The French Invasion

Joel has been single for--well the amount of time doesn't really matter. What matters is that Joely is okay with this fact and isn't looking for anything. That is, unless a prospect is looking at her.

Joely has made a conscious decision to spend time on herself. Not by herself. Just focusing on all the things we all spend time avoiding. Writing, reading, exercise, health, sanity. When she's finally feeling feisty, confident, self-assured, and certain about her wants and needs she plans to tip-toe quietly back into the game. No, not the game, the field. No,not the field, the pool. NO, the...oh, whatever. She plans to date again at some point when it all falls in place.

The best part of Joely being "single and not looking," is that when we hang out neither of us have a second agenda. I am in a relationship so I look for fun. She's not looking, so when someone really strikes her, it is also for fun.

Recently, after two bottles of wine and a single twist of my arm to stay for one beer, mine and Joel's space and energy was invaded by the French. Olivier was his name. Sooo French. We both had noticed him when he walked in but made no comments about him to each other. Later, I would discover that Joely had noticed and him, and she would discover that I also had. How could you not notice him? Not that he was sexy. No. Not that he was hot. No. It was because he was striking. At approximately 6'4" and a fairly average to lean 195lbs, he had a beautiful mouth and dark features. Thus, striking!

Earlier, when we were just beginning the second bottle of red, a middle-aged short man sat at our communal bar-table. He was having desert. A gorgeous little flourless, chocolate cake drizzled with some sauce and slices of fruit in a bowl that looked like it was made for popcorn. It smelled good, looked good, and did not go unnoticed by Joely or myself.

The second bottle ends, my arm is twisted, the beer arrives and laughter ensues. I can't recall what Joely and I were talking about or laughing about, because we were two bottles in for the evening. But, we were probably talking and/or laughing about life. Because, there are not that many moments of silence between the two of us when we are out together. Then, the French invasion begins. He approaches. Olivier approaches our communal bar-table. Of course, we both stop in mid-conversation. He's striking remember? He sees this lull in the conversation as his opportunity in. He makes a quick reference to some drunk girl on the other side of the bar. This being the reason he moved over to enjoy his desert. A gorgeous little, flourless, chocolate cake drizzled with some sauce and slices of fruit in a bowl that looked liked it was made for popcorn. It smelled good, looked good, and did not go unnoticed. We make reference to his seat being the flourless cake seat. He laughs. We laugh. Bad joke. But with alcohol as a lubricant anything is funnier. He makes solid eye contact with me. He acknowledges my existence and my company. Then, he makes solid eye contact with Joely. He genuinely acknowledges her. I am not quite sure what Joely is thinking. Maybe she finds him attractive? Maybe she wants him to go away? But, I am thinking shoo-fly-shoo. I only have about thirty minutes left of hanging out time. I begin to think that Joel might be interested in Olivier because he is tall and he is paying attention to her. Not that that is all it takes for Joely to like someone, but he is striking and he's outgoing and friendly. Suddenly, the focus shifts. Olivier is all attention on me. He is interested in things. Where I live. Where I work. He is actively listening, smiling, laughing, and tossing out charming phrases to grease the conversation. In those small silences that exist between thoughts and sentences he doesn't stop making strong eye contact. Except to maybe indulge in another bite of his cake. He says he may stop into Therapy Bar, since he has never heard of it (STRAIGHT!), to say hello and have a drink. I don't think that he is interested in me. I don't even think he is gay. I just think he is French. I also think he may be trying to win the girl by winning the friend. Again, the focus shifts. Now, it's is back to Joely. A question. An answer. Another question. A giggle from both parties. Finally an answer. Back to me. This is when I notice one peculiar ambiguous signal about Olivier. His eyes. They aren't bedroom eyes. But they are flirty eyes. The are intense and always burning. They have a motive or a secret behind them. These are the eyes Joely and I are receiving when eye-to-eye. I am not interested in France. I don't enjoy the French Language and my annoyance is bubbling for Olivier. I am too drunk to care. I think to myself..."skip this part." So, after what seemed like ten minutes (3 in actuality), I excused myself to the men's room affording Olivier and Joely a moment alone.

I return. France is paying his tab. This affords Joely and I a few seconds to make knowing eye contact that said a million things in the blink of an eye.
It said...

"do you like him?"
"do you think he's in to me?"
"do you think he's attractive?"
"do you think he's weird?"
"do you think he's gay?"
"do you think he's straight?"
"what do you think?"
and finally...
"whateva! who cares?!"

He returns. He says a proper good-bye. He shakes my hand. He kisses Joely on both cheeks.
So gentlemanly.
So ambiguous.
So metrosexual.
So 2006.
So AGGRAVATING!!!
Sooooo FRENCH!

That did not stop us from discussing him and debating his sexuality for the remainder of our 2nd beer at the bar Bin 71. Yes, we ordered a second. It's the French's fault. Olivier owes us $14. We ordered that beer under the assumption that he had an agenda (with one of us) and we were bound and determined to go broke and get drunk figuring him out.

Salut!

Visit www.mymixedcompany.com to read Joely's take on the French Invasion!