Scene: a bedroom in a spooky historical loft, just outside of downtown Los Angeles

Yesterday was a doozy.  I went to bed early and woke up even earlier than usual.  I pinged the dark horse to say hello.

“Hi.”

“Hey there sexy.”

“How was your day?   You weren’t on all day.”

“Yeah it was good.  What did I do?  Oh went out drinking again.”

“No drunk text messages.”

“Yeah I know.  Next time.”

I told him about the disaster of my evening last night.

“I wanted to participate in a poetry reading yesterday and I got stuck with car crap.”

We talked more in private.  Things that maybe if I decide to tell you, you will know.

“I have flaws.  I am not perfect.” he said.

“I know.  But thanks for reminding me.”

“You need reminding.” he laughed.

“Don’t worry.  I’ll probably use them against you when I feel is appropriate and to my advantage.  Because I have a vagina and all that.”

“What are my flaws?”

“I’m not mad at you right now so…”

We talked more.  He teased.  I taunted back.

“You don’t want to be my sex prisoner? I will give you a metal bikini and chain you to my bed like I was in a Star Wars movie.”

“My hair isn’t long enough to braid like that.  So I guess that won’t work.”

“Wig.”

“Oh so you’re going to send me wigs now?  Fabulous!  You have my address.  You can send more flowers too.  Pretty please?”

He wanted to trade something.  Something that if we hadn’t had a six year long history I might have been off put by it.  Something a bit higher in a demand list than a guy I went out with once had asked on that first date.  Well, almost.  But that’s a different story.

“Not fair.”

“So fair.  You do that and you get presents.  You can juggle all the guys you want.  With me as safety, trips, dinners, presents.”

That was so not fair of him to say.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s an exciting invitation. And, quite frankly, I might be a bit crazy for not taking it and running with it.  He’s my best friend.  He’s been there in the background for years.  I never gave him a real chance when he was local but he always makes a point to see me when he comes home.  I’ve had an open invitation to travel Europe with a man whom adores me… and yet here I am, happily dating one failed romance after another, without a passport and not taking him up on that.

“How far is Dresden from you?”

“Far.  Prague is closer.”

“Someone sent me a postcard from there.  The water looks so close to the houses.  Darling will you send me to Peru?”

“No I want to go to Columbia.  I hear it’s awesome.  Plus lots of h0t Columbians.  Hot Columbians and jungle and coke.”

“But dear there’s mummies in Peru!  I want to get a hat and whip and pretend I’m the girl Indiana Jones!”

“Go to Egypt for that.  It’s closer to me.”

“Take me?

“Maybe.”

Happily ever after… is here whenever I decide to go into the after.  This just doesn’t seem real.

Scene: the kitchen/living room in a spooky historical loft, just outside of downtown Los Angeles

I was getting my hair done a couple of days prior when the blip hit my radar.  I have not decided yet how big or small that blip may be.  It could be an eeep, a bleep, or a creep.  But whatever it was, it wasn’t too shabby.  Our first introduction was to follow a day without pants and an evening with friends at their band’s listening party at my friends loft space at the Brewery.

I started to get a barrage of texts asking about him as I left.  The texts would continue through the duration of the date.

“My apologies, but I tend to attract the crazy ones.”

“What is he saying?”

“It’s irrelevant and likely dirty.  He told me that if my date with you didn’t go well that he would be home alone later and… you get the idea.”

Ping.

Ping.

Ping.

J was also in search of adventures and adores music.  Yes, another musician and a recovering Midwesterner former actor from a land far far away.  We discussed the nature of things.  Of history and culture.  Of tales of Ramona Flowers.  Of array and disarray.

The connection, as the tone of the evening entirely, was fluid.  Japanese whiskey paired with stories changed backdrops to this sequence of scenes as he and I returned back to my place to have a good ole dose of less fanciful potation: beer in canned form.

“I bet he texts again in 5 minutes.”

5 minutes later…

Ping.

“Would you like to be kissed?”  he asked politely.

It caught me off guard.  I had been enjoying the night and hadn’t even been thinking about that, even though I had been thinking about it.

We ended up on the couch.  He’d missed the train ride earlier.  I felt it was only fair to show him my version of what the rest of Los Angeles had seen that day.

“Do you always wear undergarments this fancy?”

“I enjoy it.”

“Always wear some of that caliber or better when I see you.”

And so the requests start.

