Restraint

The reception is a swank affair in a fine regional museum. The crowd is already filling out when I arrive, drinking wine and nibbling at the hors d’oeuvres.

I make conversation with Nora, who is my co-presenter at tonight’s event. She and I are a collegial mutual admiration society. Prior to working together on this project, we only knew one another by reputation. But we liked those reputations and now, as it happens, we like one another as well.

Tonight, I am meeting her family for the first time. She has an adorable seventeen-month-old daughter, and her husband is a very nice fellow. Nick is darned handsome too; tall, dark hair with the first flecks of gray, and a radiant smile. They dote on one another endearingly.

And that baby! That blue-eyed cherub who took a quick shining to me. Most babies that age are wary of strangers, so I knew to approach her gingerly. She was soon very happy to be in my arms. And I am very happy to hold babies.

Particularly when you get to give them back.

As the evening got underway, Nick told me that they had enjoyed drinks at a new and very posh restaurant near our hotel. Perhaps I would join them there for dinner after the event?

Of course, I accepted.

A bell sounded, and we were all herded into an auditorium. Nora and I gave our presentation. There were the usual accolades afterward.

As the reception resumed, I found myself in conversation with a young artist, a cute gay man who introduced himself as a fan of my writing. Thanks, I said, returning the compliment, as I think his art is pretty great too.

He then talked very knowingly about things I had written. Oh, wow, I thought, he wasn’t just blowing smoke. He actually did know my writing.

You know, I am pretty easy. I don’t require much foreplay. But a cute thing who thinks I am smart? I was beginning to regret my dinner plans, and wondering how I could casually drop my room number into the conversation.

I tried not to drool when he introduced me to his father and grandmother.

Alas, at such functions, you really do have to respond to the tugs on your elbow. I was pulled away—although not before giving him my email address.

The evening wound down. I piled into the backseat of Nick and Nora’s car, playing fingers with their baby as the adults talked about the reception.

The restaurant was posh. And it was trying hard—it was part of four-star hotel chain and only days old. It was staffed to the gills; it seemed that every staffer to come in contact with diners was observed by at least two executives.

Babies drop things. Every time that baby dropped a spoon, there was someone at the ready to be sure she had another before the first one had bounced. She turned it into a game.

My kinda gal.

I decided to let Nick and Nora order. Smart idea. They started us off with martinis, then oysters and salads, then a nice taster’s sampling of entrees, all backed by a fine pinot.

The conversation was kick ass. And when the bill came, they declared that my money was no good.

Did I mention that I am easy?

After dinner, we took a walk on the beach. I removed my shoes, tucked my socks into my jacket pocket, and rolled up my trousers. Nick and I passed the baby back and forth as she pointed at the waves and stars, asking “Da? Da?”

Nora announced that it was time to get the baby to bed.

Nick was still stargazing. “Good idea. While you do, I think I will stop by Jefferson’s room for a cigarette.”

“Oh, but you quit,” Nora disparaged. “For shame.”

“I did, and I don’t even have any smokes,” Nick said. “But if Jefferson doesn’t mind . . .”

“I don’t mind, but I don’t smoke,” I said. “For you though, I will get a pack.”

“Then we have a date,” he smiled.

The family went up to their room to get their baby settled. I crossed the street to buy some Camels.

“Do you have matches?” I asked the clerk.

“Nope,” he said, pointing at a display of lighters. Oh, so that is how it’s going to be? I plunked down an extra $1.50 for a lighter. It would be seized the next morning by airport security.

I went back to my room and filled the ice bucket.

Nick knocked at my door. I offered him a bourbon and we sat on the balcony to listen to the waves. We smoked as we drank. One cigarette. Two. Three.

We talked about art, marriage and parenting. As we chatted, a busload of high school students converged on the boardwalk outside my balcony. We watched as they raced to the shoreline, cavorted on the beach, and made their way back into the hotel.

They popped their heads out on their own balconies, talking to one another across floors. We joined in for a bit, laughing that this was a bit like “Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In”—an ancient reference we kept from the kids.

We talked a bit more before Nick said he needed to get to bed.

At my door, he hugged me. As he did, I held his face and kissed his cheek.

“Night, Jefferson.”

“Sleep tight, Nick.”

He opened the door and left to sleep with his wife and child. I closed the door behind him.

I left the balcony door open. I wanted to fall asleep to the breeze, the sound of waves and flirtatious teenagers.

As I stripped for bed, I commended myself. I had not offered Nick a blowjob.

Such restraint.

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