Not that he knew this of course.
A put the magazine down, scanned the tall bookshelves on the wall and then our eyes met.
“So how was Rome? You had a good time?” he said, his eyes burning.
“It was very nice. Amazing city, fantastic food.”
“And wines of course.” A filled in, his voice wooden and far away.
“Yeah, great wines. Everything was pretty good. Besides B being up and down of course, but she seems better now.” I don’t know what I meant by this, my nerves were talking, not my brain.
“She seems better? When I met her yesterday she didn’t seem better?” A put his glass down with a clunk. He was angry.
I had to think fast. “When she left Rome, my impression was that she felt re-energized, but when she came back from your dinner yesterday she was in tears. She said you had attacked her and that you had mentioned separating. She was very upset.” I was impressed by my own loyalty here, it was like I was defending B, no matter how precarious my own situation was, something which felt both natural and good.
“I didn’t attack her. I told her the way she behaves, it’s impossible to stay married to her. What kind of wife flies off to another country without telling you? I can bet my left butt cheek she wasn’t there to go on a museum tour either.”
I knew what A implied, but didn’t want to get into it, perhaps for egotistical reasons. “She wanted to get away from everything. The whole vomit thing, paparazzi, the lifestyle. I guess it’s kind of understandable although it wasn’t the most mature way to deal with it.”
A scoffed, “Getting away from everything meant getting away from me and that’s not how you deal with stuff when you’re married. That’s how irrational and insane people behave, people who are better off alone.” He raised his finger and looked towards the bar, he wanted a third whisky or whatever number he was on.
“She didn’t want to get away from you, she wanted to get away from herself, from her image and the public eye - the Hollywood perception of her.”
“The Hollywood perception of her...” A mocked my voice, “What kind of talk is that? What perception? Despite throwing up on national TV, Hollywood loves her! She wants to get away from that? She wants less love? Because in that case I think she's doing a swell job!”
A was channeling all his frustration at me so before he hit me in the face or whatever was going to happen, I felt I better point it out.
“Hey, man, I'm just the messenger here. I'm on your side, well both of your sides. I want you to stay together and I think that whatever issues you might have, they could be worked out. She's going through some kind of existential midlife crisis and we need to help her get through it.”
I took a sip of the smokehouse whisky and let it burn the back of my throat. I wasn’t enjoying this. Neither the whisky, nor the conversation. I wished I was back in Rome with B and a beautiful glass of red.
A raised his hands apologetically, “Sorry, I didn't mean it was your fault in any way, of course not. I'm just so frustrated with her, she's up and down, up and down, like a fucking yo-yo. It’s been five years and she’s still behaving like a spoiled brat. This time she lost it. I'm trying to be gentle and understanding with her and everything, but it doesn't seem to sink in.”
I hadn’t seen him like this before, he was edgy and nervous and kept touching his wedding ring with his right hand. Maybe he wondered why it was still there.
“Yes, she hasn't been feeling too good about herself and it’s obvious she needs some kind of change. But I know she cares so much about you and that she wants you to be together. And deep down she understands how difficult she's been during this time.” I sounded like a politician and I didn’t like it, and neither did A.
He finished his third glass of whisky and looked at me, “You know what, Darryl. This is not your fault in any way, you’ve always been a good sport, but to be honest with you I’ve had it. I want to raise a family and be with someone who’s stable and reasonable. No matter how much I love her, the fact is she drives me crazy and I hate being crazy. It doesn’t work for me. And that’s why I’m filing for divorce.”
There it was. A had finally given up. I felt my whole body go numb and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t swallow and I couldn’t speak. It shouldn’t have come as a huge surprise to me, but it did. It was huge. Things were changing now, changing badly and changing for good. It wasn’t like A to make a decision and then change his mind, so I was pretty sure there was no turning back. I knew he’d been wanting kids for at least a couple of years now, after all he was turning 40 next year and probably would have wanted one much sooner. Even in his previous relationship, with Dora, the much younger half-Venezuelan model he was seeing for three years, having kids was up for discussion, but instead she suddenly decided she wanted to break up with him. It took him a while to get over that, but when he finally did, he met B at the Vanity Fair Oscar's party five years ago, and became enchanted by her natural charm and beauty. Sadly, the spell had lifted and the transition over to a bigger family or at least a more stable marriage hadn’t happened. In Hollywood, patience wasn’t a product in abundance and A’s had run out.
The look on my friend’s face passed from anxious to sad and distant. He had started the process of coming to terms with another failed relationship and was dying to move on. At least so it seemed.
“You sure you’re not going too fast? You haven’t really talked about it,” I tried, when I had regained my voice.
“But I have thought a LOT about this, Darryl, and for some time. It’s not like I’ve stopped loving her, it’s just that I can’t be in a relationship with her. It’s not right for either of us, we want too many different things and I’ve reached the point where I just can’t see it working anymore.”
I slammed the whisky down my throat and let it burn like the news I’d just received - news which needed their fair share of drink to be digested. I tried to gauge how I felt despite the shock and the only emotion I could find was anger, anger for their sake, in a way for love’s sake. I’d like to think every failed relationship made a small scratch in the universe. And it made “true love” seem close to impossible.
