On Halloween night at Bar Nineteen 12 in the Beverly Hills Hotel, I was hit-on by a man who was 83 years old… I am 35.
It never ceases to amaze me how some men behave. With guys my age, I get it, manners be damned: their mothers never taught them, equality of the sexes, female empowerment, hey, I get it. I’m lucky if a guy holds the door open for me when I’ve got an armful of groceries. But older men? Now that’s a different story. They come from a sepia-tinted time when decorum and social etiquette were everyday stuff. They were weaned on it, like mothers’ milk. Despite my quasi-feminist, post-post modern leanings, I am a girl after all and sometimes I like to be treated like one. So, hey, bring on the old fashioned gentlemen!
After catching up on the heavy drama of our lives for a good hour of so, my friend, Esmeralda, and I were about to leave the bar, when a nattily dressed, silver-fox of a man, named Jarred - I’m guessing early 50’s - introduced himself to me. We were quickly invited to his table, and we ended up sitting and chatting with him. Along with our drinks came the arrival of Jarred’s two friends.
Esme ended up in a deep conversation with Jarred and somehow I ended up with each of Jarred’s friends on either side of me. Frank, a dark haired, Captain of Industry type, claimed to be related to the mob, needless to say I had some questions. Frank said he didn’t want to tell me too much in fear that it would scare me off. Clearly he didn’t consider that having to push him off of me every few minutes was having precisely the same effect. The other friend, Sergio - a spry 83 with a very thick Italian accent - appeared to be more mild mannered, but that didn’t last long.
Last call was announced and the three men tried to convince us to go back to Sergio’s suite where he would cook “the best Italian food we had ever had” and then we could all go swimming. As if this was EVER going to happen.
When the check arrived Esme and I went out on the balcony to have a private chat. As we were talking and laughing about the surreal septuagenarian quality of the evening, our waiter came over and tried to hand us a check. Without even looking at it, I told him to send it over to the men who had so kindly invited us to their table for a drink. The waiter told me that they had requested it be sent to us.
Um, well… what?
Just then, Sergio swaggered out to find me and asked if I would be interested in getting a room for the night with him. I could hardly believe what was happening. These three aggressive men, who wanted us to go home with them, sent us a check for our drinks! Really?
Jarred and Frank walked over to us and asked if we were ready to head over to Sergio’s. Esme is much more reserved than me, she was happy to pay the bill for us both. It had absolutely nothing to do with money; this was about so much more. I spoke up, the three men stood there while I told them I thought they had a lot of nerve sending us a bill for two drinks after being so aggressive and all the while hoping we would go home with them. What the hell! They all denied that they had been the one to send the bill our way, looking at each other as if to blame the other one.
The bill got paid, I am not sure how they resolved it and I don’t care. Needless to say, the aging lotharios were left to carry-on without us.
Ah, chivalry!
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