"Marco....POLO"
"MAH-RR-COHH....VENTURA!My last name is VENTURA (VEN-TU-RAH)"
"Marco Ventura"
"No.. it's "VEN-TU-RAH" not "VENTURA (ventura blvd. ca)
"Okay.. let me try again.. Marco Ven..to..tur..ahh-- whatever."
It was a hot summer night and my friends wanted to go grab dinner in the East Village restaurant called Via Zocollete. We knew a guy who worked there, his name was Franky. Franky was a character, def. one of a kind. When we walked in, he would look at us up and down, smile with a huge grin and eyes bulging out in a "AMERICAN GIRLS. BAIT!" type of way. From there he would double kiss on the cheeks, every single one of us, and sat us to the booth. "How, we doing ladies, where are you girls doing tonight? There's a party later tonight, huge party. We are having drink specials, LOUD music, really loud music. The crowd is happening! Young students, party!! What are you guys doing later!?!". Twenty minutes later, after the busboy brought us our grilled bread basket and the bartender Giovanni placed complimentary prosecco, Franky's phone rang. " Be right back, girls, enjoy the drinks, get your orders in, the veal is (KISS!) delicious... let me know what you guys want to do later. Be right back, call!"
While we were eating our dinner, loud bartenders in the back, speaking loudly in Italian, I felt as if I was in Rome again. Oh yes, that one month in cold January during sophmore year of college, I studied Art History in Venice. We traveled all across Italy during the weekends, Florence, Rome, Siena, Milan! We left our American gratitude to the Italian people by stealing a piece of history from the Roman coliseum, pissing the Italians off on the Eurostar by chattering about how Britney Spears will kill herself, and ofcourse throwing AMERICAN change into the Trevi Fountain. Well I wonder if the Roman gods are following my every step now with the Lucky Lincoln penny I threw in.
Back to last summer; As we were eating our meal, Frankie came by, and sat next to us, particularly me.
"Hey are you single?" He asked. I was gulping down my wine, thinking to myself how this man with two small kids and a wife, with their home in suburbia can hit on someone like myself.
"NO.Not looking either!"
He moved closer to me, as my arm hair raised up and I was getting slightly uncomfortable.
"So here's the deal, there's this kid, Marco. He's really shy, he's not like anyone I met, a really good kid. But hey, he really likes you and he wants you to have his number."
"I don't know.. who is this? I'm really not sure about this.. I don't really don't take numbers from guys, they call---"
"That's him!! Marco!! Right there!"
I turned to where his finger was pointing at. Mind you, Franky also had a bit much to drink and was pointing as if he saw a biblical person come back from the dead. "Right THERE!!!MARCO!!". By now, most people including the customers were staring at this idiot who spoke nothing other than "Marco! Look!! See!!". I was staring blankly at a Mexican busboy and although I am not racist nor opposed to Mexicans, I thought Franky meant a younger guy, someone my age. Not a Mexican male with a big beer gut, one in his late 30's.
"So what do you think, can you give him your number. He never asked anyone out like this, He never does this, I'm even surprised!! Come on! What do you have to lose!"
"Frankie, him? He's a bit old..." I replied.
Frankie turned to the same person I was unimpressed by and replied "NO! Not him, HIM!". There was Marco, busy bringing plates of food back and forth, in black, not tall, not short either. He was Italian, and the only one out of the rest who had dark blonde hair.He saw us for a quick second, and smiled. Then went back to doing his job. I hesitated and wrote down my number on a napkin. To say I wasn't completely interested is a lie.
A couple of days, in fact, three days passed. It was Monday afternoon and I had located a new yoga center called the Laughing Lotus in Chelsea. My friend Noelisa was meeting me and we decided we wanted to try out a class. After a hot sweaty hour of downward dogs, cobra and sun salutations, I checked my phone and saw NEW MESSAGE.
Here the text stated: Ehi, this is Marco from Via Zoccolette. Want to meet after my work? I was shocked. Initially at his response, and then at the 3'Day rule. You may have heard, guys don't call girls until the 3 day rule. So you don't appear overly eager and a stalker. The Italians do it too? Then I realized this is completely idiotic and he barely speaks english, so I wrote back something like " Can't, sorry. I don't live in the city, I'm going home". A few hours later in the evening, my phone buzzed again, " Ehi, this is Marco, when can we meet?"
The following Thursday, I had set myself on a blind date. Yes, I, ME, I set myself up. I did not tell my friends whom I had dinner with either. I decided to meet him in Times square at a happy hour event hosted by the Garden of Eden, a new bar lounge that opened after The China Club. We decided to meet at 42nd and 8th Avenue. When I got there at the corner, I called him. God lord, what did I get myself into. He barely spoke a word of english and I had to make conversations by phone short and to the point. "Meet FOUR'TWO STREET!! EIGHT AVENUE!! I WAIT YOU HERE!!"
The response I would get was " Ok, Bene, I am on Broadway, I coming now"
Minutes pass, and I look around the guys coming towards me. One was jewish, clearly. Nope, can't be him either, not the Mexican, Oh I hope that's him?! Dammit.."
Then a dark haired guy, big eyes, nike uptowns in neon accents, Euro styled designer jeans, leather jacket and button down from within. Marco Ventura.
As the night progressed we winded up in Eden's garden to Meatpacking Village. I talked endlessly on broad topics. We did have a long conversation on designers and shopping, and I started to think he was gay. He shared a room with his room mate, a boy named Andrea and another Italian. He was here for a couple of months, he likes New York. He comes from what he calls a VILLAGE. It was 10:30, close to 11, and we had met around 6-630. We walked to the train to get me back home. The subway doors opened at Queensborough plaza where he was supposed to get off for his ride back to Astoria. I thought to myself, well atleast I made a new friend. Suddenly another buzz to my phone, this time it read:
" Ehi. It was nice to meet you. I hope we meet soon, get home safe. One Kiss. Marco."
One Kiss.. I kind of like that.
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