by Beth Orsoff
* * *
I tried to remember my new policy when Richie Rich called me Tuesday night. I listened intently when he told me about the yacht his father had just purchased and I even remembered to ask him if he’d solved his problems with his decorator. I was doing pretty well until he mentioned that he had season tickets to the opera.
“You’re kidding me.”
“No, why?”
I didn’t even know anyone that had actually been to the opera, and he had season tickets. I reminded myself to keep an open mind. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. I didn’t think people our age had season tickets.”
“This is the first year I’ve had them in L.A. My family’s had season tickets at the Met for years.”
“I thought your family lives in Charleston?” Even I knew the Met was in New York.
“They do,” he said. “My parents used to take the corporate jet up to New York the day of the performance. My dad would fly back the next morning. My mom usually stayed and shopped for a few days. Depending on our school schedules, my brothers and I would fly in from Boston to meet them. Or sometimes we’d take the train.”
Open mind, open mind, open mind. After all, he did say they sometimes took the train. When Richard told me he’d like to take me to the opera sometime, I changed the subject. I wasn’t ready to make plans for our future beyond a second date.
Richard told me he had a business dinner on Saturday night, and since I had an arbitration brief due Friday and knew it would be a hellish day, I agreed to meet Richard for brunch on Sunday at Ivy at the Shore. It was another one of those expensive restaurants I’d never been to before. If I was going to date Richie Rich, I’d have to learn to take the good with the bad.
* * *
Just as I was about to climb into bed, the phone rang again.
“Hi Julie,” the caller said, “it’s Noah. We met last week at Starbucks. Remember?”
I was so focused on trying to make myself like Richard, I hadn’t thought about Noah in days. Actually, I had thought about him a few times, but I’d been trying not to because I was afraid he’d never call. I said, “Of course I remember.”
We talked for two hours—one of those great late night phone conversations where every statement leads to another tangent and you hang up because you can’t keep your eyes open, rather than because you have nothing left to say.
Around one in the morning, Noah finally suggested that we get together over the weekend. We made plans for an early movie followed by a late dinner on Saturday night.
Chapter 45
Two for Two
I met Noah in Westwood Village. I was glad he’d purchased the movie tickets in advance since the line at the theater was already winding its way around the block. It hadn’t been too difficult to choose a film. There was only one playing that we both were interested in and hadn’t already seen.
After the movie, Noah suggested we walk around the Village and have dinner in the neighborhood. We made a left out of the theater and stopped at the first restaurant we came to. It was a small Italian place with black booths, red and white checkered table cloths and a short wine list. Noah said he’d eaten there once before and the food was good.
I followed him inside and we settled into a booth with two glasses of Chianti. The wine was awful, even for cheap stuff, but the pasta was good. We talked about the movie and our favorite restaurants, then the conversation hit an unexpected lull. I wanted to fill the void quickly, so I asked Noah the first question that popped into my head.
“Was last week your first time Speed Dating?”
“What are you talking about?” he said. “What’s Speed Dating?”
What was this, The Twilight Zone? “You know. The event we met at last week. At Starbucks.”
“What event? I just went there to for a cappuccino. Actually, I was surprised at how crowded it was. It’s usually empty at that hour on a weeknight.”
I wished I could crinkle my nose and disappear like Samantha on Bewitched. I’d assumed that the only people at Starbucks that night were other Speed Daters. Obviously, I was wrong.
“What’s Speed Dating?” he asked again.
At this point, there was no way I could lie my way out of it, so I explained the program to Noah. He responded with hysterical laughter. I tried to be a good sport, but when he was banging the table with his fist…“It’s not that funny.”
He breathed deep and took a sip of his wine. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at the situation. All this time you thought I was there Speed Dating, and I’m not even Jewish.”
This last part sent him off on another laughing binge, which started me laughing too. I supposed from his perspective, it was pretty funny. For the rest of the evening, every time he smiled at me I imagined he was thinking about our misunderstanding, then I would start laughing, which would start him laughing too. It made for a fun date.
As Noah walked me to my car, I thought about inviting him back to my house for coffee, but decided against it. It was already past midnight and I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.
When we reached my silver sedan, Noah grabbed my hand. “I had a lot of fun tonight,” he said.
“Me too,” I replied.
“We should do this again soon.”
“I’d like that.”
We sounded like we were reading from a bad script. Then Noah went off the script and kissed the palm of my hand. He held it to his face and, to my surprise, my fingers began stroking his neck and the tip of his earlobe. His skin was warm and incredibly soft.
Then he bent down and kissed me. First he just brushed my lips with his. Then he softly pushed down and I responded. His lips were warm and his mouth tasted like the mint chocolate chip ice cream he’d had for dessert. It was delicious. I was just starting to feel the tingle spread through my body when Noah pulled away.
“You better go,” he said.
I was a little startled by the sudden change. But once the moment passed, I realized he’d been right. It was only a first date. We shouldn’t let things go too far.
