Romantically Challenged (24 page)

* * *

Simone and I walked down to Greg’s office and stood in his doorway until he finished his phone call.

“What?” he asked before the receiver even reached the cradle.

“Tell us about Susie,” Simone said coyly.

Greg blushed. “It was her idea. She’s an actress and she wanted some exposure.”

“What’s your excuse?” I asked.

“The show pays for everything,” he said. “You women don’t realize how expensive dating can be for a guy. Besides, it’s kinda cool to be on TV”

“Rosenthal thinks you should’ve hyped the firm more,” I said.

“I did,” he responded. “But the editors cut our thirteen-hour date down to six minutes. I guess they thought work talk wasn’t sexy enough to air.”

“Unlike all that footage of the two of you on the dance floor,” Simone cooed.

Greg blushed again.

“Did you get lucky?” she asked.

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” he said.

“A gentleman doesn’t tape his date and broadcast it on national television,” I said.

“Let’s just say it was a worthwhile experience.”

* * *

Simone followed me back to my office and told me about her latest wedding planning fiasco, and I told her about the premiere. She wasn’t impressed. Todd’s cousin was a film director so she’d been to a few herself. I guess Noah was right. After the first one, everyone’s jaded. I needed to find someone that hadn’t already experienced a movie premiere, so I called Kaitlyn.

“Wow, that’s so cool,” she said. “Did you see any movie stars?”

“No,” I admitted. “Noah said he saw a couple of those guys from the WB, but I don’t watch those shows so I didn’t recognize them.”

“Too bad,” she replied, crunching potato chips in my ear. “So when are you seeing him again?”

“I don’t know. There was nowhere to park by my apartment when he drove me home last night, so he just dropped me off and said he’d talk to me soon.”

“Did he at least walk you to the door?”

“No, but he did wait until I was inside the building before he pulled away.” Even I realized how pathetic that sounded.

“Well there’s always Richie Rich. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to take you out this weekend. Maybe you two can go to the opera.”

“Ha! A lot you know. The season doesn’t even start for two more weeks. But it doesn’t matter because he’s in Charleston anyway. Two men in my life and I’m still dateless on Saturday night.”

After fifteen minutes discussing Kaitlyn’s plans for Steve’s surprise birthday weekend in Palm Springs, Kaitlyn made me promise I wouldn’t spend the next two days sitting home waiting for the phone to ring. I kept my promise. I spent all day Saturday running errands and all day Sunday in the office. I’d had a lot of early evenings lately and I needed to catch up on work. Or at least that’s what I told myself.

The highlight of my weekend came when I received my letter from small claims court notifying me of my trial date. With the exception of this weekend, my love life had been so active lately I’d completely forgotten about my lawsuit against Just A Date.

Round Three

I’d just shut down my computer for the night, when the phone rang. It rang two more times while I debated whether to answer it. I finally picked it up on the fourth ring because I thought it might be Richie Rich. He’d called me last night from the plane on his way home from Charleston and I’d agreed to meet him tonight for an early movie. But the voice on the other end of the line wasn’t Richie Rich.

“Hi,” Noah said. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

I paused to recover from the surprise and said, “Actually, yes. I’m on my way out the door. Can I call you tomorrow?” Maybe he’ll think I’m going out on a hot date. He would be half right.

“Sure. I just called to see if you were free for dinner Saturday night.”

Hmmm. I could say yes now or I could wait and let him worry. “Let me get back to you tomorrow.” He left me hanging all weekend. Let him suffer a little.

“Okay. I’ll talk to you then.”

He sounded disappointed—exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

* * *

My phone call with Noah lasted just long enough to make me late for my date with Richie Rich. I arrived at the theater and found him pacing in front of the box office. I apologized for being late and blamed it on the traffic. That was the good thing about L.A. traffic, always a believable excuse.

“Expecting rain?” I asked, nodding to the tan trench coat he wore over his suit.

“The weather report this morning predicted a 20 percent chance of precipitation,” he said. “I like to be prepared.”

