Judge And Jory

It seems like all Ben Harvey and I do is rendezvous at Vlada. We are like a bad sitcom. On TV, the characters always converge over and over in the same public locations, mostly because it’s just cheaper that way. But in life, we imitate art more than we would like to believe. Hence, another Thursday night spent at Vlada with Ben Harvey.

I love Ben, and not just because he looks like David Anders the actor who plays Adam/Takezo Kensei, the blond warrior from feudal Japan on NBC’s Heroes. It isn’t even because he also works in radio so he understands the crazy world I live in. We even have a shared love for Rosie O’Donnell’s brief but heavenly stint on The View. But that isn’t it either. I love Ben because he is like a delicious piece of blond peanut brittle: sweet and crackly and impossible to believe that anyone could be allergic to.

Our intention is always to catch up when we see each other, but it never works out that way. The distractions are legendary. Tonight, it was Jory, the hottest property tonight at Vlada. His form-fitting, wrinkle free heather grey t-shirt and low slung jeans casually draped over his exquisite body. His physical form said lifetime of athletic endeavors instead of the usual gay steroids plus too much gym time combination. His Roman nose and crisp haircut set off his model-perfect looks to a tee. He looked like a man. Not in a gay vs. straight way, or even in a masculine vs. feminine way. He just looked like the ideal embodiment of man in its purest form, like a paper doll ready to hang your fantasies on.

I saw Jory and immediately had no interest in him. A guy like that belongs on the arm of someone who is either: equally hot, famous, wealthy or some combination thereof. I could never think he was interested in me, and if we were together, neither would anyone who saw us. I did however think he was perfect for Ben. I am not even certain Ben was as convinced about him as I was. However, he has the wholesome and squeaky clean look that Ben seems to like, and the notorious matchmaker in me was dying to make some magic happen. But Jory couldn’t see past his own eye lashes. He made no eye contact with anyone outside his own small cadre of devoted admirers, and even then, seemed constantly waiting for a better offer to arrive.

Mike was also there tonight and on our walk to the train we openly mused about what it must be like to be someone like Jory. Mike thought he ignored people because after a while it is just so difficult getting hit on all the time. I thought he might be almost blind like my adorable former intern Patrick, who was exactly like Marilyn Monroe in “How To Marry A Millionaire.” He even asked me if his date was cute once at Bowery Bar (he wasn’t), and then politely made his escape into the crowd. If I was meeting him out, he would call me on my cell phone as he was walking in the door, so we could find each other. With his blindness and my inability to see through all the flashing distractions of a bar, we could otherwise be in the same nightclub for years without ever meeting again.

Whatever the reason, Jory was in his own class and his own world at Vlada. In a way, it’s kind of a shame. Yes, Mike is probably right, it would be a burden to be so attractive. But if he didn’t want guys hitting on him, he would get fat and wear a loose-fitting sweatshirt with a stain on it, or take down that shirtless Facebook photo of himself strumming a guitar. No no. He likes the attention he draws and I am fairly certain that he was hoping Prince Charming might walk through the door and carry him away. Too many Disney movies I think. It’s the curse of the gay community: So many princesses in need of rescue and too few princes to ride in and save the day.