Let me take you back to sitting at my computer, finishing whatever was left of my Forest Ville Chardonnay and watching Dr. Phil on a Wednesday afternoon.
I made myself a mega burrito. At the 99 Cent store I can buy myself two things; vegan pasta and beans. I had some tortillas, some garlic, some other stuff. I just made an enormous burrito with potatoes and whatever else I thought would fit in.
My Facebook status update was: “My home made burrito is bigger than my tortilla”
-The first comment was from Alan, the ex-boyfriend of an ex-friend:
“That’s what she said.”
-The next comment was from an old co-worker from 2006.
“you don’t have a burrito . . . you have a big taco.”
“ZaZING! We should form a writing group.”
Alan: “No way, the funny goes away as soon as you try.”
I wrote: “I will just copy and paste and recycle into a script with my name on it ;)”
Alan: “And I just copy and paste and recycle forms that require people to give me 30% of everything. Its only funny because its evil.”
Alan is in law school.
Me: “Yeah, well, we both are in the most evil industries of the world so I’ll toast to that.”
Alan: “I’ll toast to that as well. I will also toast to many other things today. Such as the mail arriving and the air conditioner clicking on for a moment. Cheers!!”
Me: “We should date.”
Alan: “I am not certain if should is the right word. When you see a gorgeous bonfire, you sit and think wow, that is one of the most beautiful and amazing bonfires I’ve ever seen. I can’t look away. But did it really need to be right in the middle of the library?”
Alan: “Also yes. We really should.”
Me: “That is one of the nicest compliments I have ever heard.”
The conversation moved to email.
He wrote: “Just a word of caution. I'm in law school. Even I don't trust what I say. You probably shouldn't either.”
I wrote: “Please. I am an actress.”
Alan: “Oh right same thing. Except you get better makeup!”
Me: “And less money.
I thought you were cute before Jaq did . . . just for the record.”
Alan: “And for the record . . . I continue to live my life in the mindset that I can't get a [my name]. It keeps me grounded. :D”
A friend explained to me once that I was a fantasy girl, which is maybe why the young ones don’t try to have relationships with me. It’s hard to wrap my head around that since most of my life I have been a gangly, ugly duckling with short hair. Now that I have grown out my hair and become slightly more confident, I somehow crossed a line from “Weird & Awkward” to “Fantasy.” Its an overstatement. But a nice one.
Let me take a moment here to give you background on how I know Alan (named for Alan Shore of Boston Legal, his hero). Back in 2007, I quit my first assistant job working as a production coordinator on a documentary series for Sundance channel since one of the directors was highly abusive, manipulative and self-serving. Welcome to Hollywood.
I took on a seasonal position booking flower orders for an on-line flower company on Mother’s Day weekend. They asked me to stay on and take over the Billing Dept., which I did. There I met Jaq (see previous blog http://soibecameanactress.blogspot.com/2010/12/tale-of-two-friends.html)
She was an old friend I severed communication with for my own well-being.
I also met Alan, who was an IT tech there.
Truth be told, I liked him. He looked like he was 20, was brilliant and really sold dead pan sarcasm. I was knee deep in the Prophet and Jaq swooped him up before I could even build a strategy around it.
As Jaq and I became better friends than co-workers, I occasionally saw Alan in her life.
The Prophet and I went out to karaoke with them, where I gave a stellar performance of Total Eclipse of the Heart. Then we went back to Alan’s little apartment and got high on his volcano.
I attended a dinner party when they moved in together. My date was the Prophet, which is hard to wrap my mind around now.
Time passed. Jaq and Alan broke up but continued to live together. She dated, I am not sure if he did.
Abe and I hung out with the two of them, but I can’t remember what we did.
What does it mean? I don’t know if it means anything, but he is one of the few people in my life who met Abe and the Prophet. One of the very few, and somehow that feels precious to me.
