Soooo, I met Dave while at a writer’s conference in New York. This is true. I went to hang out with my writer friends. It’s always lovely to see other writers and discuss (read gripe about) issues that they understand <Grin> So, I went to New York. However, it was July 15th 2004, not the 17th as the mistaken Mr. Spice claimed. It was the 15th through the 21st. Ah, the memory is the first thing to go.
I was rooming with a friend of mine from California, Melanie Jackson. She writes historicals and goblin stories I can recommend. She’s not a smoker though, so out of consideration for her, I wasn’t smoking in our room even though it was a smoking room.
Well, the first night we were both too pooped from long journies and waits in airports and decided to make an early night of it. We called room service for dinner and then I went downstairs to have a cigarette before bed. I was tired and cranky and not interested in company after a long day of talking to strangers in airports and planes, so I sat on the marble base in front of the hotel, scribbling in my journal while I smoked, the journal acting as a natural barrier to prevent anyone from bothering me. It really works. If you look busy, people leave you alone. I finished writing the days events halfway through my second cigarette (I don’t normally keep a journal, but I had promised a friend to keep one this trip to regale them with ‘every detail’ when I got back.) I closed the journal and put it in my purse, then wandered over to the communal ashtray to finish the cigarette and put it out. When I got to it, there was a tall, lanky, good looking, silver-haired Brit standing there who said hello and tried to strike up a conversation. Unfortunately, I was tired and cranky and not at all in the mood to chat. I’m afraid I might have been a bit cold as I stubbed out the cigarette and excused myself to go to bed.
The next day was a busy day for me. Melanie and I ran around New York, hitting various bookstores, designer stores and such, then walking a good distance back to the hotel. We were a lot more energetic that night and went out to the famous "Ray’s" for pizza, then hit a couple of street venders to look at knock off purses and watches, then wandered back to the hotel. We were to meet a bunch of our friends in the bar (Susan Squires and her husband Harry, Christine Feehan and her daughters Mandy and Domini, and Sandra Hill and Trish Jensen.) Melanie and I went into the bar and had a drink while we waited, then I excused myself to go have a cigarette.
I went outside, lit a cigarette and raised my head to see the tall, silver-haired Brit walking toward me with a big cheeky grin on his face. It was a sight I would see many times over the next few days and one I now associate with New York. Say New York, and I see Dave walking toward me in my mind.
Anyway, we started talking. I was in a better mood that night, which might be the reason he seemed much more amusing and interesting. I know he seemed intelligent and entertaining and we got yipping. I ended up (rudely) staying out for two cigarettes, but finally decided I shouldn’t leave Melanie on her own any longer and excused myself to go back inside. When I got back to the table, I apologized for taking so long and grinned and said "Some Brit was chatting me up." I didn’t think he was really. I thought we were just talking, but I said it with a teasing grin and I know Melanie knew I was joking. We sat and waited, and waited, and waited some more for our friends. Everyone was running late. Unfortunately, we weren’t in our room to get their messages that they were running late (roll of eyes, one of us should have thought to run up and check, but neither of us did)
Neither Melanie nor I are barflies and we soon got bored and decided if they didn’t show within fifteen minutes, we were going to give up and leave. I then said, well, if that was the case, I’d go have a last cigarette before bed, and off I went back outside. I got to the ashtray, lit a cigarette, raised my head, and there he was again, the foxy silver-haired Brit with the big grin. I’m pretty sure I grinned back this time. We talked again and, again, I stayed longer than intended, smoking two or three cigarettes as an excuse to stay and continue talking to him. He told me during this conversation that he was there with a friend who was being chatted up at the bar by someone and he didn’t want to get in the way of that, so thought he should leave them alone. I nodded understandingly, thought that was swell of him, then said I should head back in, I was being rude leaving my friend alone. He then asked if he could join our ‘party’.
I should explain here that I am a lightweight when it comes to men. No sophistication here at all. My initial reaction was jaw dropping and eyes going wide as saucers. I think my heart might have done an alarmed little dance in my chest too. I fear I kind of panicked. I had just been joking about the chatting up. He was the cigarette guy. The chap I could pass time with while smoking. Now, he wanted to move to the ‘friends’ table. I hadn’t been prepared for this. However, I didn’t want to be rude and say no, so I squeaked "Yes." (completely forgetting that we had planned to give up on waiting for our friends in the bar) and then scurried back inside, very aware that he was following me. I led him to our table (probably at a quick jog) all in a panic, and bent to whisper to Melanie that this was the Brit I’d told her about.
