51/50: The Magical Adventures of a Single Life (16 page)

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Authors: Kristen McGuiness

BOOK: 51/50: The Magical Adventures of a Single Life
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20
 
Date Twenty: If It Fits
 
I talk to William on the phone for an hour and a half before we meet. I try to avoid this with most of my dates because I don’t want us using up all of our material before we’re actually mano a mano. And I find that most people feel the same way. But somehow William and I start talking, and the conversation doesn’t end. And that’s how I find out that William builds things—with his hands.
 
“Like what things?” I worry I might be coming off as annoying, but I am truly interested, and William seems to like talking about his work. William works for two very famous artists, managing the design and construction of their large-scale art installations. He also built a tree house in Massachusetts in which he once lived. William grew up outside of Boston and went to a small liberal arts college like mine. He lives in Eagle Rock, which is a burgeoning artistic neighborhood near my established artistic neighborhood. He’s funny, and we make jokes about going out to eat at some horrible corporate establishment like Chili’s or Friday’s or Applebee’s. But then we realize we live in L.A.
 
I laugh. “L.A. is too cool for Chili’s. There is a Grand Lux though.”
 
“Would that work?”
 
I think about it. “Naw, not really, too upscale.”
 
Instead, we agree to go see a midnight showing of
Cool as Ice
, the early nineties film starring Vanilla himself. I spent the better part of my freshman year in high school watching that film with my best friends at the time. We memorized every line and then repeated them back to each other ad nauseam through fits of adolescent laughter. So when William asks if I’d be interested, I tell him immediately, “I’m in,” because though it is only a movie, going to see a midnight show on a first date still feels slightly adventurous.
 
I was at Ivan’s house the other night for one of our bimonthly game nights when my friend John showed up. John is the man who introduced me to Jimmy Voltage when we were in Oxnard. He finds my dating adventures hysterical and is always asking for full reports on the men I have gone out with.
 
“So have you begun to categorize them?” he questioned me over our game of Cranium.
 
I thought about it and fear I might be. There are definitely types that I can spot off the bat, and those fall into four categories:
1. We will be attracted to each other.
2. He will be attracted to me with no reciprocation.
3. I will be attracted to him with no reciprocation.
4. We will both fail at attraction mutually.
 
William and I fall into this last category. I walk into the restaurant and know this immediately. And I can see on his face that so does he. The Williams of the world and the Kristens of the world were not meant for each other. I’ve never been able to figure out why, until William starts talking about how much he hates Sandra Bullock. She’s an easy target, but William takes her much more personally.
 
William is pretty laid-back, so I am rather surprised by the venom in his eyes when he tells me, “I was watching her in an interview once, and just her voice. Oh my God, that voice. She is so fucking obnoxious. I kept wanting to turn the TV off, but I hated her so much I just kept watching.”
 
Wow. As I think about it I realize that I am probably pretty darn close to a Sandra Bullock in his mind. My voice is too loud, my laugh too incessant, and my need to explain, divulge, and carry on, annoying.
 
Ivan’s other friend Ric was also at the party. Months ago, I went to brunch with Ric, Ivan, and Ric’s two-year-old son Nathan. I fell in love with Nathan instantly. And when halfway through the brunch, he slid his hand up my arm, looked me in the eye and said, “Mommy,” I was sold.
 
Ric is in an unhappy marriage and started calling me his second wife. I let him because he’s hot. And sober. And with a full tattoo covering his back, kind of dangerous. I drew the line, however, when we were walking down the Venice boardwalk, each holding one of Nathan’s hands, swinging him into the air, and Ric referred to me as Nathan’s second mommy. I don’t know Ric’s wife, but I can promise that I would not want the father of my children assigning the title of “Mommy” to any other woman but me.
 
So when I walked into the party, and the first person I saw was Ric, something in me lurched. Nathan was also there, but I tried to keep my distance from both of them. Even when Ric pulled me into his lap, and I noticed he wasn’t wearing his ring, I knew it wasn’t right and wasn’t good, and I’m done being interested in men who do those sorts of things. I made sure that I was not on Ric’s team for the board game and sat across the table to give myself distance. That didn’t stop Ric from sliding his hand across my shoulder blades when he walked behind my chair to go to the kitchen. And it didn’t stop me from being a little wistful that I want a Nathan of my own as I watched him quiet and observant as the adults laughed and acted silly and cooed in his direction.
 
“I fear that you are going to hate men by the end of this book,” John said as he leaned over while the other team argued about their Word Worm question.
 
“Really, John? God, I think it’s going to be quite the opposite.” And I do. I am beginning to see that attraction isn’t about the other person, it’s about us. I don’t take William’s lack of interest personally. And I doubt he takes mine as that. We just know what we like. As he waxes on about house music and the clothing line he once did and as I wax on about living in South Africa and 1980s country music, it’s okay that we don’t find a common bond. We take up the time talking as two humans can and do.
 
And I wonder, what kind of fit am I looking for? Because if neither the artist (#20), the electrician (#6), the TV writer (#1), the medical technician (#4), the bar manager (#5), nor the tennis pro (#15) will do, what will? Should I find another intellectual movie producer like Oliver or lovable fashionista like Sabbath or goofball prince like Frenchie? Because though I might have loved them all, I am not sure if any of them fit, either. That the illusions about what my life would have been like with those men are actually delusions is another silly fantasy I torture myself with as entertainment.
 
