On January 22, 2010, Le Poisson Rouge hosted an MMP vs BBG party. My NYC crew had never been to a Madonna-Michael Jackson-Prince-Beyonce-Britney Spears-Lady Gaga party before, so we ditched our usual ports of call and headed to the West Village.
It was a completely different scene, not just because the proximity to NYU populated the milieu with young unjaded minds, but also because the digital video art flickering within the many flatscreens accompanying the pop tunes from 1989 to 2009 was a stark relief from the pulsating strobe lights we had grown too accustomed to.
Soaking it all in at the end of the bustling bar, I first noticed Lacey across the room standing with three of her friends. Having only Tony by my side, we were clearly outnumbered so I relegated myself to enjoying the new vibe and catching up with my compadre.
But alas, looking up a while later, she had wandered from the pack. Loitering at the bar oasis in search of further refreshments for her friends.
A hop and a skip later, I was by her side striking up a conversation that started with music and then freestyled through California connections and New York states of mind. Eventually as her friends dragged her away, warning her that I was just some punk NYU undergrad who was “too young” for her, I burst into a spontaneous dance to the Jackson 5ive’s “I Want You Back”. Because after seeing her phone number glowing back from my phone in that dark room, I knew that she would give me one more chance…
After our first dinner date at De Santos, I gave her a mixtape I blended together with the vibes of Tribe, the grooves of the Beasties and the harmonies of the Zombies; artists who could do a much better job than I at expressing how I felt.
On May 31, 2012, after weeks of careful planning, I asked Lacey out to dinner. Ostensibly, we were going out to celebrate my new promotion, which unbeknownst to Lacey, I had actually received several weeks prior.
When the hostess at Bell, Book & Candle, the West Village rooftop-to-table restaurant “mysteriously” could not find our reservation, I suggested we go next door to….
That’s right, dear reader; the same restaurant where we had our first dinner date three winters before. And it “just so happened” that by walking in without a reservation, the best seat in the house in the corner of the outdoor patio garden happened to be available.
Talking about my work promotion, after biting my tongue for so long, I was able to distract her from dwelling on the significance too much. It wasn’t until I got down on bended knee under the Washington Square Arch and started reading my poem that she realized what in fact we were celebrating that night.
