(continued from HERE)
holy fucking shit. there he was! all by himself on the patio: the rapper hyphenate! my bff of the evening in red and i were super excited, but of course we down played it to subtle exchanges of intense eye contact… but we both knew we were internally shrieking! we sauntered out onto the patio as if we were exploring the house; acting as if we had no idea who he was/he was in the way/he was invisible/and in no way the point of our focus. i’m sure he figured us out in a split second.
he said hello.
me: ‘oh, hi. we’re not interrupting your alone time? are we?’
‘two beautiful women? not at all.’
omg, he was TOTALLY in love with me! er, i mean us. i mean me. after all, to be fair, my casual acquaintance in red had a boyfriend!
we all sat down, ordered vodka sodas from a waitress (it was just that kind of party. i wanted to make a joke and say ‘i’ll have a disaronno on the rocks’ but i wasn’t loose enough to be that charming yet. that’s why i needed the drink to begin with!) and got to talking. he asked what i did. i said ‘i’m a plus sized model’. he seemed confused. phew. nonchalance would have made me spiral. why did i always set myself up like that? i told him i was a writer. he said he was a writer too. i said ‘oh you are?’ and he responded ‘you think i can’t write?!’ omg, did he just accuse me of being racist? (did i mention he was black? i thought saying he was a rapper was enough.) i just laughed and he told me he was also an actor, writer, producer, musician. boring! i KNEW all this! ‘oh wow.’ i said.
suddenly out of nowhere (as if sent by god to vadge block me) some skinny/indie/desperate/ass kissing actor walked up (my desperation was a totally DIFFERENT kind. how dare you?!) icing me and my babe friend out. they talked about having worked together and martial arts and stuff like that. i noticed the rapper was wearing a bizarro ring on his wedding finger. oh, that changed everything. i asked him about it. he said he was yes, ‘technically with someone. but in life, everyone does what they like.’ oh do they? what the fuck did that mean? i mean that sounds great and all, and the dark side of me subscribes to that way of thinking… but the little girl in me would also like to surround herself with people who live by the golden rule: treat people the way you wanna be treated. the majority of me wants to believe that people are faithful and you can trust people!
when my girlfriend and him started discussing having sex with emotion versus casual sex and she said she found it very hard to have sex without at least a kernel of real intimacy, the rapper nodded in agreeance/eye fucked her and regaled us with a story about shooting a film in china, feeling lonely, going to a brothel and fucking ten prostitutes. but after, he still felt empty. so THEN, he called a female friend of his to come out & visit and found that when she got there and cuddled him, that’s all he needed. it was an emotional connection he craved. um, was that his way of woo’ing her? er, i mean us?
so many thoughts flooded my mind:
•um, ok… what?
•the dude’s married and cheats? is that what he’s saying?
•so, cheating is ok?
•wait, prostitutes? gross! this isn’t ok! if i stand for ANYTHING, this isn’t it!
•does this mean he has aids? surely herpes. chlamydia? gonorrhea? help!
•does being famous mean you’re above having a moral compass? the rules just don’t apply to you?
•does everyone who’s not famous wish they could behave this way because it means they have money and notoriety and power and are above the constraints of the social norm?
•i wanna fuck a rapper and NOT get aids!
•hollywood is cray!
•just keep drinking and see where the night takes you.
•YOU COULD FUCK A RAPPER YO!
•please don’t say ‘yo’ or the n word or even the phrase ‘the n word’ out loud. not that you would alexi. not that you would. just saying.
the birthday cake was being presented and our patio convo was broken just as quicky as it began. we joined the rest of the party by the pool to sing happy birthday.
after the cake was cut and i made sure not to eat a slice because i was in public trying to appear sexy, i started chatting with a guy in a fedora. in my fun drunk haze, my whole ‘no fedoras’ rule went out the window. i pulled him aside and said:
‘are you gay?’
me: ‘are you sure?’
fedora: ‘i’m sure’
me: ‘how tall are you?’
fedora: ‘tall enough’
me: ‘k. cuz i’m looking to get into trouble tonight’
and with that i was off.
my bff wanted to go home to her boyfriend. she was sleepy from red wine. we had a pow wow in the ladies room & regrouped like girls do. she reassured me that i wasn’t acting dumb, that i was beautiful, and that i was not fat. so, i said she could go. she left and you know what? i missed her immediately. it’s so nice having a girlfriend/traveling in a twosome.
i went back outside and found my rapper by the pool smoking a cigar surrounded by professional escorts! wtf?? were all the hollywood cliché’s true? god, for someone who was born and raised in west hollywood, i was so naive! like a complete asshole, to blend in, i asked for a cigar too… like Samantha in the pilot episode of sex and the city when she’s making a move on mr. big. see? life really does imitate art! i had managed to regain the rappers attention. yay! he spotted me and said ‘what’s up legs’. phew! but uh oh, i was getting too drunk. i was aware of what i was saying, but i was two drinks away from vomiting in a potted plant… something i’ve only done once seven years ago that i never want to experience again. i had to pace myself.
(to be continued)