Melanie is much more sophisticated than I. She took this all in stride and struck up a conversation with him, asking innocuous little questions like…his name! Honest to God, I never even had the sense to ask it before that. He was just "the Brit" in my head, "the cigarette guy". It never occurred to me he would be interested in me as anything other than that. I am sad that way. A man pretty much has to hit me up the side of the head with one of those strips of condoms for me to figure out he’s hitting on me. Sad but true. Anyway, the-Brit-I-now-knew-was-Dave, Melanie and I chatted for a while and then the rest of the party arrived, or most of them (Christine, Mandy, Domini, Susan and Harry arrived) We all visited for quite a while, chatting and laughing in the bar. Dave fit in with the group beautifully. They all included him and seemed to like him and the evening went well, then Dave turned to me and asked if we’d be in the bar the next night. I said probably, we had a dinner with my publisher than would be back there probably. It was convenient and the easiest place for us to meet. He nodded and said he’d look for us the next night then. He was still adjusting to the time zone and was headed to bed and off he went.
The next day was full of appointments with agents, meetings with editors and open houses at publishers, then dinner with the pub, then we went back to the bar. The others went in to find a table and I stopped to have a cigarette outside. I had barely lit up when I glanced over to see — yes, you guessed it — a tall, silver-haired fox of a Brit walking toward me with a big grin on his face. LOL. We talked, and talked and talked and talked, then went in to join the others. However, it was very loud in the bar and we ended up going out for cigarettes very frequently so that we could talk, staying out longer and longer each time until the party broke up.
The next day was much the same. Appointments and so on all day, then dinner at a fondue place, then back to the bar where Dave joined us and we talked and chatted.
Saturday the 19th was the Rita awards. Melanie and I went out to a lovely restaurant with Susan and Harry, then returned to the hotel. We saw Dave and his friend in the bar as we passed on our way to the ritas up on the second floor. I stopped and explained I had to go up, but would return shortly, then went up. We weren’t up there long, the awards were almost over when we arrived. We came back down, our group, plus my and Melanie’s editor who proceeded to kind of grill Dave, lol. It was the funniest darned thing. Me in my thirties, with my editor who is in his twenties, acting like the papa bear for me <GRIN> He asked what he did, where he was from and so on. The only thing he didn’t ask was what his intentions were, lol. Dave and I were seated out on the marble in front of the hotel when my editor left later that night and he proceeded to call me over and lecture me on if I slept with him I was to use protection….this, despite my repeated squawking of "I’m not sleeping with him, I hardly know him!" LOL
The next night was the last day there. Some of our party left during the day, some were leaving very early in the morning and went to bed early. Melanie and I were on our own in the bar that night, but were joined by Dave and his friend. The other two left just before eleven or midnight and the bar then shut down. Apparently, the hotel bar closes early on Sunday nights. Dave then suggested we go to this vodka bar he’d been to and had mentioned to me earlier. I hesitated, considering calling upstairs to tell Melanie where I was going, just in case, but in the end, threw caution to the wind and headed out with him.
This vodka bar, however, wasn’t open at that hour and we ended up on the patio of Maison where we yipped and yipped and yipped, then I glanced down at my watch and it was after three a.m! Maison was a twenty-four hour bar/restaurant. About a half hour later Dave was telling a story and I was watching his mouth move and suddenly wondered what it would be like if he kissed me. The thought was a completely errant one, coming from nowhere and startling because it was the first I realized that I was interested in him for anything other than conversation. I did mention I don’t have a clue when it comes to men (grin)
My startled reaction was apparently obvious because Dave suddenly said, "No, really, that’s what happened." LOL. He thought I was reacting to what he’d said. Anyway, half an hour after that, we headed back to the hotel, but neither of us were ready to part I guess. We sat on the marble at the front of the hotel until 5:30 in the morning and had our first kiss….and he’s a darned good kisser for a guy with no memory <grin>
Anyway, at 5:30 I said I’d best go up to be sure Melanie got up for her alarm and didn’t miss her flight. He saw me up, then headed to his own room. I saw Melanie off, went down for breakfast, lugged my luggage down to wait for my ride to the airport. I sat on the marble to catch up on my journal and hadn’t been there long when Dave and his friend came out, headed to the train station and the second part of their trip. He spotted me, rushed across the driveway and said, "I have to go. We’re running late, but I’ll talk to you later." Then he rushed back, hopped in the car and drove off and I sat there thinking, ‘How the heck can I talk to him later? He’s from England and I’m from Canada.’
However, he was right. Once we were both home, we started emailing each other, then talking on msn, then calling every night. The poor man often talked with me through the night and then had to go to work without sleep. Then we had a week long date in New York in September. The date ended a week and a half before his birthday and before we left New York I asked what he wanted for his birthday. His response was for me to come to England, soooooo…four days after I got home, I flew out to England for what was supposed to be a two week stay, but turned into three. I came back home to Canada in October. He asked me to marry him, then came over in November to meet my family and visit, then came back in December to spend Christmas with my family and take me back to England with him. And the rest, as they say is history.
Sandi
Lynsay Sands 