Dream man in LaLa land

I was on the best vacation of my life, a week with my best friend Melissa, in the city of angels. To say I was fascinated by the rich and famous would be an understatement. My dream was to become a writer and live happily ever after in California. Melissa, was a tall platinum blonde model with lots of connections and friends in the industry. So to my great delight, she was asked on a date by a very famous movie star, Tom Diaz and as the loyal loving friend she was, she asked him to bring a guy for me.

We spent hours getting ready, I left my dark hair down and curly, lips, my signature red. The excitement and anticipation was palpable. We would meet at a nightclub called The Coast and her and I planned to arrive early. There I stood, frozen in the mist of this crowded nightclub in Hollywood. The music was pumping so loud, it vibrated inside my chest, the lights flickered to the tempo. I was the wallflower content watching my bubbly Melissa show off her dance moves on the floor. Suddenly, there he was across the room. My eyes grew into saucers as I watched the actual movie star approaching my friend and I. He smiled as he tapped Melissa’s shoulder. Surprised, she turned to him and fell into his arms. She grabbed his arms and pulled him towards me. I heard Melissa introduce me. My voice squeaked out in a high pitched tone like Mickey Mouse, “ Nice to meet you.” I’m sure my mouth hung open like a Cod fish. That’s when I noticed a man standing behind him. A tall, dark , handsome man, Hollywood handsome to be exact. “This is Franky.” Tom Diaz was introducing me to his friend! My star struck mind scrambled to put it together, as my hand acted on its own accord and shook Franky’s hand. I smiled from ear to ear, wondering who this person was? An actor, a writer, producer? Melissa nudged my arm and tried her best to give me the stink eye to snap me out of it. I had previously promised her I wouldn’t act like a star struck crazy person.

“I’ll be right back,” Melissa said as she disappeared arm and arm with Tom into the sea of club kids. Franky remained at my side, staring at me with a bemused expression.

“So what do you do?” He asked politely. “I do hair,” I replied nervously.”but I want to be a writer someday. What do you do?” I asked hoping I managed to hide my over eagerness.

He was a writer! Born and raised in Beverley hills, in one of Sinatra’s old pads. He was privy to the lifestyle a middle class dreamer from Illinois could only imagine living. I was intrigued by this mans life story, the people he knew, the TV shows and movies he worked on, his formidable reputation in Hollywood. I watched his lips move while he talked, I drank in the angle of his jawline, and imagined running my hands through his dark wavy hair.

Suddenly he tapped on my glass, “you’re almost empty, shall we get you another?” I hadn’t noticed I was empty. I followed him to the bar, where he snapped at the bartender, “two Jetbird merlots.” I watched the burgundy liquid swirl inside my glass, imagining what our life would be like together once I made him fall madly in love with me.

He held up his glass and offered a toast to me, “the most beautiful girl in L.A!” We maintained eye contact as we drank. I was in heaven, but then I noticed his glass was already half empty. He poured himself another, all the way to the top. “How do you know Tom?”he finally asked, then took a gulp.

“I just met him, my friend knows him. How about you?” I yelled over the blasting music. Mesmerized and warmed by my drink I didn’t notice Melissa and Tom returning. Franky, however, suddenly stood. He appeared nervous, he snapped at the bartender and threw down an American Express.

“I’ll be right back,” he said as he scraped his wine glass off the bartop and practically trotted away.

“Are you ok?” Melissa asked urgently.

“Yeah, why?” I was confused. Tom sighed and shook his head.

“I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have left you alone with that guy, he’s kind of a creep.”

“What are you talking about? I thought he was your friend?”

Tom shook his head and smiled at another man approaching our group. “I’m sorry, this is your date, this is my friend Jason.” A stocky guy with a cute dimpled smile met my gaze.

Jason shook my hand and said hello, as I stared in confusion. “Then who was that?” I looked at Melissa then back to Tom. Tom put his hand on my shoulder, “he’s a paparazzi.”

Before I could object about what great manners he had, the bartender’s voice boomed over the loud music. “What is this?!” He held up the American Express card that was clearly a fake. “Someone better pay up right now!” Mortified I stared at Tom and Jason as I tried to fight back the tears. Instantly, Jason grabbed his wallet and pulled out his visa.

“It’s on me!” He hugged me and smiled. “Welcome to LA,” he laughed. I learned a valuable lesson that night, and I will never forget how I met the man of my dreams, a fellow writer named Jason, in the most unexpected way, and how gave me my happily ever after.