The date was fixed as dinner on a Saturday night. I went clothes shopping for the first time in a while and picked up a pretty and flattering light dress. It had a halter top I thought made my small bust look interesting. With my height I had plenty of leg to work with, so the hem was set noticeably higher than any I’d worn before. I sent Yossi pictures and he agreed it was flattering and alluring without turning me into a Sexy Lexie.
Chuck asked me to meet him on the street rather than call on me in my dorm room. That seemed a bit odd until he pulled up in his father’s sparkling Lexus. That made me a bit uneasy. Columbia students went places on the subway or if need be, in a cab. Chuck explained there were no really good restaurants left in Chinatown because of the real estate prices, so he was taking me to one in Queens.
He chose the restaurant not for its quality but for being owned by a relative. It wasn’t a matter of money, which he spent freely, but their willingness to serve him alcohol. I had to tell him quite firmly that one more drink and I was calling a cab. That made him back down in a hurry, and it took a few minutes for him to regain his poise. I wasn’t sure whether I should be flattered at him wanting to calm his nerves, or insulted to think he needed to drink in order to tolerate my company. For an engineer he was quite a conversationalist, although no match for Yossi. I had to remind myself to stop making such comparisons.
After dinner he started driving in a strange and pointless direction, only to park at the waterfront with a view of Manhattan. I tried not to get upset. I kept my seatbelt on, folded my arms across my chest and kept up the light conversation. He suddenly unbuckled himself, turned towards me and put his hands on my shoulders. I batted them off and really let him have it. How dare he think that just so he bought me one lousy dinner he was entitled to—and so on, with considerable heat and a bit of real nastiness. I didn’t want to end matters for good or even for that evening, so I paused to let him apologize. The little bastard actually justified himself, dwelling on his generosity in wallet and spirit, implying that an oversized nerd like me should be grateful for his attentions. We got into a fierce argument, ending only when he actually tried to kiss me. I slapped him hard enough to hurt my hand and played my dirtiest trick: “I could get you thrown out of school.”
Chuck collapsed in terror and I in horror at what I was threatening to do. I was disgusted with myself for even thinking of using Title IX for what should have been a routine personal annoyance. I was now the one apologizing to him, until I was too embarrassed to continue. “Thanks for dinner—I’ll get a cab”, I said, slammed the car door shut and set forth towards civilization.
I got the number of a car service off a parked car and arranged for a ride. My mother had carefully prepared me for this possibility: a fully charged phone and a $50 bill hidden inside my small bag. As I scanned incoming traffic, I was suddenly knocked off my feet. Someone grabbed my purse and my phone, then threw the phone at my face when he saw it wasn’t worth the risk of stealing. It happened very fast and I only saw the guy from the back as he ran off. I wasn’t badly hurt—a skinned knee and a sore wrist from trying to stop my fall—but I was furious and deeply humiliated.