Adventures of Finn: Part 1 - Was this love?

This is part of a multi-story series that chronicles my adventures with a man named Finn. I recently read it as part of The Tortured Bloggers Department literary salon in NYC hosted by Cara Alwil.

PART 1: Was This Love?

It was a text exchange I’ll never forget.  He said entertain me.  I said I’m not one of your little whores; I asked him where he was.  He said I’m in Chelsea at a bar.  

I instantly felt my stomach turn, I felt something bad was going to happen and all I wanted to do was tell him to run.  He apologized and promised that he would make time to get lunch.  

I never heard from him - assuming he was in the depth of a bitchy little tissey; that seemed to be a pattern for him.  Or perhaps drowning somewhere in his sorrows, between divorce, rehab, and an Irish Catholic family that would often nurse him back to health. 

I would find his obituary online 3 weeks later, dated the next day after our text exchange.  I felt like I was in a movie - the ones where the room gets blurry, all the noises start to feel muffled, and you begin to wonder how to breathe because you feel your soul being suffocated alive. 

Three years later I would walk into a Victorian mansion in rural upstate NY to receive an apology from him. But the thing was, he was dead and what happen next challenged every belief I ever held.  But before we get there let me take you back to the beginning.  And like any good story it started with buying the perfect dress. 

There are very few things in life that can compare to the sense of accomplishment you feel when you have earned enough EXPRESS points to redeem a $45 coupon.  It was 2013 and a $45 coupon was a BIG DEAL.  I remember trying this dress on, I was with my cousin, she rocks Costco everything and I am likely to dress up for almost everything I attend - I said I love it - she said get it - I said should I?  

I did, I bought that dress and it made me feel like a woman that was unstoppable.  It was a thick black and white striped bandage style fitted tubetop midi dress.  It hugged all my curves  … my newly found curves.  I had spent the last 4 years living in LA and I discovered quinqua and strength training and I was learning how to navigate the new body I was walking around in.  

New York City was a different kind of animal back then, dare I say it was a time you could still have fun and if you got extra lucky have a cigarette indoors without being run out of town. 

I have interesting friends and in their company I have always found myself in very unique rooms, from behind the scene events, underground parties, hidden entrances, to after hours spots mingling with artists, designers, and everyone in between.  That’s the thing about New York you set out with one plan and by the time the night ends it’s been a journey of decades and dimensions you never could have imagined - I miss those nights, but I value my sleep and cortisol levels way to much these days to have them quiet as often.

On this particular night, zipped into my EXPRESS dress - I felt fierce and bold.  The shoe always makes the outfit for me and I painstakingly paired heel after heel waiting for the right shoe to speak to me.  I settled on a pair of ALDO’s finest.  Despite loving these shoes I have come to conclude that ALDO was truly out to torture women; out of every shoe brand I traipsed around NYC with the promised pain of an ALDO shoe was next level.  

The irony is not lost on me: a man designing a painful experience that I just kept going back and back for more of. 

Back to the shoe, it was a low ankle stiletto bootie, with a peep toe and a big silver zipper that zipped up the front.  I can just remember the feel of that zipper as I slowly pulled it up, feeling the leather cradle my foot, I was locked in and ready.  

The night started at Rafina, a Greek supper-club over near that entrance to the mid-town tunnel.  My Greek friends knew the owner and I was not turning down an opportunity to listen to live Greek music, throw money, smoke cigarettes indoors, and eat lemon potato’s .  The thing that I love about the Greeks is that dinner seems to always be served around 10pm which was perfect for a night that promised not to end until the early morning. 

A significant amount of OPAs later I found myself headed downtown in a cab toward Grand Street with a beautiful man.  Now this beautiful man is not the man this story is about; I had met this man on our frist day of college.  It was impossible not to notice him, he had piercing blue eyes, a sweet and soft smile, blonde hair, and was 6’7. We were inseparable kindred spirits and would go on to travel the world together for the next 13 years, supporting each other through his coming out, my move across the country to LA and the messy middles that life throws at us - we did it all together and laughed through most of it. 