I thought he was cute and I had no idea why he was in this on-again/off-again fiasco with Jaq who is very bossy, brilliant but controlling.
Back to the email chain:
Alan: “Well tell you what. I've liked you since I met you. I will ask you out. It'll be sad and awkward and I'll actually mean it. And it'll be after my 4:20 bowl wears off. We'll see if you still mean it!
I know how awesome Hollywood girls are. They are happy to go home with me until they actually put on their glasses and sober up.”
Me: “Alan, I accept. I think you are hot and you like dogs and . . . you are actually doing something with yourself. You know I have a crush on Rivers Cuomo. You kind of look like him. I already masturbated to your profile pic”
In it, he is lying on the bed with his little dog curled up on his chest.
Alan: “As for meeting you, that has to happen. We never got a chance to sit and talk by ourselves. We might really hate each other. Let me think about that.
Oh I know. Wilson is just too sexy. I'll tell him you like him. ;)”
Me: “You think about it, rarely people hate me until they read about themselves in the blog. But if it’s nice, its nice.”
Alan: “I can't imagine hating you. I just use hyperbolic nonsense a lot because it makes ordinarily inane statements look like they have actual meaning. I've been trying to figure out a way to ask you out for weeks and waiting even longer just seems like a terrible idea. Want to meet this weekend?”
Just rereading this now, he was trying to figure out a way to ask me out for weeks . . . gush.
Everything happened very quickly. I was nursing a cold I got from Joel.
Now, prior to intercourse, I asked Joel why he felt bad and he said it was from too many cigarettes.
Later he said he felt cold-like symptoms. I said “Whoa, you have a cold!?”
He said, “I thought I was clear about that.”
No. No you weren’t.
On Facebook, I documented my battle with said virus.
I got a text from Alan: “I saw you were feeling crappy. Feel better soon! I’m really looking forward to Saturday and I hope you were drunk enough not to remember what you agreed to.”
I texted back: “Ha! Was it unprotected sex and Captain Crunch?”
I did think the cold might be a good out on this date, since I was kind of feeling strangely about it.
He texted: “Just don’t stress out about me and being sick this week. All I want is someone I’m interested in being around to hang out with. You should satisfy those requirements if you had the plague. The fact that you look like you is just a bonus.”
Guh, I only post pretty pictures on Facebook. Shit.
I wrote: “It actually makes me feel a lot better, thanks. When I woke up miserable, our date was the first thing I thought about.”
He texted, “I like that! In contrast . . . When I woke up happy, our date was the first thing I thought about :D”
I texted: “Ha. Hm. Kinda romantic.”
He rented a car and came up to meet me Saturday night. I was grimy from work, but put my hair down anyway and snuck in some eye liner at a stop light so I would be pretty when I pulled up to my apartment.
I let the dogs out and heard my name, so I went out to the patio and looked down. There he was with his little 11 lbs. mutt, Mr. Wilson.
He still looks like he is 20 but speaks like he is 45. He is actually 31.
He said, “Hey.”
I said, “Let’s all go for a walk, but I am out of dog food. What should we do? I am just coming up with a brilliant idea right now that we can all walk together to Vons and buy some dog food.”
I wanted my girls to love Mr. Wilson, and the best way for them to accept him (and not accidentally kill him) is to immediately take a walk together so they felt like a pack. It worked.
It’s hard to walk and talk with two pit bulls, so I would occasionally rotate my body for eye contact in the dark. I was nervous, which is weird. I kept feeling like I was out of breath when I spoke.
I said, “So what type of law are you getting into?”
Alan, “Public Interest.”
Me, “Is that like pro-bono type stuff?”
Alan, “Um, yeah, kinda. Working for the little old lady suing her landlord type stuff. I have been working with the [MUST OMIT TO PROTECT IDENTITY] Project. That’s why I am studying in San Diego. We work with wrongfully convicted people . . . I also want to work with battered women.”
Me, “Really? Did you know that I made a documentary on battered women who killed their husbands and were trapped in the prison system?”