I’d heard that report too, but a 20 percent chance of rain wasn’t high enough for me to lug my umbrella around all day. I needed at least a 50 percent chance of rain accompanied by menacing clouds. I hadn’t seen any yet.

Richard bought our tickets and I saved our seats while he waited in line for popcorn. By the time he joined me in the theater, the trailers were already running. I couldn’t have planned it better. We didn’t even have to talk to each other.   

My euphoria didn’t last long. The opening credits were still rolling when Richard reached for my hand. His skin was warm and smooth, yet it still repelled me. Probably because it wasn’t Noah’s. I pulled my hand away and wiped it on a napkin, then whispered “the popcorn’s greasy.” After his third failed attempt at physical contact, he gave up.

But that didn’t stop him from talking to me. Maybe if he’d attended more movies and less opera he would know that “Silence is Golden.” Goddamn rich people. They have no respect for the art form of the masses.

Every time Richard leaned over and whispered in my ear, I winced. At first I tried to discourage his talking by suggesting that if he didn’t watch the screen he’d miss the best part. Then I tried ignoring him. Finally, I shushed him. But it wasn’t until the man sitting in front of us turned around and told him to “shut the fuck up,” that he finally stopped chattering. Instead, he wrote me a note on his Blackberry suggesting we leave.

This was only the second time in my life that I walked out of a theater in the middle of a movie. The first time was during
Judge Dredd
, and that was because the movie was awful instead of the company.

As soon as we stepped outside the theater, Richard suggested dinner. I was hungry too, but I couldn’t imagine spending another two hours with this man. I probably should’ve just gone home, but instead I proposed coffee. At least coffee would be quick.

Richard and I set off on foot for the Coffee Bean on the next block. We were only ten feet from the theater when it started to rain. Just drizzle really, but Richard offered me his coat anyway. I politely declined. Ignoring my protests, Richard removed his raincoat and draped it around my shoulders.

Maybe it was him having been right about the rain. Or maybe it was his constant reaching for my hand. Or his incessant chatter. Or asking me to leave in the middle of a movie. Or maybe I was just PMS-ing. But I snapped.

I tore Richard’s raincoat from my shoulders and threw it at him. “I told you, I don’t want your goddamn coat.” When you didn’t even want the man’s clothing touching you, clearly it was time to end the relationship.

Richard put his raincoat back on and we walked the rest of the way in silence. By the time we reached Coffee Bean, the drizzle had turned into a downpour, my hair and suit were soaked, and I felt like a raving bitch. I apologized to Richard for snapping at him and forced myself to pay penance by spending the next hour listening intently to all his boring stories.

After the rain stopped, we walked back to the parking lot where we’d both left our cars. I looked wistfully at Richard’s brand new Mercedes convertible which I would now never get to ride in. Then I thanked him and gave him a peck on the cheek. He said he would call. I was skeptical, but it didn’t matter. This was our last date, no matter how many flowers he sent me.

Party Time

I spent Saturday afternoon with Kaitlyn, shopping for a new outfit for my date with Noah.

“Poor Richie Rich,” Kaitlyn said when I told her what I’d done.

“I know. I feel bad. But he just wasn’t The One.”

“Do you really think you gave him a fair chance?”

“Of course I did. I went out with him three times.”

“Yes, but you’d already met Noah. I wonder if you would’ve been so quick to dump him if Noah wasn’t in the picture.”

“Noah wasn’t the problem,” I said. “It was the money.”

“I thought you wanted to be with someone who had money.”

“I want to be with someone who earns money. Not someone who inherited it.”

“I’ll add that to the list.”

* * *

After two and a half hours at the Beverly Center mall, I came home with charcoal gray pants, a low-cut black sweater, and a new black lace bra. This was our third date. I wanted to be prepared.

I tickled Elmo while I listened to the one message on my answering machine: “Julie, it’s Noah. Call me when you get in.”

“I’ll kill him if he cancels on me after I just spent $200 on a new date outfit.” Elmo just laughed, but I knew he agreed with me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked when Noah picked up the phone.

“Nothing major,” he said. “My car’s in the shop. Would you mind driving tonight?”

