Jackpot

It is like a scene from a movie. Perhaps a Jim Carrey movie. It borders on the ridiculous. Mark, Chris, John and The Beave walk by and wave, laughing. We turn and wave back, smiling in victory and "air toasting" them with our free drinks with young men all around us.

I am not sure if we waited an hour or not. We talked to dozens of people; learned dozens of new names and new back stories. Got breathed on by guys who hadn't seen a toothbrush in at least a week. Got leered at by ageing pro football has-beens with necks like utility poles. Had our personal space encroached upon by cute 30-somethings who would have been far cuter had they not out-kicked their coverage in the alcohol department. Did lots of impromptu dancing with men who are bold enough to make an approach but too shy for the dance floor. (I'll never completely understand what is so darn scary about a dance floor. It's not like anyone makes them take the stage with the Rockettes.)

We've lost sight of The Boys. The Saints. I keep wanting to call them Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. I am hoping they were not completely discouraged at having been upstaged by a bunch of bachelor party dudes. (And if you ask me, that wedding will never happen. The Groom evidently has misbehaved already and a bridesmaid who happens to be in the same bar is threatening to dish.) So far, they are the most appealing people we've met, even if nothing ever materializes with John. But in that magic hour they could have easily been preyed upon by much younger, much prettier women. They may have even gone to another bar.

So I buck up and decide to have fun and see what happens. The bar is filling up with interesting people and the band is roaring to life. Kate is in top air guitaring form and in the mood to dance. Eventually, we all find ourselves on the dance floor.

And just as the band rips into a great old 70s rollerskating tune and we start singing and dancing like a bunch of sorority girls on the crowded dance floor, we find that we are surrounded by The Boys. They've appeared out of nowhere, probably having struck out in every other section of the bar. And they've come to find us.

They are all decent dancers. Not a shy one among them. Together we are quite a spectacle. The lead singer is giving us shout outs. Joy is on stage at one point for reasons that have never been adequately explained. And each of us has a chance to dance with each of the guys.

And I get my chance to dance with John. He's a great dancer; I am not used to that. The world is not exactly brimming with guys who love to dance. And when the song is over, he stays close for the next song while the girls switch off again with The Beave and Chris and Mark (who is shockingly light on his feet for having legs that start above my navel.)

John stays close for the next two songs. And when the rest of the group peels off to the bar, he holds my hand. We are staying for one more dance.

This is when he starts the habit of telling me that I am delightful. It was delightful to hear.

After an Evelyn Champagne King tune we eventually decide to go to the bar. But not where everyone else is. We stay near the dance floor. We have a couple more dances in us. But for now, he is having trouble getting the bartender's attention. I take matters into my own hands and wave the bartender in. For some reason, John finds this enormously appealing. Looks at me like I've just landed a DC-10 on the roof.

"You're something special, did you know that?"

Special? Delightful AND special? I am just a font of appeal tonight, aren't I?

He tells me he wants to get my number and hands me his phone so I can put it in his contacts. (My God the world has changed...) I do, and hand him back his phone as he hands me my drink. He tells me he'll text me and then I'll have his number (thereby making matchbooks completely obsolete...).

He does. I look at my phone.

"Hi, Mary. It's John."

"Got it," I say. I'll add the details to the contact later, when I have better control of my faculties and therefore better dexterity.

My phone buzzes again.

John again.

"I am going to kiss you."

Jackpot.