Okay, so I haven’t always owned a store. I used to work in the Land of Milk and Honey. Where Space is Made in a Hollywood Basement. The Studio System. You get it – Agencies, Management Companies, all that stuff… And my first job in Hollywood, at the tender at young age of 20 – I couldn’t even legally drink – was as an assistant. And being a new assistant is a big deal, well for your social life. Six months in, you’ve made the dating rounds and you’re old news. But when you’re a new assistant, all the single executives crawl out of their shells and clamor for dates.

 

No really, it’s like the shot heard round the world. Within days I was getting calls on my private line from guys I’d never met.

 

“Hi this is Tia.”

“Hi, this is Jenny from Josh Smittt’s office. I’m calling to schedule drinks.”

“Let me see, Jake is available on the 27^th, the 28^th, or the 31^st. Do any of those work for Josh?”

“No. You. When are you available?”

“I’m sorry, did you say me?”

“Yes. How does the 27^th look at eight o’clock?”

“Umm, it’s fine, I mean, great. It’s great. But you’re sure…”

“You were a personal assistant for Tom and Jay right?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, then I’m sure. I’ll call the day before to confirm.”

Click.

Jenny. Jenny. I had to remember the name Jenny so I wouldn’t sound stupid when she called to confirm.

 

Post-date the scenario went something like this:

Bachelor Number 1: Went on a date with Jake’s new assistant last night. Name’s Tia. Only been there for two weeks.

Bachelor Number 2: Did you sleep with her?

Bachelor Number 1: You know - she’s from the Midwest and all that. Doesn’t put out on a first date. I’ll bag her after dinner on Friday.

Bachelor Number 2: Weird. I kissed her on Monday.

Bachelor Number 1: You’re shitting me.

Bachelor Number 2: Nope.

Bachelor Number 1: And?

Bachelor Number 2: Dead fish.

Bachelor Number 1: (to assistant) Cancel Tia for Friday!

Bachelor Number 2: (to assistant) (on mute) Schedule Tia for Friday ASAP!!!

Bachelor Number 1: Thanks for the heads up. I’m billing Joe for the dinner. Client on two. Gotta jump.

Click.

 

Hollywood is an incestuous place. Bachelors 1 and 2 (along with 3 through 3000) had slept with the whole of the female executive ranks when those girls had been fresh young assistants. And they weren’t going back for sloppy seconds. Nor did they have any intention of committing to anyone or anything. So new girls were in high demand - especially because they were naive of conversations like the one above.

 

Besides being a new assistant, I had the luck of working at the same company with my best friend. And we had both started at the same time. And we were both in the “new assistant” category. And after several months we had both been on more dates than we cared to remember with more older, unattractive men than we cared to admit. So we’d come up with a new plan – if we were going to have to spend time with these losers, why not do it together? Why not date best friends?

 

Sadly, in the best friend area we were forced to make concessions.

 

The best friends we’d found weren’t exactly what we’d dreamed of: they were on the older side - one a bit heavy, the other a bit slim, a sort of Laurel and Hardy operation. One had a rapidly receding hairline and a penchant for talking about his ex-girlfriend, the other didn’t talk at all, he just stared and chuckled a lot. They weren’t attractive and definitely not sexy - nothing to write home about. But they were best friends. And best friends were really our only criteria. So it seemed only logical to take a shot at realizing our dreams, perfect dating specimens or not.

 

It took a little convincing. Being best friends themselves, neither really wanted to date a set of best friends. I guess it’s kind of like one set of twins dating another set of twins – kind of creepy. Nor was either keen on the idea of even going on a double date. It was, as Jason put it, “So high school.” The result? It took a fair amount of persuasion to suck them into our master plan. But eventually we managed to turn their proposed “two separate first dates” into our contrived “single joint double date.”

 

Kevin wasn’t the tough one to convince. He was the one who didn’t really talk, so it followed that anything you’d say would elicit a chuckle that could be interpreted to fit your needs. He may not have loved the idea, but Marina definitely had the upper hand, giving her the advantage of being able to be blunt and honest. “Come on,” she’d said to him, “it’ll be fun. Besides, I won’t go without Tia.” And Kevin was so desperate to go out with Marina that she could’ve said, “I’m bringing my father and he’s bringing his gun. Oh, and get a table for three, his gun needs it’s own seat,” and he would’ve chuckled and asked her father’s favorite restaurant in order to make a reservation. No, he was the easy one. I was stuck with the procrastinator.

