“I’m going to marry him.” You told me you had told your best girlfriend Chrissy.
“Who. Him?? He’s not your style.” Chrissy points at me from a distance.
“Yes. Him.” You say proudly. “You’re wrong. He’s sooo my style. He’s different.”
You walked past me on the dance floor level. The club had three cascading levels. You were at the bottom level. I was at the top with a clear view of the entire space beneath me. There you were. A black off the shoulder blouse. Colorful 90’s baggy soft cloth pants. Made out of swatches of feather-like strokes. You were tanned as fuck. Your burning red hair glowing your beautiful face. Your hair wild. I have a thing for wild hair. You were fucking striking. Stunning.

You walked past me countless times. Back and forth. Looking up in my direction every time you passed by you line of vision before it would have been too obvious what you were doing.

You always ended up talking to someone new at the end of your runway performance. Laughing, dancing, talking.
You told me later on that you had met up with your cousin Anthony from your mother’s side. A distant cousin. I thought he was an ex-boyfriend, or a prospect. But I knew you were into me. You knew I was into you. Everyone else there was just clutter.

You disappeared. I looked all over for you. I went into bathrooms. Asked other girls you were with about your whereabouts. Nothing. Gone.
You had went to club Zero. Chrissy made you. You were pissed off at her. You wanted to go back to the Aztec club to meet me.
I was on the outdoor balcony with a friend telling him about you. For 27 years you denied it went down that way. You would never admit it. You were too prideful. You were too classy. A woman should never make the first move. You’d rather suffer than allow yourself to make the first move. But you failed on a couple of occasions.
The first was you said the first “Hi.” The second was when you kissed me on our first kiss. More like you lunged/jumped at me, wrapped your arms and legs around me and kissed me.
You thought I was gay because I never kissed you for over 2 weeks of dating day after day. You had me meet your two gay friends, Phil and Steven, meet me. You needed their gaydar. When they shook their heads signifying “Negative” you ran and jumped on me.

Talking with my friend, I was facing the door leading to the main club room. It was a swinging door, no lock. A heavy door, but with enough force, you should be able to swing it comfortably.
The long bar was to my right. The balcony was an L-shape. A short walk from the door and around the bar to the back of the room.
I see the door explode open and a maniac woman dashing from behind it in search of something. A second of composure to gain back your graceful ways. It’s that second when you trip on something, you look back and pretend it was its fault as you graciously adjust your walk back to normal.
That was you in that second you found your “something.” And I knew. You walk around me. You took a peek up at me to see if I was looking at you.
I was.

You kept walking towards the back of the room. You hear me say to my friend “That’s her.” I made sure of it. I wanted you to know I was interested.
You end up talking to some 40-year old handsome man. I didn’t care. But fuck, this girl knows a lot of dudes. She’s popular with the dudes.

You started your walk back to me. I turn my top half of my body towards you as you approach me. We stare at each other. You’re two feet away from me. You say “Hi” with a louder than usual pitch.
“Hi.” I say back to you.
You continue to walk around me and head towards the swinging exit. I say “That’s it?”
“What else do you want me to say?” You answer back, fresh. I liked it.
“I don’t know. Why don’t we talk over drinks.” I say.
“Okay.” You agree.

We walk to the back bar. We sit in the back. It was quite. I can hear you over the loud pounding Oldies dance music. Jerry Blavat used to DJ those Sunday nights. Barf.
You ordered a diet coke. I never noticed it. I was complementary of your hair. Your entire look. You had your hair in some sore of ball with your bangs hanging down your cheeks. You had so much fucking hair. Gorgeous fucking hair. Thick. My fingers used to get lost in there while I played with your hair. Soft strokes interrupted by a tangle in hair. Release. Stroke. Tangle. Repeat.

We talked. I told you I was modeling. You told me you worked for your father. We talked. My first night with you. I was fascinated by you. You were full of life. We laughed. You invited me to go to New York in two weeks with you, and stay with your half sister’s apartment in the Village for the weekend. I accepted.
You gave me your phone number. I gave you mine. It was getting late. Last call. “But the night is young” I think to myself. “I like her. I like her a lot. She’s different.”
I call you the next morning. I never liked playing games. Just get to the bottom line. Why delay the inevitable? You know what you want. Fucking do it already. Stop with the games.
You were surprised I called you. I had went after I met you to a Greek after hour joint. It was a restaurant during the day, and an underground nightclub late at night. I get more drunk there on Ouzo.
I went back to the house on 24th & Brown where I roomed with two girls. Jasmine and Mary.
It was early in the morning when I got back. Maybe 4:30am. I woke Mary up. “I had the best night of my life.” I say, wasted. “I met someone.”
I hold your hand the next day on our first date. I get into your car and rest my hand on top of yours. It took you back. You didn’t pull your hand away. But you didn’t know what to think. You let it be. You embraced it. You liked it. It felt right.
Afterall, I was the man you said you would end up marrying.

I think I’m going to take a nap and write you some more. If I don’t, I’ll tell you about today tomorrow. It was a really great day.

Good night my sweet.

I love you,

Me