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He just rubs my shoulder as he listens, and I sniff between sentences. I lean in, and he wraps a caring roommate arm around me.
I flip my legs under me, and we talk on, until we finish our whiskeys. Finally, we go downstairs, and we discuss relationships over another strong drink.
Back on the roof,with our third whiskey, I ask Lorenzo about kissing. Also about matters of love, sex and things like that.
He starts to close down, and he seems reluctant to discuss it. I push him, and he opens up, a little. Lorenzo explains some, and finally says, “I hope that’s enough.”
I still feel like I’m at ground zero, but Lorenzo stands, as if we are about to call it a night.
The thing is, we’ve not really solved much, or anything!
I still feel like a failure, I cannot make dating work, and stay in NYC, like this. Awkwardly, I stand, and walk up to Lorenzo.
“Can I ask one thing?”
“Anything,” he says caringly. It’s a different Lorenzo I’m used to, and his protective side is strong and reassuring.
As if helping prove everything will be alright.
“I’m inexperienced with men, as you now know. Their minds, their hearts and well, their needs. I think I need help!”
I explain more, and we discuss dating. As we talk on, we walk around the rooftop. The stars are now out, and it’s a clear beautiful evening after the rain.
I then have a mad idea, as I spin to him. “What about fake dates. Like, us, at dinner time? You can train me.”
Lorenzo shakes his head, then he tells me he’s against it. I push on, and it has to work. Why the heck not?
Finally, and reluctantly, Lorenzo caves. I grab him. “Thanks, and, I won’t waste your time.” Lorenzo wraps a big arm around me, and I hold him tight. Maybe, just maybe this way I have a chance.
Because Lorenzo is Italian,we often have Italian for dinner. We both love it, and we can both cook Italian meals with ease. When we do, I practice my bad Italian, and he corrects me with his. It’s fun, and playful.
Over the next week, we have fake romantic dinners of all kinds. Both in the penthouse, and on his rooftop.
During the fake dates, we talk as if we are on a real first date. At times, Lorenzo stops us, and he teaches me things. We do Italian music and Italian food one night. Cuban food, and Cuban music, the next. We even have some fake lunch dates on the weekend.
It felt weird at the start, but after around date twelve, my confidence lifts. I do my best, and I try to be cool, interesting, and romantic. Lorenzo, as always, plays cold, calm, and reserved, but when not, he coaches me, gently.
He explains, what to say to men… How to say it… When to say it… And how to act on first dates…
Also, what to expect on second and third dates…
I work hard, and I try to be warm, but not too warm, small town, or sweet. Even if people, including family, and colleagues, have at times said, I’m adorable, I do not want to be. Others have said over the years, I should never lose my charm.
The thing is, I want to. I don’t want to be me.
I want to be like the sophisticated, tall, hot model he took, andclaimed.
18
STORM
Finally, after around ten days of fake romantic lunches and dinners, we have a drink on the rooftop. It’s Friday night again, and it has kind of become our night. Simply because, we almost always have it free, or we kind of keep it free.
We are also just as reclusive as each other.
Nervously, I look across at Lorenzo with my whiskey. We are back on the sofa, and we are watching the sun set over NYC in the distance. We are next to one of the large stone eagle statues, and the sky is purple, and pink. Lorenzo’s sleek black chopper is bathed in warm golden light, behind us, and its perfect.
I, however, have an awkward planned question. “Look, I need one last favor.” Lorenzo watches me close. “Look it’s… ” I say standing, and pacing, before I sit back down.
