Trio/Alex Katz
Was there a more handsome guy in in New York? Not in my opinion. There was something about George. Even as I feel my stomach turning at the thought of him, I can remember how it used to be. After college in the early nineties he moved to Prague like a lot of liberal arts graduates. The difference between him and all the others is that he dug his heels in for three years and lived the Czech life. I didn’t really know George but I’d hear snippets through the post collegiate pipeline - “George always has a camera and a tape recorder on hand.” “George is writing a screenplay.” “George is living with his gorgeous Czech girlfriend.” “George is a journalist now.” "George is smoking too many Czech cigarettes." When George came back over the holidays to visit his parents (George is a born New Yorker), I saw him across the table at a restaurant a bunch of us had gathered at. Widow’s peak, nice forehead, nice hazel eyes. Smooth olivey skin. Skinny. He seemed like he knew what was what. He was hunched over, his shoulders shaking with laughter and he looked embarrassed. The people around him were laughing too. There was something about that. About him. I felt a flutter in my stomach, I wanted to know all his secrets, I wanted to make out with him. I wanted to smell his clean, clean neck. I was 24 then.
The next night my friend Sarah was throwing a party. George was going to be there and I got it in my mind that he was going to come home with me that night. Not to have sex - no way, not at all. George was way too important for that. I only wanted to show him my favorite book - Animal Architects. A Kid’s National Geographic Special Edition. Before you go judging, let me tell you it’s a seminal read - and I wanted to be the one to show George how fish make homes out of their own bubbles, how termites use their saliva to make hard mud, how birds weave their twigs together. I wanted to be the one to blow his mind with the will of these industrious creatures, give him something to think about on his plane ride back to his leggy Czech girlfriend and legendary Czech lifestyle.
I had never really spoken to him before but the plan was to somehow loosen myself up with some party punch then wedge myself into George’s circle and talk about how important the book was. I don’t have long legs, but I know a damn good book when I see one. Lead with that, I tell myself. Naturally, unable to resist this bait, George would head back to my apartment with me and before you knew it, we’d be high-fiving each other over a beaver’s dam.
So I go to Sarah’s place in Chelsea. I see George in a corner surrounded by people. He’s hunched over again, laughing his secret laugh. I wonder what they’re talking about. I’m by the punch bowl with Sarah who's ladeling some into a large red plastic cup for me. I drink it too fast. When she’s not looking I put more in. There are three types of hummus on the table and I should eat some, but I don't. I spend time hanging out with my ladies - Sarah, the gracious host and Olive. They are like sisters and I love them. We have sleepovers and make pizzas together. We go to thrift stores and pass by the chess shop on Thompson street where the guy serving coffee is really cute. We live off falafel and burritos. We’re hugging and laughing our own secret laugh and maybe I’m leaning on them a little. Like I said we’re young and still figuring it out. The internet hasn’t happened. The iPhone hasn't been invented, apple stocks are next to nothing. So we are innocent and present, not tweeting or photographing each other, just enjoying.
I’ve lost track of George, but he can’t be far - it’s a one bedroom. I’ve been at the party for twenty minutes when I feel Sarah guiding my arm through the armhole in my coat. The next thing I see is the floor of the cab. I hear the car door opening and Sarah is holding my hand as I crawl out. I puke in a receptacle in front of my building before I see the front door of my apartment. Sarah walks me to my room, gives me some water to drink. She asks me in her kind sweet voice if I want to take a shower. She tucks me in bed and leaves. I wake up in the morning on my bathroom floor in just a bra and nothing else. I call Sarah and ask her if she finally had her way with me. In place of George all I feel is shame and that Sarah is my friend. I take Animal Architects, laid out on my desk all ready to be leafed through and put it back on the bookshelf. I look at my watch, - it’s noon and George is probably on his way back to Prague.
The next night my friend Sarah was throwing a party. George was going to be there and I got it in my mind that he was going to come home with me that night. Not to have sex - no way, not at all. George was way too important for that. I only wanted to show him my favorite book - Animal Architects. A Kid’s National Geographic Special Edition. Before you go judging, let me tell you it’s a seminal read - and I wanted to be the one to show George how fish make homes out of their own bubbles, how termites use their saliva to make hard mud, how birds weave their twigs together. I wanted to be the one to blow his mind with the will of these industrious creatures, give him something to think about on his plane ride back to his leggy Czech girlfriend and legendary Czech lifestyle.
I had never really spoken to him before but the plan was to somehow loosen myself up with some party punch then wedge myself into George’s circle and talk about how important the book was. I don’t have long legs, but I know a damn good book when I see one. Lead with that, I tell myself. Naturally, unable to resist this bait, George would head back to my apartment with me and before you knew it, we’d be high-fiving each other over a beaver’s dam.
So I go to Sarah’s place in Chelsea. I see George in a corner surrounded by people. He’s hunched over again, laughing his secret laugh. I wonder what they’re talking about. I’m by the punch bowl with Sarah who's ladeling some into a large red plastic cup for me. I drink it too fast. When she’s not looking I put more in. There are three types of hummus on the table and I should eat some, but I don't. I spend time hanging out with my ladies - Sarah, the gracious host and Olive. They are like sisters and I love them. We have sleepovers and make pizzas together. We go to thrift stores and pass by the chess shop on Thompson street where the guy serving coffee is really cute. We live off falafel and burritos. We’re hugging and laughing our own secret laugh and maybe I’m leaning on them a little. Like I said we’re young and still figuring it out. The internet hasn’t happened. The iPhone hasn't been invented, apple stocks are next to nothing. So we are innocent and present, not tweeting or photographing each other, just enjoying.
I’ve lost track of George, but he can’t be far - it’s a one bedroom. I’ve been at the party for twenty minutes when I feel Sarah guiding my arm through the armhole in my coat. The next thing I see is the floor of the cab. I hear the car door opening and Sarah is holding my hand as I crawl out. I puke in a receptacle in front of my building before I see the front door of my apartment. Sarah walks me to my room, gives me some water to drink. She asks me in her kind sweet voice if I want to take a shower. She tucks me in bed and leaves. I wake up in the morning on my bathroom floor in just a bra and nothing else. I call Sarah and ask her if she finally had her way with me. In place of George all I feel is shame and that Sarah is my friend. I take Animal Architects, laid out on my desk all ready to be leafed through and put it back on the bookshelf. I look at my watch, - it’s noon and George is probably on his way back to Prague.
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