Most normal girls I imagine would have told Glenn Anderson, "I'm sorry but this isn't working out," right at the moment when he acted like I owed him an apology for the awkward way we met. The night was still young, most normal girls would have called it a night and made other plans with a different guy. Most normal girls would have left the restaurant and not looked back. I'm not most normal girls.
In what little I knew about him, Glenn Anderson was not a guy who picks up dates, he's not a guy who opens the door for anyone, and he's not a guy who helps a girl to her chair. I suspected he was also a guy who splits the check. I was already prepared to pay my own dinner/drinks because I gave Glenn Anderson less than a 1% chance of sex before I left my place to meet him. The main reason being Glenn Anderson insisted on having dinner with me. I suggested a bottle of wine and a cozy night in, but he said he wanted to have dinner.
Dinner dates are my curse. There are men I wanted to have sex with had we not first gotten to know each other better during a meal that lasted an hour and a half. I don't say that to be mean, but there are times when you're attracted to a person who you don't want to talk to, for many different reasons, but you definitely want to have sex with. Men aren't allowed to admit that because it makes them look like jerks, and women aren't allowed to admit that either because it makes them look like sluts. How dumb. Adults should be able to intelligently discuss what it is they want from each other without all the ceremony that sometimes does more harm than good. Communicate. What do you want? People don't give it a second thought before cutting someone else off the road putting lives in immediate danger, yet admitting you like sex is a social fate worse than a 5 car pile up.
My suggestion of a bottle of wine and a cozy night in, was my way of telling Glenn Anderson I thought he was attractive and the dinner wasn't necessary. But he wanted dinner. Alas, we were doomed.
Just by the awkward way Glenn and I met I knew conversation was not going to be good between us. And while opening the door for me, and pulling out my chair, are both old fashion dating customs, him not doing either felt like a lack of respect. After all, dinner was his idea. He insisted on it. For me this was no longer a date, but a trial, a grudge match. Gloves were on. We were going 10 rounds. If he pissed me off even more the gloves were coming off.
At the restaurant, Glenn Anderson ordered a bottle of wine. I didn't pay attention to the vineyard. It was alcohol and that's all I wanted. I knew what was coming next.
I remained quiet. I didn't say anything. I just smiled at Glenn when he looked at me, and waited for it.
Wait for it...
With the wine poured Glenn sat in his chair, crossed his arms on the table, leaned forward, and made himself comfortable.
Here it comes.
Glenn asked me the series of first date questions I absolutely hate.
1. Do you ever want to get married?
2. Do you have children?
3. Do you want children?
4. What do you want to do with your life?
5. What made you move to Los Angeles?
6. What's your favorite kind of food?
I took a deep breath and answered him.
1. No
2. No
3. No
4. Make art, drink wine, retire in Italy or France until the day I die.
5. I was visiting friends in college and haven't left.
6. Sushi
Next question?
I've been asked these questions so many times now I'm guessing the dull throbbing pain in my head every time I hear myself repeat the answers to be a permanent condition.
I speculate asking basic trivial lists of questions on dates is what single people do when they've been single far longer than they want to be. Mostly people just talk. Inquiries are answered during intriguing conversation. But single people who hate being single, like taking long tedious verbal detours; they make lists, charts, metaphoric maps using a red laser pointer to indicate one's final destination even though they're only going 10 miles down the road. It drives me crazy.
I love being single - until I end up on dinner dates with people like Glenn Anderson.
I could tell Glenn hated being single. He wondered why other men, less successful men, less attractive men, were happy with someone and he had no one.
I asked Glenn the same questions he asked me. His answers were long, verbose and boring. I didn't listen. I just smiled, nodded my head and drank the wine.
When Glenn ordered dinner, he spoke to the server like he had ordered the same meal a million times before. I remember; a half Caesar salad with chicken, croutons and parmesan cheese in two separate containers on the side, but the lettuce and chicken tossed with dressing, with fresh ground black pepper on top of the salad but only after the salad was brought to him. And he ordered the rest of the meal the same way, complicated and unnecessary.
