The Night We Met (Part I)

The restaurant was French; the food, pretentious and expensive. There were eight of us in a small, private dining room of one many eateries along San Antonio's famed River Walk. I had been invited by my boss in an attempt to give me exposure to the executives in my company with whom I had little interaction, but I wasn't appreciating the gesture. I was 24 at the time and felt a lot like a preschooler sitting amongst church elders. I sat fantasizing about how I could escape--set fire to the table? Choke on a breadstick? Is it possible to fake a ruptured spleen?

As I stared into my Terrine de Saumon aux Epinards and listened half-heartedly to discussion of state medical licensure, my mind replayed the previous evening. My colleague, David, and I had ventured out to the "Wild Club," a local gay club, where we were entertained with a drag show. A very bad drag show. Think Dick Butkus in a bright red dress with white lace trim. With a beard. And a parasol. Luckily, since we were on an expense account, there was ample funding for alcohol to make the show more appealing.

Our intentions were to just grab a drink and gossip about which of our colleagues we'd most likely sleep with. But soon I was approached by a very sassy young girl wearing a halter-top that had nothing to say to me but "My friend thinks you're hot." I smiled, but before I could thank her, she headed back across the bar to join her group. When she approached them, a face popped out from the circle and stared directly at me. He was tall, with jet-black hair and the most beautiful white smile I had ever seen. And he was smiling at me. Naturally, I smiled back.

To be continued...