Chronicles of The Fur: The Ryan Years

PART ONE

The Beginning

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The ad read:

Share spacious penthouse in ideal Soho location with screenwriter. Great sunset views of lower Manhattan off expansive patio. FEMALE ONLY. Serious inquiries only. Contact Ryan at 212-000-0000.

Translation:

Spacious penthouse = decent sized top floor

Soho = the pimple on the buttcheek of Chinatown

Screenwriter = unemployed artist (parents pay rent)

Expansive patio = your standard no-frills roofdeck

Female only = sheer genius

Sheer genius? Yepper. That's a fact.

My brilliant, devious, strategic-minded, and incessantly girl crazy friend Ryan placed this ad in the Village Voice not because he was actually looking for a roommate. Not even close. He placed this ad for one reason and one reason only: to meet girls.

And this is how Ryan and I met. I was one of the many girls who fell prey to his tantalizing ad. After a great conversation with Ryan on the phone, I felt comfortable enough to go see the place. I brought a friend with me just in case he was a serial killer, of course.

After passing the flies, feral street cats and pungent fish stench that signifies the back end of Chinatown, the cab pulls up at this sparse institutional building on Grand Avenue. There's not much else around. I look at my friend and she shrugs back but I somehow still have hope.

The apartment itself is actually pretty cool. And Ryan is pretty cool. He offers me a drink. I take some coffee, ask to see the room. Somehow he evades this question for a bit. We end up laughing. For several hours - and for so long that my friend has to leave. And I feel strangely comfortable enough to let her go on her way. This Ryan character is funny as hell. He's trying out this Judy of Time Life fame headset he just bought off an infomercial so he can make calls hands-free. And he's talking like Judy now in a plasticky high-pitched voice, gesturing effeminately, the whole nine. Keep in mind, this is 1994 and we don't have cell phones. Or caller ID. Or any of that other stuff. We have answering machines. We have basic cable. Robin Byrd on Channel 35 is our late night free porn. And Time Life infomercial items are vastly entertaining.

We make small talk and then we make some big talk. About our career aspirations. He's a writer. I want to be an actress. Or something like that. But I'm a writer, too. I mean, that's what I went to school for – but who knows, I'm young, I have time to figure it all out.

So in the fairly large living room that does, in fact, have a pretty stunning view of the Statue of Liberty, Ryan has created a 'room' for the supposed roommate. It's your basic Crate and Barrel screen adorned with a Moroccan looking shawl and with a single bed tucked behind it. Is this a joke? I say as much. That's when he looks earnest, serious, and somewhat offended and says, "This is New York, Jessica. That's a decent space for someone."

There's a moment of silence while I stare at the makeshift room. We both stare. Then, like the punchline of a joke, I look at him with a face that says: "I call bullshit." This is a look that makes him laugh. And then really laugh. Clearly, at this point, we've bonded.

He suggests we grab drinks in the East Village. We hop a cab. The cabbie is Indian. Ryan whispers just loud enough for me to hear him mocking the poor guy in some crazy fake Indian accent, mumbling something about 'veddy much curry." I shush him but the laughter continues.

That night he teaches me the lure of dirty martinis and PEI mussels served in fancy copper pots by beautiful NYU students. He tells me about the woman he's seeing who's, sadly, in the middle of a divorce. Her name is Devora. He's in love. I ask him why she's getting a divorce. He just points at himself. I shake my head, "Homewrecker." And he says, "I'm doing her a favor."

From that day on, Ryan and I are inseparable. And my life will never be the same.