“So how's the movie coming,” I said, trying to change the subject. I wanted to get out of there the quickest way possible, because I needed to think this out alone before I talked to B.
“It's going okay, maybe not really what I had envisioned from the outset to be honest. It’s a lot harder than I thought to be a director and this domestic drama hasn’t really helped my focus a whole lot.”
It sounded like A thought his movie not turning out as planned was a bigger loss than his marriage. Maybe he just tried to block out how he really felt. I hoped so.
“How long have you got left to shoot? About a week, right?”
“Yeah, something like that. Might be an extra day or two, depending on a few scenes. And during that time I really need to focus on the movie. Can you make sure I get this space? We have nothing more to say to each other for now and can start dealing with the practical stuff once we’re back home.” A’s voice was so cold it sent a chill down my spine. How long had he been thinking about this? And had he already met someone to cover up the pain?
I left the lounge with a knot in my stomach that would take months to untie.
***
I was sitting in a crowded Starbucks licking cappuccino foam from a plastic spoon. It was a few days after A had announced his decision to file for divorce and I was in desperate need of some time alone after nursing B’s emotional wounds. She had been crying pretty much constantly and it was the first time since she had learned of his decision that she was actually doing something constructive, which meant shopping the blues away with her friend Alison. Not that the blues were going to pass easily, B had a black hole inside of her, a hole I couldn’t see being filled in the near future. I had tried my best to cheer her up, but even my usually lame, but uplifting jokes were useless. All I could do for now was hold
her and hope that she would finally agree to see a therapist.
Strangely enough, my feelings had gone from attraction to pity, which I was sort of thankful for. It made it slightly easier to deal with what had become a very difficult situation. I hoped that talking to Cesar could bring some light to it and he was about to join me for a late breakfast. And by that I mean he was running 30 minutes late.
While I was stirring my cappuccino and pondering my situation, my phone buzzed. It was Julianne.
“A change of career?” Julianne soon shouted into my ear via iPhone. She couldn't get her head around what I'd just told her. Her voice was on fire and I imagined her making her hand into a fist so hard blood was dripping out of it. “This is a divorce. In Hollywood that’s as big as someone painting their house. Let’s move on and not dwell on the past. She needs to step out of her cave and start taking responsibility for her future. For starters she could pick up her goddamn phone.”
“It’s not that easy. She’s very fragile right now and in no state to start working again. She needs therapy and time, not more work.” I was too involved in the individual to see the business side of things and Julianne was too involved in business to give a crap about people. This was one reason we never got along.
“What the fuck, Darryl! This is nuts. She can't stop working, not now when things are still looking so good for her, despite her launching food on public carpets. And now that she’s single it would be an excellent opportunity to star against someone like Bradley Cooper. We get some romance gossip rumors spinning around, the vomit will be forgotten quickly and things can move on.”
Julianne was always looking for ways to spin things. She would have been better off owning a laundromat.
“Like I said, now isn’t the time. I’ll monitor the situation and get back to you.”
We ended the short phone call and I looked around the coffee shop. There was quite a line waiting on their take-away coffees and the tables were all occupied with people reading the newspaper or having a quick morning meeting before rushing off to the office. For a second I imagined myself having a normal job, always wearing a suit, working in a cubicle and spending most of the day juggling e-mails. It was a nightmare.
My thoughts were interrupted by a familiar sight entering my vision. How the hell? Could it really be? Was Matteo sitting at one of the tables in the back? And if so, what was he doing there? He was in fashion according to B so maybe it wasn’t so weird that he was traveling to New York from time to time, but it was quite a coincidence nonetheless. I bent my head back towards the Kindle again so he wouldn’t see me. Despite my curiosity, I would do just about anything else than to have an awkward conversation with that guy.
Suddenly, I felt a hand on my head. I turned around and saw Cesar with a huge grin on his face. “Darryl smooth-mouth Glendale in a Starbucks drinking a cappuccino all alone, I must say it breaks my heart.”
“You're late,” I said, slightly shocked at seeing Cesar wearing a shirt, tie and dress pants. What about the flip-flops and casual clothing he was bragging about?
“Sorry about that, woke up late. Good thing I don’t have a punch-clock at work.” Cesar sat down. “So what's up? You mentioned a divorce?”
“Yeah, things are really going downhill and fast. A has made up his mind, papers are being drafted by his attorney and B is going bananas. The latest news is that she wants to rent a penthouse in New York and start painting, something she dabbled with as a teenager. I’m actually going out with her and an estate agent later today.”
Cesar was far from an expert on relationships, quite the contrary, he never had one as far as I could remember and had instead focused on amassing one of the biggest porn collections known to man. Being a tall, sharp-mouthed, geeky, goofy, weed-smoking computer hacker, simply isn’t that attractive to the opposite sex. Still, I valued his intelligence and people-reading skills.
“Seems like there's not much hope for marriage these days. Is there anyone in Hollywood who gets past the five-year-line? Tom Hanks?”
