Write for The Iranian
Editorial policy

Part 12
New York, Saturday November 6


11:00 p.m.
Wow! Had first date with Peerooz. Just got in the door. Sweet little diary, thank god for you: I couldn't wait to tell someone all about it and it is too late to call Manny right now. Not that she's home sleeping. She's on a date actually. Always turns her cell phone off when on date. Very polite of her. Very inconvenient for me.

Anyways, back to MY date. Peerooz came to pick me up at 8. He had a black limo and driver waiting downstairs which I found so embarrassing. I mean it's so flashy and unnecessary. Oh well, he can't help it I guess, the guy is just obsessed with outer image. It's okay though. He is too cute for me not to forgive him. And the fact is, he is trying to impress ME. So I let him off the hook and swallowed the sarcastic comment ("Oh, what a quaint little vehicle, are you sure it will fit us both?") I was about to make.

I was wearing a new outfit I bought just for the occasion. It's a silvery grey top and matching knee length skirt, perfectly accessorized with my white gold set. I managed to replace the burnt out lamp in the bathroom so I actually did quite a good job of my make-up, again reading my ancient Vogues (must date back to the 80s I believe! Well no matter, it is so old at this point, it is back in fashion). To contrast the silvery grey, I wore a blue pashmina shawl which I bought in Chinatown. It matches the color of my eyes. Finished off with my killer Jimmy Choo stilettos and handbag. I caught our reflection as Peerooz and I were walking in the lobby of my building. By some fluke, his monochrome shirt and tie match the blue of my shawl. We seem perfectly coordinated. A long-time couple. Two pieces of a puzzle. I am swooning!

Inside the car, Frank Sinatra serenades us softly until we get to our destination. Peerooz has chosen a cozy, discreet Russian joint, called Pravda. I have never been there. The limo stops before what looks like an abandoned building in a not so safe neighbourhood. A burly Black guy is standing in front of a staircase descending into a basement. We get out of the limo and Peerooz shakes the Black guy's hand. They know each other. Mmmmm. Guess I am not the first date he brings here. Momentary melancholy chased away by what transpires next. Once inside, I am transported into a magical pre-Russian Revolution type luxurious restaurant. The walls are set in red velvet. Mirrors in gold frames alternate with beautiful antique looking paintings. The tables are all set against the walls, and instead of chairs, diners sit on red velvet banquettes, next to each other. The place is full of beautiful women in sexy dresses and rich-looking men dressed to the tees. The caviar and champagne are flowing with abandon. From what Peerooz tells me, this place used to be one of those secret bootleg havens during the Prohibition. He doesn't know how long ago it experienced a Russian incarnation.

Peerooz and I feed each other chilled caviar on lightly buttered crackers and tap our champagne flutes quite often. We talk of everything: Arts, literature, travels, Iran. He tells me he spent two weeks cajoling various members of my entourage including Manny, Nance, and Bruce to convince them to give up personal details of my likes and dislikes. I don't know how he could have bribed them to keep it a secret. He just smiles and says he should have become a lawyer. I tell him he has too much charm for that. When they bring us the dessert of warm chocolate mousse, he dips my little finger in the bowl and proceeds to lick the chocolate off. It is all I can do to stop myself from uttering an orgasmic cry.

During the ride back in the limo, he uses one hand to hold mine strongly, and he runs the other in my hair, then onto my cheek where his thumb caresses my skin so softly.

"Nazanin", he whispers. I want to hear that whisper for the rest of my days.

He leans over and kisses me. His lips feel hot and taste delicious.

Too soon, we are back in front of my building. He walks me upstairs. Before my door, he kisses me again, holding my chin in his hand.

I have to go take a cold shower now!

Comment for The Iranian letters section
Comment for the writer Nazanin

By Nazanin

Diary index




Features archive

* Recent

* Cover stories

* Feature writers

* Arts & literature

* All sections

Flower delivery in Iran
Copyright © Iranian.com All Rights Reserved. Legal Terms for more information contact: times@iranian.com
Web design by BTC Consultants
Internet server Global Publishing Group