The Model (Part 1)

After NY, I went to London for work and met a girl who was a model. She was taller than me, had a figure that would give teenage girls body issues, and was way out of my league. But, when I met her she must have been bored and I must have been barely charming enough to entertain her. Some colleagues said they thought she was into me, and I agreed but couldn’t understand why. We talked some more and eventually she posed the question, “So do you want my number?” “umm, uh, yeah. Yeah totally” I smoothly replied. She took my phone and plugged in her info. “What are you doing tomorrow night?” she asked. “I have no plans” I said. “Do you want to grab some drinks and see the real London?” she continued. I was down (and was hoping that "the real London" was some kind of euphemism), and she told me she would call me when she woke up.

Well, I didn’t hear from her until 4pm. I got a text saying she just woke up – it was a crazy night, and she’d call me later when she knew the plan. Now, I haven't had a night crazy enough to sleep till 4 in over a decade, but I'm in another country so I just figure its so European to party like that. At 7 I hadn’t heard anything so I gave her a call... she was at the park with friends, but was going to have drinks at her place later and call me in a bit.

The call came at 12:30am (booty call time for most people, but brunch time for a party girl). So I bought some liquor and headed over there. When I showed up, I was pretty sure I was at the wrong place. Her apartment was what I imagine the real life “RENT” apartment was – it felt like a crack house but dirtier. She didn’t even have a refrigerator (I guess models don’t eat anyway), and she was wearing the same outfit as the day before. Her roommate was out of town, and she was subletting the room to a gay couple from another country (but currently they were in a corner making out) and also, they don’t speak any English.

A few of her friends showed up – one girl who seemed like a cool lesbian, and another girl who was totally drunk, and bleeding. Apparently she fell off her bike on her way over. (They should teach kids not to drink and ride in school). I don’t do well with blood, so of course she must sense this and bloody girl doesn’t leave me alone. She takes at least 30 pictures of me and keeps patting my face, telling me how “lovely” I was. Then a guy walks in that they know, but wasn’t invited. He doesn’t say a single word, but he has a new tattoo on his chest that is also bleeding. While bloody girl touches my face, bloody boy steals the vodka and leaves.

The model saves me from bloody girl and we go into her room to look at pictures of her from a big fashion campaign, various other shoots, and some naked ones. I am kind of freaked out by the whole place at this point and can't enjoy it. I feel like AIDS is everywhere around me, and am afraid if any body part with a mucous membrane was exposed to her apartment it could potentially contract a disease and fall off. I didn't want to touch anything, and wished I carried toilet seat covers with me so I'd be relaxed enough to sit down.

Eventually, the guests left and I felt as uncomfortable as I imagine a trip to the ob gyn must be. This was no place for a nice Jewish boy from NY, but when model girl asked if I wanted to go to a party (it was now 3:30am), I said sure…because I knew I needed an ending for this story....

SO HOW WAS LAST NIGHT? Tune in next time to find out.