"Google Me"

“Meddy, would you like to be on NYC Housewives and on HBO, Entourage? You would be with me as a guest on the show. xx” Text received 2:30 pm. How might you respond to this? Perhaps we should start from the beginning.

“No meter.. $5 dolla” What began as a harmless end of summer Tuesday evening out with my friend Marina, ended in us bartering with a cab driver to take me back to Brooklyn from midtown Manhattan for 5 dollars… not gonna happen. Instead we settled for a 20 dollar cab ride to the Lower East Side and a trip down Duane Reade’s snack aisle. The next morning I woke up with a pounding headache and a death grip to a bag of peanut butter M&M's. (I have a tendency of doing this - waking up Sunday mornings with some sort of food in hand or crusted on my face... most often consisting of peanut butter in some capacity .. jars.. candy coated shells...chocolate covered...yikes... maybe that’s better than waking up to some other things?) I slowly realized not only was it not the weekend but I also was not going to have enough time to get back to Brooklyn, change and get to Grand Central in time to be at my internship with an executive search firm. Instead I was going to have to try and fit my 5’10’ self into the wardrobe of my 5’1” friend. Dear god. I managed to find a black dress of questionable length and slipped into the office praying I would not have to engage in any conversation.

I took my lunch break trying to walk off my hangover and found myself aimlessly wandering. In mid town Manhattan, you hardly find people doing this; walking at an annoyingly slow pace, head up in the sky, no headphones, no phone conversation just a slow staggering stroll… most people have somewhere to be, something to do. As I passed a parking garage around the corner from my internship a man in a (insert some expensive designer) suit stopped me and asked me my name. It’s funny how someone asking me my name on the street really weirds me out in this city whereas a man pissing on the corner of Calyer and Lorimer every day at 8:10am on my morning commute to work, or the construction workers that whistle and make crude comments about my butt or the 5 foot polish man on Manhattan Avenue who insists on grabbing my hand, kissing it and not letting me move until I tell him I am "his girl"... I have learned not to flinch… strange.

So, I told him my name and we got to talking about what I do in the city, what I want to eventually do in fashion ..yada yada. He then introduced himself and for confidentiality purposes lets call him V. So V tells me he's a VP of a "small hedge fund" (what does this mean?... I really don’t know..) called Merrill Lynch and hosts fashion charity balls, nothing big. Right. He asks what it is that I am trying to do here, I pointed at the building and said I intern for an executive search firm and waitress. I then threw out numerous words…terms that one uses when they have no idea what they are talking about but somehow think that using these big words and being extremely vague may mask this very transparent truth… “Fashion. Journalism. Creative. Travel. Cultured.” I sound like a cave man putting words into some totally non-nonsensical order.

Cars started honking at us and I realized the valet had pulled up V’s shiny black Range Rover and a line has formed inside the garage waiting for us to get the hell out of the way. How do I know? A man stepped out of the car in the long line and said "Get the hell out of the way". V asked where I was headed, I said I was on my lunch break. He said lets get lunch, I held up my brown bag and said I already got it. He said can I drive you somewhere? I said this was my internship's building. He said can I at least drive you around the block so we can finish our conversation. V was a nice guy, confident, generous, and intriguing, I was not romantically interested but since traveling I have developed a keen interest in people; what they do, who they are. So against my better judgment, I did what every mother has told you never to do - I hopped in the shiny black Range Rover .

By the time we had rounded the corner and were parked outside of 275 Madison Avenue we had touched on numerous subjects; family, career, hobbies, his sick grandmother in Long Island, why he had 3 different blackberrys, and his first job with a “small fashion house” which when I asked which one he nonchalantly said “Gucci, do you know Gucci?” I looked at him and responded “Just because I’m from Maine doesn’t mean I wear a damn paper sack and live under a rock.”

I was already pushing it on my lunch break and said I really had to head back. He said if I was really serious about fashion he’d like to take me to the Tom Ford fashion show. I said ok let me know the details. He then asked to take me to dinner; he'd even have his driver pick me up. He sensed my hesitation, and said “look you can Google me, I am who I say I am. I sincerely would like to help you out, take you to dinner and just get to know you.” This seemed fair, after all is this any better/worse than meeting someone in a bar? I figured, dinner? Why not? I said I'd take the subway, he again offered to pick me up. Ok I was not about to give this guy my home address (but I will however get into a total strangers car.. yes I most certainly will do that.. because that is totally safe). He further insisted on picking me up. I insisted I'd take the subway, period. So we agreed to meet at 8pm.

