Will and I met in a bar back in the spring of 1993.  It was girl’s night out, and I was hanging out with Judy and Donna at a place called Whitey’s in Arlington, Virginia.  Whitey’s isn’t actually called Whitey’s from the outside.  In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever really seen the name of the restaurant in ink.  Above the door of the bar outside is a neon pink sign that reads: “Eat”, with a finger pointing into the restaurant.  Inside, the floor is an old beaten-up linoleum, the bar is circa 1950’s, and the bathrooms haven’t been cleaned in as many years.  This place is a dive.  It’s the perfect place to hang out on a Thursday night when you have zero desire to dress up.  Jeans are mandatory, make-up is minimal.  It’s the kind of place you go slumming, and not the kind of place you imagine meeting your future husband.  It was on a night like this that I met Will.

Judy and I were hunched over at the bar.  Judy was a friend from college, bright and beautiful.  With long blond hair and huge blue eyes, she was a hit whenever we went out.  I always banked on picking up her man scraps.

Our friend Donna was standing outside in line, waiting to get in.  I met Donna and her soon to be husband Dave at our Church in Washington.  Donna, too, is a beautiful woman, with a very Italian earthiness to her.  Donna is the epitome of grace and generosity, with the heart of a lion.

Since it was pouring rain, Donna logically had an umbrella.  A man walked up to her, and asked if he could share her umbrella.  Being the kind person she is, she naturally obliged.  What she didn’t realize is that this was his “mojo,” his way of meeting girls.

“Hello.  How long have you been waiting?” he asked in his coy but innocent way.

“Oh, just a few minutes.  The line is moving quickly.  Where is your umbrella?” she responded brightly.

“I must have left it at home.  You here alone?”

“Oh, gosh, no.  My friends are sitting inside.  You see?  There they are, right at the front bar.  Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to scratch your arm with my ring.  I’m still not used to being engaged!  How about you, are you here alone?”

“I’m with some buddies.  They are behind us, getting soaked.  They didn’t have the kahunas’ to share an umbrella with a pretty girl,” he laughed more to himself than to her.

“Well, it’s definitely unusual for us to be out on a Thursday night.  With Judy and I both seriously dating men, we rarely get to see each other anymore.  My friend Nicole was determined to get us out.  It’s hard on her, since she’s not dating anyone.  She’s really pretty, though, and very smart,” Donna said opportunistically.  She realized that she could use this chance to set me up.  Being a good girlfriend, she was telling him all about me, trying to drum up some interest.  Thus, by the time he walked in, he knew a fair bit about me.  In fact, in his mind, as they finally entered the bar, they were a flight of two.  When the doorman went to check her ID, he assumed that Will was with her, so he got in, too.

Donna walked up to me and hugged me, so Will followed suit.  I thought he was just pulling a hokey stunt, but he leaned forward and said in his big-man-on-campus confident voice, “Hi, my name is Will Inney.”  Or, at least that’s what I thought I heard over the noise of the bar.  It struck me as an odd name, and I thought he was trying to be funny but it was not working.

I leaned forward and stuck out my hand.  “Hi, I’m Nicole.  What did you say your name was?”

“Will.  Will McKinney.  I understand you used to sell payroll.  So did I.  We should play the “who do you know” game.  Donna told me all about you, so now that she and I are friends, you and I are clearly friends now too.”

Once again, an instant opening line.  It seemed a little too friendly, but Whiteys is a friendly sort of place, so I shrugged it off.

After comparing work stories, Will made his way over to chat up Judy.  She is a pretty lady, and he needed to confirm for himself that she was, indeed, unavailable for pursuit.  As the master of the opening dialog, he immediately found a common thread in their lives: MCI.  She was working there, and he wanted to work there.  As he chatted her up, he asked for her card for help in getting a job.   Naturally, she obliged, thinking that it was a way to network.

Months later he admitted to me that he felt as though he had scored with the both of us, by getting her number and mine.  Even though, in reality, that was the farthest from the truth for Judy.  But, when you’re dealing with an ego like Will’s…

He turned back to me, apparently it was time to turn up the volume.

“Did I tell you that my mother was born in Ireland?” he mentions with great confidence as he placed his arm behind me on the bar to lean in.

I smile wanly with an “Oh?”  Inside, I’m cringing.

After the debacle of my last two relationships prior to meeting Will, the LAST thing in the world I wanted was to date another bloody Irishman.  I had had two bad relationships with Irish-American boys, and I was about done with the whole “Irish” gig.  And, yet, right off the bat he mentions that his mother was born in Dublin.  My girlfriends, in fact, had demanded that I not date any more Irish guys.  And, yet, here was another one presenting himself to me as if it were a deal-closer.

“So you’re Irish, huh?  Is that a good thing?” I ask, muttering beneath my breath.

He proceeds to tell me all the wonderous Irish things about his family.  I listened without comment.

Finally, the conversation moved on.

“I drive a convertible”.  Again the swagger and positioning.  This guy was clearly used to having these lines worked.  I guess that since he was a fairly tall, blond Marine that women would swoon over this.  I wasn’t swooning, however.

“Oh, that’s cool.  What kind?”  I asked, only because I made a mental bet with myself that it was red.  I was now thoroughly bemused with this guy who was so full of himself, he thought he was the definition of the cat’s meow.  There’s no doubt this guy is used to skirting by life by using what he thinks is charm.

“Corvette, Cherry Red.”

“Ugh”, I thought to myself.  Great, not only is he Irish, but he thinks it’s cool to drive a fast, cheesy car.  I immediately knew he was dangerous and I needed to be careful.  He was nice-enough looking, with wavy hair and light brown eyes.  But, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, knowing that getting involved with him would be dangerous.

And yet, inexplicably, I whipped out my pen to give him my number.

Two and a half years later, we got married.

When I met him, I was 28 years old and terrified of being an old maid.  To look at me, you’d think I was crazy for having this thought.  At 5’9”, with strawberry bond hair and legs longer than should be legally allowed, I could make quite an entrance.  You wouldn’t call me stunning, but with the right make-up, and a good haircut held firmly in place with gallons of hairspray, I could hold my own.   I am not a classic beauty, but more of the French-crazy-nosed beauty.  I had battled weight problems a few years earlier, but now I was fit and trim.  Theoretically, I was a good package.

And, yet, I was driven to get married.  I wasn’t looking for a partner who would be with me through thick and think.  I was looking for a label.  A husband.  In the end, I got exactly what I desired, which was the last thing I needed.  My husband was my spouse, but not my partner.  Even though we dated for about two and a half years before getting married, we were doomed from the start.  The signs were there, but I chose to ignore them.

By our second year of marriage, we had our first daughter.  Eighteen months later, we had our second daughter.  By all public accounts, we were on the right path.  However, inside the four walls of our bedroom, it was a very different matter.  Our relationship had been tumbling for some time.  If I were honest with myself, I would have to admit, things began to falter immediately after getting married.  But, it’s painful to acknowledge that I could have avoided bringing two children into the world with someone with whom I should never have had kids.  I look back and realize how selfish I was.  I knew I wanted children and that even if our relationship was doomed, I still wanted them.  Not a pretty thing to realize about yourself, but it’s true.  Luckily, I ended up with two great kids.

Nicole Drapeau Gillen, Copyright 2016 All Rights Reserved