I have just closed out 12 straight days of events, and my brain is on fire.
I am excited and euphoric and exhausted. I have a terrible headache, and yet, I am really happy.
In the backdrop of all of the parties and events and concerts and movies and cocktails, I have been freaking out because, well, I had unprotected sex, foolishly, and then had to take emergency contraception. Which worked.
My weight went from 117 to 124 in two days, and then I struggled over the course of the next week to lose it. (Back at 118.)
I haven’t decided if I will make this post public or private, or which parts I will share, if any. I am constantly on the cusp of making my identity so obvious that this blog loses its usefulness to me as a place to brain-dump my daily travails and find support from this excellent WP community. I write here because of you — and me.
So, here goes . . .
The twelve days start on a Tuesday, with a party to launch a product PR’s company developed, and on which SD worked.
I bumped into my Little Brother and Little Brother Friend pre-party. I covered all of that here, which of course, ended with me needed to take emergency contraception after I drunkenly said to LBF, yes I was on something, so obsessed was I by the thought I had unprotected sex with PR and was pregnant.
What the hell.
After a super productive, and well-balanced Thursday evening, when I helped all of my drunk friends get home safely, I was trying to figure out what to do for Friday. I had a big party we’d all been looking forward to for a year at 10. Leading into it, an old friend from my private club days told me a movie producer was in town and asked if I wanted to meet him. I didn’t really, but I had time to kill before Tattooed Brunette and I were hitting the later party. I offered him historic hotel bar, where the film guys like to go, and Chic Hotel Bar. He picked the CHB.
It was raining, hard, but I was in a dress, again. The same dress I’d been wearing when I saw the Bon Vivant, which fits perfectly and leaves little to the imagination, while being knee-length and deceptively demure. I was wearing it to appear on stage later at an event.
The movie producer . . . hot. Like, really, seriously hot. And 27. Super handsome, actorly, but tall. My old friend had been drinking with the producer at an adjacent restaurant, and I had a couple of glasses of champagne with them at the CHB. We were tucked into a corner table, with the producer sitting next to me on the banquette. There was a bit of a vibe, but I am thinking about the business of it. My old friend wanted to know about the breakup with A . . . years ago, so I tell him the broadest details. The producer was amused.
At one point, I had gotten up from the table, to the audible appreciation of the two gentlemen for the dress I am wearing. It’s rather amusing as we are all walking the line between knowing we may work on a project together and being very friendly.
My old friend wants to do dinner with the producer, me, and the old friend’s wife, but I need to get to this party. TB has already joined us.
The party itself is sort of lame. I grab a slice of pizza en route, forgetting the party is catered, with an open bar. Aside from that, it sort of sucked. We met some people randomly and then were with some people I know, but not well. We decided to bail on this party and do our own thing, which was amazing. We had an absolute blast, and one of my friends drove me home.
I realized late after I’d plugged in my phone that the producer had called to invite me to a movie premiere the next night. Of course, I said yes. He was sort of adorable when he followed up the next day:
- Producer: Headed downtown to meet some folks. Should I expect you at the screening tonight. I could use the company. Gotta look cool. I’m planning on arriving at 9 1:11 PM
- Me: Yes I am in for 9 2:25 PM
- Producer: Most exciting. 2:29 PM
- Me: And I will do my best to make you look cool. 2:33 PM
- Producer: It’s an uphill battle. Hope you’re up for the challenge. If not we will all ways have our appropriately flirty business meetings. 2:36 PM
Okay, adorable. So, it’s sort of a date, too.
Between brunch and shopping with my girlfriends, I had to go with a friend to get emergency contraception. And take it. And freak out.
Then I have to come up with an outfit to wear in a cold rainstorm to a movie premiere. Like a real movie starring actors I’ve heard of. I want to look chic, but not too chic. I am also 14 years older than this man, who I am escorting for purely business reasons.
I go super-fancy jeans, complicated French shirt, complicated Italian scarf, boots, leather jacket. An outfit I pull out when I have no idea what else to wear. Eh, these people have never seen it, so who cares that it’s become a go-to for me.
I arrange to meet the producer at the theater, which is conveniently located in my chic neighborhood, rather than downtown proper. I walk, though it is raining a bit, not thinking about the fact I will look like a drowned rat when I arrive. But, money is tight and I don’t want to do a cab down and back.
I beat him there by a bit and the scene outside is chaotic, with throngs of people milling about and hundreds in lines. There is a press line, which I also hadn’t thought about.
The Producer arrives at the same time as his guy who is in this movie and another actor. They’re all late 20s, hipster, handsome. I feel like the luckiest woman there. I also feel o-l-d.
We wander in together, but I don’t realize for a long while that the Producer’s client is a star of the movie. I am just trying to take in the scene, be there as the Producer’s support. I am subtly and quietly coaching him, and it’s all very invigorating for me.
The client had a big debut at a recent film festival, judging by the people who are coming up to him, praising his work. The other star of the movie, someone I recognize from television, is floating around and we’re all in this weird holding area, talking to the producer of the film’s parents, and the director, and a variety of people. I am talking, talking, talking, and I realize, to my pleasure, that the Producer is benefiting by having me there. I do indeed make him look cooler, as I am a woman of substance. Also, it is sort of a date, which is also rather clear.
