The False Advertisement
I hit the snooze for the fourth time. I wonder if there’s a limit on the number of times I can use it before the alarm clock calls it quits. I try opening one eye. It lazily tries to focus on the far wall in my room. Oof. Not a chance. I close it again. That’s the last time I mix my alcohols. But in my defense I didn’t really have a choice. Today’s probably my only day in LA that I’m glad I don’t have a job – I never would have made it in to work like this.

I try to remember the last thing that...well, I remember. Damn Valentine’s Day. A freaking week later and it’s still punishing me. It can’t be that bad...yeah...that one wasn’t. It was the date that followed. Just give me some of those squiggly flash-back lines...
“One more!” Kate and I finish our last sit up. “this is so silly,” I flop back down on the floor. “Doing these like an hour before I have a date isn’t going to do me any good.”

Daniel crosses the room. “That’s why you’re supposed to do them on a regular basis.” I make a face. Daniel, of course, has the perfect body. One that every girl (and man) dreams of. I check the clock and jump in the shower. 

The Agent, some how, through the Mystery of Life found my cell number. Funny, because it’s unlisted and fairly new (I changed it up and got an LA area code. That and the Mess keeps calling me, this way he calls some other poor sap who has my old number...*sigh* really shouldn’t be as funny as I think it is). Kate tells me that it is a sign.

“Think of all the effort that he had to go through to get it! He must really like you. He’s gotta be a keeper.” I place my stalker-notions aside and agree – it’s rare enough to get a man to ask for your number, but if he’s gotta look for it, that’s dedication. He shoulda just asked for it on the last date, but hey, I’m not one to judge. So I agree to have dinner with The Agent – late dinner.

I’m still getting ready, and on the verge of being late (of course!). Daniel is giving me tips on how to give proper head. I gently tell Daniel that I don’t think my date will be receiving any tonight, but I appreciate the tips none-the-less. When The Agent finally calls, he tells me that it’s difficult to find parking around my apartment; he’s double parked downstairs. “He wants to come up and greet me properly.” I whisper to Daniel. Daniel bobs his head up and down, simulating a blow job. I try not to laugh. “Er. No, don’t be silly, I’ll be down in a sec.” I give Daniel a wave and close the door, I can hear him yell, “Don’t forget to breathe through your nose!”

I see The Agent through my elevator windows; he’s standing outside his car ready to greet me. He’s just as dreamy as I remember. I’m a little nervous; I just keep repeating Kate’s mantra telling me to be nice and to try not to judge people so quickly. He greets me with a hug, goes in for a kiss, but I miss the signal and he plants a peck on my ear. As I turn my head, I notice a plethora of dirty laundry in the backseat of his car. I shut my eyes. “Be nice. Don’t Judge. Be nice. Don’t Judge.”

He opens my car door and helps me in. I smile. This is so nice – minus the laundry. As he gets in, he apologizes for the laundry, he meant to drop it off today, but his office got busy. I nod. “What kind of music do you like?” he asks as he pulls out a large binder of CDs. I tell him just about anything and he looks quite excited...then proceeds to pop in a CD for 30-seconds and asks if I recognize it. I can say yes or no, it doesn’t matter, he ejects it and puts in another one. This game goes on for about 15 minutes. At first, it kinda freaked me out, but I wave it off as nervousness (or ADD). Finally, he decides on a selection of music – when his cellphone rings. Typically, I would consider it rude to answer your phone on a date, but considering that he’s The Agent, and probably very important, I overlook this grievance and try to enjoy whatever noise is playing through the speakers.

Finally arriving upon our destination, Dan Tana’s, I am severely impressed. Dan Tana’s is a swanky old-style-dress-code Hollywood restaurant where they actually remove the table from your seats, as to not have you scoot across the benches. Classy. A little more fear is instilled in me when I come to discover that my menu has no prices. “Um, sir?” I look at the see The Agent and the waiter staring at me. 

“You eat pretty much everything right?” The Agent asks me. I look nervously between the two and nod. “We’ll have two filet minion and lobster tails, with a side of spaghetti and meat sauce. And please bring by a bottle of your ‘95 Beaulieu Cabernet Private Reserve.” I nearly choke on my own spit, that’s a $100 bottle of wine! Seriously though, I’m from Pennsylvania, I don’t need a lot to impress – but The Agent was racking up points like mad. I have completely forgotten about his misbehavior in the car. 