I climbed into the driver’s seat and drove home, alone, as usual. But that night I dreamed about Noah. And we weren’t just kissing.
* * *
I woke up the next morning and looked at the clock. 9:18 a.m. Too early for a Sunday. I rolled over and went back to sleep. The next time I looked at the clock it was 10:42 a.m. I jumped out of bed. I’d almost forgotten about my date with Richie Rich. I was meeting him for brunch at noon. If the traffic was light I might still be able to make it on time. But the traffic was never light.
I hopped into the shower without even letting the water warm up first and was out of the house in under an hour. That was fast for me. Especially without coffee.
Half an hour later I pulled up in front of Ivy at the Shore and handed the valet my keys. I was only eight minutes late. Not terrible, but bad enough to go inside armed with an apology and complaints about L.A. traffic. It turned out they weren’t necessary. Richard was late too. I wish I knew beforehand—I could’ve looked for street parking.
Richard showed up five minutes later with an apology and his own complaints about L.A. traffic. I sympathized. The maître d’ seated us on the enclosed patio and Richard told me about the dinner party he’d attended the night before. I told him I went to the movies with a friend. It was only our second date. I didn’t owe him full disclosure.
I was happy to let Richard do most of the talking. I was having trouble concentrating on the conversation. I kept thinking about Noah and imagining it was him sitting across from me instead of Richard. Maybe the mimosa had something to do with it.
I switched to water and tried to fulfill my promise to keep an open mind. If I could keep the date short I might be able to pull it off. It was just brunch, how long could it last?
When we left the restaurant, I headed toward the valet stand, but Richard suggested we take a walk. I suppose I could’ve said no, but I didn’
t. I felt guilty for fantasizing about Noah. Mental cheating.
We picked up two lattes to go at the Coffee Bean around the corner and headed out to the park that ran along the beach side of Ocean Avenue. The benches were filled with tourists enjoying the sunshine and homeless people happy to have a place to crash.
By the time we’d walked the six blocks to the Pacific Coast Highway incline, my nerves were fraying. I didn’t want to ask or answer any more questions about careers, goals, hobbies or families. Two dates in less than twenty-four hours was too much for me. I just wanted to go home.
It was a slow walk back to the restaurant. We stopped several times to snap pictures for tourists and enjoy the view. We must’ve been strolling in the park for close to an hour before Richard noticed the homeless people.
“Is that guy taking a nap?” he asked, pointing to a man lying on the grass wearing army fatigues, no shirt, and a threadbare blazer.
If anyone else had said that to me I would’ve thought they were kidding. But Richard didn’t kid. In the eight hours and seven minutes I’d spent with Richard, he’d never even attempted to crack a joke.
“Sort of,” I said. “He’s homeless. A lot of homeless people sleep in this park because the cops don’t kick them out.”
Richard went silent and we continued walking. Five minutes later he said, “I don’t understand why all these homeless people don’t just get jobs. Surely there must be something they’re qualified to do.”
I knew he wasn’t just being callous; he really didn’t get it. “Well, it’s kind of hard to go on a job interview when you haven’t showered in three days, you have no clean clothes, and no address or phone number to put on an application.”
Of course Richie Rich wouldn’t know any of this because he’d never once in his entire life had to fill out a job application or even submit a resume. I knew I needed to end the date quickly before I said something I’d really regret.
“I spoke to my decorator yesterday,” Richard said, clumsily changing the subject. “She said my apartment will be finished in a few weeks. I’m hoping you’ll come over and give me your opinion.”
I could lie and say yes. Or I could be brutally honest. I chose the third option—I pretended I hadn’t heard him and pointed at the crowds waiting in line for the roller coaster at the Santa Monica Pier.
He pushed on undeterred. “What are you doing two weeks from Friday?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Why?”
“I have tickets for the opera. I’d like to take you.”
“I can’t. I don’t have anything to wear.” Lame, but I was on the spot.
“You don’t need a formal gown. A cocktail dress would be fine.”
“I don’t own a cocktail dress.” Of course I did, but he didn’t know that. Although he should’ve suspected.
“We don’t have to go to the opera if you don’t want to,” he said with real disappointment, “but I hope we’ll be spending more time together.”
Obviously, we were going to have to do this the hard way. “I’m surprised to hear you say that. Aren’t I too plebeian for you?”
“What do you mean?”
Surely with his Ivy League education he knew the definition of the word “plebeian.” “Richard, you must’ve noticed the differences between us. I didn’t go to boarding school, my family doesn’t own any vacation homes, and I’ve never been to the opera. Aren’t you a little out of my league?”
“I can’t believe you would even think that.” He seemed genuinely surprised. “You’re smart and beautiful and someone I enjoy spending time with. I find the differences in our backgrounds refreshing. I haven’t met a lot of women like you.”
Now that was the “A” answer. I was just starting to feel bad about what I’d said when he continued.
“Besides, I’m really looking forward to showing you some of the things you’ve missed, like the opera.”
