I wasn't the only one sitting outside Marie's, in the Village, in June of 1983, eating chocolate cake and drinking lemonade. There was a guy there, too.

He was about my age, 20, very clean cut, wearing glasses and jeans and a red tee-shirt. I was not instantly attracted to him, but I felt extremely comfortable sharing the outdoor eating space with him, especially since he'd chosen the exact same food and drink I had.

He spoke to me first. "I love Marie's lemonade," he said.

"Don't you just adore the combination of chocolate and lemon?" I asked.

"Oh, yah. Marie's is my favorite place to get dessert," he said, picking up his plate and large glass and coming over to my table. "May I join you?"

"I guess so," I said.

"I'm Jay," he said.

"I'm Anne."

He sat down, and we quietly finished our cake.

"It's good to see someone else has good taste," Jay said.

"I come here a lot," I said.

"Are you a student?"

"Yes, but not here. I go to Oberlin. I'm just spending the summer in New York working. I adore New York."

"Oh, a New Yorker wannabe, huh? What do you do?"

"I'm a typist at Hart, Shaffner and Marx."

Jay leaned back in the metal chair. He pulled out some cigarettes and offered me one. I took it, feeling daring because I didn't smoke much.

"What do you do?" I asked, allowing him to give me a light.

"I'm a personal assistant," Jay said. He pushed his black glasses off his nose and onto the top of his head. He had beautiful blue eyes.

"What does that entail?"

"I'm a chauffeur mostly.

Sometimes, I make meals. Do the shopping. Whatever he wants, really."

"Who's he?"

"No one famous. A stock broker. Rich, a very rich guy. I just got off work." Jay took a puff. "He's got this great loft about a block away. Would you like to see it?"

I wanted more cake. I didn't know this guy. But for some reason, I wasn't afraid of him. He was already calling me names, but he didn't seem serious.

"Do you have to get up early?" I asked.

"I don't have to go in until 11:30. Why? Are you tired?"

"I go to bed early."

"It's Friday night."

"Well, I can go for about an hour."

"Hey, I don't want to corrupt you," he said, but somehow I could tell that he did.

"Did you go to college?" I asked, picking up my small bag and following him.

"No."

"How old are you?" I asked.

"I'm 20."

I knew it. What I coincidence. We both liked chocolate cake and lemonade, and we were both 20. "Did he think I was beautiful?" I asked myself as we were walking down 14th Street. I passed a mirror in the doorway of a Duane Reed, and I paused there to look at myself. I was beautiful.

He looked in the mirror with me. We actually made a cute pair, but I was getting a strange vibe from him. He kind of felt like my brother.

"There's so many mirrors in this city," he said. "A person could just go from mirror to mirror."

He seemed smart, like he'd been to college or was in college.

"Another cigarette?" he asked.

I took one, and he lit it, and I walked and smoked. God, was I cool, wandering through Greenwich Village, smoking, with a boy I didn't know. I wished I knew how to blow a smoke ring.

"Where are you staying?" he asked.

"NYU dorm," I said. "I found a deal there. $500.00/month including two meals a day. Where do you live?"

"Brooklyn. No deals, though."

We walked through crowds, passing people who were out getting air that night because it was such a beautiful evening, clear and warm and the sky full of stars. Some guy in a ski cap was playing the saxophone, and we stopped and listened to him because he was good. Jay gave him $10.00. Jay seemed like the kind of guy who worked all the time, who never had any fun, who had plenty of money, but who was a bit lonely.

"What's this guy you work for like?" I asked, looking into a boutique which sold lacy turquoise dresses.

"He's 55, single, bald. He's wonderful, I guess."

Why is this guy describing another guy as "wonderful, I guess?"

I found myself rolling my eyes a bit, wondering what this was all about. But I was sophisticated. "Is he your lover?" I asked.

"No, but he wants to be," Jay said. "We're almost there."

Another wannabe, I thought.

Jay turned the corner onto Broadway and in about the middle of the block, he opened a door and went inside. I followed him. Here was this 20-year-old and I in this tiny elevator. What did he want with me?

"Are you gay?" I asked.

"I think I'm bi."

The elevator opened, and we were standing in a narrow hallway. We walked to the end, and Jay opened the black door with a key on his Mickey Mouse key ring.

Suddenly, we were standing in a huge loft with the most beautiful wooden floor. It was lit by many industrial-looking lights hanging from the ceiling. In the corner was a beautiful, sparkling white kitchen. Jay instantly got on a skateboard and began to skate around.

"Is this his place?" I asked, watching him.

"Yes."

"Does he care if you bring people up here?"

"He'll never know."

That made me nervous. The first time that night I got a little nervous.

