Your bag is empty.
I took a beta blocker 30 minutes ago for a penis.
I can’t forget I took the beta blocker. Two drinks on a blocker and I’m a sandbag, a paperweight. Bodystoned. I cannot be bodystoned tonight.
I took it because I’d only seen one penis in the previous three years. I’m never sure how to react to a new one. It’s like opening a birthday present in front of the gift giver. I don’t want to look. I want to look, desperately. Please don’t make me look. I need to.
A funny, handsome, older actor/writer with a high Tomatometer score got to L.A. today and called.
“Do you want to meet at Chateau for dinner and hang at 7?”
An impromptu dinner/hookup was not forecast, but he is close enough to my house to say yes.
Earlier he’d asked if he could read some work of mine and if I’d read his. We emailed each other PDFs, both immediately read, returned calls, and discussed how similar our themes were. This felt intimate.
The car he sent is driving me down the mountain, past the Canyon Country Store. He texts, “I’m at the table. Some friends are here.”
When I arrive, the host leads me to the man I am meeting. He is talking to an ex of my ex from 2017. The ex-ex looks up from the table and we say hello. This also feels intimate. She is flora, fauna, prima ballerina, flow, Chanel, cowbell, drama, and earnestness. We orbit, and I feel an underbelly of love for repeat cameos in my life, because like seeks like.
The man turns to me and we talk about dating, money, acting, directing, divorce, kids, and travel. We complete the rolodex and are still hot for each other.
“You want to go upstairs?”
He turns Sade on from somewhere in his suite. In my car this would be a perfect level 42. I open a bottle of tequila and mix it with soda.
He stands in front of me. I see medication on the sidebar over his shoulder and wonder if it’s Viagra. I begin to fantasize about the penis reveal. Do I start counting down now? I spot a backordered candle on a small table over his other shoulder and consider asking for it and unraveling for no reason at all. I imagine that I tell him I haven’t seen a new penis in a bit, but it’s already happening, and I see his penis, and I don’t sweat, and it looks fine, and the awkwardness is gone, but I can’t get one of my boots off. It’s stuck under the pant leg he pulled down. I drop the drinks on the bar as we both fall to the carpeted floor, clawing the clothing off each other. He’s yelling crazy shit at me over another Sade song and I’m yelling crazy shit back. I’d go to jail if I told you what we said on that floor. We finish. There is silence for almost no time at all. He stands, passes my drink back to me, takes a sip of his own.
“With one boot on.” I nod.
“On a Tuesday night.”