Scene: a coffee shop in Culver City

I had become a regular over there.  It was so close to my house.  And why not?  They had free Wifi.  The regulars were hilarious.  The vanilla chai was divine.. and free.  Ah the benefits of having the sometimes affections of a black clothed Mr Midnight barista.

As I walked in, the regulars looked at me and turned away.  They had no clue it was me at first.  It was a success already and it hadn’t even started.

I got in before he did and parked myself by the window.  I had work to do anyway, and he would be a distraction.  This was going to be an undercover mission.  This was to see how much he really paid attention.

I donned a pair of red cats eye glasses and a sky blue wig.  You see, sometimes, dear readers, its fun to be someone else.  I sipped my orange smoothie and cuddled a book.

“Wait a minute, that’s you isn’t it Jena?” one of the regulars said to me.

“Shhh.” I said with a raised finger up against my lip.

“I like it!   Does [Mr. Midnight] know you dyed your hair?”

“No.  I haven’t seen him today yet.  He comes in in a bit. Don’t tell him.  I want to see if he even recognizes me.”

I returned to my book.  I didn’t want to ruin the full out surprise of it all with it being a wig.  The actual details were really unnecessary.

A half an hour later, Mr. Midnight arrived for his shift.  He walked right past me without noticing.  I watched him go through his routine.  Checking into the register.  Talking to the other girl leaving.

“I’ll see you at home.” his roommate chimed at him as she grabbed her keys and walked towards the front with a wave.

Onto stocking the pastry at the counter.  Wiping the counters.  An order made.  Another after that.

It was a quiet night.  He looked bored.  I saw him scroll down on his cell phone looking for something to do.  Looking for someone to notice.  Someone to care.  Some sort of validation for his existence.

The sun lowered in the sky and the blinds needed to be turned so it didn’t blind the patrons.  He shrugged and made a beeline for me.  I saw the regulars look up and cover their mouths trying not to laugh.

“Excuse me can I… wait a second!”

Scene: An office in downtown Los Angeles

A ping came from the past.

“Little girl big city.”

“That’s me.  There’s a blog to go with it as well.  How are you?”

He’d seen the pictures I’d posted on Facebook with the dress I’d bought while out apartment searching.  It had been a few minutes since I’d talked to Base.  He and I went out once back in ’09 but nothing ended up coming of it beyond some very great conversations.  We have continued to keep in touch throughout the years regardless.

“Kind of sexy if I must say.  I’m good.  How are you doing?  Did you ever work out your roommate situation?  You look thin.  Did you lose weight Stavros?  You look in shape.  You’ve still got some curves.  That’s a good thing.”

It continued into business and further flattery.

“You dabbled in modeling right?  I’ll shoot you.  I’ll hire you as my muse!”

“What a coincidence! The little girl in the big city also doubles as a Muse for Hire.”

Somewhere there was confusion when I mentioned that I was looking for an apartment.

“What about this roommate situation?  I thought you just moved in with him.”

I spaced.  I didn’t remember telling him about it, although I very well likely posted things alluding to that on various social mediums.  I didn’t gather from the way he’d reacted that he had read the blog before I’d told him about it.

“I thought you were involved in a steamy relationship with your roommate as of last week.”

“Yes that’s still ongoing..ish”

“Oh Stavros.  How many hearts have you broken this year alone?

“He’s entry one on the blog.  I’ve lost count?”

“So what’s the problem? Don’t y’all live together?”

And then the inevitable story unfolded.  Some of it has been written here.  Some if it hasn’t yet.

“He doesn’t live in the real world.  His grandmother died.  He has an inheritance.  He hasn’t really ever had a job. Just interns.  He’s 27.  Going on 13.  He’s supposed to be writing a western right now.  He was going to school to work in city planning.  Didn’t get into grad school.  He doesn’t want to sit in a desk for 15 years to do what he would not be  for sure able to do if he went to grad school.  He’s thinking about moving to New Orleans. A place he has set in his mind that he can ‘forget about his problems’.”

“He’s a dreamer.”

“Yeah. So am I.  Why do you think I want to help him?”

Scene: a bar at an artist colony, Lincoln Heights

She had skin like honey and a shine that resided like a warm glow on her face.  I’d met her online.  She also, had a few not quite secrets as well as friends in common.

“I was thinking either tonight we could go to art walk or we could have a drink at this bar at the artist colony I used to live at.” I texted her from work.

“Either way, you pick!”

I was really looking forward to meeting her.  I don’t date girls that often.  Not because I don’t want to or I have a preference.  It’s just because while I’m normally fairly confident… let’s face it I still am scared shitless of girls.