"How about some wine?" he asked.
Wine did sound good. Maybe the guy would never know.

Does he want to get me drunk? I asked myself. He wants to get us both drunk and make love to me to see if he likes it with a girl. I felt a little indignant. "I'll take a glass."

"Try the skateboard," he said.

"I can't skateboard," I said.

"Sit on it, and I'll pull you."

I sat on the skateboard; he grabbed my hand, and pulled me around, faster and faster. It was great. I didn't care what Jay was all about. I knew I wouldn't go to bed with him. I felt sorry for him even though he was gorgeous.

He pulled me around in circles, and I looked out into the Village, with all its tiny, lights and car horns and zillions of people out getting air. I was in paradise. It was not a heterosexual paradise, where there was the possibility of love-making, sex, whatever you wanted to call it. It was neutral, and Jay, although I'd only known him for an hour, was a friend.

"Do you like your boss?" I asked.

Jay stopped pulling me and wandered over to the kitchen area and began to select a bottle of his boss' wine for us to drink.

"I like him."

"What's his name?"

"C.O., and he's 55."

"He's too old for you," I said.

Jay pulled out a Merlot and pierced the foil with a wine opener. He pushed the opener into the soft cork. "I don't get to meet many people," he said.

"Do you love him?"

"You're intense, aren't you?"

"I guess."

Jay bent down and reached into a cupboard where he pulled out the most beautiful glass I'd ever seen. It was hand blown, with a royal blue globe on a long, grey stem. Then, he pulled out another. He poured the wine into the goblets and handed me one.

"That remains to be seen," he said.

"You do, don't you?" I asked.

We sipped the dark wine. It went down easily. Soon, we were drinking another glass. I could feel my resistance going down, down, down. It was 1983; we didn't really know about AIDS. I wanted Jay. I wanted Jay to want me.

I went to hug him. He backed away quickly, knocking the beautiful blue glass out of my hand. It proceeded to shatter all over the wooden floor, the Merlot making a big purple puddle, punctuated by broken blue and grey glass.

"Oh, my God!" Jay said.

"I'm so sorry."

Jay came toward me and tried to set his glass on the counter. He missed, and it too proceeded to shatter. Then he kissed me. The kiss was perfect; that's all I can say. "Those glasses are one of a kind," he said afterwards. "C.O. has six of them."

"Now, he has four."

"Don't worry. I'll find two somewhere," he said. "I've got to, or it's my job."

"He doesn't know you come up here, does he?"

"No."

I didn't sleep all night. In the NYU dorm, I lay under my pink cotton tablecloth, which I'd bought at a cheap linen store to use as a blanket, and touched myself because he'd kissed me so nicely. I could not sleep until about 4:00 in the morning; I dozed off, only to wake up at 8:30. I was meeting Jay at 9:00 to go goblet shopping.

I hopped in the shower and washed my hair. At 20, I didn't need make-up, only peach lipstick. I threw on some shorts and a top and was downstairs, waiting for him.

He picked me up at the dormitory entrance. He hadn't changed, seemed as though he too had been up all night.

"I think he got those in Mexico," Jay said, handing me a cup of deli coffee. "All we have to do is find a Mexican imports store."

The coffee tasted good. It was black, how I liked it. "Why don't we look in the phone book?" I asked.

"Good idea."

We both went into the NYU dormitory and asked the lady at the desk for a one. We took it over to a small couch and began to look for anything Mexican-sounding under "gift stores."

"Here's one," I said. "Jose's. And it's in the Village."

"Let's go," said Jay, ripping the whole gift store section out of the book. He quickly folded it and put it in my purse. I loved his familiarity.

We walked to Jose's, which was on Christopher Street. At this point, I was a little confused. His kiss had been magnificent. He said he thought he was bi, which really kind of turned me on. The idea that a man could love everyone equally was a turn-on, but I didn't want to see him get mixed up with his 55-year-old boss. That seemed a bit exploitative; however, I didn't have time to think about it.

We stood in Jose's, which did have hand-blown glasses, but they were mostly red in color.

"Can I help you?" asked a perfectly manicured, Hispanic guy in lip gloss, who I assumed was gay.

"We're looking for these in blue and grey," Jay said, pointing to the reddish glasses.

"You can be my blues and greys," the guy said to Jay.

Jay laughed.

The clerk's eyes got big, and he seemed to be intrigued with Jay. "All we have is red," he said. "But I've seen those."

"Where?" I asked.

"A little shop on the Upper West Side. On Amsterdam. It's called...Carlos' Mexican Imports."

"Well, that's easy enough," I said.

"What's the address?"

"I don't know the exact address, but it's at Amsterdam and 68th."

"Thanks," we said in unison.

The clerk said, "Any time."



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