This is not a long story, but it is a very true one and I am the MJDollface in the title of this piece. The guy above is the other part of the two person dynamic in the saga.
So back in 1999, when AOL was in it's infancy... there were popular chat rooms where you could go to spend time and have fun talking to strangers and maybe even meet those with whom you communicated. We had "screen names" that we used so our identity remained anonymous. I created "MJDollface," as a tribute to how others defined what they called my great beauty. It was a bit self-involved, but I got attention. I digress...
I never actually wanted to meet a man in a chat room and seriously "partner up." I did not think I was nothing without a man and "getting married" was not in my wheel house as a reach for entelechy. I grew to actually like not being attached and enjoyed solitude and being alone after a hard day at work teaching 6th graders. But... I did like at that time to socialize, so when my "New York Over 40" group started to plan gatherings, I was in. I loved meeting the faces behind the names. I loved hanging out on Friday nights at Long Island clubs and meeting this same group for occasional lunches in Queens restaurants.
I lived in Manhattan (and still live here) and I had a car (I still have a car) and keep it in the garage under my building. When one lunch was being planned, Peter ("PressCop" or something, I cannot remember) contacted me. I knew Peter from months of talking in that room and in a bizarre coincidence Peter was a business associate of my father. My father owned Columbia Silver Company and Peter produced some plaques my father needed for an association. Peter asked me if I would take his friend to the restaurant on Woodhaven Boulevard, which was a short drive out of the Midtown tunnel. He also told me "his friend" lived close by, on West 14th Street, and would meet me in the lobby of my building. "So what's his name?" I asked. "Bernie Goetz," Peter replied.
I knew the name. "Will this be a problem?" Peter asked. He assured me it was safe. I was fine with it. What could happen? It was extreme to think he would whip out a gun and blow my head off.
After all, I was best friends in summer camp with a girl from Mineola who later killed her child, and it was in the newspaper. When I saw the article years later in Newsday, I showed it to my mother, who replied without missing a beat: "It figures you'd be friends with her." At the time I was not shocked by my mother's reaction because she was the queen of put downs. She had three great enemies in life: her husband and her two daughters. But I digress again.
So the day came and there he was... in my lobby and ready for the day's adventure. We made small talk on the way out, the lunch was uneventful, and Bernie flirted with Lindy. But the ride back to Manhattan was a different experience.
We hit bad traffic and Bernie wanted to get back to attend a lecture at Columbia University. His impatience was palpable and he was growing angry. I was getting edgy. But we got back and a block after we hit West 30th Street, Bernie thanked me for the rides and jumped out of the vehicle.
Bye Bernie. We never spoke again after that day. But I hear he likes squirrels and is doing well.
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