Hollywood Ass. (22 page)

I was a bit taken aback by this. New Yorkers, as opposed to many other Americans, aren’t as keen on starting conversations with strangers and it’s perhaps no coincidence that “fuck you” is the most used phrase here. This guy was not the normal grumpy New Yorker, he was supremely confident and relaxed. But, of course, a sweaty dude with running clothes and a stack of self-help books has zero intimidation factor.

“Yeah, I guess. Got some recommendations from a friend.”

“Let me see those,” he stretched out his hand and expected me to hand him the books. It was kind of forward, but it’s not like he was going to steal them, was he? It didn’t fit well with his tidy appearance and his shiny golden Rolex watch. Unless he’d stolen that too.

The man scanned the books with his dark brown eyes, “Olson, I've read that. A bit basic, but good. Law of attraction? Controversial stuff, but brilliant marketing. Outselling the Bible for all I know. Aha, Tim Ferriss, somehow I didn’t see that one coming. Nice, but slightly weird dude.”

He handed the books back to me, “Not a bad idea, reading those. Might take you places. Depending on where you want to go of course.” The man took a sip of coffee and looked out over the Great Lawn. For a second he seemed to be lost in thought.

“I felt a bit out of tune so I thought I'd give them a try. You a big fan of this kind of books?” I said, and studied him.

“Not a fan, but I read them. Since I quit my job and got more time, I've started reading a lot more, pretty much anything that comes my way. I like to say that books find me, not the other way around. I also write myself by the way.”

“Anything I know?”

Dimples showing clearly in his chiseled face, the guy seemed happy I asked the question, “I don't think you've read them. I've written one on business with a marketing focus and one that’s part fiction and part autobiography. It’s called The Wake-Up Call. Here’s my card.”

The card was white with a name and some contact details on it. The name was “Jack Reynolds.” and below it it read: “Writer.”

I took it and stretched out my hand, “Darryl.”

“Nice to meet you, Darryl. You're not a New Yorker are you?”

“Likewise. No, not originally, although I live here now - I'm from Clarendon, Virginia.”

“That's a nice area. Myself, I'm a New Yorker through and through, wouldn't live anywhere else.”

I got the feeling this guy must have been some kind of top-of-the-line business man, which made me wonder why he was sitting on a park bench in Central Park in the middle of the day, talking to a smelly guy with a pack of books and colorful jogging shoes.

I noticed him looking out over the Great Lawn and followed his eyes to a little girl, not older than a toddler, stumbling around on the grass. Like he knew what I was thinking, he said: “That’s my daughter, Amber. She loves coming here.”

“Oh, okay. She’s cute.”

“Thanks, she got her mother’s eyes.” Jack smiled.

“Can I ask you why you quit working?” I said.

Jack made a grimace, “Oh, that's a helluva long story and I don’t have time to get into it right now. But in short, I'll blame and
thank
women for it. They were always central in shaping and changing me. It took me a long time to understand
that
and to be honest with you, I still don’t understand
them
.”

I couldn’t see Jack having any problems
meeting
women though. He was a magnet, testosterone fly-paper.

“It's the same reason I'm on this bench really,” I said, modestly, hoping he could give me some advice or at least listen in. I realized I was desperate to talk to anyone willing to listen.

“Don't tell me you're trying to improve yourself because someone else wants you to?”

“I don’t think so. I'm doing it for me, but I'm in this weird kind of relationship, it’s not even a relationship in that sense actually, where I feel we’re slipping away from each other and I really want to reach out to her and stop it - but I’m frozen. I was her assistant for years and now we’re lovers, but she’s famous and I’m not and I’m struggling big-time with confidence, while she seems to become more independent every day. The fact is that I have really strong feelings for her, but I’m not sure they’re mutual.” I realized I was sputtering out the words. I was both nervous and in dire need of getting them out.