The nerve of this guy! This wasn’t My Fair Lady. I wasn’t Eliza Doolittle and he was no Henry Higgins. If only he’d quit while he was ahead.
While we waited for the valet to bring us our cars, Richard told me that he was leaving for Charleston in the morning, but that he’d call me when he got back. He could call all he wanted, this was still our last date.
* * *
The next day a dozen, long-stem, red roses arrived at my office. I was reading the card when Kaitlyn called.
“Guess who just sent me flowers?” I said.
“Noah.”
“I wish. They’re from Richie Rich. Does this mean I have to go out with him again?”
“Yup.”
“Are you sure?” I whined.
“Yes,” she said, “and you also have to call him and thank him for the roses.”
“I was going to do that anyway. I do have some manners you know.”
I called Richard’s office and left him a message on his voicemail. I hoped that since he was out of town, that would be the end of it. He called me from Charleston later that night and asked me if I would see him again when he returned. He was trying so hard, how could I say no? The flowers had bought him one more date.
Noah, however, didn’t need to send roses. When he called the next night and asked me if I wanted to go with him to the premiere of Capitol Studios’ new picture, I didn’t need to be persuaded to say yes. I would’ve gone even if I didn’t want to see the movie.
Chapter 46
Movies & Stars
I left work early Thursday night so Noah could pick me up at my house on the way to the premiere. He buzzed my apartment at six o’clock and told me to meet him downstairs. I found him standing next to a black BMW idling in the driveway of my building’s parking garage. He was trying to calm the old lady that lived on the first floor. She was threatening to have his car towed.
“Are you excited?” he asked, when we were ensconced in the black leather interior.
“Of course,” I said. “I’ve never been to a movie premiere before.”
“Enjoy it. After the first one, the thrill is gone. Then it’s just another hassle to be endured.”
“If you don’t like them, then why do you still go?”
“Because I’m expected to. They’re also great networking opportunities since everyone’s there.”
I didn’t ask who ‘everyone’ was. I wasn’t interested in networking. I just wanted to see movie stars. Rosenthal would shoot me if he heard me say that.
“Isn’t Robert DeNiro in this movie?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I’d love to meet him.” Then I could call everyone I know and tell them I’d met Robert DeNiro.
Noah laughed. “You’re not going to meet him. I doubt you’ll even see him.”
* * *
We found a space in a garage south of Hollywood Boulevard and walked up to Grauman’s Chinese Theater. It was a jumble of police barricades, camera crews and screaming fans. It took us fifteen minutes winding through the crowd just to find the entrance to the red carpet. I didn’t see any movie stars, but it was still exciting.
It was almost as chaotic inside the theater as it was outside, and just as crowded. Luckily, Noah knew one of the ushers who found us two seats together in the reserved section. Otherwise we would’ve been sitting at opposite ends of the theater. He brought me popcorn and a diet coke, and left me holding the seats while he went out to the lobby to schmooze.
When he returned forty-five minutes later, I’d eaten half the popcorn, finished the soda, and was rummaging through my purse looking for something to read. “I thought you were going to miss the movie,” I said when he’d sat down. “It’s almost seven-thirty.”
“Are you kidding? These things never start on time. We’ll be lucky if it starts by eight.”
Noah finished my popcorn and pointed out a few people in the crowd. Their names sounded familiar, probably people I’d read about in the trades, but I didn’t recognize any faces. The guests fell into two distinct groups—the “Suits,” comprised of agent
s, lawyers and studio executives, and the “Artistic Types,” which consisted of a handful of working actors, directors and producers, and a whole bunch of hangers-on and wannabes.
It was easy to distinguish between them. The “Suits” were dressed in suits, hence the name, and were generally older, flabbier, and ninety-five percent white male. The “Artistic Types” were younger, hipper, and more evenly split among paper-thin wannabe actresses displaying their silicone breasts and gym-maintained wannabe actors with chiseled jaws.
When the movie ended, we retrieved Noah’s car and followed the crowd to the after-party at a trendy Japanese restaurant six blocks away. Between the traffic on Hollywood Boulevard and the line in front of the valet, it would’ve been quicker to walk. But no one did.
Once our names were checked off the list by a security guard at the entrance, we were allowed inside the restaurant. Noah handed me a drink and I accompanied him as he walked around the party looking for people he knew. After a few minutes of searching, he introduced me to another lawyer from one of the A-list talent firms. I recognized the name—only because Rosenthal used to brag about playing golf with the guy. When I mentioned to the talent lawyer that I worked for Bruce Rosenthal, he said he didn’t know him. I’d have to remember to tell Simone about that.
After half an hour, I was completely bored. I left Noah chatting with an agent while I went in search of food. I was waiting in line at the buffet table when someone put their hand on my shoulder. I turned and saw Mark Parsons and gave him an enthusiastic hello. I was happy to see a familiar face, any familiar face.
“Julie, I’m surprised to see you here. It’s not like Bruce to give his premiere tickets to one of his associates.”
“My invitation didn’t come from Bruce,” I said. “I’m here with a date.”