Before I managed to reply I looked up and found Matteo standing in front of us with a big smile on his annoyingly handsome face. He was surely one big “jack-ass in a box”. He stretched out his hand and said, “Darryl! (sounded like Daaar-eeel) How nice to see you!”
I stood up, shook his hand, forced a smile on my face and asked him: “You're here on business or?” I realize my tone was kind of frosty, but I couldn't help it. I felt jealous and suspicious and many other negative things about him.
“Yes business (bees knees). I'm actually having dinner with your boss today.”
Dinner? My boss? What was the freak talking about?
“You're having dinner with B? Seriously? When did you decide on that?”
“We send texts,” There was a pompous grin on Matteo's face I felt like wiping away with my fist. I would also have liked to wipe away my concerns about why B hadn't told me any of this. She had been crying for days and now this. Was there something more than friendship after all?
“Okay, well, so I might see you later then,” I said, hoping to make it clear that I didn't want B to attend any kind of events or dinners alone with Mr. Handsome.
“Yes, maybe. Have a nice day, Daareeeel.” And Matteo smiled and walked out the door of the coffee shop.
Cesar turned to me with a disgusted look on his face, “Now who the hell was that?”
“B’s friend, an Italian guy we met in Rome. I thought he was coming onto B, but it turns out he’s gay.”
Cesar scoffed, “If that guy is gay, I'm Jimi Hendrix.”
“Why do you say that? I mean he takes care of himself like a gay guy. And he’s far too attractive to be straight, right?” I could sense the worry in my own voice, because I had never been sure about Matteo.
“All Italian guys seem gay, but that’s just because they’re the metrosexual masters of grooming. You went there for fuck sake - did you think all the attractive men were gay? That would make it Gaytaly, man.”
“But that doesn't mean this guy isn't gay. They must have gays there, right?”
“Of course they have gays, I'm just saying this guy isn't, okay? I could see it in his eyes.”
“You can't see in a person's eyes if they're gay or not!”
“Believe me when I say I have an excellent track record when it comes to gayspotting and it’s probably because I really like gay men. They pose absolutely no threat when it comes to picking up women,” said Cesar with a smirk.
“Well, you don't either, so I don't see how that would help you,” I said, jokingly, but I was really in a completely different state of mind. Had B been lying all the time? Did she have feelings for Matteo that, in a time of desperation, she felt she could capitalize on now that her marriage was dissolving? I felt slightly nauseous.
One thought led to another and suddenly I burst out: “What would you say we go out for dinner tonight? I owe you one.”
“Sounds great to me. Bring your golden expense card, because I’ll be starving.”
“No problemo,” I said, a plan slowly forming in my head.
I was too confused to realize how crappy the plan actually was.
***
“Guess who I bumped into at Starbucks?” I said as B and I stepped into the Mercedes of realtor guy Eddie, who in his Armani suit didn’t exactly look like an Eddie, “Your good, gay friend, Matteo. He said you two have dinner plans tonight, well he actually phrased it that he has dinner with my boss, meaning you.” I was angry and I hoped it came through in my voice.
B was caught off guard at first but soon found her way, “Yes, he texted me yesterday and said that he was in town and suggested dinner. Didn’t I tell you? Anyway, I desperately need a break from all this divorce madness and thought it a good idea.”
“I wouldn't have forgotten it if you did. Can you be completely honest with me?” I was talking as softly as I could not to have Eddie listening in, but considering how angry I was, it was somewhat of a challenge.
<
br /> “I'm always honest with you,” B said, straight-faced.
“Are you having some kind of affair with this guy?”
B's eyes started flashing like she was suffering some kind of epileptic attack, “Oh come on! Can you stop this shit about me having an affair? Even if I did it’s not even an affair anymore! I’m getting divorced! Are you trying to make my life even more miserable?”
I realized I had to take a step back, because B was too emotional to deal with any kind of pressure at that point. “I just have the feeling something's strange with that guy, I don't like him one bit.” I said, weakly hoping she would agree with me.
“You don’t know him that’s all. He's actually really nice and if you spent more time with him you'd see he's intelligent, cultured and charming. Very much like you, when you act normal.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, “Where are you going?”
“He booked some new Italian place not far from here. It had a weird name, but I can’t remember it. Apparently he’s friends with the owner and they'll prepare us something extra special tonight. What are you going to do?”
I couldn’t tell her.
***
The first apartment on the viewing list was a duplex penthouse in the TriBeCa area. It cost 32 thousand dollars per month to rent. Yeah, you read it, $32,000.
As Eddie recited the details, talking about the original features like he was reciting poetry; the exposed brick wall, the iPad system controlling all the lights, the 3D LED TV, the marble bathroom with dual shower-heads and so on, I looked around. I couldn’t help but be impressed by the warm feeling the apartment gave you, despite being extremely white and lavish on the border of insanity. I knew the amount of light it let in probably appealed more to B than all the unnecessary luxuries, because in her confused mind it was becoming equal parts home and art studio.
Hollywood Ass. Page 11
