About six months after my divorce, I decided to accept the company's long-standing offer and transfer to New York. Being a small-town guy from the Midwest, I was a little intimidated about moving to such a big city, but I felt like the change would do me good. Most of my friends had been my ex-wife's friends first, so I was beginning to feel isolated. If some woman had come along in those six months to pique my interest, I might have stayed longer to see if the relationship might go somewhere, but no such luck.
I was familiar enough with New York to know that the hardest part of the move would be finding an affordable place to live. I moved into corporate housing, thinking I might have to stay for several weeks, but I lucked out when one of my co-workers put me onto a friend of hers with a great apartment in Brooklyn who was looking for a roommate. She said he was a great guy about my age, 36, a hard-working professional but a lot of fun to be around.
"He's gay, in case you have a problem with that," she said.
"Just because I'm from small town doesn't mean I'm narrow-minded," I said. "As long as he's a good roommate, I don't really care what he does in his private life."
"Great," she said, and gave me his email, promising to let him know of my interest.
That afternoon I sent him a note.
"Hi, Rob. I got your email from my co-worker, Rachel, who said you are looking for a roommate. I'd be interested, if you're willing to live with a small-town guy who is something of a neatnik and spends too much time watching old movies."
Fifteen minutes later I got his answer.
"Hi, Dave. I'm not much for old movies but I am a bit of a slob, so it'd be great to have someone pick up after me. Why don't we get together for coffee and talk?"
He's got a sense of humor, I thought, so that's promising.
It turned out that we worked within eight blocks of each other in Manhattan, so we agreed to meet after work that day for coffee. When it came time to describe what we were wearing so we'd recognize each other, it turned out we were wearing the same work uniform: khakis, blue dress shirt, no tie.
"Well, great, my potential roommate is my twin," he wrote. "At least tell me you're wearing colorful socks."
"Bright red," i replied. "My one fashion indulgence is bright socks."
"Shouldn't be too hard to spot," he said. "See you at six."
I left the office a little before 6 and started walking. It was a beautiful evening, and I dreaded going back later to my corporate place, which was nicely furnished but a little sterile for my taste. But with few friends so far in New York, I didn't have a lot of options.
When I got to the coffee shop a guy I thought might be Rob was just going in. He stopped and glanced at me questioningly, so I put my hands in my pockets and pulled up my pant legs so the red socks would show.
"I'd know you anywhere," he said, and walked over to shake hands.
My first thought was what a good-looking guy he was. Sandy blond hair, fashionably mussed, green eyes, regular features, slim build, athletic-looking, maybe a swimmer. But his best feature was a killer smile, which he flashed while looking at you in a sidelong way, like he was sizing you up.
I guess I passed the first test, because he looked around and said, "It's too nice to sit inside. How about getting a drink over there?"
He pointed to a casual-looking place across the street with a few tables out front.
"Sure," I said.
We crossed over and sat down.
"What'll you have?" he asked.
"Beer," I said. "Whatever's on tap."
When the waitress came he ordered two IPAs and turned to look at me.
"So," he said. "Rachel said you're looking for a place you can afford. That puts you in a group of, say, four million people."
"Yeah, I'm kind of intimidated, to tell you the truth. I've been to New York many times but only to Manhattan, and everything I've looked at here is at the high end of my price range or out of it altogether. I don't know the other boroughs at all."
"Rents are ridiculous everywhere," Rob said. "Most people I know have to double up to afford a decent place."
He went on to describe the apartment and the neighborhood, and I asked questions about the proximity to the train and what the neighbors and landlord were like and so on. We finished the beers and ordered two more, and the talk flowed pretty easily.
"Now for the big issue," he said, getting serious. "Rachel told you I'm gay, right?"
"Yep."
"Is that a problem?"
"Nope."
"Yep? Nope? You really are a midwesterner."
"Yeah, can't help that," I said. "But I don't have a problem living with a gay guy if you don't have a problem living with a straight one."
"My last roommate was a straight guy who said the same thing," Rob said. "But as it turned out, he did have a problem."
"Oh?" I said.