We got a couple of beers and sat on the couches underneath a projection screen.

“There’s a story about that.”

“There is?”

“There are many stories.  The people here are amazing.  The Brewery is an experience in itself.”

I told her my tale about how I ended up there.  Perhaps in a later post, I will tell you as well.

“What is it you’re looking for?”

“Stability.  Independence.  To travel.”

“What’s holding you back?”

“Money mostly.”

Ah the telltale sign of an artist.  I know it all too well.

“I’m going to Germany this year.” I told her nonchalantly.

“When?”

“May tentatively.  I’m also trying to take part in an opportunity to collaborate with other artists on a project in New Orleans in March.  Travel is there.  The opportunities are too.  You just have to keep your eyes open to the possibilities and not be afraid to grab them when they come about.”

We talked about happiness.  We talked about despair.   I was ever so nervous.  She was ever so lovely.

“Pardon me if this is too forward, but I want to see you again.” I said partway through the evening.

“I want to see you again too.”

We had a great time.  She was a sweetheart.  She drove me home around midnight.  As we were leaving, I had a feeling something was off but it had nothing to do with her.  After I walked into my apartment I felt it too.

Shit. Where the fuck is my phone?

Scene: an office building in downtown Los Angeles

The No Pants Train Ride was coming up and the suited gent had not given me back my dad’s shirt.  You can kind of gather some things about the details here.  A night of passion in me wearing one of my very corporate dad’s old hand me downs that never made it to Goodwill and it… just sort of stayed in his room.

“Get that back to me please.  I wouldn’t care if it wasn’t my dad’s in the first place.”

“I promise I will.”

Weeks passed.  Conversations had.  The shirt never made a cameo.

The time had come.

“Hey I really need to get that.  It’s been weeks.  You said you were going to get it cleaned and get it to me even when I was still there.  I think you’ve had more than enough time.”

“I can do that.  When did you want to come by?”

“Actually I want you to bring it to my work.  It’s not far and I know you’re not working anyway..”

“Sure I can do that.  I can get it to you today.”

“When?”

“I’ll leave in about five minutes.  What are your cross streets again?  Grand and [redacted]?”

“No.  Grand and [redacted].”

It then got busy here.  I was working on a project and manually generating invoices.  It was something I hadn’t had to do here previously.

“Sorry.  I’m going to need a minute.  It got busy at work.”

“Well I can come by after I have lunch with my dad if that works too.”

I don’t trust him not to flake.  He’s a habitual flaker.  And again, I don’t trust him.  He’s had plenty of time.  I wanted to wear that shirt on Sunday.  I needed to get it washed still.  It would take all of five minutes to get things done.

I told my boss.

“I need a few minutes.  I have someone dropping something off.  I can come right back.  Is that ok?”

“No problem.”

I went downstairs to the lobby and waited.  I don’t like this at all.  I was nervous that he would try and pull some cute move on me as if things hadn’t happened, and, had he been genuine it might have been different.  I just didn’t need the gloss over it.  I had made my decision.

“I’m pulling up to the side now.  I see you!”

Deep breath Jen.  It’ll all be over in five minutes.

Scene: a sushi bar in the Valley

The whole thing wasn’t exactly the greatest thing ever.  I’d taken the bus down to meet him.  I was dressed cute and demure.  Looking at the photos now, his interest in me bordered on creepy.  I looked ridiculously young then.  I was ridiculously young.  But maybe it was the blonde hair.

He picked me up from the stop and brought me to a sushi place. He- the A-typical Los Angeles guy: tall with black hair, white tshirt, jeans.  Me- a tiny girl with blonde hair tossed in a low ponytail, spaghetti strapped tank top and jeans.

“Asahi or Sapporo please and whatever else she wants.  Is that alright?”

“Yeah that works.  Thanks.”

The conversation was lacking any depth.  We didn’t sit and have deep conversations about art or philosophy (even though he’s a Taoist so you would guess there would be some room for discussion bubbling upstairs).   We talked about video games, work, travel, restaurants and the day.  We might as well have been talking about the weather.

That was about the most intense it got.

He might have been an on-air personality, but off-air he wasn’t anything special.  Don’t get me wrong, he was a nice enough guy for the time to some regard, but in other ways he was very much so that A-typical California cliche.

It was about everything I expected.. with a few peaks of disaster and/or “my luck” as usual.  We wrapped up the meal and headed back to his place.

