Seize the Night: Ubersaga Chapter I

The bar was just across the street from the mall, so we walked there after dinner. 8:30 is admittedly a little early, but we were going to run the same game as we did at the Pub . . . and that required a place to sit. The place wasn’t as dead as we had expected, but we were able to score a table – with four lounger-type leather chairs. The waitress was hot on the spot – and we were ready with our drink orders. I went with a greyhound (Ketel One), and Frankie ordered a Maker’s Mark and soda. Within a half-hour, the bar was full. Clearly a crowd making this the first stop for the evening. The ladies were definitely in a different league from the typical bar-fly ladies we had become accustomed to. Would our game even work on them? That remained to be seen.

Now I should be clear – I’m a pretty average looking guy – certainly no Clark Gable, or anything. Frankie is too. If we have any strength, it’s in the delivery, but we need to step up to even get a shot at that. We saw two women eyeing our spare chairs. As they approached, Frankie and I made eye-contact with each other, as the ladies were spying the chairs and neither of us. The leader of the two walked up, and put her hand on one of the spare chairs.

“Do you mind if we take these chairs?” Bingo – they were out for the chairs, and as it turned out, there with a few other women.

“Actually, we’re expecting people,” I said. Which was true, in a sense. . . . She turned her nose up at me in disgust. As she walked away, Frankie and I looked at each other again. “Let the bitch stand,” I told him. He cracked up.

We noticed a hot, tall blonde standing by the bar. Frankie rated her a 9.5, but I thought she was more of a 9. She stood about 5’10”, but was wearing heels, which took her well over 6’. She was a definite stunner. She walked away from the bar and toward the back of the place. That’s the type of chick this place drew – they were all cut from the same cloth – and it was a cloth that neither of us had ever had any experience tailoring.

I was well into my second greyhound, when I looked up at an amazon towering over our table. It was the aforementioned 9.

“Is anybody sitting here?”

“We’re actually saving it for you.” I’ve always been comfortable delivering even the lamest of openings. “I’m Jack.”

An unsolved mystery remains why She decided sit with me and Frankie. Aside from being tired of standing, that is . . . My immediate gut thought was that she was a “working girl” and we were easy marks, but that wasn’t the case at all. She had just bought a new pair of shoes at the Louis Vuitton store in the mall, and had asked the sales guy where she could go wearing them. He suggested Carpe, and she had stopped by. We talked a bit with her, and she excused herself to have a smoke. SCORE! Smoking is one of my strengths – it’s a captive audience for seven minutes – and I can always show how awesome I am over a cigarette. We left Frankie to guard the table, and we went outside to pollute our lungs. Pleasant conversation. Her ex-husband had her daughter that night, and she had stopped by Carpe Noctem en route, to flirt with dudes before she went over to his place to “fuck.” That’s what she liked to do, she said – as he was “safe,” but she liked the “scene,” and flirting. We came back in and talked with Frankie. She ordered another drink – and so did we, and we smoked again like 20 minutes later. Drink, smoke, drink. Around 10:30, she suggested that we go somewhere with a patio bar, so that we could drink and smoke at the same time. I suggested the sushi bar across the street, Kyoto Grill, because I knew they’d be starting their reverse happy hour at 11:00. Frankie called his waitress, and told her to meet us there. The 9 asked for our tab, and put down a credit card – her ex’s credit card – which she explained she was to use for “food.” We didn’t argue as she paid for our drinks.

Getting to Kyoto would have been as easy as walking across the street, but this chick insisted on driving. She had left her car – a Cadillac STS – with the valet, and when he brought it around, Frankie and I got in, with me riding shotgun . She tore out of the parking lot and barreled across the street like Mario Andretti, blowing through a stop sign on the way. When we pointed that out, she explained that “it’s private property,” so she didn’t have to obey the sign. She pulled up to the valet at Kyoto about as abruptly as she had departed the last valet, and gave him $20 to park her car up front. Frankie and I looked at each other in confusion.

The bar was crowded and there were no empty tables on the patio. There as one large eight-top with a pair of old ugly people sitting at it. Ugly as they were, they were making out like 14 year-olds. We approached them and asked if we could sit with them. They agreed, and pretty much ignored us. Frankie’s waitress showed up, and was more confused than either or us, as she was sober and had no idea what we had been up to thus far. The server came by and we ordered a bunch of happy-hour sushi – rolls mostly – and another round of drinks.

We ate and talked some more, though I was pretty drunk, so the conversation couldn’t have been very good. At one point, Frankie’s waitress leaned over at me and said “she’s real pretty, but a little crazy . . .” about my date. I had to agree, though the irony of Frankie’s waitress saying it was not lost on me.

Somehow, we ended up talking about music. Somehow, we ended up talking about the Smiths.

“Do you have any Smiths at your place?” She asked.

“Yeah. Smiths, Cure, Depeche Mode . . .” I answered.

“Do you have anything to drink at your place?” She asked.

“Well yeah, whatever you want, pretty much . . . .”

“We should get out of here, go back to your place, drink and listen to music.”

I looked over at Frankie and his waitress. “What do you guys think?” I asked them. They were game. I explained where I lived to the chick, as we left. Then it occurred to me that I lived about 20 minutes away, and she likely wouldn’t find my place, so I made an executive decision: “I’ll ride with you, and Frankie will give me a ride back to my car tomorrow.”