 

Jason was definitely more skeptical, and obviously the brains behind this Laurel and Hardy operation. He smelled a rat. Though Marina and I certainly weren’t gold diggers, I can see how he might’ve thought something of the sort. How we might’ve seemed suspicious. And maybe he wasn’t so far off base. But that’s why I did my best to sound like that shy girl from the Midwest I’d been three years earlier when I’d first moved to Los Angeles, the one who really did need her best friend by her side at all times for moral support.

 

Every time Jason asked, “Can’t we just have dinner alone?” I’d say, “But my dad says there’s safety in numbers – especially when you live in a big city.” Eventually after all the references to Ohio and how girls there didn’t go out alone with boys that their parents hadn’t met, he believed that I really was that young and innocent. Oh, and I might’ve hinted, or flat out said, that I was a virgin. Either way it was a winning move. After pondering that, he quickly resigned himself to the fact that a date with me would mean a date with Marina and Kevin too.

 

So there we were. Plans made for a double date.

 

That Saturday night, Kevin picked Marina up at her apartment in the Valley - which was incredibly considerate since he lived in Santa Monica less than five minutes from the restaurant. But the courtesy was a double-edged sword since Marina could barely elicit a single word out of him on the whole forty-five minute drive to the restaurant. I kept telling her that he was the strong and silent type, but she was just annoyed.

 

“What am I supposed to do,” she had complained to me that morning. “I mean, he doesn’t say anything. He just sits there on the phone. Dead silence. I talk and talk and talk and then I run out of things to say. And he doesn’t say ‘Well I have to go now,’ he just sits there in silence as if that’s what people do on the phone. But it’s not. That’s not what they do Tia – they talk!”

“He’s just nervous,” I’d tried to reassure her. “I mean you’re a beautiful, strong, intelligent girl. Any guy would be at a loss for words. I’m sometimes at a loss for words.”

“Well other guys who ask me out aren’t that way.”

“Yeah, but other guys who ask you out don’t have best friends that I can date. Remember, adjoining cabanas on the beach in Mexico. Margueritas and pool boys who’ll spray us with Evian misters whenever we ask. Resort gift shops that carry designer clothes that we can charge to the room. Marina, think of the big picture.”

“Okay. Big picture. I’m thinking. Big picture…. big picture…,” her words had trailed off as she joined my fantasy world. “I get it. Big picture.”

And that had been enough to get her back on track.

 

Jason wasn’t so courteous. He had forced me to meet him at his house. But I’d rationalized the whole matter, as girls often do, thinking it gave me an excuse to go back to his place afterwards for a post-dinner aperitif.

 

When we walked in to the restaurant, Kevin and Marina were already seated. In awkward silence. Kevin stood up as any gentleman is supposed to do when a woman arrives at the table, and he gave me a half-hug and small kiss on the cheek. Marina jumped out of her chair and grabbed me in a huge embrace and whispered into my ear, “Save me. Please. It’s awful.”

 

So after we’d ordered and lapsed into a short, but uncomfortable, silence, I pulled out my secret weapon. I had prepared “Topics for Conversation in the Event We Have Nothing to Talk About.” I had four cards, each with different conversation-starters on them. And I felt it was time to pull them out.

 

“I brought a little something,” I said as I dipped my hand into my purse. “I just thought it might help, you know, break the ice.” And I passed the cards to each guest and waited to be praised.

 

But that wasn’t the case. My efforts weren’t met with a, “Wow, how thoughtful, comprehensive, and potentially engaging,” or a “What a sweet way to make a first date less awkward.” Instead Kevin and Jason laughed. Well Kevin chuckled. Jason laughed. And not in a “she’s so cute” kind of way, but rather in a way that made me feel stupid and embarrassed.

 

“Isn’t Tia just so adorable,” Marina said. “Who else would think of something like this?”

Kevin looked down at his card and said, “Well I have always wondered about this one.” Then he read exactly what I’d written:

“Kierkegaard asserts that anxiety preceded Adam’s sin. Anxiety is not itself sin, but is the natural reaction of the soul when faced with the yawning abyss of freedom. If all individual persons are born with the same freedom and anxiety as a result of that freedom that Adam possessed, do we sin not because we are sinners, but we become sinners because of our qualitative leap out of freedom into sin?”

