Townie-rific

One weekend, one spring, I went to visit my friend who lives in "the country". She is a dear friend who I love spending time with. Our friendship developed when my ex-husband and I owned a house in this "country" town. We have remained friends ever since. I love to visit her and our children have remained friends throughout the years. It's always a nice time for us to catch up and for our children to run wildly through the fields.

On this particular visit she informed me we were going to a party.

We arrive at the aforementioned party and the house is beautiful and even more beautiful at night with the strategically placed lights that light the house and the pond just so. There is a bonfire in the backyard, ducks on the pond, candles and tiki torches lining walkway. The host and hostess are the best looking couple I have ever seen. After a good hour chit chatting around the fire I tell Lizzie I need to get back home. I wanted to make sure my child, Bear, was okay with the babysitter and I had had all the chartucherie one girl could eat.

I grabbed my jacket and was getting ready to leave when the host comes running up to me.

"You're leaving??" She asks, and actually seems genuinely disappointed.
I am so flattered. I hadn't met her up until today. Was I actually the life of the party?
"Yea, I have to be getting home, I have to wake up early and.."
"Don't go! Stay! Please!" She cuts me off. Is she pleading? Really? Now I felt very important.
"Oh, you are so sweet. I really enjoyed meeting you too!"
She squints at me for a second with a guilty smile.
"OK! Here is the thing. I texted a guy. A single friend! I told him you were here and I thought he'd really like you."

I am shocked. I glance around and suddenly realized everyone was in on it. Its like I had a Scarlett letter, except it was not an A, it was an S for single, which in the country is a rarity. I was like a unicorn. I was flattered and felt awkward all at the same time. This must be what it feels like to be a single Jewish lawyer visiting your grandmother in a Boca old age village, I thought to myself.

"Oh. Okay. Thank you?" I was not sure what the correct response was in this awkward situation. I re-loaded a plate of chartucherie (what non-Jews feed party guests) and I sat back down with a flock of antique dealers and landscapers (country jobs, in case you were wondering).

"He will be here in 10 minutes."

"Great!" I don't know about this.

I am sitting on my adirondeck chair gnawing on some type of salami/pepperoni/date/parmesan chunk when I decide to gather up the facts.

"So Michelle, tell me about your friend. Does he live in the city?"

You see, this particular area is mostly city folk with weekend houses, so chances are he was only here for the weekend.

"No, actually he lives in Pleasantville." Pleasantville is not really the name of the town, it's changed for privacy reasons, and there is nothing pleasant about it. It's one town over from the town I was visiting (which by the way is amazing and my own private heaven). Pleasantville is a place where no one really lives. Well they do, but not people I date, per se. It's hard to describe Pleasantville and maintain diplomacy, so I will skip this part for now.

"Oh, what does he do?" I ask. Hoping for the best, but predicting the worst.

"He is a model!"

Crickets

"A model?" Now keep in mind we aren't in NYC or LA or even Miami. We are in the country. I didn't know people model in the country.

"I don't know if he is your type but i figure its someone to kiss at least."

Where is my Binaca when I need it? Did she just really just offer up someone for me to "kiss"? I actually think it's kind of cute and funny. I love her immediately. I wonder if she met her husband when she was 16 and hasn't dated since then.

"Oh! Here he comes." She gets very excited.

With that I see some type of pick-up truck/mustang/Saturn extravaganza pull up to the house. I die a little inside. I know this is going to be bad. I am sitting in a dark field waiting for my model to show up. My model who lives between an A&P and a Stewart's.

I see him walking towards me.

"He is also a body builder" She adds quickly. I wonder if she thinks that's a good thing.

Was it too late to get trampled by a deer? It's too late. He is getting closer fast and sees me. He is wearing a members only jacket and dress pants. By dress pants, I mean pleated parachute pants for some type of desk job in 1984. He has a ton of hair, but for reasons I still can't explain his hair is shaved an inch above each ear. We are basically in the woods so there is no oncoming traffic to throw myself in front of. DAMN YOU COUNTRY LIVING. If i'm lucky, maybe a falling tree will land directly on my head. Is that a helicopter I hear hovering over my head waiting to airlift me to another location? Nope. Dead silence. We are in the country.

"Hi!" I say politely.

"Darcy this is Skylar." Michelle says. Of course it is. I picture him to have a sister named Kayla and a brother named Braden.

Skylar smiles at me (kind of) and immediately looks at the ground. Michelle disappears into the night and I am pissed. I have no idea what to say to this man.

"So! You're a model?" I realize how ridiculous this sounds, but its all I could muster up.

"Yea, I am. I am also a body builder. And an actor." Skylar doesn't look up at all. He continues to look at the ground. He suddenly rattles off a string of some type of automotive certifications he has. Something about coolant and rotor rooters. I wonder if Skyler is autistic.

I look down at what I am wearing. A cream cable knit sweater and a Barbour coat. I wonder why Michelle thinks we would be a good match. Maybe it's because I am alive. That could be all they require in the country.

"So! You live in Pleasantville?" I am wondering why no one, particularly Lizzie, is rescuing me from this situation.
"Yea. I live with my parents."

"That's sensible." I say

TAXI!!!! I want to scream. I keep it all inside. I am in the forest and there isn't another car for miles.

Skylar tells me he is acting in a movie. About Zombies and bodybuilders. He tells me about all the famous people in the movie, and by famous, he means the understudy for Mr. T in DC cab. Before I know it Skylar, who still has yet to make eye contact with me pulls out an IPhone and is showing me his modeling pictures, shots of his abs, and a power point presentation of the proteins vs. carbs he eats in a day. WHERE THE FK IS LIZZIE?

I tell Skylar I really need to run. It was so nice chatting and the five minutes seemed like an eternity. Well, I left that part out.

"You on Facebook?" He says.

"Yes"

"Okay, well friend me and we can hook up in the city. I am there a lot for my movie."

"Will do."
Skylar starts to spell his last name for me so I can find him on Facebook. He kept spelling, and re-spelling. He changed the spelling several times.

"No, that's not it" and he would start again. Does he not even know how to spell his last name? I am confused. Can it be this bad? My next thought is that I can kick Skylar's ass in Scrabble.

I feel my way through the dark to find Lizzie. I see her face illuminated by the bonfire.

"You ready?" I ask.

We say our brief goodbyes and on the way to the car I ask Lizzie if she could believe what just transpired.

"I didn't even see him. It was so dark. What did he look like?"

I couldn't believe I had no one to share this experience with.

When I got home I googled Skylar. After all he was a model/actor, he had to be somewhere on the Internet and I could show his pictures to Lizzie. Sure enough, there he was. Actually he was everywhere. Although Skylar wasn't famous for his movie, Skylar was famous for being some type of beef cake model popular with the gays. He was a gay icon of sorts. There were blogs written about Skylar and his hot body with dozens of men commenting on Skylars good looks. Skylar was kind. He would respond to all of their posts. I never friended Skylar, but I friended the hostess who wanted to set me up. She is reading this blog. Thanks for trying Michelle. I really do appreciate it.