His and Her Nightlife Diaries

I said yes and flashed a thumbs up. I’d been inside about 12 minutes.

Meredith, my lady of the hour, wore black satin capri pants and strappy red heels. I grabbed her hand and led the way to the dance floor.

We danced next to an older couple who acted as if they already had a room. Their embrace was far more seductive than the chirpies’ dancing at Bar Louie. Meredith and I danced to a couple of songs and returned to the bar. She said, "I always talk with someone who makes eye contact." I’m glad she did.

She inquired about me. Things were getting interesting. I looked deep into her green eyes and said, "I’m a writer. But I need a new dictionary because I ran out of words." She laughed, and told me I was a comedian. I learned Knoxville was home, but she wintered in Naples.

We danced again, and I began to perspire lightly. It quickly turned into a global warming sweat that broke out on my forehead and trickled down my right temple. Meredith gestured to the perspiration over my upper lip. I momentarily panicked and thought, "Why did I wear two T-shirts and a jacket? This is bad."

Meredith smiled and handed me a napkin. To deflect my embarrassment, I claimed I sweat when I lift weights.

"I thought you were nervous," said Meredith. She laughed, but strangely, I felt relaxed. It was the compassion in her eyes.

To cool down, I rolled up my sleeves, which revealed my ordinary Rolex watch. I pointed at her diamond-encrusted, solid gold Lady Rolex. Her watch displayed a different time than mine. I said,
"That’s the problem with these cheapo watches—they don’t keep accurate time. May I buy you a drink, Meredith?"

She laughed, said yes, and I escaped the sweat box.

A blond-haired chap who looked like Ringo Starr took the stage and sang Mustang Sally. The dance floor went wild. I asked Meredith if she knew him. She didn’t.

I asked her to dance, and we joined the surging crowd around the stage. I asked a woman next to me about the singer. She turned, her face only two inches from mine, and proclaimed, "That’s Tommy Cochran!"

I had no idea who the singer was, so I said, "Who is he?" She looked at me as if I were from Planet X. I pulled Meredith close and whispered, "That’s Tommy Cochran?" I felt the urge to kiss her, but the groupies jostled us, and the moment passed.

We returned to the bar, and she ordered me a drink. The DJ, sounding just like the real Lou Rawls, started singing You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine. I again leaned in towards Meredith, but the barkeep interrupted with our drinks. Then she asked if I had a girlfriend. I said I did not. But skepticism remained in her eyes.

A short time later, the overhead lighting came on. The bar was still full. But Lou had stopped singing, and Cinderella’s carriage awaited.

I walked Meredith to her car, and I kissed her softly on the cheek. We said good night, and I closed the door. The scent of her perfume lingered.

I went back to Fifth Avenue and into Yabba’s. Although it was well after midnight, a large, young crowd enjoyed dancing to the rap music.

But I missed the smooth, soulful style of Lou and the beautiful Southern belle. It was time for me to go home. I walked slowly to my car, thought about Meredith and started humming, "You’ll Never Find..."

Her Story
Getting Started at Café Lurcat and Snapper’s Night Club
Friday night began as it often does—I made plans to meet a girlfriend for a glass of wine at Café Lurcat. It’s a great place to mingle, and you see some of the same people every week.

The men range from doctors and businessmen to young guys in the service industry—and let’s not forget the Naples trust-fund folks. The crowd is usually well-dressed, and on the occasions that I’ve been there alone, people were friendly enough to welcome me into their group for the night.

On this particular evening, I found my friend talking to a guy I thought she knew. I quickly realized that this was not the case—he was definitely fishing. She wasn’t taking the bait, so we moved away from him.

Our new "friend" caught up with us a bit later. From our chilly reception, he finally realized his fate. "So, both of you are about to blow me off at the same time, aren’t you?" We sidestepped him to chat with some acquaintances. We were getting the scoop on the next place to go.

We made quite an impression on one rather intoxicated gentleman who so badly wanted to impress us that he bought the entire crowd a drink. We could hardly understand a word he was saying, so we bailed.

My friend decided to go home since she had an early engagement in the morning. Not ready to end my evening, I met up with some other friends. Since the dance club Sway had recently closed, we were contemplating where to go next.

The winning choice was Snapper’s Night Club. It is close to Fifth Avenue and is, well, interesting. Although it is known as a gay club, it is hetero-friendly. The cover is only $5, the drinks are inexpensive, the music is good and there’s a fun drag show to boot. What more can you ask for?

After the dramatic lip-synching performances, we danced what was left of the night away on the uncrowded dance floor.

Sway With Me
Sway reopened a few weeks later, and once the crowd picked up, we started to dance. Our little social group fluidly intermixed with other groups, and then reformed on the dance floor to compare notes on who we met. As a group of single women, we attracted a bit of attention and had lots of guys joining our circle to dance with us. Any attempt to divide our group was thwarted, as men often underestimate the power of a ladies’ night out.

Getting into the Groove at Bice Lounge and Paddy Murphy’s
Upon entering Bice Lounge, an intimate club located behind Bice Ristorante on Fifth Avenue, I learned that I had just missed the free salsa lessons offered from 8 to 9 p.m. There were a few couples and single women dancing, and the scene started to pick up around 10 p.m.

As I sat at the bar, a group of salsa instructors from a local dance school entered and took over the dance floor with some impressive moves.

A man I dated a year ago came in with some of his family, which only confirms how small Naples is. We chatted a bit, and then I was asked to dance by someone who clearly knew how to salsa (maybe one of the instructors?). Although I am somewhat familiar with the dance, I was admittedly out of my league. He was very gracious, however, and I had fun getting out on the dance floor. At around 11:30 p.m., I was ready to move on to something different.

I arrived at Paddy Murphy’s and found quite a few friends already there. There was a musician singing classics, which makes for a fun evening. There is nothing like good, spirited singing to end a night out.

After Bice Lounge, I was itching to dance, so I found a few willing partners to join me on the small dance floor near the dart boards. I quickly learned that you have to be careful with whom you share your affections in this small town. I was quickly dismissed by a female acquaintance who threw me a scathing look, followed by an, "OK. We’ll see you later" (in a tone that clearly indicated that seeing me later would not be a good thing). She mistook my jesting and, well, OK, my flirty nature, as an attempt to steal her interest of the evening. My bad. I wasn’t trying to compete with anyone.

Since the singles scene is so limited here, people can get a little territorial. It also seems normal for past dates and current possible interests to all show up at the same place, which requires a good sense of humor and a bit of social grace. As a friend of mine describes it: Going out in Naples is a race to look the trendiest without trying, the most available without being desperate and last, but certainly not least, the least interested but the most interesting.

My friend’s ex-boyfriend and I had an interesting conversation about how communication between the sexes has become more difficult to interpret now that so many people rely on text messaging instead of calling. Without hearing a tone of voice and without complete sentences, it can be tough to determine what sentiments are intended. But even with the things that work against us singles in Naples, I still enjoy my time out because it all essentially comes down to attitude.