Jack chuckled, “That’s some scenario, might even be a script in it somewhere! I’m not sure I can offer any advice without knowing all the details, but I do know that women hate insecurity and if you have low self-esteem, it’s going to drastically decrease your stock value. From the sound of it, I think it’s best to just tell her how you’re feeling and ask her what she feels about you. Get it out in the open, so you don’t run the risk you’re worrying about the same things for no good reason.”

It was pretty much as I expected - sound advice which was easy to give, but hard to follow.

“A friend of mine said the same thing a while ago, but I just can’t seem to get it out of me. Maybe it’s because I know what the answer’s going to be.”

“If you know what the answer’s going to be, you don’t have much to be afraid of do you? Believe me, you’ll feel ten times better afterwards, no matter how it turns out. And if it ends up the way you fear it will, you won’t waste any more time worrying and can at least move on with your life.”

Jack was right, I was wasting my time living in limbo and it was better to break the whole thing off if it had almost zero chance of survival anyway. I just
had
to deal with it.

“Thanks for the advice. I really appreciate it.” I looked down on my stinky clothes, “I’ll probably head home for a shower now. But it was nice talking to you.”

“Sure, man, anytime. I’m spending an hour in the park almost every day so there’s a chance we might run into each other again.”

To that I smiled, said bye and left Jack and his daughter.

***

Fast forward a few weeks. I was still living with
B
, but she was on her way to Egypt to scout locations, meet the film crew and talk to the director of an upcoming epic movie, where she had managed to get one of the lead roles. There were no physical interaction between us anymore, but I was still helping her out, being a work-for-free live-in assistant. She’d asked me to come to Egypt with her, but I’d said no. Her new agent, Richard, was going with her so I had the feeling she wasn’t going to need me that badly. After all, she hadn’t pressed me hard to change my mind. Maybe she was a little bit sick of me.

To compensate for the sadness I felt inside about us, I had decided to put my mind on other things and ask
B
if she wanted to partner with me in business instead. It was such a logical idea, really, but it hadn’t hit me in my love-clouded state. Now, when I knew things were not working out between us the way I wanted them to, the idea had come to me almost like in a dream, and I loved it. It would help us stay working together, although living apart, and also be a big step towards achieving my dream. For the situation, it was as much win-win as I could hope for and I desperately wanted her to see it the same way.

You could see it as a friend asking a friend to put wings on his dream.

But I didn’t have much time before she flew to Egypt so luckily I had managed to get dinner reservations at a famous Italian restaurant to unleash the plan. Sadly,
B
’s renewed interest in the social life had inspired her to invite a guest, a famous musician that I, again, can’t name so let’s just call him
J
. They had been hanging out a bit lately, (she had gone to a concert of his and become a fan) and to me it looked just like the start of another one of her doomed love affairs.

It hurt, let me tell you.

But I knew that feeling sorry for myself was the least productive feeling in the world, so I tried to block it, focusing all my energy on my wine bar dream and seeing
B
as the way to make it happen. It was time to move on with my life and find a purpose to occupy my sad and love-stricken mind.

I’d done the ground work already and found a small, two-story, closed-down coffee shop in the Meatpacking district, which I really could envision as an Italian
enoteca
. It needed quite a bit of work, and it would cost me dearly to refurbish the way I wanted it, but that’s where
B
came into the picture.

I hoped.

***

Rao’s interior never changes - it’s the classic of classics. People have been talking about the meatballs and the pasta sauces since it opened, but I’d never gone there and was looking forward to it.
B
, on the other hand, had been there many times as her ex-husband,
A
, loved the place and knew the owner pretty well. I was impressed by the cosy decor, small and homely in a Goodfellas and Godfather kind of way and it being very Italian, I instantly felt at home.

B
was wearing a strong-shouldered Balmain dress for the occasion and looked ravishing. I also wanted to dress nicely and had put on my nicest suit (a gift from her), a grey Armani with fine chalk stripes and a crisp light blue shirt. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I had to admit how much she had helped my dress sense, suddenly I knew how to look stylish.