“No, that’s fine.” It would save me the trouble of having to clean up my apartment and change my sheets.

“Great,” he said. “Pick me up at eight.”

* * *

I pulled into the driveway of Noah’s West Hollywood bungalow, but before I could get out of the car, he came out to greet me. I was disappointed. I wanted to see the inside of his home so I could complete my mental picture of the two of us living together. Maybe he was saving it for later.

Noah directed me to Le Champaigne, an upscale French restaurant south of Sunset Boulevard. The night was warm and the patio had heat lamps, so we dined al fresco. I’m sure there were stars, but they weren’t visible through the smog.

As I was finishing the last of our shared chocolate soufflé, Noah mentioned that he’d like to stop by a party after dinner. “If you don’t mind,” he added.

“Sure,” I said. It was still early. Too early just to go back to his place for the rest of the evening. “Where is it?”

“Not too far from here, in the Hollywood Hills. My friend Ron’s house.”

“Is he the one you told me about? The one who opened his own talent agency?”

“Right,” he said. “One of the few openly gay agents in Hollywood.”

“I don’t know why you say that. You think the rest of them are in the closet?”

“A lot of them,” he said. “I heard one of the big agencies actually told its employees that if they want to keep their jobs they need to get married and conduct their extra-curricular activities in private.”

“I don’t believe that. This is Hollywood. It’s acceptable to be gay in Hollywood.”

“Hollywood is owned by corporate America, where it’s never acceptable to be gay.”

“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it. You seem to know a lot more gay men then I do.”

“It’s the job,” he said and reached for the check.

* * *

Noah directed me to a house buried deep in Beachwood Canyon that I never would’ve found on my own. We parked the car at the end of the block and followed the noise to the party.

Noah led me into a large living room with white washed wood floors, ultra-modern black furniture, and forty to fifty expensively dressed drunk people. It was a small-scale version of the same industry crowd that had been at the premiere.

The Suits weren’t wearing their suits, but you could still pick them out from their merino wool sweaters and Armani jackets. The rest of the guests, mainly Artistic Types, included a few actors whose faces I recognized but whose names I didn’t know, and a handful of non-industry people wearing jeans and sneakers, and were all overweight. Noah told me they were someone’s out-of-town relatives. From the accents, I assumed Chicago.

Noah pushed his way to the bar and returned with two mojitos. He handed me one, took my other hand, and led me down a flight of steps, through a den, and out to the backyard. It was large by L.A. standards. It comfortably held another thirty people, a bar, and a set of wood patio furniture.

Noah walked us towards a tall, thin man in his early forties wearing a pale blue sweater. He was attractive despite his mostly bald head. When the man spotted Noah, he excused himself from the couple he was talking to and headed over to us.

The man hugged Noah as if he hadn’t seen him in years. When he released his grip, Noah introduced me.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Ron said and gave me the same bear hug. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“You too,” I said. Noah had told him about me. That was a good sign.

Ron and Noah gossiped about work and their mutual friends, then Ron led us back into the house so he could show Noah a new painting he’d just purchased. They were discussing the perfect wall space for the picture when I left them in search of a bathroom. Ron told me the downstairs one was still being remodeled and suggested I try the one upstairs.

I attempted to follow Ron’s directions, but the living room was still filled to capacity and I couldn’t find the hallway he’d told me to follow. When I thought my bladder was about to burst, I asked a group of women standing near me if they knew where the bathroom was. They didn’t, but one of them suggested I check with the caterer.

I headed towards the kitchen and found two women in black pants and white shirts scooping hors d’ oeuvres from baking sheets onto silver trays.

“Excuse me,” I said to the redhead, “would you by any chance know where the bathroom is?”

“Down that hall,” she said, pointing towards an archway on the far side of the living room. “Second door on the left.”

I thanked her and turned around, smashing into a tall man similarly dressed in black pants and a white jacket. I started to apologize as I looked up into radiant blue eyes.

“Julie, this is a surprise.”

“Hi, Joe. How are you?”

“Good,” he said. “Really good. And you?”