I was feeling out the waters to see if this was a line. Color me skeptical.
Alan, “Um … I think I remember something about it. Tell me again.”
I did. I was trying to read if he was being genuine, I decided he was.
Alan, “They use me in a lot of battered women’s cases to talk to the women because I look androgynous. They are inhibited around the men and some don’t accept women working in the legal field. They are so isolated.”
I said, “Yeah, that is common in abusive relationships. Isolating women from the outside world. I guess you kind of look . . . androgynous. You look very young.”
Alan, “I just want to take back all the money lawyers steal from people. I am good at it, so I decided to make a career out of it.”
I kept the dogs outside Vons while he went in for Pinot Noir and dog food. :)
On our trip back, I asked him about his childhood. I was working to keep him talking because I didn’t want him to be bored after a 3 hour drive to Los Angeles just for a date with me. I still can’t believe he felt it was worth the car rental and gas to come up on a whim for one night with me.
Kinda . . . romantic.
He said he grew up in various foster homes.
I said, “Are you an orphan?”
He said, “Not really.”
I said, “My mother was, that’s why I ask.”
He said, “No, I bounced from foster home to foster home and eventually just left to travel across the country. I thought it was a romantic idea from reading Jack Kerouac. I missed bathrooms and showers so it wasn’t all that romantic. Then around 17, I started following a group of Carnies and working the booths with them.”
I looked back, “Carnies?”
He said, “Yes, by the way all those games are fixed. I had my foot on a pedal to keep people from knocking down all the bottles, unless it was a pretty girl. Then the foot came off the pedal.”
I said, “I KNEW it!”
He said, “Yeah, the Carnies seem to be the perfect community for homosexual men. They work and travel together, then throw these big parties at night and have sex with each other.”
I said, “I would worry about you being 17 in that environment.”
Alan, “Well, like I said. It was perfect for homosexual men. Not for me.”
I said, “What brought you to LA?”
Alan, “Kung Fu School.”
I stopped and turned around, smiling, “KUNG FU SCHOOL!?”
He said, “Yeah, I wanted to learn Kung Fu so I went into an intensive program in Santa Barbara.”
I said, “Really, are you a master at Kung Fu?”
He said, “Um . . . more than most white guys, but that’s about it. I left the program and moved to Los Angeles. That’s when I started studying psychology a UC Irvine.”
This kid was blowing my mind.
We stopped so Wilson could lift up his little leg and mark my corner.
Me, “Why did you name him Mr. Wilson?”
Alan, “You know the Beatles’ song Taxman? Mr. Wilson in the song is actually the British Labour Prime Minister. Did you know that?”
Me, “I did not.”
Alan, “Yep, that’s who he is named after.”
We went up to my apartment, and everyone was friendly. The dogs I mean. I said I was healthy enough to go out. I just needed to change, which I did.
He said, “This is great. I thought you would be too sick to go out and I would be serving you soup in bed all weekend. But you look ready to go out.”
He said, “I hope you don’t mind me just standing here staring at you. I am sure that is part of being a pretty actress, getting used to people just standing around staring at you.”
He he he HEEEEHEEEEHEEEEHEEEE!!!
I suggested Cheesecake Factory because they are the only place I know of that’s open late in Pasadena and they serve champagne martinis I love. Its where Abe took me a few times but nothing is sacred between us anymore. I wanted the Martini Royale.
We showed up and got a table. He was in a very nice button-up top with pants on. I have never felt so much like I did in high school. The table felt big, thinking back, I can almost feel my feet kicking back and forth in the air like a child in a grown up seat.
They carded us for drinks, of course. I did think Alan could pass for under 21. He is so damn articulate, though.
He said, “I hired a stylist before coming up here on this date just for you.”
I said, “A stylist, why?”
He said, “I just wanted to make a good impression. So I got a hair cut and someone picked out my clothes for me, totally threw out my thoughts and suggestions . . . which I expected.”