 

I guess maybe the topic was a bit heady when compared to the typically light first-date banter. But he could’ve chosen a simpler subject to discuss – like why is the chopped salad at La Scala so damn good? I was going to have to answer this one.

 

“Well it seems that Kirkegaard believes it is the expression of anxiety that is a sin rather than there being some sort of original sin. I guess that leads us to question the entire existence of Christianity. If there’s no original sin then we really aren’t indebted to Jesus, but rather just in desperate need of self control,” I coolly replied to the obvious challenge. I was met with blank stares.

 

“This is really good bread,” Jason threw out. And everyone agreed and put away the cards I had worked so hard to create. But I wasn’t ready to give up so easily, and I quickly scanned my list for a more benign topic that might spark a couple of laughs.

 

“So who’s you favorite cat,” I began, “I mean in Cats. I always wanted to be Victoria just because she has that fabulous little solo in the beginning where she gets to show off her extension. But other than that she’s such a minor character that I can’t really call her my favorite cat. So that leaves me torn between Jennyanydots and Rumpleteazer because their names are just so fabulous.”

 

I was met with blank stares.

 

“I mean, you guys have seen Cats, right?”

“I think I did, once,” Jason answered.

“Well did you know that the first act is titled ‘When Cats are Maddened by the Midnight Dance?’” I asked. “I always thought that was so cool.”

“No,” Jason responded. “I guess I didn’t read the program.”

 

And once again, blank stares.

 

So I did what I always do when met with lack of interest – what my training in musical theater had taught me to do – I broke into song:

 

“Are you blind when you’re born? Can you see in the dark?

Can you look at a king? Would you sit on his throne?

Can you say of your bite that it’s worse than your bark?

Are you cock of the walk when you’re walking alone?”

 

Maybe I went a little too far. But Marina was clapping and laughing. She loved when I did my little musical theater thing. However, once I realized that most of the restaurant was staring in our direction, and that Jason and Kevin were looking down and squirming in their seats, I stopped singing. Yet I couldn’t stop proselytizing about Cats.

 

“What does that mean anyway ‘are you cock of the walk when you’re walking alone?’” I asked. “I’ve always wondered.”

“I think maybe it just sounded right and wasn’t supposed to mean anything,” Jason answered.

 

And that was the end of Cats. In fact it was the end of my “conversation starters.” Our meal had arrived and I resigned myself to the fact that conversation would not be the high point of the evening.

 

After dinner, Marina drove off with Kevin and I jumped into Jason’s Porsche, wondering what was going to happen when we got back to his house. Turns out, not so much. After getting out of the car he gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, told me he’d had a nice time and that “he’d call me.” The famous parting words: “I’ll call you.” Every girl hears them at some point in her life and every girl knows what they mean: “you’ll never hear from me again.”

 

But I was sure that wasn’t what he meant. He was tired. It was 10:30pm – he was thirty-seven after all – and probably needed more sleep than someone my age. He needed to get to bed.

 

Had I thought about it for a minute I would’ve realized it was a Saturday night. No one needs to get to bed at 10:30pm on a Saturday night regardless of age. But I didn’t think. I just smiled and got into my car to make the forty-five minute drive back home in Saturday night traffic.

 

He never called. Of course Kevin called Marina, but if Jason wasn’t going to date me there was no way Marina was going on a second date with Kevin. I felt pathetic. I couldn’t even score a loser. Marina could, it seemed. But she didn’t want anything to do with him if he didn’t come with benefits.

 

But God works in mysterious ways. It was truly a blessing that we weren’t forced to spend our lives with Laurel and Hardy because half-hard sex gets old after the first try. “Wait, I feel something – oh, it’s your wallet. No baby, I promise, I’m not frustrated. It’s just as exciting when you’re not hard. I know you’re trying.” That’s what happens when you date “up,” when you turn to older men either for convenience or availability or merely because they’re best friends. They can’t hold their alcohol or their erections. And it’s as much as one can do to keep from saying, “Viagra works. Use it.” But that’s something a man has to discover on his own.

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