Sex in the Title - a Comedy about Dating, Sex, and Romance in NYC (back when phones weren't so smart)

by Zack Love

  “It’s not about that. I know plenty of Catholics who enjoy premarital sex…Don’t you realize that each time you sleep with someone, you’re potentially making your body more impure? More exposed to bacteria, diseases, viruses? The common cold? The dust and dirt off the street? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do have my fantasies.”

  “Yeah, they all take place in an incubator.”

  “I just don’t think it’s worth it. The thought of getting down and dirty with all of those fluids – that sweat and odor…”

  “Wait a second. How did you spend your junior year in Brazil, studying how to protect the Amazon if you’re so worried about dirt?”

  “That’s different. That’s natural dirt.”

  “So is sex.”

  “No. Sex is different. Sex is a sinfully dirty act…And it’s probably very crude and imperfect in reality.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The T stopped and some passengers filed out while some new people boarded. Sammy and Carlos made some room for them.

  “I just doubt that the reality of sex can compete with my fantasy of it,” Carlos continued.

  “At the rate you’re going, it never will.”

  “I’m just not ready to give myself up, Sammy. I mean, there’s something perfect about virginity, and I haven’t found someone who deserves to take that perfection away from me…”

  “You’re loco, Carlos. Insane. Totally crazy…Most guys think they’re imperfect for still being virgins past the age of seventeen.”

  “Well, they may have a point…But the way I see it, you get only one body in this life, and I’m not going to risk exposing it to impurities for just anyone. She has to be worth it, and I’m just not ready to settle.”

  “You mean you’re just not ready to come up with a set of requirements that anyone can actually satisfy?”

  “I didn’t say that. Now you’re putting words in my mouth.”

  “Are you suggesting that your standards aren’t too high?”

  “I’m suggesting that you think they’re too high only because your standards are so low. It’s all relative, you know.”

  “I’ve got very high standards.”

  “Yeah, she’s gotta chew her cud and lactate.”

  “You’ve gotta stop with that cow joke. I told you I was too drunk to notice her mass.”

  “Even when she was riding the Hebrew National?”

  “I was on top.”

  Lucky Chucky was still playfully rejoicing for Heeb who, a week earlier, finally broke his two-year celibacy spell after successfully Kojaking a bovine chemistry student at an MIT frat party.

  “Look, my point is that your standards don’t deserve to be called standards because any non-Jew with the requisite anatomy qualifies,” Carlos pointed out.

  “If I’m excluding the only ethnic group that will talk to me, that makes me a very picky guy. I don’t see how you can argue with that.”

  “I guess. But there are still about three billion women who meet your standards.”

  “Yeah: look how much good it’s doing me!” Heeb rejoined.

  “At least you’re not a twenty-two-year-old virgin.”

  “True, but if I ever become famous, there are going to be a lot of nasty-lookin’ women telling television talk show hosts that they slept with me.”

  “That’ll be a problem only if you become famous.”

  Heeb was about to protest such wry skepticism when he noticed that a foxy female student wearing a Wellesley sweatshirt had boarded their train car. With tight white spandex and a white headband, the bouncy, energetic redhead looked as if she was returning from a modern dance class. Her head moved to the beats blaring in her headset as she surveyed the train car for the best place to stand. There were plenty of spots but, once her eyes crossed Carlos, she chose the space across from him that offered the best, apparently nonchalant view of the dark, virgin Adonis in the blue navy coat, wearing dark gloves. (To avoid exposure to germs, Carlos always wore gloves while riding public transportation).

  Carlos didn’t notice any of these details and was just waiting for Heeb to say whatever it was that he was going to say in defense of his prospects for fame.

  “It’s just not fair!” Heeb protested abruptly, after seeing enough of the redhead looking over at Carlos.

  “What’s not fair?” Carlos finally looked where Heeb was looking and understood. He smiled in resignation and let Heeb finish his rant.

  “I mean, why can’t I just accept that I’m always going to fly in economy? Why do I insist on trying to upgrade into first class when I don’t have enough miles?”

  “That’s not Kojaking it, Heeb. Let me see you Kojak this one.”

  After several playful glances, and two train stops, the redhead allowed the large crowd that had just alighted the train to serve as her pretext for moving up close to the Latin heartthrob, and the mostly invisible, heavy-set nerd ogling her.

  With a slight blush, and a little short of breath, she removed her headset and attempted her opening line with Carlos: “This train’s gotten so crowded.” Carlos just smiled politely and looked at Heeb. That Carlos could be so indifferent to her suddenly made the cute student seem approachably vulnerable. Heeb felt the Kojak coming on strong, and let it loose without any hesitation.

  “Look, I know you’re hot. And I know that you know that you’re hot. But you don’t have a chance with this guy,” Heeb said, gesturing towards Carlos.

  “What are you talking about?” The redhead looked slightly embarrassed – even insulted – that the man talking to her was Heeb rather than the hunk she had addressed. She looked at Carlos, hoping that he would rescue her from the impudent intrusion by this geek, but – to her disappointed surprise – Carlos was focused intently on Heeb, as if Heeb were the only thing worth observing at that moment. Lucky Chucky was genuinely interested in the evolution of Heeb’s Kojak.

