NEW YORK CITY – It’s a few days after New York’s historic same-sex marriage ruling and I’m here for the long weekend, mostly going to the theatre but also seeing my friend Michael, a Canadian who’s lived here for years. We keep in constant text, but there’s nothing like catching up over a drink or two.
Neither of us is in the mood for throbbing music or pumped-up Chelsea boys, so we decide on the Townhouse, a bar in the upper 50s that caters to, as the website puts it, “NYC’s upscale professional gay clientele.”
I cringe at the elitism of that phrase but have to admit there’s a touch of old New York elegance about the place: understated furnishings, tasteful lighting. It’s easy to imagine Henry James walking up the carpeted stairs and tipping his top hat to the doorman. Project Runway’s silver fox fashion guru, Tim Gunn, allegedly frequents the place.
We’ve been joking about the Townhouse for years – the same way we’ll often muse about one day reaching our twilight years and finding ourselves still single.
“We can have our own table at the Townhouse. Keep a tab. Request show tunes at the piano bar.”
“Room together, like the Golden Girls.”
We laugh, but there’s a bit of truth to it, as if we’re testing a flame. We’re both single again. Michael’s currently discussing a 23-year-old he met online who’s looking for something serious.
“We have lots to talk about, but where’s it going to go? He’s half my age.”
“Well,” I say, “you never know.” I keep checking my phone. The day before, I had a date and he’s only texted me once since.
Then the pianist starts a song that sounds familiar.
“When I fall in love, it will be forever,” begins the singer in a lovely lilting tenor that causes the room to quiet down.
“… or I’ll never fall in love.”
There’s something incongruous about hearing this romantic ballad sung so beautifully by a little guy who’s obviously seen his 70th birthday.
Conversations have stopped. You can only hear the clink of ice cubes melting in glasses, the piano, and his voice singing hopefully about restless worlds, moonlight kisses and holding out for that one, true love.
glenns@nowtoronto.com
