Dating 'as you like it',
'All
the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely
players…'
Was it a date? Define date.... I'm
having a late night dinner with a man after having spoken on the phone for
hours and I surely would not be here if I had a partner? If all the world were
a stage, this would look very like a date. It doesn't feel real. But it is a
date. There's a strange attraction? What is reality? Where is home? What is
time? Does god exist? Is this the loneliness of two souls brought
together by existential crisis? Who knows? It was certainly a meeting which
would raise more questions and give less answers than an astrologers daydream
after an afternoon picking 'wild' mushrooms. Sophia Coppola, with my panoramic
view of London and dinner with an older man, I am Lost in Translation. This
time I get to be Scarlett Johansson, which is way cooler than a princess.
A couple of weeks before I had done my
job, well a little beyond my actual job, but then my actual job was boring me. It
happens (stuff they don’t tell you in school). By being minuscule flexible, I
met an up and coming film director and a certain charismatic 40 something year
old, who orchestrated the job and appreciated that I'd been around to make his
plans come into fruition. A few weeks later, he had got me on another job with
a big celebrity.
We spoke at length on the phone after
the first job. He was mostly living in LA and from what I experienced was
definitely well connected in the world of Hollywood. He needs a show biz name,
so I'm calling him Larry. Being a celebrity cynic I initially wondered how much
was smoke and glass, but sometimes people's stories and philosophies add up.
His life was one of transition, moving from place to place, between time zones,
countries and hotel rooms. He described a life where writing was the only
constant, and in a world where time doesn't exist and a bed is just that, and
there is little control and no relationships connect you to a place, the
metaphorical pen and paper was where he was happiest.
My life was also in transition. At one
point when people asked me where my home was, I hesitated whilst scanning
through seven answers. Did they mean 'home' or just the place that I was mostly
sleeping? Did they want me to say the Marriott but only when I can get the
special rate because the reward points are pants? Shall I lie? They surely
don't want the real narrative, "Well, I've given up my tenancy because the
rent increased, so right now I have no idea because agencies only advertise
rooms two weeks before they expect someone to move in. It's OK because there's
a Big Yellow Storage container on the Uxbridge Road, and I have a yoga mat so I
could always sleep under a desk or something." I'll just say, “West
London. Yah yah, it's lovely. I feel really settled.”
Over recent months I had realized home
is not the bricks you own, nor is it bricks you inhabit; it's not even the
place you mostly sleep. Home is with the people you love. And one of my homes
had, a few months ago, disappeared from my life. No wonder everything was
in question. Larry had already been on this journey. He was divorced and had
been living a life where the less he held on to, the greater the leaps he’d
been able to make. He didn’t have kids. Leaping away from your kids is
apparently not a good idea.
This second accidental date, was with a Hebrew
speaking Palestinian, with a petite frame, a gentle voice with an almost American
accent. Everything about him felt wiser, calmer and more familiar than being on
other dates. As I sit listening and watching him, I realize he's got my father’s
eyes, my father’s height and weight; in fact he looks and sounds really like my
dad. And strangely like my ex. Wow, my father is illusive, but maybe I do need
to see a bit more of him, even if it means installing Spybubble on his phone.
Larry sells the wonder of LA. If I
believed in signs, it was clear that it is the land of opportunity. He’s even
given me an open invite to his apartment. If I were a smidgen more spontaneous,
there’s the January flight sales coming, or I could see how far my Virgin
points go. They are fun to collect. I like the concept that when you get to 100000,
you get a club class flight or your virginity back. It comes with free gold
from the end of the rainbow and a toothbrush that is good for cleaning the
grouting in the bathroom.
I really like Larry. There is a whole
lot of love. There was also one of those moments when I leave to go in the
tube, where there might be a kiss, but both of you look at each other and know
you’d have to be sure. It wasn’t a box either of us was willing to open. This
is a relationship consigned to exchanges of photos of my comparatively grounded
life, for his celebrity selfies.
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