After some thorough Google stalking I came to the conclusion that V was 1. telling the truth about his career 2. had to have been lying about his age 3. may or may not have been previously suffering from a fat phase and why anyone in their right mind would allow such a terrible photo represent them on their company website is beyond me.

As usual I was running very late so I called V to see if we could push the time back an hour. He said he would call and change the reservation. Reservation? The only time I go to dinner at places which require a reservation are with either my grandparents or my parents or… prom! Where are we going? I reassessed my outfit and searched through my closet to find most of my nicer clothes rolled into a ball. It reminded me of my first college party when Amanda Stegman, an upper classman, said she would take me to an invite only party off campus. She said to get changed and meet her in her room. I put on a new J Crew crew neck sweater with cute little buttons down the shoulder ( I even undid one button!) and when I went to Amanda’s room feeling really great and excited for my first college party she looked at me and said “Ooooooohhh no. No No NO No No. Where’s your going out top?!” I looked at her like what the hell is a “going out top” and she proceeded to take my sweater off of me and put on one of her T shirts that seriously could have unbuttoned down to my belly button. She looked at me and said “Well, you don’t have much to show anyway I guess”.

When I arrived at V's building the doorman said to go up to the Pent House suite. (What the hell am I doing here?) I got to the top floor and knocked …

V said the only reason he chose the apartment was because every hour you can see the Empire State building change colors. In my head I was thinking the only reason I chose my apartment was because it was so cheap and I didn't need a deposit. He casually offered me a drink, "Grey Goose?" and insisted on showing me around his new place. The place looked so uninhabited. Everything so clean, he barely knew how to turn on his own tv, he didn't even do his own grocery shopping! Who was this guy? I looked around seeing plaques and certificates in frames on his wall. I read allowed ... "Whar-ton School" I sounded each syllable aloud like a little kid first learning how to read... "What's the Wharton School?" (When I repeated this statement to my mother... she said MEDDY, you don’t know the damn Wharton School!?) he responded to my apparently ignorant inquiry with.. you have never heard of the Wharton School? Well supposedly, the Wharton School… it’s the most prestigious business school in the country maybe even the world.

"oh."

We sat down and chatted about his life, career, how he got to where he is now. He told me about his father and how brilliant he was; former UN member and doctor. V idolized his dad. He tried the medical path at his father’s insistence but found it just wasn't for him. I could identify with these feelings; I had my own father as a teacher for 2 years, spent most of my adolescence surrounded by my family and expectations - uncertain of my career path or what my future may be. This was a vulnerable side of V I could relate to. Maybe he was just trying to connect. Connect with someone who may not just value his material wealth and social status. Oooo the Empire State building just turned green….

V hailed a cab, when we got in he said he was taking me to the restaurant he only takes his "top clients". “And what kind of clients do you mean?” He responded, “Well the ones I take special care of.” Little did I know, this mildly creepy statement was the first of many that would ensue. When we arrived at Megu, a swanky downtown sushi bar the owner and chef came out to greet us and show us to “V's table”. We were seated in the center of the room, next to the Buddha ice sculpture in a rose petal pond. A rose petal pond! We were then awkwardly guided over to this sculpture because it is only "good luck" to scoop water from the rose petal pond and pour it on the Buddha before our meal and make a wish.. I felt like an eight foot tall giant next to this tiny Japanese woman explaining the ritual. I could barely hear her. I kept just sort of nodding and smiling and trying to bend down to hear what the hell she was talking about.

When we sat down V ordered two $100 glasses of sparkling sake.. oh and the Kobe beef ... to start. Well I think we may have just covered my month's rent in our appetizers. V leaned in and said "So, what would you say if I called my friend at Glamour magazine and told her that I had her next issue's cover girl sitting in front of me?" In between a large bite of Kobe beef I glanced around the room and said “Where!?” He said “You! I know a lot of people in this city and I think with the right guidance you could be really big”. Really big? Well yeah if I continue to eat out at places like this I will certainly be really big. Confirming this thought he added, I mean you will need to lose about 20 pounds but don’t worry we will just have them photo shop it. I shook my head Noooo way. Not doing it. He said Meddy everything.. EVERYTHING is photo shopped. Yeah, I get that, I just don’t want to be photo shopped out of existence.

