The Sportin' Life

by Nancy Frederick

  Then I realized that everybody gets laid in Los Angeles. It just depends on where you stack up on the continuum. The gorgeous get laid because of their beauty, usually with people less attractive who want to seem important, and the addition of a beautiful partner accomplishes that goal. These were gorgeous women, but my own looks, despite the fact that they are pretty hot, if I do say so myself, are inconsequential. They equate me with themselves—someone pretty but without substance who pedals flesh in exchange for money or position. And since none of them knew about my education or about the fact that I invest my money, based on tips from clients and from inside sources, and that yes, I now have a bundle which I don’t bother to flaunt, they don’t realize that I cross over their category into the one of moneyed individual, or their partners of choice.

  Of course it is sometimes possible that two gorgeous people are making it together and there can be several explanations for that, such as they are both drunk and are acting simply on physical or emotional impulses. Or they could be the athlete-beach bunny types who get off on merely the physical. They are a bit out of the mainstream, although any beach bunny girl is likely to be aware of her powers of attraction for rich guys who like hot bodies. Likewise could the jock generate interest in a rich woman who likes a handsome stud, but that is far from mainstream also. There are too few rich and independently powerful women in this town for them to reach for a stable of jocks. Some of the body builders I know talk about finding rich women to service but I’ve never seen that happen—they just don’t travel in the same circles, and yes, I do get many sexual opportunities, but a relationship is never a possibility, at least it hasn’t been for me or the women who want me to sleep with them.

  A guy I met at a bar told me that there were rules here for sex. I laughed at first, but as I began to observe people, I saw he was right. There is lots of sex because everybody is very physical, but mostly it is casual. You can meet a girl and charm her and dazzle her with your smile, if you have a dazzling smile, and I think I do, and you can pick her up. Sometimes she might go home and go to bed with you. If so, that means she isn’t interested in you and there’s no reason to call her. When a girl is really interested, she’ll be encouraging but she’ll always say no, for at least three dates. That’s how you know that she’s willing to have a relationship. Unless it means that she simply needs someone to buy her dinner. You have to read signals to figure out the difference, or just hang in there until the fourth date. By then, if she says no, you know that she’s just been passing the time with you on odd nights, maybe because there’s no chemistry or because there’s someone else in the picture and she’s just using you for backup. You know that she’s getting laid, because everyone is getting laid, so she’s sleeping casually on a one-night stand basis with people in whom she has no interest other than for a passing sexual encounter. Even now with the AIDS crisis, that’s how it works. People are just more careful physically. Emotionally they’re still the same.

  The beautiful girls require more money and more effort. Mike says that you have to buy a girl, but Mike doesn’t have my looks or body. Even he said that the rules might be slightly different for me because I’m a “good type.” According to Mike, the beautiful girls always want something. They’ve been taught that their looks are a commodity that can be worth a lot on the open market, once they master the accepted system of barter. That means fancy presents, deluxe evenings, trips to resorts in which you buy their clothes. Of course, that’s at a very high level, and even an ugly guy can get a beautiful girl if he has the bucks to pull it off. And if a regular guy like Mike is seeing a beautiful girl, when a bigbucks comes along, she is justified in going off with him for a weekend. After all, she could get a whole wardrobe out of it and in no way would it diminish the affection she felt for Mike. On that weekend it would be understood that he had the right to drift off into a casual affair with any girl he could get because he and the beautiful girl were just in a temporarily freelance mode.

  Wow! This was so amazing to me that I thought that Mike was just exaggerating at first. How could people interact and relate like that? Where was the sense of it? Where was the pleasure or the happiness, the love and closeness? I was sure that the people Mike described were in the minority, and that somewhere there was a girl who would want to fall in love totally, and forever, a girl who would want me for myself and once we met that she would never even look at another guy, no matter what his bankbook said, not even if she thought I was broke and without prospects.

  I thought Tawny was that girl. It was so much fun to have her in my life. I’d call her every day after finishing my workouts, and lots of times we’d have dinner together, sometimes at my place, sometimes at hers. It was so nice to have a real home cooked dinner, whether I made it or she did, because it seemed as though we were really involved romantically, and that perhaps our love affair could turn into a real relationship that would become a marriage. What is nicer than being married to someone you love, coming home and spending every evening with her and every night with her in your arms? On the weekends we’d do so many fun things, like going to the Santa Monica pier where we could ride the merry-go-round and I could win her all sorts of stuffed toys at the games. We’d have drinks or dinner at Chinois on Main Street and maybe go dancing at Grubstake’s or the Oasis. I love to stroll along Main Street and to look into the windows, with Tawny’s hand warmly buried in my own.

  Once we drove down to Ensenada for a weekend. The drive itself was so beautiful and romantic that I almost proposed right there. As it was, we began a discussion about the future, our separate and joint dreams, and it seemed our goals were more than compatible. Tawny wanted to make it as an actress. She wanted to earn her own living so that she could stop relying on her alimony to pay her rent and the leasing fees on her car. I admired her guts and grit and was glad she was an independent, modern woman rather than a little plaything of a girl. I often thought about offering to support her, about asking her to give up her apartment and move in with me, but the right moment to bring it up never quite arrived. Besides, it was October, and Christmas was coming, so I decided simply to wait until then to give her a nice diamond and propose.