  “I’m sorry. That probably wasn’t such a nice way to introduce myself. My name is Sammy Laffowitz and this is my friend Carlos.”

  “Hi,” she said, moving to offer Carlos a handshake.

  Carlos acknowledged the introduction with a half nod and a slight smile, and then looked back at Heeb. Trying to conceal the fact that her offered hand was just subtly rebuffed, the redhead awkwardly tried to move her hand to a pole, as if she had intended all along to brace herself from the train’s occasionally jerky movements.

  “So what I was trying to say is that we’re coming back from an alumni party where I just watched Carlos reject the woman who was Miss Spain three years ago and is now getting a PhD in astrophysics. I mean, I don’t know if I’ll ever meet someone like that again in person unless NASA decides to send a Playboy bunny into space and I somehow get hired as a consultant…This girl – she was – she was beyond perfect. And she was practically stalking us – I mean Carlos – until she had him cornered…And Carlos somehow – somehow found it in his heart to turn her down.”

  “What are you trying to say?” The redhead looked around awkwardly to see if there was an easy way to slip out of the situation, but – to her dismay – the train had become too crowded for a fast and discreet getaway.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say – if you really want me to get the point – I’m saying that you should probably talk to me, because your odds will be significantly better with me.”

  “But I’m not really interested in you.” She looked over at Carlos, but he was still completely focused on Heeb.

  “I know you’re not really interested in me because – well – you’re not interested in me at all…I understand that…In fact, I would be completely shocked if that weren’t the case. But perhaps we can just discuss an issue that’s been on my mind all night. You know – just as friends…”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I hate to the use the F word with a pretty woman I just met, but I’m feeling like we’ve achieved some comfort level with each other here.”

  “It takes a lot longer
to become friends in my book…What do you want to talk about?”

  “Nothing that will change your opinion of me. But something that I just need to get off of my chest – and which could change the universe for the better.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In a totally mechanical universe determined by the laws of physics, everything affects everything, including even my taking a moment to vent my frustration and make an anonymous confession – I mean, you would never give me your number and you’d never call me if I give you mine, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So this is definitely an anonymous confession because I’ll never see you again. But I’m going to share it with you because it might just affect your behavioral patterns in some small way, which could have significant results for how the planet evolves and thereby lead to an improvement in the universe over the long run, if you take chaos theory to its logical extension, that is.”

  Carlos spoke for the first time in the redhead’s presence: “Sometimes Sammy gets really deep. You’re getting a rare treat here, so listen closely.”

  “Really?” she replied, trying to increase her interest in whatever it was that Heeb was about to say.

  Feeling fully empowered, Heeb declared, “I just want to point out how this is not the best of all possible worlds.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Do you think it’s fair that I was born wanting women like you with no chance of ever having them? Do you think that’s really fair? Just be honest with me for a moment.”

  “I guess not.”

  “Clearly this is not the best of all possible worlds. I mean, why couldn’t I have been born to find women like you unattractive? And that way I wouldn’t care if you find me unattractive, or if you ignore me, or blow me off. Why couldn’t I have been born to find women like you ugly? Or why couldn’t you have been born to find guys like me hot? Life would have been so much better. So much easier. So, you see, there’s definitely something wrong – something cosmologically unfair – with our universe.”

  “Hmmm…That’s deep. In an adolescent sort of way. And how is this anonymous confession of yours going to improve the universe?” she replied.

  “Because the next time you see someone like me who belongs in economy but is trying to upgrade into first class, you might actually look beyond his assigned seat and remember that you have the power to make the world seem like a dramatically more fair and happy place to this guy.”

  The train came to a halt. Carlos and Heeb exited, with a departing smile at the redhead. She looked back at them, perplexed. Carlos was proud of Heeb’s Kojak. Even if its results weren’t yet consistently there, its spirit had tremendous promise.

  Heeb’s senior year in college was his best year ever in terms of fun, self-worth, and success with women (although, by his own admission, fun and self-worth were really just a function of success with women). He even managed to date a pretty girl for about three weeks. Heeb thought she was arguably seated somewhere between economy and business class, and was therefore somewhat baffled that she had nevertheless taken some interest in him. His only explanation was the metaphysical speech he had given to the redhead on the T (and, of course, the slow but steady improvement in his Kojak).

  “Chucky, the world is infinitely interconnected,” he theorized, as they lounged around in their Adams House dorm room, the night after his second date with Debra. “And everything you say or do affects the entire universe. That’s the only way I can explain why Debra agreed to go on a third date with me.”

  Then, four days into their courtship, he discovered what he thought was the only real explanation for why she had taken an interest in him (Kojak and chaos theory notwithstanding): she was half-Jewish. At first he struggled with this bad news, but – considering that this was the best-looking female Heeb had ever managed to interest – he decided that half-Jewish was acceptable.

  “I knew you’d eventually compromise on that stupid rule of yours,” Carlos pointed out, as if he was finally vindicated.