Mid way through our entrée’s V said “This may sound totally crazy but what are you doing next week?” I said working. He said well I have a meeting with a client next week either in LA or Las Vegas will you come with me?” I was so confused how did we just sit down to dinner and now we’re talking about a vacation together? I started laughing thinking it was a joke and asked who his client was, he responded Lebron James. I just kept laughing but when I looked up he was dead serious. What? Trying not to resemble a totally starstruck country bumpkin I casually asked who his other clients were and what that meant. He listed off a slew of names whose financial portfolio’s he manages. Many names I did not know (he made sure to give me a disapproving look for my ignorance and then added “google them”) and those that popped right out… hello Curtis Jackson and Shawn Carter.

He said “Look Baby, (the use of this word actually makes me have a physical reaction to the point I can actually taste the bile) I pretty much got Gisele Bundchen her start. I can help you just by bringing you out with me.. You don’t believe me?” He then pulled out his phone and showed me a picture of him in bed with Adriana Lima and the ugliest fluffiest dog that resembled more of a throw pillow than any sort of animal. Trying to look unimpressed (and shocked of how this man was in a bed with Adriana Lima) I said why are you showing this to me? “Because if fashion’s what you want to do I can introduce you to a lot of people in this city but first I have to know that you’re cool. Parties can be crazy and I just have to know you’re cool if I bring you. I got Gisele her start by just bringing her out.” He reminisced about the “good old days”, parties and one time in particular when he met with Curtis for “business” (they’re on a first name basis so I guess that means I can be too for this story) some club’s VIP room. He brought Gisele out when she was just starting her career. He said Curtis’ entourage was passing around a blunt and when it came to her she looked at him and apparently her English wasn’t great at this time and she motioned to V if it was ok for her to smoke. He said it was absolutely crazy, and that at the end of his “business meeting” Curtis was about to stand up to say goodbye but stopped short and zipped his pants as two girls came out from under the table wiping their mouths.

I felt like I had just been shown the door to some secret society of sin where all the members had pledged impulsivity, disregard and gluttony. It was disgusting and intriguing and ironic. Ironic how all the glitter and glisten of this supposedly “glamorous lifestyle” at a closer glance looked about as appealing as the sheen on V’s bald head.

As if this night couldn’t get more outrageous, as V drove me home (sidenote: ask anyone, I have no sense of direction. Don’t even know my lefts and rights.. this comes from my mother’s side. One time I got lost driving to my own pediatrician at the age of 17 why was I still seeing a pediatrician at this age? Is that normal?) he asked if his GPS was taking us the right way. I just said sure. As we approached the Williamsburg Bridge, which Iv only crossed on foot, surprisingly in the city that never sleeps there was not a single car on the bridge. When we got half way across I started seeing headlights coming toward us… why are they coming toward us? I snapped to attention and realized HOLY SHIT we are driving on the wrong side of the bridge! V threw his car in reverse and I swear it felt like we were going 80mph. It was terrifying.

We arrived at my apartment.. thankfully in one piece. As I started to say thank you, V stopped me and said “ have you made your decision on the Hampton’s for this weekend?” The Hamptons? And then came offers of driving his Porsche, shopping, runway shows and gala’s (whatever those are?). I stumbled out of the car overwhelmed and confused on how this first date turned into so many commitments.

The next day at work I got a text from V saying he had spoken with Marc Jacobs and offered me to be in his February Fashion show, appearances on Entourage and NYC Real Desperate Housewives. He asked if I made up my mind on the Hamptons, and said that Billy Joel had invited us on his yacht on Sunday after the Saturday Operation Smile Charity that will have “so many celebs”. Yes this was really all so intriguing; go on Billy Joel’s yacht, “rub elbows with the stars”, meet designers. But at what cost? And why does this guy have to add "Google it" to everything he says in order to get someone to believe him, or bait someone with parties and name dropping to get them to spend time with him? What would I have to do? Even if I went to all these places, assuming they're true, and met all these people, who would I be? Certainly not myself. It was all so clear…

As I ran back through the day I started to piece together my own perceived naiveté…a wide eyed girl with a short black dress in a great big city. My lunch break on 40^th and Madison resembled more of Julia Roberts’ Hollywood Boulevard in Pretty Woman but somehow Richard Gear had missed his cue.