I had circled back to Annabelle about plans for her birthday. I told her I would get us a pair of tickets to see Natasha Leggero at Helium Comedy Club on the Friday. Happily she agreed.
I was at a Swedish Festival during the day with my dear friend Alice. (See: Alice – 2012 to Present – The Cute Recruiter) It’s held at the Swedish Museum down on Pattison Avenue, south of the city. Good times. Free beer and delicious food. After the festival, Alice was good enough to drive me back up to center city. I was meeting my friend Marigold, and a few of her friends at Franklin Mortgage. (See: Marigold – 1997 to Present – Good German Stock)
Franklin Mortgage is one of the first speak easy type bars that appeared in the city over ten years ago. At one point it was this super cool, exclusive hidden underground bar. But as the cocktail revolution rolled forward in Philly, it lost it’s luster. Gone was the original owner. The bartenders were snooty. It took twenty minutes to get a drink, everybody was writing about it, etc. Who cares now. I don’t want to spend $14 on a drink when I can get one that is just as potent for $6 elsewhere.
But I met them there because Marigold was in town and that’s what she wanted. I hop out of Alice’s car and thank her for a lovely day. I head into Franklin Mortgage and the girls are at a table against the wall. There is one stool at the end for me to drop my butt. I’m happy to see her and remember most of the ladies with her.
Marigold asks me about what’s happening in my life. I start telling her about Annabelle. Marigold is very protective of me. I tell her how I am working on an idea to take her out for her birthday next week. Annabelle is a Leo like me and her birthday is at the end of July, and mine is the beginning of August. Marigold tells me to be careful of my heart, and make sure that this girl knows what she wants. I assure her everything is fine. But what Marigold doesn’t know, and neither do I, is that the drug of love is coursing through my veins. I’m on a bit of a euphoric ride of infatuation with Annabelle.
Maybe after the failure of my relationship with Michelle, (See Michelle – 2007 to Present) I think I physically missed the feeling of falling in love. It wasn’t a sexual thing, it was just that rush of someone new. You think after a couple of years you won’t love again, and then it just comes knocking on your door unexpectedly. It can sometimes overtake you. It may not even be about the person so much. It’s just that you’re one of those people who has it, and you become very emotionally invested in someone very quickly.
I’m sitting there with Marigold and her ladies, when I get a text.
It’s Annabelle. She says she’s over at Chris’ Jazz Cafe (Which is two blocks away) with her Mom and if I’d like to join, I could drop by. her Mom was visiting her for her birthday this week. Her people are from Virginia Beach. (I’d love to come over and meet her Mom!) I mention all of this to Marigold, who tells me to cool my jets.
“Wait a solid fifteen minutes, before responding.”
I hate these games, but I guess they have to be played in the beginning. I wait the full fifteen, then text her back that I am wrapping it up with some friends. I head over there. I pop some Dentyne Ice into my mouth and go inside. There is a really good three-piece jazz band playing in the corner of the room. These cats are cookin’. I find her at a table down front. There is no sign of a mother of any kind, but there is this little guy sitting at the table with her.
Annabelle is six feet tall. This guy looks to be maybe five foot two? It’s like Anton and Moore. Schwartzenegger and DeVito. Annabelle looks nice. She is wearing makeup and a pretty green dress. She tells me her mom went back to the hotel. But she also texted her little friend here, when I didn’t respond to her text right away. (Damn you, Marigold!)
This guy, I can’t even remember his name. He is an annoying piece of shit. Like a little drunken turd that won’t stop talking. It’s like he’s on coke or something. I’m very respectful of the arts as you know, and this little pig in a blanket won’t shut the fuck up.
If you want to run your goddamn mouth at a jazz club, go sit in the fucking back of the bar. But if you’re at a ringside table, you respect the musicians that are making the music and keep your festering gob shut. Listening to this bitty turd go on and on is killing me. He works in some sort of financial services. I didn’t know The Children’s Place sold little suits and ties. He’s got little man syndrome so bad, and it’s so annoying. But I did come late, and he is a friend of hers. But who you keep around as a friend, says something about you, and I suppose I should have seen this as some sort of foreshadowing of things to come.
Anyway, I’m happy to see her, and lost in my lust/euphoria or whatever it is. Happily at one point, mini maggot leaves and I am so relieved. It was like being tossed around in a midget storm and finally washed up on a warm sunny beach with Annabelle still here.
We had a few drinks and I was stupid happy to see her. She was excited about her birthday week. Which I find appalling for a twenty-six year old woman to be excited about. But That’s my opinion, and I’m into her, so she can think and be excited about anything she wants. Her mom is in town for a while, and she’ll be spending time with friends this week, and even doing a little tubing somewhere. I find all of this a bit strange. Who celebrates their birthday for a week and what sort of hillbilly goes tubing in Philly?
It’s getting late, and I walk her outside. I hail a cab for her. We hug and there is another cheek kiss. Off she goes.
I liked that she popped this little ‘extra date’ in a week before I was supposed to take her to the comedy club. Maybe she really likes me and wanted to see me sooner. She seems to like me. She said she told her mom about me. That’s a good sign. But what if she did this to slip me in real quick to keep me on the line, but maybe feels that things are moving forward and she’s unsure of what she wants or even how she really feels about me. She seems a little youthful. Sort of immature. Like someone who doesn’t have a lot of real world experience, because they have caged themselves inside the so-called “Art Community.”
Or maybe I’m just paranoid.
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