sunday between brunch and dinner at a club in Greenpoint Brooklyn. As soon as I walk in, I see the host, an older man known around the city as the drag queen Clams Casino. Along with two other drag queens, he forms the Giblet Triplets, a trio famous for their bawdy songs and general fabulousness. Today he’s out of drag but sporting a Pucci-inspired scarf over a corduroy jacket. He’s as enthusiastic as I am unenthused for the event.
‘Once you sign up, write your number on your name tag big and bold. We want big and bold. Remember not everyone has the eyes of a twenty-four-year-old twink from Massachusetts.’ He points to his eyes and then points to a muscular jock-type blushing in the corner. ‘That’s right, I’m talking to you Number 38.’
I’ve always been good at following directions. I sign up, grab a name tag and write 47 in big bold numerals across my name. The idea is that you go on a series of ten-minute dates, and you write down the number of the guys who want to get to know you better, and if they write down your number too, at the end of the event, you exchange contact information. It seems harmless enough. It’s so crowded in the room that I can only see the guys who are standing around me. Most of them are in their twenties but there are a few older guys in their forties that look kind of interesting. Not that I’m looking. I’m just hoping that when the big speed dating wheel begins to spin I’m not stuck talking to some kid obsessed with a music genre I’ve never heard of. I’d like to spend the ten-minute session at least connecting with someone old enough to hold a conversation.
Clams has the back of the room set up so that there are two lines of chairs. You’re supposed to have your back turned before you sit down so that when you see your speed dater, you can have a visceral response to their physical presence. It’s a lot of work to create some ah-ha moment that might never happen but Clams is so incredibly excited about it that everyone goes along. He rings a loud, high-pitched bell over his head.
‘Now, take your seats and do not turn around until you hear this bell. Even numbers go toward the door after the bell rings and odd numbers toward the bar to keep things interesting.’ He rings the bell. ‘Now hurry up. Sunday Supper with Drags Stars of the Apocalypse starts right after this and Hell Fire Fantasia will have my head if we run over.’ He rings the bell again, and I stand behind my assigned chair, dreading the rest of the afternoon. This is such a humiliating way to meet people. What happened to normal encounters like one-night stands?
I have my back to my chair and when I turn around it’s the muscle twink from Massachusetts, Number 38.
‘What’s up, bruh?’
‘Hello,’ I say. I’m sure most of the guys here are drooling over him. He’s wearing a tight tank top despite the fact that it’s the first week in November and most people are wearing jackets and scarves. His arms look like a boa constrictor swallowed a few softballs – bumpy yet hard. His hair is sculpted perfectly. Although I do not use any facial moisturizers myself, you can tell he has an entire bathroom full of lotions and serums. His skin is actually dewy. It’s so moist I think he should worry about mold.
‘What do you bench?’ he asks.
‘What do I what?’ I ask. ‘Is bench a verb? I only know it as a noun.’
‘Oh, wow, you’re funny too. That’s funny.’ It is? At least he didn’t ask me what a noun is.
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘So really what do you bench?’ he asks again. ‘You know, like on the bench press, bro? What do you bench?’
‘Oh, I see,’ I say. I go to the gym with Omar but it’s mostly a social activity. I don’t pay attention to the weights since Omar keeps track of everything. I do it like someone who learns a prayer in Latin and sort of mumbles through it phonetically. ‘I don’t know. I mean one of the weights is usually red and sometimes my friend adds a blue. At least I think it’s blue. The blues are used a lot so they’re very chipped. I think it was blue once so yeah, a blue and red maybe. Blue and red. Final answer,’ I say. Now I think I’m being a bit funny or at least humorous but it’s clear Number 38 doesn’t think so. The blank smile and forced laughter that were the sum total of his personality just a minute ago have vanished. He takes the little pencil we were given at the start of the event and I watch him draw a line across my number and put his pencil down. Then he folds his hands across his chest and stares just above my head for the remaining time. I ask a few questions to help make the time stop going backward, but he either doesn’t answer or grunts.
Clams rings his bell; the lines move and we all turn around before meeting our next ‘date’ for the evening.
Number 72 is a perfectly nice social worker who I have a lot in common with. He’s got a soft voice and a mop of curly brown hair that goes to his eyebrows. We chat for a bit about restaurants but there is a lot of silence in the conversation and long pauses thinking of something to say. He might circle my number, and for a second, I think about circling his to appease my mother. The bell rings, and we move along, but Clams makes an announcement before the next ‘date’.
‘Listen, dolls,’ Clam says dramatically. ‘I see a lot of blank papers and I will not accept that. I expect to see at least one number circled on your sheet. Violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Well, drag queen law, and you all know that is much more severe than any other jurisdiction.’ Chuckles are heard around the room and he rings the bell.
The next guys starts off asking me how much money I make. Then he corrects himself. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it that way. I meant how much money do you make after taxes ?’ That one gets a big no on my sheet. One guy cleans his ear with the end of his keys and another guy almost cries when I tell him I have no idea what comes out of a Vanderpump.
The next few ‘dates’ are fine but ultimately boring with stilted conversations about mundane matters. Each is eager to make a connection, and I suddenly feel bad for being here at all. Not that I am some great catch, but I am putting myself out there with the assumption that I’m available. Technically, Paul and I are in limbo. He has promised to come back, and we’ll move in together, but for the time being, I’m technically a free agent since he’s sharing a place with his soon-to-be ex-husband. Sitting across from 18 and 26 I feel that pull of desire from them. That feeling of wanting to make a connection with someone and have it returned. I think about writing down 72 from earlier on my list. We may not be a love connection but I could see us being friends. Nothing wrong with having more friends.
‘Hey folks,’ Clams yells above the din of the room before grabbing his bell. ‘This is the last match of the night. The very next face you see may be the love of your life.’ I go to the next position and turn around waiting for the signal. At least this whole event will be over soon and I can tell my mother I honored our agreement. The bell rings, I turn around to see the next date and gasp.