He´s so fine
(Do-lang-do-lang-do-lang)
Wish he were mine
(Do-lang-do-lang-do-lang) … 1
Girls, don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean.
We’ve all fantasized ourselves in this scene…
The corner of 55th and Broadway. New York. A pouring rainy day, and I needed a cab.
So I staked the southwest corner, raised my hand (a New York must), and prayed. Then he strode in.
Three feet … to my left.
STOP!!! That’s a New York no, no.
But he was cute. Actually fine, with two syllables, not one. A Vin Diesel knockoff, but younger, and tight. Black tee, jeans, leather jacket. I had prayed for a cab, but … he was fine.
New York is nothing but lines. Bus stop, movies, $5.49 per pound buffets. For Broadway tickets, Sunday services (just kidding. Seeing if you’re paying attention.) You name it, we line it. And when someone cuts in front, we get pissed, and defend, to the death (not yours, theirs). What we don’t do is tell them to move.
Not directly. We talk, about them, loudly, with anyone who’ll listen. As the line moves we roll our eyes, throw a shoulder check (popular with football players), or my favorite – do a booty back up. Which only works if you got butt (that’s a big butt or little butt with big tude (that’s attitude)). Cut us, we cut back.
The rain began pouring down my back. He may be cute, but he was the enemy.
“… were you here first?”
“WHAT!” That wasn’t in the script. Don’t throw me off.
“It’s okay.” Hel-lo!! Obviously my brain was sogging out. Remind yourself, he was cute but it took him at least four seconds to notice me. I was wet, but still cute. Humph.
But it had been a good morning. Technically summer was gone and winter was now a when instead of whenever, but the early fall rain had cleansed the city. And it was still warm. And the tourists (albeit needed) were no longer underfoot.
So a decision had to be made – him or me? His cab or mine? Him or …
“Where are you going?” Me.
He didn’t seem shocked. This probably happened to him all the time. He lost brownie points.
“42nd and Madison.” Him.
“43rd and Broadway.” Me. Actually 43rd and 8th, but what’s a block.
“Want to share? Me.
“Sure.” Him, without a pause.
Cocky little dawg.
An epiphany. They shared a cab. Their eyes met, the world stopped, and then … Here I would like to thank Mother Nature (for the rain), the New York Taxi & Limousine Commission (for the scarcity of cabs), my mother (sorry, another bad joke), and God, who just then sent an on duty empty cab.
He held open the door. But I screwed up by letting him get in first. (If you don’t get this, please stop reading.)
He gave the driver directions – 43rd and Broadway (he remembered), then 42nd and Madison. He earned back those brownie points + more.
Say something, my brain (yes, it was my brain) screamed.
“How’s your day going?” Skipping a yes or no question made up for the seating guffaw (and if you’re still wondering why, I told you, STOP READING).
“Pretty good.” Nice pause. “I didn’t want to get up.” Smile. From him. To me.
I had a hot flash – not before my eyes.
This time a sun drenched room of white – sheets, comforter, furniture, walls. The whole shebang.
Men, yes, this is what women do. No it’s not normal. No it’s not healthy. But it’s no worse than your fantasies. The only difference is yours stops after the sex. Ours conclude with the “I do”. “I do, I do, I do”.
He was still smiling.
“Me either.” Keep the talk going. “But I’m popping in the office for a file…” Which reminds me, why are you in the streets midmorning? Do not tell me now he doesn’t have a job? “… then I’m going home … and take a nap. That’s nice when it rains.” Hint. HINT. BIG HINT.
Silence.
Hey George. Work with me here.
“What’s the weather going to be?” Him. Thank you God. Me.
“Pouring rain north, drizzle in the city. Hopefully a nice weekend.” Me.
And I’m single. Hello?
“Good.”
No bad. Oh he meant the weather.
“Left or right side?” Cab driver.
“Right.” Me.
I hand Him three dollars.
“That’s too much. Two if fine.” He hands one back. Chivalrous. And he must have a job.
The cab stops. I get out. The sun goes under again. I walk away.
“Hey, have a good day,” he hollers out the window.
I turn. Smile. “You have a good weekend.” Cuz bud you just missed out on the best thing to cross your life, I thought as I trundled my middle aged body toward the office.
And I’m good. It was still a good day.
And I’m so fine
(Do-lang-do-lang-do-lang)
He’ll wish he were mine
(Do-lang-do-lang-do-lang) …
1 “He’s So Fine”, written by Ronnie Mack, sung by the Chiffons – 1963