  “Look, she’s not technically Jewish according to Orthodox law, which follows matrilineal descent.”

  “Are you Orthodox, Heeb?”

  “No. But still. She’s not really Jewish in my family’s book.”

  “So what?”

  “So that means that if I married her it would cause heart attacks in both of my parents and all three of my living grandparents. Now I’m not so crazy about my paternal grandfather, but I am worried about the others.”

  “So you wouldn’t have to take her seriously because there was no chance that you could marry her?”

  “Right.”

  “And this is because half-Jewish doesn’t really count in your family?”

  “Yeah. She probably celebrates Chanukah for only four out of the eight days.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Or even worse: she fasts for only half of Yom Kippur.”

  “Do you always fast for all of it?”

  “Not always. But I will when I have kids.”

  “You’re completely crazy, Heeb.”

  “Why?”

  “How do you expect to have kids when you can’t even date a woman seriously?”

  “I’m still sowing my oats, Chucky. Especially now that you’ve helped me with my Kojak.”

  “Great. So now you’re just going to be a bachelor, exploring the reaches of Kojakdom for the foreseeable future?”

  “Until I’m twenty-eight. Then I’ll give myself two years to find a wife.”

  “Why twenty-eight?”

  “That gives me about six years to fool around and two years to find a wife.”

  “You’ve really got your priorities straight, Heeb. You’re willing to spend six years fooling around on women you’ll never see again, and only two years looking for the woman you’re going to spend the rest of your life with.”

  “Look, how much time you give yourself is ultimately arbitrary. I mean, some guys find their wives in high school. Others don’t find their wives until their forties, no matter how hard they look. It comes down to luck really, so how many years you give yourself is essentially arbitrary. At some point you just have to call it quits and pick someone.”

  “And for you that cutoff point is thirty?”

  “Yeah. Anyone in my family who’s still a bachelor at thirty is viewed as some kind of alien curiosity. I might as well show up to holiday dinners as a unicorn.”

  “I submit to you – as a matter of scientific and irrefutable fact – that you are completely whacked, Heeb. A real meschugana, as your people would say. But that’s why I love you.”

  “We’ll see who’s a meschugana. With your crazy Carlos criteria, it’s guaranteed that you’ll still be a bachelor at thirty…A virgin bachelor.”

  “The sad thing is that you’re probably right.”

  Heeb and Chucky could not have been more mistaken.

  Chapter 6

  Chucky Gets Lucky in New York

  In June 1995, after the commencement ceremony, the packing, and the goodbyes, Heeb left for DC to start his work as an actuary for a major life insurance company. He would be paid well to use his prowess with statistics, and within two years, would be promoted to oversee a team of twenty actuaries and researchers.

  Carlos decided to seek his fortunes in New York City. But unlike most of his college buddies who headed to the Big Apple, he didn’t go with any concrete plan, having decided during his senior year that he had no interest in any of Manhattan’s coveted corporate positions – in management consulting, investment banking, and public relations – available through on-campus recruiting. The reputedly long hours and conservative culture of such jobs were enough to persuade him to seek his fortunes in some alternative career path. Carlos figured that in a city as large and diverse as New York he was bound to find the right workplace for himself.

  Two days after graduation, Carlos took the five-hour bus ride from Boston to New York City with a colleg
e friend whose sister lived in the city. The sister was away on vacation until Friday evening, which gave Carlos exactly three nights to crash on her living room sofa and three days to find an apartment and a job.

  In New York City, capital of the enviously malcontent, it is virtually impossible to find and keep all three of the following for more than two years: 1) a good enough apartment, 2) a good enough job, and 3) a good enough mate. That’s why, when Carlos found all three of these things during his first three hours in the city, he finally and completely embraced the nickname that Heeb had given him nine months earlier. Shortly after dropping off his four large bags and taking a cool shower, Carlos boarded a local bus to midtown, where his destiny awaited him.

  Meanwhile, Carolina, a ravishing Italian woman with cocoa-colored hair and long, dark lashes, joked on the phone about how hot and muggy her office felt, even though the air-conditioning had just been upgraded in the entire building.

  “It’s as if God is trying to prove that technology will never keep up with a Manhattan summer.”

  “We’re all in this sauna together, Carolina.”

  “That’s irrelevant, Ann. The fact that others share my problem only makes things worse.”

  “Why?”

  “Because then there are more people in the city spending more of their time bitching about more things because they’re grumpy and uncomfortable.”

  “So you’d rather be the only one feeling this muggy heat?”

  “Well at least I’d be interacting with more pleasant people.”

  “I guess,” Ann replied.

  “Except then people would be less empathetic to my bitchiness because they wouldn’t understand the discomfort that was causing it.”

  “Very true.”

  “So maybe they wouldn’t be more pleasant.”

  “Was Greg more pleasant?”

  “Greg?”

  “You know, the guy who gave you the bouquet on Third Avenue.”

  “Oh, that Greg. No. It was all downhill after the bouquet.”

  “Why?”

  “He was boring like the others…I’m sick of dating, Ann.”