We small talk until the food arrives. The waiter pours each of us a glass of wine and before I can propose a toast to good food and good company, to my dismay, The Agent has already dug into his food with full force. For a moment, I had an out of body experience, typically this would have been the third strike and I would’ve been long gone, but something about him kept me in my seat. 

**We’ll take a moment here to go over my Rule of Cards: Each date starts with three cards, if you have any remaining cards at the end of the date you get a second (or third, fourth, etc.) date. If you have gone through all three, then any additional time with me will have to be seriously evaluated.**

I shrug it off as extreme hunger. I pick at my food and sip the wine – seeing that my appetite has now been lost. The wine is probably some of the best I’ve had, especially for being a wine snob, and it just killed me to watch The Agent drink it like Welch’s grape juice. 

After about twenty minutes of watching him eat, he finally notices I haven’t touched my food. He gives me a sympathetic look and I smile back at him. He’s so cute – even when he’s a slob. He reaches out to grab, what I think will be my hand, but no, he grabs my plate and asks, “Are you going to eat that?” He takes my mortified silence as a, “No.” and proceeds to finish my meal as well. I slam back my wine and flag the waiter, pointing to the empty glass, “Fill it with the cheapest thing you got.” And I proceed to drink the dinner away watching The Agent glutton himself with food. 

Finally the check is brought and I tipsily off to split the check with him. The Agent waves my card away – “Women shouldn’t have to pay for things like this. They have to save their money for cooking, cleaning, and things like that.” I raise an eyebrow at him and ungrudgingly put my credit card away. I’m not entirely sure that he is joking...but I take it as weird Hollywood humor – I mean most of them seem so progressive – and follow him to the car. 

As we drive away, I notice that we are going in no direction remotely close to taking me home and inquire about our next destination. The Agent informs me that he has drinks with some clients and it’s always better to be seen with a pretty face, did I mind? Hell, I had taken his abuse for this long, what was a few more drinks. I tell him it’s not a problem. 

However, I seriously reconsider my choices while we drive towards Shutters. I won’t go into grave detail, but just bullet-point the good parts. During the drive, I was called:
1. High-Maintenance
2. Uneducated
3. Decently Attractive
and 4. Arrogant

I think I would have been more impressed and less offended had The Agent used all of them in once sentence, but unfortunately the compliments were spread out over the 20 minutes we spent in the car together. 

Upon arriving at Shutters, I meet The Agent’s Clients – some 40-something men all about the Business. I smile politely and one of them makes a joke about The Agent landing a great Trophy for the evening – to which any other man would have defended his date, however, my date just laughed. To which I respond by ordering two shots of Patron on his tab and a Long Island. If I am going to be offended and objectified for the next hour, I am going to make it a little less painful. 

As the evening goes, I can barely remember what went down, I just remember that I was a big hit. Until everyone’s favorite topic of conversation came up – The War in Iraq. Now, typically, I try to avoid all political conversations until: 1. I know my date well enough, 2. Know my date’s political affiliation, or 3. Am sure I’m not going to look like a complete jackass. My date, however, considered none of this before opening his mouth. 

As I lay in bed, this is where I realize it gets fuzzy, the only thing I can remember is his liberal use of “sticks and rocks” and “bomb the fucking hell out of them.” Apparently, one of the other Agents is an Iraqi national and went home to defend his country – something that I have deep admiration for. And the other Agents seemed to get a kick out of making fun of him for leave the world’s greatest country. 

I think this may have been where I told The Agent I needed to get home. And somehow between Shutters and my apartment, he manages to ask me twice if I want to go back to his place to sleep with him. To which I say, “No.” His argument is that after the amount of money he dropped, I owe him. And I can’t stop laughing, all the way to my apartment. 

I stumble out of his car, he helps me out and asks if he can see me again. I say, “Sure, call me and if I pick up, you’ll have your answer.” 
I try and sit up in bed. Not gunna happen. Fucking Valentine’s Day. Why am I being punished? The Agent should be punished for his unacceptable behavior – towards, well, everyone. I’d really like to meet his Evil-Ex cuz she fucked him up good. I really should sue for false advertising...I mean the whole thing was picture perfect until I actually wanted to purchase the product. Thank God I had a money back guarantee. 

I think I’m just going to lay here for a while. I cringe as my phone rings. “So loud...” I turn to see who it is. THE AGENT blinks in the call box. I clear it to voicemail.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007