It happened so easily. Last Wednesday, I went for a 6.2 run. The route I take through lovely Orange County consists of passing through some of the finest homes built in the early sixties. However, I had several thoughts bouncing through my head that day that made me want to just give up on all my efforts at writing, finding love, et cetra... Maybe, I was just tired hitting that fifth mile but at that exact moment that I had those thoughts...I looked up.
Walking toward me was an old lady wearing a hot pink jogging suit. She smiled at me and I began that runners-etiquette-thing. As I went to do the wave, I noticed that she was pulling an oxygen tank behind her and she had clear plastic tubes hooked-up to her nose. Life had sent me a little message at the perfect moment. I smiled and waved at her as I ran past.
Instead of throwing away my life efforts, I went to the beach.
It was 84 degrees in Laguna Beach when I arrived shortly after noon. I wore an all white outfit in ode to my Italian travels of last summer. I stood at top of the steps that went down to the sand. For a moment, I took the time to survey the sand, the people, and the dolphins that were cresting in the ocean waves. It was an absolute perfect day. I was wearing my favorite pair of pink heels and I kicked my shoes to the sand one at a time. I noticed that two men standing in the volleyball court had stopped to watch me. Not that I was seeking that sort of attention, I was in Laguna for a day of vacation and perhaps it was my sheer joy at being there that was noticeable. As I walked down and picked up my shoes, these two volleyball players did that classic move where one guy throws the ball at his friend, friend misses, and ball rolls to girl. I kept walking and sidestepped the entire situation.
Four hours later, I had nearly finished a book and I had a tan. I packed my things up and I headed back to my car. The light had turned red and as I was waiting for the light to turn green, a man that was standing next to me said that I was wearing the most beautiful beach outfit he had ever seen. I thanked him and smiled because he was handsome. He walked me to my car and got the digits.
He called the next day and we made arrangements to meet at Dietrich coffeehouse at sunset.
What girl isn't aware of Pick-up Artists and Newport/Laguna Beach Sharks? I had dated them before and our date almost started on the wrong foot when I thought he had suggested that we meet at his home for drinks. I went to a gas station before I was even in the area to confirm that this wasn't the case. He was either good on the fly or I had made a mistake. My mix-up was partially due to the fact that he owns four condos behind the Dietrich coffeehouse. I wasn't certain if he lived there or not. I later learned that he lives in a house on the hill. After correcting the mix-up, we met. He was better looking and younger than I remembered him. At 6'2, chiseled masculine features, athletic body, and successful entrepreneur, Mr. Right was fit to walk inside the pages of a Danielle Steel novel.
He had a beautiful picnic basket in tow. We walked across the street, where we had met, and we found a spot where we could watch the sunset and the moon rise. He spread a blanket (I couldn't not help but think how many other girls he had done this with) and I watched him set down plates of slice d'anjou pears, granny smith apples, brie and extra-aged white cheddar cheese with olive oil crackers. In addition to that, he handed me two crystal flutes. He pulled out a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and the cork went flying toward the ocean.
He told me about his many adventures and mishaps caused by traveling the world. He had just refurbished an Airsteam and sent it to Germany, that week, for his next set of adventures. Now, he had told me about the Airstream on both the day that I met him and on our first date. He was quite proud to boost that refurbishing the upholstery had used 7 cows worth of leather and that there was flat screen TV, which had been 32 inches on the day that I met him and on our date was downgraded to 26 inches-hmm...These are the sort of details that a smart brunette will most certainly notice. Actually, he spent too much time talking about money and travel stories, which in my book is never fun. I didn't like how much he was trying to impress me. Hadn't he read Neil Strauss? Forget, The Game, nobody likes to hear people talk about money and business. It's in complete bad taste and it might also indicate a wee-bit of fabrication. My wealthy friends never speak of their bank accounts or their property holdings. However, I've come up with a new theory. Men talking about possessions and income on a first date is a characteristic of men. I called a male friend of my up and tossed the idea at him. He thought it was just a chracteristic of Orange County men. I still have more research to do before declaring anything.
I hadn't had anything to drink since Fat Tuesday. I didn't want him to get the wrong impression about me being a religious fanactic but, I gave up cussing and drinking for Lent. Not that I'm catholic, I like the idea of purging vices once a year. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to give up cussing, the world is to abundant with idiots on freeways, but I hadn't had a drop of drink for over 35 days. I did have two glasses of champagne and I made Mr. Right drink the rest. We packed up the picnic and we jumped in his classic Range Rover for a drive to one of his favorite bars and sushi restaurant.
Now the thing is, he brought me into the bar so that I could meet one of his friends. Afterward when I was retelling the story of my date, I recognized the guy as being the dude on the volleyball court that had kicked the ball to his friend who "accidentially" let it roll to me. Kinda of strange. Had Mr. Right been waiting for me to leave the beach? Hmm...My memory is a bit foggy from when I walked onto the beach but I swear it was Mr. Right that had been on that volleyball court that day. Actually, he told me that he is an avid volleyball player and that he plays with pro-volleyball players at that Laguna Court all the time. The only mystery to me is: Did he wait for me to leave to the beach that day? Or, did life present a moment in which two strangers would meet at a street intersection?
I'm brunette. That's for certain. After having sushi and drinks on the beach, our date ended with Mr. Right asking me if I had ever been near death. (Kinda freaky, but again, like how we crossed that street on wednesday, it felt natural and not forced-perhaps he's just a master PUA). I told him two stories which I'll leave to your imagination now. He gave me a hug and I kissed him on the cheek. He told me that he taking the left-over sushi and cheese to give to one of the few Laguna Beach homeless.
He was perfect in every way. Tall, dark, and handsome. Worldy, wealthy, and sensitive. Who is this guy? And what does he really have up his sleeve? I have a few of my own ideas.
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