  During our weekend in Mexico, I became more and more certain this was the right thing to do. We had so much fun strolling along the streets, buying little knickknacks, stopping for drinks each night at Hussong’s and eating in all the little out of the way places that had such pleasant service and such good food, that it seemed that we were on a honeymoon that was destined to last forever. Late we would return to our room and make love until we both fell asleep exhausted and happy in each other’s arms.

  Things continued that way for a while, and day by day I fell more in love with Tawny. The smallest little pleasures, like watching television, going to a café for a quick bite, or taking a walk along the beach, were magnified by sharing them with her. Then she lost interest in having sex with me. At first I thought it was because of the little yeast infection she had picked up and some advice from her gynecologist, some new guy she found in Beverly Hills. Where before we had sex every night or every other night, she suddenly began begging off. Well, if we were together, she’d usually say OK, but often I’d call her and she’d say she didn’t think she should. Then it became a regular thing. Where before we would spend every weekend together, she now was busy on Saturday nights, so I would see her Fridays and have to be out of her place early Saturday morning because of hair or nail appointment she had to race off to. Who goes to the beauty salon at 8:30 a.m.?

  I kept asking her if there were anything wrong, but she always laughed and denied a problem. I called Mike, my expert on women, and told him the whole story. He was sure that she was seeing another guy. I asked her point blank if that were the case, but again she denied it. I thought about Mike’s advice: shake her up. Mike felt that I had been too open with Tawny and needed to use more tactics. What was I planning, a war? But Mike assured me that a war was easy compared to the work necessar
y to get a beautiful girl like Tawny to make a commitment to me—no matter how good a type I was.

  He quizzed me about all the details of our relationship and after I described each of our wonderful dates, he snorted and howled, “No wonder she’s killing you off!” First of all, walks on the beach are not the way to win a beautiful girl—not unless someone is selling gems on the sand and I was buying them. I was too old fashioned and romantic. Girls didn’t go for that any more. I should have been taking her to Spago and Chasen’s, not making her quiet little romantic dinners in my apartment in Brentwood. Now it was probably too late, but I could try the old shake up.

  I should stop paying attention to her for a while. Not call for a couple of weeks. If she called me, I should wait several days to return her calls. If at all possible, I should arrange a date with an even more beautiful girl and take her to a fancy, expensive place where Tawny would have friends who would report back to her about my exploits and she would realize that she didn’t have me wrapped around her finger any more. It was the only way out.

  I went home after my dinner with Mike and I took a bottle of Jack Daniel’s with me into my Jacuzzi, where I could soak and think about it. I didn’t want to generate some kind of psychodrama designed to restore Tawny’s affections. It didn’t seem right. What chance for a life together did we have if I had to trick and fool the woman I loved into loving me back? Was I so lame and such a poor catch that I had to become a conniver to get a woman? At that moment I longed for the women in New York, the straightforward, straight shooters who would say yes when they meant yes and no when they didn’t.

  Then I called Fauna, the one woman I train whom I like. She’s a sweet girl, and even if she is a bit insecure, she’s also savvy and intelligent, and besides she never treats me like a piece of meat. Fauna laughed at Mike’s theories and his advice, although she did admit that I was her only real friend here, besides her lover Bart, and she really didn’t know many women. But Fauna agreed with me. Why buy into all that stuff that I despised? I should play it straight with Tawny, and if I lost her, then it meant that we were not destined to be together. Was I prepared to be strong enough to risk a total break if it came to that or would it be better to hang on as we were, hoping that Tawny would come to her senses and see what a good life we could have together? It was a hard choice, but I knew that I was at the breaking point and there was little left to do but to confront the situation. I decided to tell Tawny that I loved her and wanted a life with her. Fauna wished me luck and said that I could come over or call her later if I needed her.

  I got dressed and drove to Tawny’s apartment in the Palisades. I knocked on the door, but she didn’t seem to hear me, so I tried the knob and it was open. There was Tawny in the middle of a phone conversation with her pan Joanna, whose voice I clearly heard coming from the speaker.

  Because she was lying on the couch, Tawny never noticed that I had entered. I was about to go over and tickle her toes when I picked up on what they were saying.

  “Yeah, Lou is short and not all that attractive, certainly nothing compared to Ace, but he has major bucks to spend, and I feel that he could make a real difference in terms of my life. You know, all I have to do is sit in his lap and call him ‘honey’ and he’ll just pick up the tab for anything I need. He paid for my photo session so that this time I could go to a real good photographer, not that hack I had been using. I even had the guy take a few nude pin ups for Lou as a thank you present.

  “I know what you mean, Tawn, but I thought you were really in love with Ace.”

  “I don’t know, Jo, where could we really go? He’s such a homebody, and I like that sometimes, but I never get to wear anything sparkly with him, and that means I never have a chance to be seen or discovered.”

  “Why don’t you ask him to take you to nicer places?”

  “Oh, I don’t think he can afford it. He’s never even given me a watch.”

