When Your BF is Hosting a Party for Eva Mendes’ Twin Sister

Last night, after two glasses of champagne and a friendly debate with a close friend on the pros/cons of dating a younger man vs. an older man, I left to meet J. at an event he was bartending. Lost in the concrete and glass facade of Battery Park City, I stumbled upon Shake Shack. A Shake Shack in Battery Park City? It was empty according to Shake Shack’s mile-long standards. I kept glancing down at my phone trying to find the address of the party…wandering aimlessly. I felt like I was sucked into some futuristic city.

As I passed a storefront, I glanced in the window and saw a party hopping with ladies tilting back glasses, swaying on their six-inch heels and laughing their heads off. Was what that guy said really THAT FUNNY? A woman in a steel gray dress caught my eye as she had her butt practically plastered to the window and was surrounded by men on either side. I glanced down at my Tory Burch flip-flops not envious of the pain she was inflicting on herself to tower over everyone else. Manhattan nightlife was ticking on without me.

I walked back and forth for another few minutes, and then I realized — this is the party J. is at. As if reading my thoughts,  his face suddenly emerged in the window, a parting of the drunken faces around him. Straightening my skirt, I took a tentative step forward. The door opened and the woman in the gray dress — who I had just been checking out a few minutes earlier, smiled down at me,

“Come on in, this is my store…”  Of course, it was.

With my own buzz strong, but not quite matching hers, I admitted I had admired her dress from afar as I had scanned the canyon of shops stuck right in the middle of Battery Park City. She was a ringer for Eva Mendes — J.’s #1 celebrity crush/fantasy!  I scanned the room for Ryan Gosling. Apparently he had other plans for the night.

I watched her sashay and bump and grind around the crowded storefront. It was a great turnout and she was soaking up every ounce of the limelight, as she should. She was single and many of her potential suitors were late-night party hanger-ons from Goldman Sachs.

“So how do you know V.?” a handsome, suited man asked as he leaned into me.

“I don’t. I know the bartender…”

“Oh,” he quickly turned his head to the left to glance at J., looked back at me a little harder, a little deeper, making me gasp.

I don’t socialize as much as I used to, so any male attention now feels foreign and slightly forbidden. When the host’s sister sized me up and said,

“Oh, so this is your girl?” to J., I felt like a stalker-girlfriend.

But the truth is, I was nearby in Soho and J. had invited me, I wasn’t checking up on him. Besides a little playful jealously is good. It’s when you don’t care that someone should be worried.

In the cab ride home, we both broke into deep hysterics (fueled by Prosecco) when I said, “Soooooo…Eva Mendes…” J. had met the real one a few years ago and bravely gave her his number. No dice.

His dimple creases pushed his smile wide and he grabbed my thigh,

“You know me too well…”

No dice again. Just a Rainbow.