We attend the movie and it’s okay. The performances are great, but it’s a little long. Then, we have q&a. During it, I am pushing messages out to social media about the premiere, which the Producer teases me about. I tease him back, to say, um, shouldn’t you be marketing your client?! We take photos after the film, which is a nice way to kill time. We have been invited to the after-party, which happens to be at my neighborhood wine bar across the street. I am able to get my drink faster because I know the bartenders. I have a single local beer because I know I can get it immediately. The producer teases me at our table in the back with his actor friend, while his client works the room. It’s interesting to get the actor-scene details of how all of these people came together and the connections among all of them.
I have begun telling people what I actually do, so there are a few who want to talk shop and follow-up, but in general, they are so very happy to have gotten this movie onto the screen finally. It was the first time the stars had seen it. I chat with the tv star a bit as the Producer and I come in to say goodnight to everyone. We’ve decided to leave early (1:15 am). He’s staying with friends and is, as we all are right now, relying upon the bus system as cabs are impossible. I leave with him and we stand together under his umbrella in the rain, talking, and flirting, and I realize at this point . . . yeah, definitely a date. He’s grateful I was there and we had a blast. He mentions something about being in high school and meeting a girl in London who was older and said, “I guess that’s when I knew I was always attracted to women older than me.” Subtle.
He also offers to escort me home. Subtle.
I rise to neither bait.
I mean, really.
Still, it’s intensely flattering and I hug him tightly and he hails a cab for me. It was a great, great night.
I am cognizant of the fact that I am not going to be dating him, that I just spent the night with Little Brother Friend like three days ago, and that I hung out with and spent the night with my ex-whatever he is PR like three weeks ago.
Being single and available and dealing with men in business who are very attractive and/or very interesting is a professional liability. It’s always easier when I can rely on “my sweetheart” “my husband” “my boyfriend” as a casual reference. I don’t have that now. I have used PR as a block with a couple of people, but that’s not reality. It just helps to have an easy out.
The next day, I was completely unmotivated. I miss two buses to get downtown to meet up with C and a friend from last year’s madness who was hosting a “Secret” party at a bar she represents.
The Producer wants to hang out. He’s downtown, as I will be, and he wants to get together. It’s fine. Actually, I enjoy him, but I am dodging and parrying a little because it would be very easy to make a misstep with him. I am planning to see SD, FM, and C, but I tell the Producer how to meet us.
We connect a few hours late, after mistakes and wrong directions. He joins me C, and Hot Blonde for a bit and then we get a dinner invite from SD, who offers to pick up dinner for us all at the restaurant where he already is. Nice. We wander over and the Producer is being great and attentive. I am aware that he’s very handsome. He’s a little uncomfortable in our group and I am trying to make it easy for him. We’re all close friends and he’s new and uncertain. Still, we have a good time. Producer heads off to another screening and we head off to . . . I don’t remember where. A party? A bar? No clue.
What I do remember is that we are walking down a dark street around 8ish? and I see the television star and the director and a woman crew person standing on an unpopulated sidewalk. I mention to the two girls — hey, that’s the guy from [show]. They’re like really?! I said, yeah, want to meet him? And they’re super-excited. We walk about 20 feet back and the Television Star greets me warmly by name and then poses for a photo with the two beautiful blonde girls. They say, somewhat dismayed, where do normal people go out around here. They have a later screening and ended up in a touristy section. I ask where the screening is, and it’s in the art theater next to the Chic Hotel. Perfect. I take them the the CHB and everyone is happy.
I spend a lot of time talking to the television star, as we’d met before and we’d lived in the same foreign city, which we both love. I walk him through the menu, helping everyone order what they need, and with some of my friends sponsoring this part of the evening.
It’s Sunday night, so the place is rather empty, but the music is great, the service is great and we have a blast. Producer’s client shows up, other friends of mine show up, with girls, and the party really gets going. I text Producer to say, where are you, everyone is here! [He is in a screening. Of course.]
It occurs to the actors that they still have to do the post-screening q&a and a mad rush happens to (1) sober up, (2) smoke cigarettes outside. It’s funny to watch them be nervous about it. We’ve been having a blast and enjoying the hell out of getting to know each other. Having actors around is fun.
I exchange contact info with the two actors, and then we go off to find the theater. It turns out that the producers of the film, directors, etc. had been on an outside patio next door so we meet up with them and all head off to the bar inside that theater. I am essentially just waiting out for the Producer to show up, and hanging out with the Television Star.
I am very sensitive to protocol here, and I do not want Producer to be offended that I ended up randomly hanging out with his people. I stand with them in the back as the movie ends, but I end up leaving after the Producer arrives. I talk to him for a few minutes, but I know I need to get out of there and get home. It’s getting late and we were drinking a lot at CHB. I also don’t want to overstay my welcome.
I say my goodnight to the producer, climb into a nearby cab, and head home, finally.
And it’s only Sunday . . .