I have no idea what I ate but I do remember drinking a second bottle of wine as Glenn told me about his life as a Creative Director. I didn't care enough to inform Glenn that being an artist I already knew what a Creative Director does. I was certain he had already forgotten my mentioning wanting to make art and retire in Italy. Had Glenn and I simply talked like normal people I would have asked Glenn what inspires him creatively; and what he thought about directors like Stanley Kubrick, Russ Meyer, and Roman Polanski. I would have asked him what he thought about using CGI (then in its early stages.) I would have asked him what he thought about the directorial in Breakfast at Tiffany's, and The Great Gatsby circa 1974, two of my favorite movies. If Glenn and I were normal people I would have asked Glenn what he thought about sex and sexuality on film. I would have asked him what he thought about contemporary horror movies, and his thoughts on commercials and the future of advertisements, the internet at this time was still somewhat new. But Glenn and I weren't normal people. Glenn was pissed off he was single. I was pissed off we were having this silly trite dinner in order to reach the next level of getting to knowing each other, whatever that entailed!
However,
Glenn was too busy reaching his next destination to have a healthy conversation.
So,
After dinner and two bottles of wine I was ready to call it quits and go home. But then Glenn insisted on buying dinner and in the same breath invited me over to his place to see his new directorial project. I should have said no. A normal person would have said no. But I'm not a normal person. Plus I was very curious to see what a directorial by Glenn Anderson looks like. It was the most interesting thing Glenn said all night. I had to see his work. I just had to!
Glenn's house while visually appealing, hardwood floors, and furnished in dark wood furniture I adore, was still and all, clearly staged. I've never been to a director's house before. But I guess it made sense. Glenn's appearance was staged. His house was staged. Even our dinner date I suspected was also staged. Everyone in their place. On their mark. Everything in its place. Cut. Polished. Glint. Luster.
The house itself was an architectural mess with multi landings divided by a series of 3-step steps. But maybe there was a story behind the multi landings? Frank LLoyd Wright's Hollyhock House has hallways only 6 feet high and incredibly narrow because supposedly the original home owners said they were tired of guests lingering in the hallways during parties, so Wright designed the hallways in the Hollyhock House to be the most uncomfortable places to stand in.
Brilliant.
After one night of hearty festive drinking, Glenn Anderson's house would violently kill me with those tiny steps.
Glenn's house felt like I was entering a crime scene, don't touch anything, everything is right where it's supposed to be, take 3,862 (today!) Even so, Glenn Anderson had the most beautiful hand crafted furniture. How is that possible? How could someone so fixed and manicured own such warm and lovingly made furniture?
And then,
I saw it,
On his book shelf,
The Rodin.
Yuppies in the 90's loved Rodin, though most had no idea or appreciation behind the innovation, craftsmanship, complexity and history behind Rodin's talent and sculptures. They just viewed owning a Rodin as part of a sophisticated social status quo.
Be that as it may,
Glenn Anderson's Rodin wasn't out in plain sight. He didn't display the Rodin on his coffee table for everyone to be immediately impressed by. Glenn Anderson kept his Rodin where I would have had this (elaborate crime scene) been my house, elegantly pedestaled on the comfort of a beautifully hand crafted bookshelf.
But,
When Glenn Anderson saw me admiring his Rodin, he seemed disappointed. Formerly standing beside me, Glenn walked away from me and repositioned himself in front of a colorful print hanging on the opposite wall from where the bookshelf and Rodin were.
I think Glenn Anderson wanted me to ask him about the print hanging on the wall. In truth the print wasn't much to look at. It was colorful, random splashes of color, symmetrical... Dude, you own a Rodin!
Art class 101. Objective: make use of the full canvas.
Withal,
Glenn's odd displays of behavior,
I was beginning to wonder of Glenn Anderson was not as "complex" as I once thought, but rather some kind of evil genius who's diabolical psychological prowess was purely underappreciated.
On second thought,
No.
The guy was nuts.
If I was a normal girl I would have left his house. I wouldn't have even gone to his house.
But as we've already established, I'm not a normal girl.
[To be continued...]
No comments:
Post a Comment