I said, “I am very low maintenance. You don’t have to worry about that with me.”
Alan, “You’re worth it.”
He was really turning it on.
There was silence as we chewed on our rolls and sipped our tap water.
Alan, “I am really looking forward to those drinks.”
Me, “Me too, social lubricant.”
When I stopped by Em’s that morning for coffee, I told her I had a date with Jaq’s ex. Her first reaction was, “Do you really want to go where she’s been?”
Why do I hate Jaq . . . let me give this in bullet points:
-She is highly competitive, to the point where it’s rude. Ex. Jaq, “I would love to work at a Doggie Daycare, but I am not in high school anymore. I have adult bills to pay.” This was stated while she was (maybe still is) living off unemployment and spending her social security getting drunk every night.
-When Em adopted their foster puppy, and Em’s Brother (Mr. On the Right) announced it in celebration on FB, Jaq posted a link and commentary on his wall about all the hundreds of unwanted rescues that are put down because people fall in love with their foster puppies. She failed to acknowledge that she paid around $1500 for her purebred.
-At a wedding with Mr. On the Right and his new girlfriend who might just be the one for him, she walked up to her and said, “Wow. You look tired.”
-The big one. Because Mr. On the Right is moving in with his girlfriend on July 1st, Jaq pushed her latest beau (Em’s other roommate) into moving in with her on July 1st, leaving Em and her husband roommateless in a 3 bedroom house and financially distressed. She wrote on Mr. On The Right’s girlfriend’s wall, “Thanks for letting us piggy back on July 1st”
Luckily, Em and her Hubby found a house and are starting a new life. Good came from it but . . .
-She made my best friend cry. I hate her.
Em warned me not to bring up Jaq on the date but she and I considered it a major character flaw that Alan would be in a long relationship with her. And though it excited me to be on a date with someone she loved once in a sadistic way, it bothered me. I was trying hard not to address the subject.
Alan said, “I didn’t want to put too much on Facebook because I wasn’t sure where your friendship stood with Jaq.”
I said, “I defriended her a long time ago. The competition thing just got to be too much.”
He said, “Yeah, she and I haven’t been in touch for some time. I just hope she got her life together by now.”
He doesn’t know that she ensnared Em’s roommate into a living situation born of competition rather than love. It will end up blowing up in her face. I didn’t mention it.
Alan, “I thought this might be the ideal situation for dating. Law school is very intense, I wouldn’t wish a relationship on anyone with a law student. It gets very brutal for 9 months at a time. This way we can just see each other when we want to, no pressure. No commitment.”
I exhaled a little. ♪ ♫ “Cause I need freedom now, and I need to know how, to live my life as it’s meant to be . . .” ♪ ♫
He then said, “I don’t want a woman who will move down to San Diego and support me through my legal studies. That turns me off. I want a woman with her own career happening.”
Everything he said was so direct and confident, it was slightly intimidating. What if I wanted to move down to San Diego and support him? I mean, I wouldn’t do that but I like options.
The drinks came and I slurped that sucker down with my artichoke and guacamole.
I told him a little about myself, and on the second round we were laughing.
Alan, “One of the things I look out for is how a girl treats the waiter. If she is rude, I make the rest of the dinner fairly miserable for her.”
He has a dark side. I already knew he had a dark side. I kinda like that.
We walked back to the parking garage and on the elevator up to the roof where we parked he stepped forward. I leaned up against the wall and he kissed me over 5 floors. I was scared, I don’t know why. The whole date felt weirdly innocent to me.
Not a date for a blog. Not a date for distraction. It was my first date.
His lips were soft, like a woman’s mouth.
He stepped back and said, “Wow, I didn’t think that would happen so quickly.”
Me, “Come on! You knew what you were doing.”
He said, “No, it kind of just happened. I thought it might happen much later.”