Rao’s owner, Frankie (what else?), said “Bella!” and gave
B
a big hug before we were led to our table. Then he told us the menu for the night and I went for the meatballs, while
B
chose a ricotta clamshell pasta. I was studying the wine list while she exchanged a few polite sentences with our table neighbors, a famous business man and his wife.

Sometimes I wondered what they made of me, these powerful and famous people. Did they think, “So who the fuck is this guy?” or were they just assuming I was also famous or just a friend of
B
? Did I have the “assistant look”, or could I pull off the illusion of having landed in the spotlight by my own efforts? I got the feeling that most people saw me as an (to them) unknown rapper, which was stereotypical and sad in a way, because I didn’t care much for rap music, but it still felt somewhat better than being an assistant.

After choosing a bottle of vintage Valipolicella Ripasso, I asked
B
where her “date” was. It stung a little, asking, but I wanted to get my point across. We had stopped sleeping together, so I had no right to “claim” her in any way, I guess, but it still felt strange how quickly she had “discarded” me.

She gave me an angry look, “It’s not a date, we’re friends. What’s up with you thinking I date everybody? In fact, I just got a text. He’s late. He’ll join us for dessert or drinks.”

B
looked disappointed by the news, but I was happy to get her alone for a while. It gave us the chance to talk and properly discuss the things I had on my mind.

After the first sip of wine I saw no point in beating around the bush, but just as I was about to open my mouth she said: “You sure you don’t want to come with me to Egypt? It will be fun, we always have such a good time!”

How could you explain you weren’t happy being the fifth wheel, when she seemed completely clueless about what was going on? I just
had
to break it to her.

“Sorry, I know it would be fun, but I need to get my own life on track and lately I’ve felt I’m just floating around like a duck in a pond. What am I to you really? We’re not lovers anymore and I’m not your assistant, but I’m still doing an assistant’s job. It’s already tough being around you when I’m really, really attracted to you and you’re not feeling the same about me.”

There it was. It was finally out. I think this was the first time I really said how I truly felt, which was kind of ridiculous, but I was working along the lines of
better late than never
and as soon as I had uttered the words, it felt like a weight had been lifted from me.

B
looked stung. She hadn’t seen it coming and suddenly wore a forlorn look on her face. She looked everywhere but directly at me, then said in a soft voice, “Darryl, I’m still too confused to be in any kind of relationship and you have to understand that. I just got divorced, you’ve been my assistant for years, it’s kind of weird we’ve been sleeping together, I know, but it’s still too soon me for to get involved in anything more serious than that. I don’t want to risk our friendship.”

Her reply made a lot of sense, but not the kind of sense I wanted.

“
B
, I’m in love with you. I didn’t intend for it to happen, after all, we’ve managed to be around each other for a long time without any emotional drama, but something happened in Rome and it’s not easy for me to shut it down. I know it’s unfortunate, but I think I need to distance myself a bit from you to be able to go back to being just friends again. Which makes going to Egypt together a stupid idea.”

“So I guess we’re back to where we were a few months ago? You talking about starting your own life when I really need you.” Her mood had suddenly changed a bit, she didn’t like this conversation and frankly neither did I. Still, we had to have it.

“But you need me like you need a cuddly animal. It’s always at will and when you don’t need or want me, you just look the other way. It’s very tough for me to be treated like that.” I didn’t want to bring her down, I just wanted her to understand my side of the story. Apparently, it wasn’t that easy.

“Do you think I'm selfish? I'm letting you stay with me, I pay for everything you want, I value you so much and I tell you this as often as I can, and you say I only think of my own good? It’s definitely not how I see it! To me we’re friends who help each other out.”

Things were obviously not going the way I’d hoped, but I’d reached the point of no return: “You’re not selfish, I’m just telling you how I
feel
. Things are looking great for you, you have lots of new friends, a new agent, a new movie to make, you don’t need me like some old ball-and-chain. I’d love to be your friend, but right now I need some distance. Otherwise I think we’ll risk our friendship.”