Ok, well, here goes...
BTW, no loss, I'm happy at the moment...
Picture the scene, my first week at university. I had been granted a flat in West Nicholson Street, opposite three pubs – one, called Maxims, was a pretentious affair, charging £2.40 a pint (this was back in 1994), one was the Blind Poet, a dark, dingy pub, and the other, the Pear Tree, which was at the time, the only pub with a beer garden in the whole of Edinburgh, but was populated entirely by Goths. At the rear of the block of flats, was a building site for a Mosque, and our launderette.
Anyway, I won’t digress to discuss my flatmates (one for a different thread), but at the end of the first week, Fresher’s Week, where many friendships were gained and lost and lots drunk, the other people in the building started introducing themselves. The flat above us had a bunch of engineering students (never saw them) and the one below, three American girls.
Now, one night, bearing in mind we didn’t have a telly for the entire first year, me and my flatmate Wa (who I ended up lodging with over the next 4 years), talked a lot in various pubs in the city and this night we talked long into the night about life, women and so on. I described my ideal woman.
She would be American, possibly a little bit Italian, from New York, brunette, played jazz piano, liked the same music as me (at the time, the Stones, Hendrix and a bit of jazz) and would be funny, and have large thrups.
So, this American girl knocks on our door- they’re having a housewarming and we’re all invited. Me and Wa knock up fashionably early with some cheap vino and we chat to the American girls, not knowing who had moved in downstairs, who was who and so on.
As the night progressed, I was introduced to the flatmates, one was a stuck-up, Preppie, farmer’s daughter, one was a toothy, sorority member who I wouldn’t have touched with Dave the Shrimper’s. The other was Adrienne.
We talked, and remembering the list I had discussed with Wa previously, I was asking her some leading questions. Guess what, she was from Staten Island, she was here for a year, she was a second-generation Italian immigrant, brunette, played level 7 piano, and loved Hendrix. And she was funny, intelligent and everything else.
My God. I still remember how I felt 12 years ago. I made it my aim in life to pursue her, despite her long-standing boyfriend in NY, and despite the fact she was 2-3 years older than me.
The next morning, I posted a Hendrix poster through her door. I got a note thanking me and from then on, we pretty much talked every other day, or emailed each other. (No mobiles in those days!). I sent her poems, we talked about everything and nothing, (except Southend, she never really did get soccer).
One night, several weeks later, we went to the Living Room (a club in Edinburgh) and watched a band. On the way back, she told me she was wearing strawberry lipstick, well, I couldn’t resist, we kissed outside the Festival Hall down South Clerk Street.
Well, bend me sideways and call me Roger. I was infatuated. For her it was a kiss, for Americans, dating is different, you can date as many people as you like, without going steady. I knew she wasn’t seeing anyone else. But things progressed slowly. We went to places together, but she was still serious about her boyfriend back home, so I didn’t want to go headlong into it.
That is, until I went to Birmingham for a weekend and everything changed…
I went to see my best mate who was at Aston Uni. A weekend of Indian housepartys, student clubs, and having a beer with Mervyn Cawston’s son. A Friday night spent chatting up various floozies, and yes, I grabbed hold of one of them, Ellie.
The next morning, I had a strange mixture of regret and victory. Should I say anything about it to Adrienne? Hmmm. I still remember lying there listening to Soul Asylum’s Runaway Train thinking about things.
I went back to uni, and emailed Adrienne what I had got up to. She was insanely jealous. I honestly didn’t see that coming (naïve me). We talked about stuff on the periphery for a while, then I invited her over for dinner one night.
I was preparing dinner and drinking cheap wine – and one bottle later, she arrived and we ate, and had another bottle. She was a bit upset because she had split up with her boyfriend in the US. We went to the Blind Poet and had more wine, beer and uisge beatha. By now, I was hammered.
So, she invites me in to keep her company for the night. She says that she was jealous of me in Birmingham and wants me to herself. Result! Except I was tired, and just wanted sleep.
I slipped into her bed, and she went to get a drink. I fell asleep. She woke me up and asked me to go back upstairs…
I felt like crap. My ideal opportunity and I was a lightweight. The next few weeks, we still talked but there wasn’t anything there anymore. I went to the Highlands for a week for a class trip, she sent me a card asking me to “stay dry”. We were friends now, I suppose more than anything.
But the guys that were after her now! One was a Oxbridge-reject street magician with all the charm of a dead pigeon, the other a faux-Irish chancer. I hated both of them with a passion – if I couldn’t have her, they shouldn’t.
This went on to the end of the third term when she went back to the States. She sent me cards for a bit, but it fizzled out. I’ve since found out she’s married.
http://www.nytimes.com/2004....ei=5070
I’m happy for her, I hope she’s happy for me. She didn’t really get away, we had a great time together, and we both learned a lot from each other.
C’est la vie. I’ve found Ms Right anyway.
