He says, “There’s a difference between being broke and being poor.”
“Oh don’t pull that shit,” says Wendy. “Don’t pull that I grew up blue collar and love the simple life bullshit.”
“I can fix this,” says Michael.
She says, “You can’t.”
19.
They meet outside MoMA at noon. Classic Greg. The daytime date means less pressure, and the artwork provides a discussion topic, and the fact that there’s only so long you can stay in a museum without wanting to get off your feet and into some cocktails means that if things go well they’ll be drinking by two while sharing apartment horror stories and humorous anecdotes about their mutual Facebook friend.
Now here’s the tricky part. Both live far away, she in Williamsburg or Bed-Stuy or Clinton Hill or Bushwick, he in the East Village. His place is closer, but she’ll feel more comfortable at hers, unless she has roommates, which she probably does, in which case, Greg’s studio it is. But how to get there? Three options:
Cab – Pros: Quickest delivery, with minimal loss of momentum or inebriation. Cons: The question of who pays can be a problem, particularly if Greg’s date wants to discuss it before deciding. Ideally, they’ll split the cab, everyone equal and equally eager, but if she insists on taking the subway to save cash then Greg will look pushy if he offers to pay the full fare. Any way you look at it, a cab is problematic. Which leads to,
Subway – Pros: Gets rid of the problem of payment. The subway is democracy incarnate, the people’s mode of transport. Greg and date can commiserate over shitty service, and how there’s always construction on weekends, and how Sundays especially suck with tourists clamoring for seats and asking which line goes where and what’s the difference between express and local. Making it from midtown to Greg’s apartment amid this madness is an adventure they can share, then discuss once they’ve arrived. Cons: The subway is not a romantic venue, with its smells and general display of ugliness. Plus it takes a while, trains on or more likely behind schedule, and by the time they get to Astor Place then walk the ten blocks to Greg’s, the mood and booze may have worn off. There’s always
Walking – Pros: They can hold hands. They can stop at a bar at any point to refuel. Cons: Walking takes the longest and they’ve already walked a lot today, feet beginning to tire, especially hers, and especially if she’s wearing heels. It also extends the conversation, which means Greg has to come up with new shit to say when he’s basically out of material. Walking is not ideal.
Luckily, there’s a fourth option, which, though imperfect, has become a go-to for Greg. That option is Mhustle. Unintuitive? Perhaps. Risky in its betrayal of Greg’s membership in the privileged elite? Certainly. But here’s how it works: first, it’s very important that Greg wait until his date proposes the idea of heading elsewhere. Under no circumstances should Greg make the suggestion himself; if it doesn’t happen, so be it. If his date does make this suggestion, however, Greg will momentarily hesitate, not because he’s not up for it—the last thing he wants to do is make her feel rejected—but because the transport options are so shitty. But then Greg must act like he’s had a revelation, which is that Communitiv.ly has a Mhustle account that its employees are encouraged to use as a funky job perk. And, OMG, it’s so easy. He just has to punch his touchscreen and five minutes later they’ll be nestled into the tiny back seat of a sun-gold ’68 Camaro.
If she doesn’t know about Mhustle, all the better. It’s sort of like Lyft, Greg will explain, but instead of Teslas and Priuses, the company owns a fleet of vintage American muscle cars. The service is mostly used by businesses to provide clients with a novel way of getting around. Soon, the service will blow up and the novelty will wear off, but for now it’s a fun and semi-original way of making his date feel less weird about Greg paying for the ride. Besides, Mhustle is a model of corporate responsibility, hiring displaced cabbies and Arecibo guys whose knowledge of the city’s valves and arteries means they can provide an authentic sans-GPS transportation experience.
Back at his place, he’ll jokingly give her a tour of the apartment, joking because it’s so small that really there’s no tour to give, but here are some photos of his family, and here’s his record player, and why doesn’t she pick out some music while he runs to the bathroom?
He actually does need to pee—has for hours—and now he unloads, flushes, then a touch of hair gel to thicken his waves and re-cover the tiny bald spot she probably hasn’t noticed. He washes his hands, gargles a capful of mouthwash, not so much that the mint will be obvious on his breath, but enough to hide any buildup of reflux. When he exits the bathroom there’s music playing and maybe she’s reaching toward the shelf to thumb through a book. Greg approaches from behind and wraps his arms around her waist. Next thing he knows, either he’s going down on her or she’s saying she’s not really into that so why don’t they try something else, and either way, an hour later they’re parsing delivery options in bed.
Of course, things don’t always work quite so perfectly. It’s obvious that they won’t, today, within ten minutes of meeting Sophia.
She’s certainly attractive, half Greek with walnut skin and those oversized Mediterranean eyes that look like figs or dates or just big-ass raisins.
