In February, I was working on the set of a TV show that I was a wardrobe stylist for. I was having a typical "LA" conversation of where home is and dogs with our production manager, "A". Somehow with such a simple conversation and actually "seeing" him for what felt like the first time... INSANE CRUSH! His kindness, his smile, I'll spare you the endless list, I was hooked. I loved the idea of having a crush. Harmless, unattainable, someone to dream of, especially since I had recently had the WORST relationship of my life ( we'll visit that another time...), there was no danger of getting hurt. He had a girlfriend I was told by my friend on set, but there seemed to be a spark between us, an easy chemistry. I figured it was all in my head... and that was fine. Wistful. Safe.
There were a series of events and wonderful circumstances where we were able to be in each other's company. Sweet moments of sharing goldfish crackers, sushi, tacos and coca-colas in glass bottles, laughs, a million glances and smiles. We wrapped the show, and I was hopeful I may have gained a friend. I found out the next day, that he had ended his relationship. 2-3 weeks later he asked me out to a movie. He said, "we'll make a thing of it." I didn't know if this was a date or a polite follow through of an idea over tacos late one night. I was so nervous, so excited. Neither of us had been so bold as to confirm bluntly our feelings or attraction.
He took me to see The Artist and then after to Bar Chloe for tapas and drinks. It was a perfect first date. It was my favorite first date. Through our fun and easy conversations we decided, after discovering a mutual love of Disney and Delirium beer, that we would go back to his place to watch Lady and the Tramp. We fell asleep cuddled up together. The next morning, I feared I had over stayed my welcome, and just when I thought I should go, he asked if I wanted to get breakfast. Everything was beautiful. We strolled down Montana Ave to Blue Plate. It was a gorgeous Santa Monica morning and we got the last table in the sun, and the last to receive food since the kitchen had just lost power! We felt so lucky together! After we walked back and shared hours of snuggles, giggles, and kisses ( hours of kissing can be out of character for me if you were to consult several of my exes.) It became a 24hr date. It was amazing. Luckiest girl in the world.
Over the next couple months, we walked in the rain, had movie marathons, went surfing, biking, wandered a flea market, countless breakfasts, lunch, and dinners. We had "our spot" at our favorite sushi place for happy hour. We had an unwritten list of adventures yet to be had that we wanted to share together. A long day being "kids" at Disneyland. A road trip up the coast to Portland, spending the 4th of July on surf boards by the pier watching fireworks, trips to Vegas, camping in Yosemite and Catalina. Recipes, movies, bike rides, dinner dates. A trip to South America, or anywhere else neither of us had been, where we would back pack with little but just enough. I found everything I had ever wanted in someone.
It's hard to find truth, loyalty, and commitment in Los Angeles. There is always a grand story or image someone is trying to sell. A true gentleman in Los Angeles is about as easy to find as a real Louis Vuitton in the LA Fashion District. Knock offs and fakes galore. "A" proved to be a true gentleman. Pulling out chairs, opening car doors, waiting to sit until you sat, always asking if he could get you anything. He would say sweet compliments, hold my hand, even across the table, walk on the street side of the sidewalk. His mother should be proud of the sweet, compassionate, smart son she raised.
Even the way he broke up with me, he was a gentleman. Yes, that's right... ended our relationship. Dumped. Terminated. Fin. Finito.
Gentleman.
He professed all the feelings and affection he had for me that a hopeless romantic girl, (dare I do it??? Dare I abbreviate to HRG?!), would want to hear... aside from those 3 words. Unfortunately, it ended with I just can't be with anyone right now. We had a lovely day together after that, aside from the occasional tears. We drove up the Pacific Coast Highway and stopped at the Getty Villa, had dinner at The Inn of the Seventh Ray while we watched the solar eclipse, ate dessert down by a private creek where we were serenaded by frogs and crickets. He held my hand the whole time, kissed me, it was like I was in a dream. What snaps you out of the dream? Standing in the ladies room with a bride and her maids.... torture. What's even more torturous?? Holding each other, not knowing when to say goodbye, and Florence & The (bloody) Machine plays "Never let me go"... Cue the heaving sobs.
Over the course of our last day and night together, "A" said that this wasn't the end for us, that these weren't our last kisses, that he still wanted to do all of our adventures we had planned together, that he couldn't imagine me not in his life. I told him to not say such things if he didn't mean them. He said he meant them and he kissed me goodbye. I don't know if that means weeks, months, years.... I do not know. He left me with hope.
How do you move on with hope?
You let him go. You give him what he asked for. You let him be George Valentin if that's what he chooses, and you continue to be Peppy. Keep smiling, charming, dancing, winking.
I will miss him.
Peppy said, "Out with the old, make way for the new, that's life." George then said from behind her, "I've made way for you."
It's hard to find truth, loyalty, and commitment in Los Angeles. There is always a grand story or image someone is trying to sell. A true gentleman in Los Angeles is about as easy to find as a real Louis Vuitton in the LA Fashion District. Knock offs and fakes galore. "A" proved to be a true gentleman. Pulling out chairs, opening car doors, waiting to sit until you sat, always asking if he could get you anything. He would say sweet compliments, hold my hand, even across the table, walk on the street side of the sidewalk. His mother should be proud of the sweet, compassionate, smart son she raised.
Even the way he broke up with me, he was a gentleman. Yes, that's right... ended our relationship. Dumped. Terminated. Fin. Finito.
Gentleman.
He professed all the feelings and affection he had for me that a hopeless romantic girl, (dare I do it??? Dare I abbreviate to HRG?!), would want to hear... aside from those 3 words. Unfortunately, it ended with I just can't be with anyone right now. We had a lovely day together after that, aside from the occasional tears. We drove up the Pacific Coast Highway and stopped at the Getty Villa, had dinner at The Inn of the Seventh Ray while we watched the solar eclipse, ate dessert down by a private creek where we were serenaded by frogs and crickets. He held my hand the whole time, kissed me, it was like I was in a dream. What snaps you out of the dream? Standing in the ladies room with a bride and her maids.... torture. What's even more torturous?? Holding each other, not knowing when to say goodbye, and Florence & The (bloody) Machine plays "Never let me go"... Cue the heaving sobs.
Over the course of our last day and night together, "A" said that this wasn't the end for us, that these weren't our last kisses, that he still wanted to do all of our adventures we had planned together, that he couldn't imagine me not in his life. I told him to not say such things if he didn't mean them. He said he meant them and he kissed me goodbye. I don't know if that means weeks, months, years.... I do not know. He left me with hope.
How do you move on with hope?
You let him go. You give him what he asked for. You let him be George Valentin if that's what he chooses, and you continue to be Peppy. Keep smiling, charming, dancing, winking.
I will miss him.
Peppy said, "Out with the old, make way for the new, that's life." George then said from behind her, "I've made way for you."
Cheers,
Whiskey Ginger Girl
Whiskey Ginger Girl
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