The elevator doors opened and I marched out. Sometimes my midwestern accent comes out (I spent 9 miserable years in Wisconsin parochial schools) and through my nose I blew out, “Come onnnnn!”
We went back to my place and cracked open a bottle of Pinot Noir he bought and packed a bowl. We sat on my bed and talked all night.
He said, “So what is your plan for becoming an actress? Do you want to get into a Hollywood Blockbuster?”
I said, “No, nothing like that. I know the reality of the business. I am 33. I just want to support myself doing something creative and acting is the easiest thing for me to do while I enjoy things . . . and write.”
Alan, “You know the business is all fixed. Dakota Fanning’s family paid an agency to market her career for $25 Million dollars. That’s how she got all those roles.”
I said, “I knew her agent.”
Alan, “Yeah, it’s all paid for. You need to be rich to get in those blockbusters. Keira Knightley bid on her role in Pirates. There was a bidding pool, and she won.”
I said, “That explains a lot. It takes a lot of money, I mean, most people don’t have millions of dollars to throw at a career.”
He said, “I know. It’s very elitist. Tim Burton’s wife . . . what’s her name? The one who he married just before all his movies turned shitty.”
I said, “Helena Bonham Carter?”
Alan said, “Yeah. She is from English royalty. They are all connected.”
I said, “Nothing surprises me about the nepotism in the film industry anymore.”
Alan, “I want to get a bar code tattooed right here. (he indicated his inner arm) But I need to find someone that can tattoo a perfect square so that it actually reads on a scanner.”
Me, “The perfect square. That might be as difficult as someone being able to draw the perfect circle.”
Alan, “There are no perfect circles except in nature and not on earth. In the universe.”
Me, “I bet it works well for you to look so young in the courts. People trust you or think you are ill equipped to handle the case.”
He said, “I don’t know. I usually map out what I am going to say and then plan what I will say if people are moved, then something else if they are not moved, and build out my speech from there. It’s all based on the reaction from the jury.”
I said, “That’s smart.”
Alan, “There is a lawyer who wears a bright yellow suit and orange floppy shoes and he has interns introduce him before he enters the court, ‘You are about to see something unusual. But you need to listen very carefully to what he has to say. He is brilliant.’ And it works. He is not that great of a lawyer, but people pay attention.
Just like the guy who wears stained ties to court. He represents rich clients and wears a stained tie to come off as a bumbling lawyer so it seems his clients don’t have any money. People hate the rich. Also brown suits. Brown suits are the most expensive but people relate them to the poor.
Everything is an act. I have an act.”
He continued, “Don’t you?”
I said, “Total exposure is my act.”
Alan, “I actually rented the car through Monday, if you would like, I could stay through Sunday?”
I said, “I would like that.”
Alan, “I have an aquarium of fish. The same fish you probably saw when you came over years ago. They just keep going. It started with 3 guppies, and then they bred to 300 over a year and are back down to 3. Two boys and a girl.”
Me, “How do you know if they are boys or girls?”
Alan, “I can see fish penis.”
I laughed. I could only have one glass of wine since my head was feeling like a helium balloon bobbing overhead.
He turned his body towards me and I said (like an idiot), “So why were you involved with Jaq? I just don’t see why the two of you would be compatible.”
He leaned back, “Wow, that is hard to answer since I was just about to kiss you and I don't generally discuss exes on a first date.”
I said, “I know, I’m sorry.”
Gawd, EM, WHY DIDN’T I LISTEN TO YOUR ADVICE?
He said, “No, its ok. You are curious. She gave me attention. Girls don’t really give me that much attention. She did and drove me around a bunch. We dated for almost a year and then I just couldn’t get rid of her.”
That sounds like Jaq. When she wants something, she doesn’t let it go.
I started to realize all the years I thought they were together 2006-2010 . . . it was a friendship with sex, when it was convenient.