“So we’re here now.  What do you want to do?”

Scene: a loft in Gallery Row, downtown Los Angeles

Looking back, I’m not sure how we got here but there we were.  It was one thing after another.  A domino of passion followed by pain followed by more passion.  Rinse and repeat.

The suited gent was on a destructive tangent.  He kept countering his actions.  One minute he was giving me the heavy about getting flowers from a paramour I dated years ago, the next minute he was telling me he wasn’t ready to be involved in a relationship.

“Why can’t you just be honest with me?  Are you just that incapable of doing that for anyone including yourself?”

“I’ve been more honest with you than any of them.” he told me.

“Why?”

“Because you see the man behind the curtain.”

I think about the morning I saw him in the windowpane.  He was completely right.

You could cut the silence like a thick fog.  He walked upstairs to his room.  I picked up my keys and grabbed my purse.  I don’t know why he holds back so much.  I don’t know why I do either.  But he’s right.  I’m right.  And maybe that’s why I was attracted to him in the first place.

From one magician to another- it’s difficult living in both worlds magical and real sometimes.

Scene: Wilshire and Western train station, upstairs

Once a year there’s a fantastic excuse to don your best underwear out in public.  In most major cities, the tradition is honored with the flashmob entitled: The No Pants Metro Ride.  It is an event coordinated by the groups Improv Everywhere and the local chapter GuerrilLA.   Various acts of shenanigans have transpired due to these amazing groups.  I am happy to be a part of them.

In Los Angeles, this particular flashmob has been going on for four years.  In other cities, it has been going on much longer.  I have been a participant for 3 years.

In other words, it’s a fun excuse to get some new cute underwear and meet some eccentric new friends.

As if I needed that right?

This mission was different however.  This time, I was to assume the role of Agent Red and assist in coordinating an entourage of Los Angeles pantsless denizens.

Getting dressed was an adventure.  The idea is to be discreet as possible.  I was a downtown girl now.  I wanted to look the part.

Getting ready earlier I picked and plotted my attire with careful measure: a pinstripped collared dress shirt, black cincher at the waist, long flowing black silk gloves, dark grey corporate sensible knee length skirt, high heeled yellow khaki oxford shoes, … open cut fishnet stockings with bows,  black laced silk underwear.  I grabbed a black bonnet and my shades.  It was a mission and I was to be undercover.

I arrived early to my location to a vacant station.   The other agents were not there yet.  I parked myself upstairs next to a pillar and pulled off a long glove to check in with Ooh-Kla to ensure that I was at the correct position.

“Excuse me are you Agent Red?”

I placed my hand up to the side of my face by my ear.  The signal.  The cue.

“Welcome to the mission.”

Scene: a pizza place in Koreatown

Once upon a time, things were different.

You were different.

I was different.

Once upon a very long time ago there was… this history.  And once upon this night there still is.

I’d told my friend about the munch tonight.  Funny how you were the reason we’d even met all those years ago.

God it doesn’t feel like it was that long ago.

For some reason, he’d known that this event was going to be hard on me.  There would be two men from my past present.  Both men had made an impact in their own time.  But there was something about you that I never let go.  There was something about you that I’m not sure if I ever will.  You, my dear Sir, were special.  And I’ve found myself questioning if the mutual ground was still alive and present as it was past as well.

I’d messaged him a few times over the past few months.  He had been super busy.  I had been super busy.

“Did you forget me?” I wrote him in what felt like an echo chamber.

Silence.

And with it, not so secretly, my heart broke a little bit. But it was so busy that I couldn’t do anything but continue on.  Because that’s what you do.

Fast forward.

I was stronger now.

Put together.

A shiny penny that didn’t need the vinegar to get through.

You always treated me like I was this shiny piece of a broken star.  I was your muse.  You were the steady rock of strength.  You wanted the best for me.  I was thankful.  It’s why I served you.  And then you’d disappeared.

“Did you forget me?” I wrote him in what felt like an echo chamber.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

We walked in the door and upstairs to the event.  There were three rows of tables of people with delightfully dark secrets.

You stood up to introduce me to the group.

“Everyone this is Jen.”

I waved and smiled to everyone.

“I didn’t forget you.” he said as he hugged me.

I hugged his girlfriend and went to find a seat.  They are such good people.  I’ve missed them.  I felt great and I felt like crap at the same time.

I know that whatever happens… No matter the seasons that change.. No matter how much you change…  No matter how much I change.  A part of me will always love you.