"Yes," he said. "For awhile I had a friend - not exactly a boyfriend, more like a friend with benefits - who stayed over from time to time. I guess we were pretty loud in bed because the next morning the guy would be real quiet, almost like he was pouting."
"Shocked at what he was hearing?" I asked.
"Nah, I don't think so," Rob said. "More like he was jealous."
"You really think so?"
"I had the feeling sometimes he had a thing for me he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge," he said. "But he never made a move and I sure as hell wasn't going to. Irony is that after he moved out my FWB got into a more serious relationship with someone else, and I have hardly seen him since."
"How long ago was that?"
"Couple of months."
"And you've been paying the rent yourself?"
"Yes," Rob said, "and I'm pretty much tapped out."
There was a pause while I thought.
"I"m starving," I said. "Should we order some food?"
"I was hoping you'd say that," he said, flashing that killer smile. "I haven't had anything since breakfast."
We ordered burgers and fries and another couple of beers and had a long talk. I found myself liking him - not in a romantic way, of course, but Rachel was right, he was fun to be around. He had a sly wit and turned out to be really up on the news, as I try to be, so we talked about a lot of things before dinner was done.
"I've really enjoyed this," he said. "Why don't you come by Saturday and look at the apartment, and if you like it you can move in whenever."
"Great," I said.
When the bill came I insisted on paying, overriding his objection by reminding him he was paying full rent.
"Okay," he said, "but I'll pay you back my making lunch when you come over."
"Deal," I said, and we shook hands.
Before splitting up to go our own ways we shook hands once more and again he flashed that killer smile.
"See you Saturday," he said. "I'll email you directions for the train."
"Ciao."
That was a Thursday night. A day and a half later I took the subway to Brooklyn and walked the five or six blocks to Rob's apartment. On the way I stopped at a liquor store to buy a six-pack.
When I got to the building he was standing out front.
"Wanted to make sure you found it OK," he said as we shook hands.
I looked above the door.
"Dude, the numbers on the building are almost a foot high," I said.
He looked up.
"So they are," he said. "I never noticed."
We laughed, and he flashed the smile again, but I got the feeling he had been really eager to see me.
We went inside. The apartment was on the second floor in the back, with big windows and wooden floors that had been redone not too long ago. The kitchen appliances were old, except for a new gas stove, and the single bathroom needed updating, but everything was clean and appeared to be in good working order. The vacant room wasn't large but it had built-in bookshelves on the inside wall and one window overlooking a tiny back yard. The old tenant had left a large mirror, a desk and a chest of drawers, all in good condition.
"It's great," I said.
"Yours if you want it," Rob said.
We went through the numbers one more time - rent, cable, internet and so on - settled everything. Then we shook on it. I was pleased, and Rob clearly was, too.
"Let's have lunch," he said.
"Beer first," I said.
Over lunch we talked, a lot. Rob asked all kinds of questions about my home town, and I asked about his (he was from Vermont). He didn't exactly ask questions about my failed marriage, but he somehow let me know he'd listen if I wanted to talk about it. So I told him about my ex-wife, that we'd met in college, got married too young, tried to have a family but stopped after two miscarriages, and how we drifted apart to the point where neither of us had much to say to each other.
Rob in turn told me about his first boyfriend, who had treated him badly, and his second, who he had really loved but have moved across country to take a job offer he couldn't refuse. That was six months ago, he said, and since then he'd had a few dates and the one FWB, but nothing serious.
Before I knew it it we had gone through the six-pack. I would have liked to hang out more, I told Rob, but I had arranged to meet some co-workers for dinner that night and I needed to do a couple things beforehand.
"I need to get a bed, too," I said.
"There's a couple of mattress stores on the next block," he said. "And until you get something I can set you up with a blow-up bed."
"That would be great," I said.
"Do you need help moving?"
"All I've got with me is two big suitcases and a few boxes of books. I can probably get it over here in a taxi if it's one of those minivan types. All the rest of my stuff is in storage back home."
"How soon do you want to move in?"
"Tomorrow OK?"
