The LA Ex. (Part 1)

“Ohh Charlie Boy… Just don’t get attached, whatever you do!” Gemma looked at me with wide eyes… So much so, I thought we’d be searching around for them on the floor later. There we sat in our local bar, where we were known for being British, drinking the bar dry, ordering cheesecake when the kitchen had closed and falling out the door telling each other that we loved each other at two AM in the morning.

Gemma was the woman that I wanted to be… If I was a woman that is… Beautiful in every way, amazing figure, one of those apartments that looks like it should be in the New York Times, and just generally hilarious. I met Gemma at her apartment where she held a brunch one Sunday over a year ago… Well brunch that was supposed to last a few hours turned into everyone else going home, Gemma and I going out to bars until lord knows what time in the morning, and waking up on the sofas with all the lights on at her apartment at nine AM. It was safe to say that we knew we would get on well from that day on… She was late for work and I vowed never to drink again…

“But I just don’t get it, it’s been a week now!?” *Phone buzzes* “Oh my god it’s him!” I said leaping off the stool nearly crashing to the ground. Actually there is another story to be told about this particular bar and its’ stools, but I’ll save that for… Yet-another rainy day. (Always raining here!) “Charles, it’s 1:00AM, NO! You know what it means! Leave it until tomorrow.” Annoyingly I knew she was right, Mr. LA was putting on the booty call moves.

*Willow taps me on the shoulder* “WHAT?… oh yeah… They don’t know who Mr. LA is…” Let’s travel back in time a week before. “MEEEOOOOWWW!”, “Alright! We didn’t go that fast, stop being so dramatic Willow!” *Willow passes a Parisienne look of disgust and curls up in bed*

It’s Saturday night and there I am sitting in my apartment, all dressed up and nowhere to go, yes, my life is like the ugly version of Cinderella. I had arranged to go on a date to watch a horror movie and the guy had cancelled at 9:30PM. Determined to take the half of bottle of perfume I’d slathered on for a night out on the town, I took to the net to find a friend to go out with. A guy popped up, he was free, didn’t have much to talk about with his one word messages, but he was heading out into town for a night out, so I thought, why not!?

With that, we were meeting up in thirty minutes time. There I stood outside Mc Donald’s feeling extremely classy and extremely like ‘why did I come out, I want to go to bed now!’ Oh my ever chopping and changing mind. A dark featured character walked up to me with salt and pepper hair, deep brown eyes and a beard. I wasn’t overly attracted to him (not that I was supposed to be, this was an S.O.S night out) but it would be good to practise my French and have a few drinks. In this jolly Irish bar where people had no concept of personal space, we sat and took two pints. Ok, so me and pints… I can hardly lift them. “Excuse me can I have a straw please, or a greek god dressed in a toga to hold it to my lips every few minutes?”… “What’s that? You’ve got neither? Just a packet of your finest marmite crisps then if you don’t mind.”…

Off came his coat and the god like torso was revealed. “Excuse me, you were wrong, there are gods in here! That’s right barman, I’ll be putting you in your place.” As I tried to divert my eyes and focus on the Guinness plaque behind his head we started to chat about the usual rubbish. I was super excited until he came out with the words, “I’m moving to LA in April!” which he belted out with excitement. “Ohhhhhh that’s… Amazing! You must be… excited.” And just so you know I’ve never been so disappointed!

Drinks turned into his phone being stolen and we ended up back at his place to look for his phone… in candlelight. Because it’s really easy to find things in a dark room with candles in the middle of the night. He’d arranged to meet some friends in a traditional seedy gay club in the Marais. I wasn’t a fan of these places, but I was the tag along for the evening, so I didn’t really have much say on the night’s exciting plans. Apparently these friends didn’t exist, well one did, but he stayed for five minutes and then left. There we stood in ‘this night couldn’t get any gayer’ bopping around in the corner of the dance floor with the speakers giving it their best shot in bursting my eardrums. Suddenly Mr. LA took off his top, because that’s what you do in the middle of winter in public places…

It turns out we were in the middle of Mr. LA’s weekly ego boost routine. Because nobody would dream of spending so much time running on machines and lifting pieces of metal unless they were giving the world full display of their achievements every week. I had to admit, I was appreciating it, and as the talking got closer and closer in to my ear lobe I was figuring out what his game was. “I like skinny guys.” he said with his gladiator hand around my waist. “Well… People tell me I’m skinny all the time!” Oh shut up Charles…

Three hours of Scooby Doo knee drops later (no wonder I have a bad knee that clicks all the time) and we were back with the candles, laying on the sofa, with Birdy tweeting out ‘People help the people’. After the sixth time of it being on repeat, I was ready to shoot the Birdy and hit the pillow.

The light peered through the curtains. This wasn’t supposed to happen… He rolled over and said the most magical words that everyone dies to hear on a Sunday morning. “Do you want a coffee?…” Handsome, says all the right things. I flew out of bed to animate my reply. There he stood in the kitchen making coffee as I looked at the IKEA cupboard door in true British awkwardness not knowing where to look. He resembled a photo that I remember well from my youth, my mum went to see the Chippendales  in the early nineties and had taken a souvenir photo. But there was one thing about the photo that spoilt the dream of the hunky men which was her in the middle, so overly excited, that she was pulling a face that only resembled Dracula at a blood donor’s clinic…

Here it was in real life without mother pulling a face… I left my card and the door closed. As I wandered back home, I felt a bit disappointed with myself. Would I see him again? ‘Charles he’s moving to LA!’ but no matter how much I told myself that, I was dying to see him again.

“Anyway, that’s your bit of cheesecake! I’m on a diet! But your worth more than this Charles! I don’t like the sound of him.” I wish I shared Gemma’s air of caution. “Let’s get the bill! I’m ‘a’ tired!” I said with my eye bags down to my knees.

I’m sure I would see him again, wouldn’t I? *CRASH!* “WILLOW!!!!!!!” An avalanche of unread books fell to the floor. Right, I’d better clear this all up, but I’ll tell you more about this another day… Until then!


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