  “Jesus Christ, Tawny, you have a drawer full of watches.”

  “Exactly. They all give watches. Ace just brings flowers, scented massage oil, strange little presents, like the last time he came with crystallized violets which we ate in bed off each other’s bodies. He said to pretend I was Lady Chatterley.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Someone from a porn flick, I think.”

  “Well, I think you’re crazy! He sounds wonderful and most girls would kill for a guy like that. I know I would. Is Lou good in bed?”

  “Lou is kind of a bull in bed, but I don’t care anyway—you know how easy it is to find good sex—on the beach or in the bars.”

  That was enough for me. Mike had been right all along. If I wanted Tawny, I had to do as he said and buy her, but in thinking about the situation, it was clear that although I could afford her, she just wasn’t worth the purchase price, like so much of the real estate in this town. I walked out as silently as I had entered and drove to Grubstake’s where I hit on the first girl I saw, and when she said yes, I drove her home, determined to make love to her so long and hard that Tawny’s face would forever be blotted from my memory. And it worked for the night.

  The next day I called Liana, determined to get her to Los Angeles where we could both enjoy the sun and the warmth of each other’s company. A few weeks with her and I would be my old self again. If only I could find a girl like Liana.

  Then it occurred to me. Liana should move out here. From what she told me about her gallery, it sounded like a natural for the rich people in Beverly Hills who got their kicks primarily from acquiring the next trendy item. Liana and I would both be happier if we had each other—family—here in this beautiful place. So I decided to persuade Liana to open a branch of her Heart in Hand Gallery here, and the easiest way to do that would be to provide capitalization.

  It was the best thing I could have come up with at the time because it gave me a new focus and took my mind off Tawny. I started contacting the people I train and in no time at all there was more than enough money to provide Liana with a good basis for a beginning. Then I searched around for a location, and by chance learned that Fauna had ties to the Rodeo Collection. What a perfect deal! Liana couldn’t do much better than that, so I had matters well in hand. Liana could open her gallery here, even move into my apartment if she wanted. Hell, I’d buy a house! Violet could go to school here and we would all be together.

  There would be turkey on Thanksgiving, egg nog at Christmastime, laughter, love, and family ties to sustain us all. And then if either of us met someone genuinely nice, fell in love and got married, we could have more children and add to the circle of life and love and it would be the way it should be for us all. There was a chance for happiness for me here in Los Angeles, and maybe it wasn’t such a mistake leaving home after all.

  Delilah

  A Slice of Passion Fruit

  Can you believe it? Since I’ve had Samson in my life, I’ve lost thirty pounds! I can see it now—the new diet best seller—fall in love with a cat and watch those ugly pounds melt away, all without stress, strain, or starvation. The members of Weight Watchers et al would race to their nearest S.P.C.A. and the animal shelters would empty out faster than the candy stores. For a while there I thought I’d have to look for a wizard to turn Samson into a man—so I could marry him. After all, he is completely devoted to me, and what more could you ask for in a husband? Then I’d have a mate who does nothing but look out the window, take naps, eat bugs, and snuggle me—an improvement by far over what’s preceded him. But then I met Arnie and I fell in love with a real man, so I had human love and feline devotion.

  I woke up one Saturday morning and discovered that I had lost weight. It’s amazing how what you want more than anything else in the world can creep up on you when you’re distracted by happiness enough to release your obsession and relax. I reached for my clothes and they were far too big. Clothes that hadn’t fit me for three years or more suddenly fit—even my jeans! The Queen size panty hose were unnecessary. I wasn’t a Fat Woman any
more. OK, so maybe I’m still a Chubby Woman, but that’s not so bad, particularly if you’re Chubby but getting Thinner, and it seemed I was. Fortune had reached down and dusted me with a magic wand.

  As usual, I went to Westwood that night to see a movie, and I decided to celebrate by having a pleasant dinner first at DiStefano’s. I should have known that something was up when Michael seated me at that special table in the window. Anyone with the slightest bit of passion in his soul will know that that is a table strictly for lovers, or for those whose destiny it is to fall in love during that meal. It didn’t bother me at all to be dining alone, because I was so in love with my new, thinner body, that it seemed an appropriate salutation from the cosmos that I should be seated at the lovers’ table.

  I ate a bit of their wonderful homemade bread while waiting for my fettuccine and struck up a conversation with the man seated at the booth nearby. It was easy to talk with him, mainly because there was such a casual aura between us, and also because he wasn’t the type that usually sends me into a fit of passion. Soon, I forgot all about the fact that he wasn’t my type and just enjoyed the variety of topics that we covered so effortlessly. Eventually, he asked to join me and we shared the rest of the evening. It turned out that Arnie loved movies as much as I do, and so we decided to go see a love story together.

  Love crept up on me when I wasn’t looking, the way my weight loss did. Sometimes it just happens that you meet someone with whom you’re so compatible on so many levels that you just seem to mesh together instantaneously without there being the kind of initial attraction or fireworks that describe a typical infatuation. That’s the way it was with Arnie and me. We talked, we laughed, shared good food, enjoyed movies and it seemed that there was nothing that we didn’t have in common.