We started kissing, and I leaned back. Things got progressively warm and tops came off. His skin was soft, almost too soft. It’s the softness of youth; a puppy’s fur, a baby’s face, the part of the body that never sees the light of day. He was wrapped in it.
I stopped and said, “I don’t think its wise for us to have intercourse.”
He stopped and looked me in the eye, “I am not here to hurt you, (my name).”
I nodded and said, “I know.” But I didn’t know.
His eyes locked into mine, and as he moved from one eye to the other, I followed. Tick tock. Pupil to pupil. Just like a clock marking every second of the weekend spilling between us.
We worked on each other’s bodies manually. I told him I have trouble coming for someone the first time. He didn’t.
I went to the bathroom and stumbled back in the darkness, crawling on the bed towards him and said, “Don’t try to pee and take your pants off at the same time, it doesn’t work.”
He said, “Sounds like a sequencing problem. Oh is that daylight?”
I looked over my shoulder, “Yep.”
Alan, “That means I am running out of time with you.”
We fell asleep for an hour or two.
I woke up. I have been having trouble sleeping lately. I have to medicate myself to let go of all the thoughts spinning overhead. Marijuana is the damp blanket that falls over the tinkering of words, songs and people at night. Only then can my mind surrender to the sanity of silence.
We woke up and I said, “I am going to make some tea and play Scrabble. Did I mention I am addicted to Scrabble?”
He smiled and said, “I think so, maybe I just knew from your Facebook.”
I threw my hair in a sloppy ponytail and trudged out to that shell of a living room in my slippers to start one of five games with my sister.
He said, “You know I read the last blog you wrote. I read the last one and half of the one before.”
I said, “Yeah, what did you think?”
Alan, “I actually sat up from my computer and thanked God I had a date with you.”
Me, “Hahahaha. Well, people don’t understand functional drug users, so I am glad you are part of that world.”
Alan, “There just aren't any stoners up to my level at my school and that makes me sad.”
He asked to take me to breakfast. The only place I know of in Pasadena who serves a vegan breakfast is the same place I took Abe and Frank.
Of course, I had the same waitress who suspiciously eyed me as Alan’s arm fell over my shoulders. I looked her square in the eye.
Alan, “When you come visit me in San Diego I am sure I can cook you a vegan breakfast. I cooked gluten-free baklava and if I can make baklava without GLUTEN I can make anything.”
Me, “For some reason I have fallen in love with Captain Crunch. I love eating it for breakfast but this is far more nutritious.”
Alan, “You know how Captain Crunch was invented. When they first started pasteurizing milk for consumption, people wouldn’t eat it. It didn’t taste good. So they developed oat barrels to sprinkle in the milk, so they could sell it. Look it up. Whatever you do, don’t Google bloody mouth and Captain Crunch. There is a whole website devoted to people who cut their mouths on Captain Crunch.”
Me, “You are bizarre.”
Alan, “Do you know there is lots of wine tasting in South Pasadena? I asked my friend where I could take you and he kept recommending all these very expensive places. I don’t mind them being expensive, but I knew you were sick so we kept things low key this weekend. He kept saying, ‘I am so jealous. I am so jealous.’ I said, ‘Why don’t you take your wife wine-tasting if you are so jealous?’ He jumped on me about it and we got in an argument I didn’t quite understand about how I shouldn’t be telling him how to live his life with his wife. I guess they are going through some trouble. I don’t know. I sent him an email explaining what his problem was and a bill for $200 for the psychoanalysis.”
I really like this boy.
After breakfast, I noticed there was a Farmer’s Market across the way I have never seen before, probably because I rarely go out on Sunday mornings. We walked around.
I don’t know what we were speaking about but he said something significant.
Alan, “I am trying to stay away from the dark side of things lately.”
Me, “I appreciate that. I am too.”
We went back to my apartment and picked up the dogs for the morning hike. I showed him the trail up Echo Mountain and I indicated where the trail goes up to an old ski resort that burned down in the 1920s.
