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Farewell to the NYC dating scene

A final farewell to the dating game in New York

Amelia Torode

Wednesday, 3rd October 2007

The wedding of the author’s wing-woman

‘I made my first million in porn,’ he told me. ‘Pre-paid porn cards, to be precise.’ As the waiters bustled by busily refilling glasses and crushing guacamole with heavy stone pestle and mortars, Ed told me about the pre-paid-porn-card industry. They worked like mobile-top-up cards, in so far as you scratched off the panel to reveal a numeric code; this code then allowed you access to a network of pornographic sites, so that you would never have to enter in your credit-card details. As a marketing strategist in a large advertising agency, I found the idea quite ingenious.

I think that he mistook my interest in the business proposition of this pre-paid-porn-card company for interest in him, and he reached across the table and gently stroked my cheek. I recoiled into my chair. It was instinctive; there was nothing that I could do.

The atmosphere at the table changed visibly. Around us fashionable life continued nosily. We both sat there tensely, in silence. ‘Let’s just tell it like it is,’ he snarled. ‘I don’t stand a chance with you, I can see that pretty clearly, and frankly ...you ain’t breaking my heart.’ Very calmly, I picked up my coat and laptop and walked out of the restaurant. I did not look back. My first date had lasted for 17 minutes. Maybe online wasn’t the way to go after all.

Try a blind date, suggested Alison after I shared my digital-dating disaster with her; at least they come recommended by a friend. Leonie worked at my ad agency. ‘You’ll love Barry,’ she assured me. ‘I met him at a dinner party and thought he was hilarious. He lives downtown, he’s a playwright and super-smart.’

As Barry waddled into the diner, my heart sank. He ordered a chicken club sandwich and a Coke and hungrily set about them — bits of chicken falling out of his mouth — almost before saying anything to me. The rain was drumming hard against the windowpanes. It looked cold and dark outside. The minutes were dragging; I struggled for something to say. ‘Tell me about the play-writing,’ I ventured.

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