William and I finish dinner. If I could have broken the second part of our date, I would have. But in the end, I am really glad I didn’t. Because
Cool as Ice
has aged like a fine fucking wine. And I am truly grateful to William for taking me out. Because without that date, I don’t think either of us would have seen it. And when he tells me how I can find furniture-making classes in Los Angeles and how to upholster a couch, I know that this was a Saturday night well spent. So John is wrong to think I will hate men because I am learning an enormous amount from them. I am learning what I like, and what I don’t like. Whom I should get closer to, and whom I should stay the hell away from. And I am learning a lot from each man himself. As I get out of William’s car, I know we won’t see each other again, but I don’t leave with any hard feelings.
 
At Ivan’s house, I said goodbye to Ric just as coolly. I knelt down and gave my true love, my little Nathan, a hug. He hugged back, which is odd for Nathan. I think he respected the fact that I stayed away from his dad, but he’s only two, and I don’t think he is that observational yet. Earlier in the night, Ric had remarked when I showed him the peach tart that I made, “How are you not married?” For a long time, I thought it was about me. That I was missing something. But I am beginning to think that’s it actually about them—about these men I am having the chance to meet and date and get to know. And I am just going to have to go through a lot of different patterns before I find the one that fits.
 
21
 
Date Twenty-One: The Sparkling Ribbon of Time, Act I
 
The Griffith Observatory was first unveiled to the Los Angeles public in 1935. It was the same year they founded the program that keeps me sober. In 2002, right before I moved to L.A., they closed the Observatory for renovations. And so I remember being at numerous rooftop parties during those years, staring up at the crest-line dome and asking repeatedly because I was typically drunk at rooftop parties, “When do we get to go?” Oliver had promised to take me once it reopened, but by the time it did in 2006, Oliver and I were a long-extinct planet.
 
When I came to L.A., I didn’t have many preconceived notions or images about the city. Sure, I had seen the Hollywood sign and some vague pictures of Malibu, but most of my expectations came from years of watching
MTV Raps
and
Boys in the Hood
. I thought the whole place was going to look like South Central. But the one image I did carry, the one glimmer that this town was about more than movie stars and boob jobs and Ice Cube, was the fact that somewhere in that city I had never seen, sat the Observatory.
 
Like all things I deem special in my life, I decided the scene had to be just right for my first visit. The perfect date to take me up to Mount Hollywood on his motorcycle, the vintage dress I could wear, and the air of romance that I was determined would be felt like an earthquake up at that great, looming building I saw every night as I drove home from work. When Jimmy Voltage invited me there, it was as though he knew about my lifelong fantasy, and I felt like it was a sign from God that he had chosen the locale. Whoever would think to invite me to the Observatory, one of Los Angeles’s most popular landmarks, but my soul mate?
 
But we never made it, and I think the sign from God was, “Not yet, Kristen. Not this way.”
 
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to find once I got there. Stars, Los Angeles, Keanu Reeves? But I always knew it would mean something. It was the grand evidence that my city was built on poetry, not pimps.
 
The weekend before Siren left, we went up to the Observatory for my first time, and though we hiked instead of going by motorcycle, and though I wore leggings and Nikes and not the vintage dress, and though the only romance we felt was the one we share for life, the scene couldn’t have been written any better. Because it was my last weekend with my friend, I didn’t think about Jimmy or Oliver or what’s missing from my life. I just knew, like a rock of solid truth, that I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
 
Which is why I confuse myself when Superman Peter asks me if I want to go hiking, and I suggest the Observatory. Again? I was just there, the memory with Siren still potent, and though I might have an addictive personality, good luck explaining an obsession with a seventy-year-old building to anyone. Also, by our third date, I think both Peter and I know this isn’t going anywhere. After he returned from London, it took us nearly three weeks to set up the date, and apparently the only time either of us was willing to sacrifice was during the day. Peter picks me up in his Volvo station wagon, and it fits his careful lawyer personality to a T. He explains he got the car so that he could go on bike trips. He hadn’t mentioned this yet, and so I ask, “Oh, do you go biking often?”
 
Peter shrugs. “Not really.”
 
It’s funny, but I have begun to notice this trait in men. When they first meet you and are excited, they are enthusiastic about everything: the coffee, their hobbies, work, life, the moon. Once they decide they’re not interested, everything ends in a shrug. I take Peter on the trail that leads through Griffith Park up to the Observatory, and we relax into the easy banter of two friends going for a walk.
 
Peter has never been to the Observatory, and I get excited as we turn the corner, and I get ready to show him the startling white view that greets you at the top of Mount Hollywood. But Peter doesn’t say a word.
 
“Isn’t it great?” I ask.
 
He looks around at the Asian tourists, people taking pictures. “Sure. It’s like the Empire State Building.”
 
I want to scream, “No it’s not! It’s the Observatory!” But I don’t because that would just be weird. I lead us inside, and I am quickly engrossed by all the exhibits and illustrations that break my heart. Like the fact that we are made of stars and that one day our sun will die and that we will never know the end of the world because it’s too far for us to see, and no amount of human willpower can get us there anyway. We walk from exhibit to exhibit telling light-hearted jokes, and I wish we were able to engage in these lessons of the solar system on a more romantic level. Instead, we start going our separate ways through the museum, and I am suddenly overwhelmed by the greatest sense of loneliness. How I wish I was with someone who was as wowed by this world as me. How I wish I could walk hand in hand with some man who looked around and asked questions and felt the same pressing mortality that I do when I realize that we are so, so finite.
 
Peter and I walk downstairs to what is quickly becoming my favorite exhibit at the museum. During the renovations, a woman named Kara Knack donated over 2,200 pendants, brooches, earrings, and other costume jewelry to what the Observatory calls, “The Sparkling Ribbon of Time.” Each little gem stands for another era in the creation of the universe. From the big bang to the present, it shows us how long it has taken us to get here and how very short of a time we all get to stay.

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