He said, “That sounds like the perfect place to do psychedelics.”
Me, “Just tell me when.”
Alan, “I think it’s dangerous for people to take hallucinogens together in the beginning of a relationship. It can become confusing and things surface like what you really want from each other.”
Me, “If we do that kind of thing, we should do it now, early on in the relationship or wait until much later. Now we still don’t have deep expectations of each other.”
I sat on this for a while. What did I want from him? I hadn’t had time to think about it. What did he want from me? A sexual partner outside of his life at law school?
After the hike, I went to work. Around 3pm, the cold and lack of sleep started getting to me. At lunch, I got an espresso and then I took a shot of that 5 hr. energy syrup they sell at gas stations.
I felt hot and dizzy towards the end of my shift, and drove home.
Alan had burritos in the oven for us and three entertainment programs cued up on both our computers.
I poured myself half a glass of wine and we sat down in my shell of a living room to watch the Soup. He also had a movie cued up on his computer in the bedroom for us if I was interested.
My head felt heavy, so I said, “I think I have to lay down.” I walked into the kitchen, and then felt my knees buckle, then my hips, then my back and finally my head softly land on the floor.
I covered my face and said, “Where am I?”
Then I felt three sets of tongues on my face and heard Alan say, “Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you had to lay down. I have a big plate.”
He was standing in the doorway using his legs to keep back the three dogs holding the big plate of half eaten burritos.
He escorted me to my bed and he said, “Take off your shirt, there is food all over the front.” Of course.
I took it off, I wasn’t wearing a bra or anything underneath, but like a child I lifted my arms so I could be unsheathed and collapsed on my pillows. He grabbed his shirt and covered me. That was sweet.
Then he turned off the lights and we went to bed. It was the last night together and I had to go and pass out on him.
I turned to him in the dark and touched his back. We started kissing and things progressed fairly quickly. In a moment, he decided to climb on top of me and have intercourse with me from behind. Unprotected.
I did orgasm this time and as soon as the chemical cocktail drained out of my head, I realized what a terrible idea this was.
I could not see his face in the dark.
I should state here that I am going to be deliberately vague about certain sexual behavior I find exciting because the last thing I need is male readers getting a hold of something I haven’t talked about with anyone but the Prophet and use it to attempt seduction. (Trust me, it won’t work)
The behavior in question is not really mainstream, I don’t know how “deviant” it is exactly, but I don’t share it with sexual partners because it takes an ocean of trust. With Abe I hinted at it, but it was clear he wasn’t comfortable. With the Prophet ... he was.
When Alan was done, I said, “Do you have issues with intimacy?”
He said, “No. Why?”
Me, “Just doing it from behind the first time.”
Alan, “I only did that because that’s how I thought you wanted it.”
Me, “Hm. No.”
Alan, “I’m sorry.”
Me, “I know you have some sexual deviance in you.”
Alan, “Deviance? I don’t like putting labels on it.”
Me, “Jaq told me about it, so I knew ahead of time.”
Alan, “I didn’t know she talked about that stuff.” I also knew how big his penis was.
Me, “I like that kind of thing too, but I have been trying to re-associate my mind for the last year and a half.”
Alan, “What you do in the bedroom doesn’t really mean anything about who you are out there. I prefer to just do what I like.”
Me, “Did you know I liked that kind of thing?”
Alan, “I could tell you had the personality for it.”
Me, “What about my personality?”
Alan, “I don’t know exactly. I first wondered about you in that way at karaoke.”
Really? Me singing Total Eclipse of the Heart to The Prophet????
Me, “Its just not sweet, that’s all.”
Alan, “I was holding back.”
I was excited again. I covered my face and said, “I know.”
I said, “I haven’t really spoken openly about this to anyone so this feels weirdly refreshing. Sorry for the post-coital psychoanalysis.”
Alan, “I get it. Its ok. I am a psych major. Intimacy isn’t about what you do or how you do it. Its about two people getting lost in each other without noticing a little dog underneath the sheets.”
