Dom and Steve can't miss

Friday, November 19.

I like to think that, when I go out to a bar, or a mall, or a laundromat, or any place where a lot of females will be milling about, I will be able to hook up.

It is said that hitting a baseball is the hardest thing to do in sports. The best players hit over .300, meaning that, 7 times out of 10, they fail to reach base. No one has hit .400 for about 60 years.

I guess hitting on girls is about the same for me. Everyone always asks me things like, "Has a girl EVER turned you down?" or, "Why don't we ever hear about you striking out?"

Of COURSE girls have turned me down. I probably get turned down more than you do. I constantly ask girls out, and hear things like, "I'm busy," or "I don't think so," or just plain "No!". But I take rejection in stride, and keep rolling.

Attracting a girl has a lot to do with confidence, and when I do approach someone, it's with the idea that I AM going to succeed. Failure doesn't come to mind at all. So when I do strike out, part of me says, "What the hell? This wasn't supposed to happen!"

Dom and I decide to go to Doc's tonight. The place is always crammed full of hotties in tight clothes on a Friday night, and the law of averages is definitely on your side if you are a guy. When there are 75 or 100 chicks around, you have to figure that at least ONE of them would be willing to get naked for you.

"I need to hook up," Dom says as we drive to Doc's. "I haven't had any for weeks."

"What about Megan?" I ask.

"She wants to take it slow," he says.

"Thought you banged her," I say.

"I did - that one time. Now she wants to take it slow to find out if we're compatible," he says in his gentle, soothing voice.

"Man, I'd just move on to the next one," I say.

"What do you think I'm doing going to Doc's?" he smiles. "Speaking of that, I hear you were holding out on me about Stephanie."

"Oh, that."

"I hear you've been dating her and she dumped her boyfriend for you," he smiles.

"Basically."

"So how is she? She is BEAUTIFUL, Steve."

"I know."

"Meg says you two are fucking like crazy. She says you're shaking the pictures off the walls."

"Ahhh," I say.

I am really annoyed that Steph would say anything about us, especially to Meg, who I am sure Steph knew would go back and tell Dom. That's IF Meg isn't blowing smoke; something tells me Steph wouldn't blab that way.

10:00. Some girl asks Dom to dance. She's cute: A nice brunette, with a tattoo of what looks like a palm tree on the inside of her ankle. I am figuring she must be with a friend (or friends). Who would go out drinking alone?

About ten minutes pass, and they return from the dance floor, sweating. Dom whispers something in her ear, covering his mouth carefully with his hand, as if giving her the combination to his wall safe. Dom has a way of making a girl think she is the most important person in the world.

"Carol, this is my boss, Steve. Steve, Carol."

We shake hands. I smile. She smiles back; she's got crooked teeth. But they are very clean-looking, which makes her cute in a quirky kind of way.

Dom and Carol speak into each other's ears for a moment, then Dom turns to me and leans into my ear: "We're going back to the pool tables," he says.

It's actually a decent-looking billiard room: Amid the 12 pool tables, there's a an oak-colored hardwood floor, and the walls are adorned with gold records and autographed photos of acts that have performed here.

Carol approaches a pale, black-haired girl in fishnet stockings. They chat for a minute. She turns to us. "This is Natalie," Carol says.

"Hi!" the girl says. She seems shy. She is pretty, not the best I have ever seen, but attractive. I am going to try to occupy her while Dom works on Carol.

Natalie is smart. She's a high school english teacher. About an hour flies by as we discuss The Great Gatsby and Catcher in the Rye. I am thinking I could nail this girl if I am interested. She's actually got a very nice body, very slender and tight.

Every once in a while I look over to see how Dom is doing; each time I do, he is touching her elbow or whispering something into her ear. She's not flinching or moving backwards when he does, which tells me that she is enjoying the attention. Yeah, I think Dom is gonna score tonight.

It's about 11:30. Dom leaves Carol and walks over to me. He leans in to me and says, in my ear: "Carol's got work tomorrow."

I turn and look at him, my face twisted into a what the fuck? expression. "She's LEAVING?"

He nods. "How are YOU doing over here?"

I look at Natalie. She drops a piece of ice from her drink, slips her shoe off, and slides the cube around the floor with her fishnet-stockinged foot. Taking her shoe off? We all know what THAT means.

"It's looking good right now," I whisper.

He smiles. "Bastard," he says.

Natalie and I talk for another hour. She's really into Pink Floyd, and we go on and on about "Wish You Were Here" and "Dark Side of the Moon".

She is shooting glances over at her girlfriends every couple of minutes. Finally she leans in to me and says, "I need to get my pocketbook".

It's on! I did it! Could this be the big 4-0 for Stevo?

She walks back over to me. "Steve, my friends are leaving. It's nice chatting with you."

"You don't have to leave-" I begin.

"Byeeeee!" she says, hurrying away.

So much for sure things.