The Ritual

A man has this ritual he goes through when he’s trying to hook up again with an old girlfriend. He’s like a dog that way, sniffing up her shorts trying to pick up the smell of availability before making a move. The line he drops is always the same: “Soooooo . . . you seeing anyone?”Every old boyfriend of mine has tried once he realized he’d taken me for granted. Very few have succeeded, especially since now I know all the signs and cut him off at the pass, unless, of course, I want to give it a shot.

While blogging late at night a pop up box with an instant message appeared on my screen. It was Andrew: “Are you there?”

We hadn’t chatted in a while, so I typed back “Hello! How are things?”

“Can I call you?”

“OK.” This would be interesting. He’d been emailing me more often than usual.

The phone rang almost immediately. “Hello Angelface.”

“Well hello, Angelface.” We call each other Angelface.

“I miss my Angelface,” he pouted.

Andrew is Israeli and English isn’t his first language. Our conversations tend to be short and a little disjointed, but overall we seem to do all right. As for visuals he’s on the shorter side, wiry with long grey hair, very artsy and Californian. I don’t think the man even owns a suit, so unfortunately my fancy dresses and stiletto heels are wasted on him.

These days Andrew is having both his home and his studio outfitted with enough solar panels to get 100% of his electricity and heat from the sun. In addition to his Save the Animals hobby he’s apparently plunged headfirst into Save the Environment, because his companies just sponsored a big eco-something convention and got to drive the model car from the “Who Killed the Electric Car?” movie. His intensity regarding these subjects is perfectly OK with me, except I can’t say anything about my furs, and I can’t really eat meat when I visit because it upsets him. He’s in the production side of show business, owns a few companies and hugely successful but for a CEO he’s awfully sensitive.

“We have fun together yes? We did lots of things together: Spago, Rodeo Drive, Venice Beach, Malibu, the Grammy’s . . . ?”

I smiled. What a time that was. “It was all wonderful; I always have a good time when I’m out there.” I kind of knew where this conversation was going, but I thought he’d found a girlfriend so . . . Okay I’d ask. “Are you still dating that . . . woman you were seeing last time we emailed?”

“I ended it with her. She was mean to my birds.”

“Oh no, that’s awful.”

“She was always telling me I don’t spend enough money. You know, to look good. Suits and things, my hair . . . I tell her I don’t like spending money on those things. She wanted me to buy all new cars. You know, be like the other men. Show off and stuff. But I like my cars. She was pain in my ass.”

Andrew has twelve cars in storage, all vintage, and he likes tinkering with them. That, and designing/decorating his company offices because he’s really good at it. He’s spent millions on those projects so cheap he is not. “Aw, that’s too bad; I’m sorry that didn’t turn out. It was probably for the best.”

“You’re not a pain in the ass. We had good times, yes?”

OK now I knew for sure where this conversation was going.

“So . . . you seeing anybody?”