The Saurin Parke Slut.

I was sitting alone with a nourishing glass of Macallan at Saurin Parke's Happy Hour yesterday, trying to decide if this place is as fantastic as everyone says, when all of a sudden, a guy I had slept with 3 nights ago walked in. I didn't really want to see him, especially since the Saurin Parke waiter who had just served me my scotch was someone I had also slept with about a month ago. I hate when that happens. It is no wonder I lost my shit.

Then this Polish guy named Janusz came up to me out of the blue, with a handkerchief to wipe my tears away. The real reason I was looking devastated and lonely was because I had just learned that a friend of mine named Matt tested positive for -hiv.

Matt is about 25, extremely hot, and he works a lot as a model. Yes, he is that goodlooking. He is also coarse and unpredictable, and we have an amazing chemistry as platonic friends. One time he helped me shave my ass for a casting call for a swimwear company. Whenever we're together, all we do is make each other laugh. He's a goofy crack up, and not at all a glamour puss. Now I have to admit that while it is very hot to have a very hot friend, Matt has gotten himself into big trouble. Matt never uses condoms, something which I cannot for the life of me understand. He feels that bareback sex, natural and uninhibited, is his God given right. As a result, he has repeatedly ignored information that could have saved his life. It seems useless for me to gloat at this point, and if I continued to advocate safe sex now that he's POZ, it would be redundant and hurtful, so I have to give up this fight and just find it in my heart to be supportive.

I couldn't tell Janusz why I was crying into my ice cubes. A lot of things have piled up on me in the last month. I have this rancid intuition that my career is really tanking, and even the simplest things seem to be a little intense for me, but for some reason, all I was able to dwell on after getting Matt's bad news was how untalented Patricia Heaton is. That, combined with the confluence of ass I had tagged in this very room was a little overwhelming. I did apologize for being vague and out of sorts. Janusz told me that New Yorkers need to help one another out when things get bad, and that only real men cry. He also singled out my forarms with overweening praise.

Janusz is a poetic looking Mack-the-Knife type, with a hell of a lot of scruffy stubble, and I found that charming. I tried to ignore my misery and remain attentive as best I could with a wry, shit eating grin, but it wasn't easy. He did exactly what I never would have done if I had seen a stranger sitting alone in a restaurant crying.

Normally, after receiving devastating news like Matt's, I would numb the pain with wild and meaningless sex, and Janusz was so close, so willing, with such a deep and resonant speaking voice, but I decided that "stranger-sex" wouldn't solve any of my problems, and I slept alone that night.

I'm just afraid Matt's going to die on me, and then I won't have the heart to tell him, "I told you so."