Last week I met an old chum after work for cocktails at a hotel bar in Laguna Beach. After ordering drinks and food, we chatted about the state of his recent marriage, which, from the sound of it, was progressing just as I thought it would, which is to say, already fraught with drama. I was wearing my new Ferragamo loafers with the silver bit and chisel-toe silhouette.
Over a glass of wine I scanned our surroundings. I was the object, I noticed, of discreet attention from the ladies in the vicinity. I saw a young blonde walk in and sit at the bar. She ordered a drink and checked her iPhone. Looking around the bar, she spotted my friend and walked over to say hi to him. They were old colleagues at an investment firm. After some small talk she returned to the bar, where she was soon met by a cute brunette in a black dress.
My friend and I returned to our conversation. I found his tales of freshly-married life most entertaining. After another hour or so, we decided to leave. I popped into the gents and when I returned to the table, my chum was grinning and giggling like a little kid with a delicious secret.
"What's up with you?" I asked.
"While you were gone, _____ came over and said her friend wants to meet you", he replied.
On the way out we stopped by the bar. My friend introduced me--a lost art, I must say. I chatted with my young admirer as I rested my arm on the back of her chair. She indeed was quite cute, probably a 7.75 or 8, vaguely Eastern European-looking, with a hot body in a slutty black dress. She laughed at my comments. I noticed her checking out my Rolex, shoes, and Tiffany cufflinks. After a few minutes I was bored. We said our goodbyes and left.
Outside, as we waited for our motor cars, my friend was agitated. "Why didn't you get her number?", he asked me repeatedly. "What were you thinking?"
I thought about it for a moment. "I wasn't into her. The fact she revealed her interest in me was a distinct turn-off. For a man, there is no value in being chased. He must be the hunter." Or something like that.
That was true enough. But another reason, I fear, is that I'm becoming indifferent. Indifferent not only to pretty girls, but also to life itself. All of this could end at any moment, I keep reminding myself. Is this the state of (inner) freedom I've worked so hard to achieve, or merely the symptoms of an icy heart?
Perhaps I'm only over-thinking it and need another drink.