He had charisma and charm that was impossible to match.  I would just observe him in awe (almost like observing an animal in their natural habitat) in his element, working doors, slipping past velvet ropes, making introductions and just drawing in curious attention from anyone in his proximity.  I would often wonder to myself how he did it?  

On this particular night on a quiet street in Soho in front of an unassuming door, he worked his magic.  I was trained well, I would often smile and follow in behind him curious to see where the door that opened would lead us.  The space was small, dimly lit, and filled with beautiful model type people - in my head I said to myself, “Just be cool Ava, you can hang with these people.”  

I challenged the fierce energy I had felt in my dress and the night began to unfold.  As my buddy headed to the bathroom, I found myself alone at the bar, he had instructed me to order us 2 vodka club soda doubles and I did.  I’ll never forget the sticker shock of those 2 drinks, $68 dollars the bartender said.  I smiled handing him my AMEX thinking (my god he better work his charm and make friends with people who have a bottle service when he gets back from the bathroom).  

As I guarded that drink with my life waiting for him to return, I stood at the bar alone. I told myself as I felt the wave of anxiety rush over my body standing alone by myself in this dark cave of beautiful people  … just relax, act cool, like you belong here  …and can actually afford these drinks,  … smile, look enchanting.  I guess my instructions to myself shifted the energy I was putting out because the next thing I knew the manager of the club popped up next to me said “I just had to come over and talk to you.” 

The insecure little girl that was living inside of me said to herself “You did? You just had to come over and talk to me in a sea of all these women?” - I smiled charmingly as he followed that statement up with “I have never seen someone talk with such ridiculous hand gestures.  I had to come say hi.”

I laughed so genuinely at the stereotype of being Italian and talking with our hands - it couldn’t have been more true than in that moment. 

He had beautiful green eyes that sparkled, he was tall, skinny, and had longish light ginger hair; I was in love.  Captivated by his smile, drunk off our sarcastic banter, I was wondering what was happening.  Was it me?  Was it the dress?  Was is the vodka and club soda doubles?  As my friend returned from the bathroom I excitedly introduced him to (we will call him Finn).  

I excused myself and headed off to the bathroom, Finn gave me a look and I could feel him excuse himself from the bar shortly after me.  Down a dark narrow hallway I picked a bathroom door and popped in, my heart was racing and a million things were running through my head: was my makeup running, did I look sweaty, were my hair extensions showing, did I need more lip gloss, god this dress is fabulous - AND THEN a knock at the door.  I opened it quickly without even thinking and Finn slipped in.  

The black walls of the bathroom surrounded us, the candle flickering by the sink and beams of dim light danced across our faces.  There was passion in our kiss and by the time Flinn slipped back out I found myself wondering if it had all even been real.  

Drunk on beautiful lust I made my way back to the bar, it was written all over my face when my friend saw me.  He didn’t like Finn and felt a beautiful disaster was about to take shape.  Living somewhere between a full on smile, a spinning head, and an imagination of possibility I partied the night away.  As 4am rolled around and the dim little cave was getting ready to turn the lights on, I’d find myself down the same dark hallway again, except this time I look a left through a kitchen in the back and up a short flight of stairs that lead me to an office. 

As Finn sat there in his Managers chair I admired his face, the sharp contours of his cheekbones, the definition of his jaw - he could have been a model.  As the EXPRESS dress made its way up to my hips - I stopped Finn and said: I can’t do this.  He gave me an understanding look as I proceeded to say: I refuse to have this happen while I’m wearing Target underwear. 

That night began an emotional journey of lust and love, living and addiction, questioning what it means to be a grown up, and the power of supernatural energy.  

Part 2: Flirting and Filet Mignon …

Ava G. is a NYC-based lifestyle writer, blogging about finding little moments of joy. When she’s not on an adventure, she works as a creative brand strategist, helping founders creatively grow their brands.