Me, “That’s romantic.”
We fell asleep and in the night I woke up to him whimpering. People with our kind of dark side tend to whimper in our dreams.
I stroked his back and fell back asleep.
The next day, I had an audition at 11am and he had to return his rental in San Diego by 4pm.
I woke up with Wilson smacking his lips in my ear. I turned to look at him and he put his head on my neck. This was going to be difficult. I was in no place for a relationship but I could feel the ground beneath me falling.
I got up and played Scrabble. Alan got up too and pulled a chair up next to me. I didn’t look at him.
I said, “Only an hour left together. What to do . . . “ Then I made a fart noise with my mouth.
Alan said, “I always make fart noises when I don’t know what to do.”
I got up suddenly and paced in the kitchen.
Me, “I feel like we should have sex or something.”
Then we did. He gently pulled my clothes off in the daylight and we made love. It was intimate and this time we used protection.
Afterward, we discussed Jaq ... fondly. She is a character. She reduced a traveling guitarist for 80s rock bands (like LA Guns) to tears when he didn’t work efficiently enough for her.
He slammed down his keyboard and stormed out of her department. Jaq simply swept her sundress under her bottom and sat back down. She taught me how to be strong in a leadership position.
We smiled about her.
Then we got dressed.
Alan, “Now for the hard part.”
I put on his aviator sunglasses and slouched in the kitchen. I said, “The chemicals in my brain are making this difficult.”
Alan, “Its not just the chemicals in your brain.”
I took off his sunglasses and he kissed me.
I asked, "How many years left in law school?"
He smiled, "Two."
I coiled my neck back into my neck and gave an awkward nod.
We walked out to his car and Mr. Wilson climbed on the passenger seat.
He said my name, I like the way he says it.
♪ ♫ “I’ll know my name as its called again . . .” ♪ ♫
He hugged me and I could feel his heart racing. I wondered if mine was too.
Alan, “I wish we could of done this at a better time . . . like when we lived in the same city.”
Alan, “Call me tonight, after work.”
I said, “Ok.”
Then I pulled away.
Me, “Let me say goodbye to Mr. Wilson.”
I did and gave one last kiss goodbye.
In 20 minutes, I got pretty for my audition and ran over to the New York Film Academy.
The director was an Indian dude, he let me into a private room with no windows and asked to just talk for a while. My adrenaline was pumping from rushing and Alan, so I talked fast and asked him to tell me about the project.
Director, “Its about a gonzo writer who considers giving up the gonzo way of life so he can build a stable life with his girlfriend. In the process, he takes a lot of psychedelic drugs and we see three scenes, two are hallucinations and one is reality.”
Me, “That sounds cool.”
Director, “So I thought we could improv a scene. I will be the writer and you are the girlfriend. You come in and see I am messed up, high, whatever, and convince me to sober up. That leads into a love making sequence.”
I joked, “Is that part of the improv, too?”
He said, “Well, leading up to that.”
We did the scene and he cradled my head and kissed me on the mouth. I slightly withdrew at first but gave into the scene. I am not myself. I am someone else.
The last kiss had a flicker of tongue and I retreated.
He said, “Ok, good. That was very good.”
Of course it was, asshole.
The next scene improvised was my character throwing away his drugs and the writer then stabbing me to death.
We did the scene up to the stabbing when he started laughing.
I pushed him and said, “Don’t laugh!!”
He chuckled and said, “Ok, very good. I am really glad we rescheduled this audition.”
I bet you are.
He asked me out for a smoke, which I agreed to and we spoke about filmmaking. I remember a friend telling me once he never cast a girl in his short films that he didn’t want to date.
It certainly appeared to me that this was the director’s main objective with the female role. It is what it is . . . whatever, but I resented him for taking Alan off my lips.
I wanted to keep him there. Now, I can keep him here . . . in this blog.