I had never gone out with a ‘bad boy’ before. A lot of other types, yes - but never the give-you-a-run-for-your-money DANGEROUS guy with a possible past. I have overheard other girls talking about this type with a slight quiver in their voices: “I couldn’t resist. I don’t know what got into me”
The bad boy brings to mind images of John Travolta in Grease or Johnny Depp trashing hotel rooms in the 1990’s. Bad boys have limitless charm, and they are just unattainable enough to drive a girl mad.
So when a tattooed, shaved-headed guy boldly swaggered up to me at a nightclub last weekend, I was intrigued. He was adorable and edgy. He gave me THAT kind of a look, and complimented my ‘rocker girl style’.
He introduced himself with a beautiful name so distinctive that if I were to write it down everyone in New York City will know who I was talking about. He told me he was half Native American through his father, which piqued my interest because I am part Native on my father’s side also. Oddly, I could picture my father approving of this particular bad boy, with his ‘Red Power’ tattoo proudly displayed on his left bicep. I trusted him even though he was obviously trouble.
“You should let me take you out,” he said slyly. “I promise you won’t be sorry.”
How could I resist? I told him of my availability for the next week.
“You know we’re going to kiss, don’t you?” he said, running his fingers over my spine.
A thrill passed through me – no one ever talks to me with such bravado.
“What about my ten other boyfriends?” I teased.
“They’re boys, darling. I’m a man. No comparison.”
I was done for indeed.
He called Monday, and we made plans for Tuesday. He called Tuesday and said, “People owe me a lot of money, which I can’t get till tomorrow. I’d rather take you out tomorrow ‘cause I’m dead broke today.” I agreed, since I really wanted to stay in and work for the night.
On Wednesday, we decided to go to a movie and then have drinks on the Lower East Side, so he met me at Astor Place (on time), looking as tough as ever.
Do you know what it means to ‘talk smack’? I can’t describe it but I know what it is – my bad boy brother is famous for it. Anyway, this guy didn’t just talk smack, he knew how to talk tough in proper English which was most appealing, telling me about his shady activities in his past. He also spit onto the sidewalk a lot, a very masculine gesture that surprised me and affirmed that he was DANGEROUS.
We went to see ‘Maria, Full of Grace’ which should have been way more interesting than it was. After, we went to his friend’s wicked little bar 151, which looks like someone’s parents basement. The DJ played good indie rock, and the bartender/musician Joe doled out our poison. My date drank straight Jack Daniels, while I sipped on a vodka with a side of scotch. Everyone who came in knew him and seemed to revere him. I suddenly hoped he wasn’t a drug dealer.
I hung out with his friends while he repeatedly went out to smoke, and between cigarettes he talked a lot about his lineage, his art, and even his ex-wife. And the ex-wife’s new husband whom he and his cousins had beat up. I found him refreshingly candid.
We left at 4 and walked the cold dirty streets, me wearing his hooded sweatshirt under my coat, chilled to the bones. No one was around and he kissed me with all the boldness I would expect from a bad boy and it was thrilling indeed.
We talked on the phone over the next few days and arranged to hang out again that weekend. On the night we were to meet he text messaged me at 3:30 a.m. asking me to call him when I was done work, around 4.
Something odd must have transpired because I never heard from him again. Because we had not hung out enough for there to be any weird tension, and because we were both enthusiastic about meeting up again, I am rather worried that something has happened to him.
After all, if he’s pure bad-ass and prone to violence, he could be into all sorts of things I don’t know about. This intrigues me - the thought of this guy getting into a risky situation and having to go underground. But I really hope he’s all right.
In a strange afterward, I got the worst sore throat of my entire life three days after kissing him. He left his mark, all right. And I still have his sweatshirt.
Perhaps that’s what dating a bad boy is really about. You might not want the drama of marrying him and living the reality out on a daily basis. No, he’s the kind of guy you will always picture riding a motorcycle across the country, searching for something. You’ll think of him wistfully when you are settled down with your lovely, responsible husband, wondering what happened to your rebel without a cause. Maybe you’ll still have his sweatshirt tucked away in a drawer.
No comments:
Post a Comment