Doug at First Sight

I feel something when he sits down next to me on the black leather couch in the hotel room in Vegas. We've each travelled to attend our mutual friend, Tim's, 40th birthday party - Doug from Los Angeles and I from Denver. My head is thick with worry, travel fatigue, and self consciousness. As he speaks something lifts in me. Not enough to completely clear my fog of gloom, but enough that my breathing eases and my shoulders instantly relax.

There is something kind and bright in the voice, something reaching towards something bright in me.
He introduces himself saying that the way Tim had spoken of me made him curious. I am embarrassed and can only manage an aloof smile.

We don't speak much that weekend, but the introduction lingers.

A little over a year later (after a heart-breaking break-up and a long overdue move to Los Angeles), I find myself helping him move a bed into his apartment. By this time we are neighbors.

When I decided to move to LA, Tim and I started looking for a place together. Doug gave us a lead on an affordable two bedroom apartment in the building right next door to his.
The lead worked out.

He is picking up a nice hand-me-down bed from a well-to-do friend and I offer to help. When we finish setting up the bed in his bedroom I take a leap onto the mattress. I am flirting, but aloofly and with my arms awkwardly folded over my chest. He hesitates then lies down a foot or so away from me and says, "It feels good, right?"

He is an actor and shortly after moving to LA I see him in a play. He is barefoot, with darkly painted eyes, bowler hat, and a deep resonate voice. Quiet. Riveting.

After three months of being friends and neighbors I realize I'm falling in love. This is terrifying. I worry that it is too soon after the last heartbreak. And I also don't want to fuck-up the sweet, bachelor camaraderie between me and him and Tim.

A month later my no longer ignorable feelings get the better of me and I confess to Tim. He says immediately, "Well you've got to tell him, right? No matter what happens, you can't just hold it in."

Two days later I unexpectedly receive a mixed CD from my friend Gary in New York - all love songs, one of which repeats the line "Gamble Everything For Love."

A few days after that Doug surprises Tim and I with tickets to Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf. Kathleen Turner is very disappointing, but the moments before the show - staring at Doug in the courtyard, feeling magnetized to him, completely uncertain of his thoughts or feelings - are drama enough for the night.

The next night Doug invites us to another play. Tim cannot go. I know what I will say if we're alone and feel body tremors of doubt over his response. I join him for the play. There are not many people in the audience. It is a strange, original piece set in an unnamed Asian city. Gangsters and innocents battle. During a scene in a nightclub a sexy singer purrs "the greatest thing, you'll ever learn, is just to love, and be loved in return." I gulp so loudly I'm convinced the actors on the stage have heard.

We decide to grab a bite after the show at restaurant named Cafe De Artiste. Doug asks if we should sit outside. The hostess, a striking brunette says there's a fire place inside. I want the fire place. When we get inside the fire is unlit and wanting to please I say, "maybe we should sit outside after all." The hostess says "oh no, oh no" and soliciting the help of the bartender rushes to get the fire started.

There are no other customers in this little room off the bar.
I order a french martini. He orders a fancy dark beer.
We decide to split the salad special - scallops with lemon lime dressing.
The conversation gets vague and nervousness grips the table.
I silently asked god if this is the moment and hear my own inner voice say, "What do you need a friggin' parade?"

"Look I'm just going to say it, I'm attracted to you." Without missing a beat Doug says, "I feel the same." The conversation at this point becomes spotty because of the shock. I tell him I had felt something when he first sat down next to me on the couch in Vegas. He says,"I'm crazy about you...I want to be here for you...I'm not going anywhere." I want to lean over and kiss him a million times, but I savor the desire and wait for the better moment.
It comes.
We kiss.
I know.

The scallops remain mostly untouched.
The hostess is attentive, but discrete. We have been seated for over an hour and have barely touched the food.  She asks if we would like it taken away. Doug says, "It's wonderful but we're just -" and with a wink in her voice she finishes his sentence, " - just busy talking about important things." She smiles at us both and moves away from the table.

I don't remember the drive from the restaurant. I remember him parking and the leaning over and kissing me and kissing me and kissing me and me leaning my head back and the word "finally" bursting from my mouth. On the walk from the car I remember grabbing him and pulling him into the night time shadow of a palm tree and kissing him again.

The next 24 hours are spent in his room, on the bed I had helped him put together.

He frames the reciept from Chez Artiste and gives it to me as a gift.
Printed on a little scrap of paper is the date, time and location of a night I will treasure for the rest of my life.
February 9, 2007.
An artifact of love.

This year was our third anniversary.
We revist Cafe De Artiste for the first time since the night we revealed ourselves to each other.
I have a french martini and he has a beer.

This time we sit outside.

I dream of sharing future February 9ths with him celebrating the February 9ths that have been.

I keep the receipt.