Exactly one year ago today, I met a gorgeous stockbroker at Bean & Bean cafe in the Financial District. I don’t drink coffee, but it was pouring outside and I needed shelter from the rain, so I ran to first awning I saw. Then I saw him, sitting at a table right by the entrance, dressed impeccably in a sky blue Prada shirt; he was the hottest man I’d ever seen. I just left my yoga class at Equinox, hair soaking wet from the rain, and in my sweaty yoga pants, but that didn’t stop me from eye flirting with him as I waited in line to get an organic tea. It was a very romantic morning in the Financial District. His name was James, and I ended up giving him my number.
I just moved to Manhattan, and recently got out of a long-term relationship. I wasn’t ready to date, let alone jump into anything serious. But, for a Scandinavian girl who had just arrived in the States, accepting a date with a beautiful stockbroker, wasn’t a particularly difficult decision to make. James and I saw each other four times that week, and before I knew it, I was in a relationship with a man who had 18 tailored suits hanging in his walk-in closet.
Before I moved to New York, I must admit that I secretly glorified Wall Street… this may be due to my obsession with the movie Wall Street and my secret crush on Gordon Gekko. Quite possibly, I’ve read Bret Easton Ellis’ master piece American Psycho too many times, not that I wanted James to be a hidden psycho Patrick Bateman. It was never the money that drew my attention to stockbrokers, it was the whole asshole factor, that was appealing to me. Sadly, most Wall Street men aren’t the types portrayed in the movies. Quite frankly, most of the Wall Street guys I’ve met are lame. I’d take an asshole over a douche-bag any day of the week.
James was 35, and surprisingly mature for his age. He actually behaved like a 35 year old, which is very rare in Manhattan (most men in NYC act at least 10 years younger than they actually are). He was incredibly kind and sweet, unlike other Manhattan men I knew. Although, he had certain traits that made it apparent he was a banker Like always hanging up on me with no warning. “Gotto go, call me back when the market closes” and bam, he was gone. I’m not much of a phone person anyway, so it was slightly amusing. You could say, I felt like I was in a long-distance relationship, between the hours of 9:30am and 4pm, but, when the closing bells rang at 4, a switch was turned and he was so attentive… I was all his again.
On a Sunday afternoon, a few weeks later, on a balcony in SoHo, James got down on one knee and proposed. I was crazy about him. Just not in an I love you and want to be your fiancé kind of way. But, how do you say no to someone on their knee proposing marriage, presenting you with a gorgeous princess cut diamond. I didn’t, instead I went to Hawaii with him to celebrate our engagement. It was a truly amazing vacation, he swept me off my feet… I felt like the luckiest (and unluckiest) girl in the world. I knew I didn’t want to marry him, I was in lust, not in love. But James was a good guy and I just didn’t know how to get out of the mess, I’d gotten myself into. Luckily, he came to his senses and realized that getting married after two and a half months of dating wasn’t his smartest move. We both had a good laugh about it.
It was a whirlwind relationship, and we broke up shortly thereafter, but stayed great friends. We meet up to go running together in the Park. I talk about art and music. James talks about politics and money. He still wears beautiful Prada shirts, hangs- up on his girlfriends, and drinks organic coffee at Bean & Bean cafe in the Financial District.