A Fresh Start

It wasn't so long ago that I got an email from a former student of mine. I hadn't heard from him in months since he moved with his husband to Colorado to live in the gay Rockies (if such a place actually exists.) I missed the two of them mostly because it was so easy to drop in for a visit when they lived just around the corner from my school in their own town house with another former student, Charles Astin. The three were like an interesting gay variation of Golden Girls. We exchanged a few posts and I mentioned a guy's name, which in turn lead to:
"Oh… what is this about Tom? Tom who? You have to dish. David and I are all over the place with questions. Who, What, Where, When and Why? Oh and How?

Anxiously Waiting,

Joey"
So of course I had to respond, again, and fill him in.

Hmmm. I coulda sworn I wrote something about this guy. Dang, now I've gotta dish clues and I've been so discreet so far. Double dang! Maybe I should leek this out like Carley Simon, letter by letter. I'll give you the easy summary: we met at a card party, we were two of four people that don't know how to play bridge and don't really care. It was August or something. He wanted a date, but I was a little evasive because I was busy closing down the apartment in Santa Clarita, wondering where my next job (and paycheck) was coming from, and busy as hell trying to find a place of my own in WeHo. Now, let's also not forget that I was also limited with online access and phoneless. By the time he got in contact with me and had me commit to a date it was late September. I really wasn't in a place where I felt my most confident. I mean, I was living with friends and taking care of apartments just for a place to stay; I hadn't gotten my first paycheck yet and when I did most of that went to pay off back debt. Tension was running a little high with Christopher feeling a little bit invaded. I think David understands what I'm saying, except imagine David if he had to live with someone like.... oh, I don't know....maybe...Charles? Seriously, I don't know how David did it. But you've met Christopher (Brendan's husband) and you know me. I think you can stretch the imagination. If you remember what Christopher was like when he had to spend two hours at Hugo's restaurant seated next to Charles Astin, the former all state male chearleader/ice dancer (well, that could drive anyone to the brink if you don't know how to handle diplomacy) you this should give you an idea of what it was like after two weeks at apartment #1, 1128 Lawrence. (insert scream noise here.)... so yea, I wasn't exactly the confident glamazon I usually portend to be. Working all day and learning the ropes at the new schools was exhausting. Add to that a commute over the hill, walking a big dog up and down those steep hills and a few other house hold "chores" I did to earn my keep while living with the two slovenly bears, all the while walking on egg shells in Christopher's presence, and I was in an exhausted, befouled mood. I restarted smoking like a fiend to take the edge off. The water pressure in that decrepit old building was installed by the Romans and had almost completely fossilized. The hot water never lasted any longer than twelve and a half minutes which really cut into my sense of ever feeling "clean". I think if I pissed myself I would have felt more assured in knowing the fluid had gone through a fresher filtration than that Byzantine cistern system of calcified, rusting pipes. Where was I going with this? Oh, yea...I was sporting a good five o'clock shadow again
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But Tom was relentless. So I finally agreed to meet him for a date on the last Friday of September. What a day. I'd just did all the normal exhausting crap and spent two hours washing chocolate milk off the inside and outside of my car -baptism a gratis de the pissed off students of the new school- Yep, I'd been punked. On the other hand, it coulda been worse. I heard one substitute had her car keyed. I tried to be nice and still beg-off the date, but Tom was being such a nice guy. God knows why he was being nice, I was in one of those moods that is so foul it usually has Joey laughing hysterically and Charles Astin retreating to his bedroom (lips twisted into a sneer, but unable to think of anything fresh and bitchy to say in response.) So really, it was like he was inviting something between Steve McQueen and Karen Walker to a date. He lives in the "right" area that isn't quite WeHo, but isn't all the Beverly Hills. It's right on Doheny in a very smart building. He's thinking of moving on up to the deluxe apartment in the sky (aka Sierra Tower, where crazy social snobs of today and yesteryear live: Paris Hilton, Diane Carroll, Sidney Poitier, the ancient heiress to the Sinclair Paint fortune, Brenda Fraiser, Rick(y) Schroder (who I almost hit one morning when he was jogging and ran right in front of my car.) So anyway, he talks me into meeting him at his building and we'll go to dinner from there. When I get there it's a high security building with one of those lobbies that you have to be "buzzed in" or the doorman has to have your name. I was wearing blue jeans, a dirty flannel shirt that hinted of my perspiration, five o'clock shadow, -oh, and I walked there from Lawrence street. Nice, yea? I looked like a freshly showered homeless gardener, and WeHo has plenty of those, trust me. Then I realized I didn't know Tom's last name. I couldn't even be sure of the first letter. So to answer the question "Who are you here for?" was a lost hope. The looks I got as I stood in the lobby pondering my next move were somewhere between nervous trepidation as ladies held their Fendi bags a little closer, to utter disdain from vintage ivy leaguers that were certain I was a hustler and felt cheated that I wasn't their hustler. What else could I do? I walked back home. Hey, if he's going to ask me to come over there, he might make it a point to tell the doorman that I'm arriving, or at least make sure I know his last name, or tell me the damn code so I didn't have to wait to be "buzzed in" to a startled audience that acted like I'd just crashed their fund raiser and a briss. When I got home he called again in two minutes.

"Where are you?"

"Home. I don't know your last name and they have this rule at your building about letting undocumented people roam the halls."

"Why didn't you call me from the front lobby?"

"Because I never take my cell phone on a date. It's rude and shows a potential for thinking that something maybe more important than the date. Would you answer a cell phone on a date?"

At that he just laughed, and I wasn't really in the mood to hear someone laugh. "Come on back over."

"No. I really don't feel like I'd be good company for you right now. It's been a rough day...week...you get the idea." I then tried a couple of times to wheedle outta the evening and I thought if I'd stayed firm he'd eventually get the idea that I wasn't going to be good company for him. I told him about everything that had seemed to go awry and he still tenaciously held his offer. Finally he said something that made me think I could prove him wrong, "Please come over and go out with me. I can make you change your mind. I'll be good company for you." Hmmm...

Well, we know how much I enjoy a challenge, especially when it looks like a sure thing and I'm going to get a meal outta it. "Ok, but I'm smoking."

"No problem. Is there anything else you want when you get here?"Try to remember this was late September and the air was hot and dry with the Santa Ana winds.

"A cold bottle of beer would good." And with that I hung up and walked back one more time to theover priced real estate of one Thomas Cartiff.

All that I've said so far is true, except the name was changed because of economic fame. Yes, he shows up in Google. Yes, he has more money than mere mortals. Yes, he's out and gay. Yes, he's been in a relationship that ended after twenty years, and yes it was with another man. His former residence was sold last month for twenty-something million dollars, and he was the bread winner in the relationship. No, he isn't too old. No, I'm not being "kept" -I really do have integrity. I have no idea what his first attraction was, you can ask him if it get to that point.