Chapter 5: The Writer

“Dating in the Grey” was a lot harder than I thought it would be. When I first committed to six month of no commitment, I imagined my own personal version of “The Bachelorette”. With all of my dating practice, I thought I could maintain a reasonable distance between me and each suitor. While I had hoped that I would start to fall in love with someone during the process, I had a very clear picture in my head of how it would happen, the feelings I would feel and how I would “know” instantly. What I was learning was that nothing was going according to my plan. Three months into the process and the only thing I could really count on was the unpredictable.

My initial encounter with Mr. Grey led me to believe that he was just like all the other guys I had dated. He wanted to possess me; to wear me on his arm like a trophy. Those feelings didn’t come from him; they came from the inner workings of my psyche; the childhood memories of only receiving attention when I did incredible things. So I pushed him away, cause it was the safe thing to do. And typically when I push people away, they either cling or run. But Mr. Grey didn’t do either. Instead, he matched me. He showed me that he was just as desirable as I was. But there was more to him than just his charm. There was intellect and vulnerability. He persuaded me to identify my deepest desires and encouraged me to go after them.. Our time together was diverse; sometimes we talked for hours about everything or nothing, sometimes we fucked for hours. He was romantic yet kinky. He was lovable and hate-able. His womanizing turned me on initially. I think every girl wants someone who is wanted. At least I did. He kept me on my toes until I would fall over; a bit banged up from the encounter. But eventually, his womanizing had become too much and I was starting to care too much. And when those things collided, I did what I do best. I run away. And that is how we got to where we are.

I knew that I had to diversify my dating pool but the challenge was easier said than done.  My work was taking up most of my time and when I didn’t have kids; I was hanging out with friends. Even though I had run from Mr. Grey, he wasn’t far behind me. He was waiting; patiently. He was too smart to make his next move without seeing mine.  But I needed to expand my dating horizons for several reasons.  First and foremost, if I was going to “Date in the Grey”, I needed to date more than one person.  Second, I needed to gain perspective outside of Mr. Grey; who was currently taking all of my attention.  And third, at the end of this six month commitment, I wanted to make the best choice; not the only choice.  And if I was going to do that, I needed to date more.  Since my time was limited, the easiest way to meet people was through online dating apps.  

As I started to scroll through online dating profiles, I was quickly reminded of my Amazon shopping cart.  So many choices that I begin to become numb to the fact that I am actually looking at real people and not inanimate objects.  “If only they came with a review”, I said to myself. 

A ratings system would be invaluable in this online dating arena.  Comments like “reliable red flag” or “guaranteed to ghost you” would be helpful information to know.  After all, being five years post divorce, I have completely explored all nooks and crannies of online dating. The pool of 40-somethings is full of Peter Pans, men who will forever be small children.  While an onslaught of 20-somethings gravitate towards me with the idea of making their Mrs. Robinson dreams come true.  Finding a man that is somewhere in the middle; a youthful, self-introspective, healed individual who isn’t afraid to date a strong, independent woman is like finding a diamond in the rough.

But don’t get me wrong, online dating is also fun.  As I swipe through the endless amount of options, I think to myself, “Do I choose the male model? The rugged lumberjack? Maybe a guy with a man bun?”

The prospect of someone new is exciting and the fact that I get to choose from such a large pool seems overwhelmingly intoxicating. And as I keep swiping, I start to daydream about dating.  So much so, that I begin to wander off into creative oblivion. 

My book of dating poetry would be called

“So many men, so little time”

and it would go something like this…

There are tall guys, short guys, brunettes, and blondes.  Smart guys and dumb guys and the list is long.  But dating for forever, is not my bag of tea. Cause I only want someone who is right for me. 

“You are such a ding dong,” I chuckle as I laugh at my Dr. Seuss-like dating description. 

I spend small amounts of time each day either swiping right or sending a “like”, hoping that a male unicorn will emerge.  But since I have’t seen a single unicorn on a dating app, I have started to believe that they don’t exist.  So instead of looking for a horse with a horn, I sit back and wait for someone interesting to bubble to the surface and steal my attention.  And that is when I noticed “The Writer”. 

I don’t know what originally attracted me to the Writer.  After all, his photos were awkwardly posed screenshots of his daily habits.  His profile picture was simply the side of his face, which led me to believe that the idea of a “profile picture” was taken literally.  Another photo gave an inside look to his favorite thing to do: woodworking.  Not exactly the hottest hobby. 

Being a Florida girl, there are a few requirements I must have in a man, the first being the possession of flip flops.  It may seem arbitrary to most but I like a man who has the ability to be casual; who isn’t afraid to let his feet touch the ground.  So being that I feel so strongly about flip flops, I included a line about it in my dating profile, 

“I get along best with people who own flip flops”

As I shuffled through my messages on the dating app, many in response to my affinity for flip flops, I noticed the snarky comment from the Writer

“Yet you’d most likely be revolted if your date showed up in flip flops….and cargo shorts”, he wrote. 

As I read his comment, I was reminded of the feeling when you are in elementary school and the kid behind you won’t stop puling your hair.  You are annoyed while also being happy to be distracted and catching the attention of someone else besides your teacher. I knew I needed him. I needed him to distract me from the one man who mesmerized me in the front of the room. Mr Grey.

The Writer seemed harmless and from what I read on paper, he also seemed normal and traditional.  Maybe I needed a little normal and traditional in my life, so I responded with my own snarky comment. 

“It is best to not make assumptions”.  Take that, Writer, I secretly thought. 

I knew there was a chance that our conversation would end at that point, his ego being too fragile to take any hint of opposition.  But I was willing to take the risk as opposed to waste my time with someone who would never step into the ring with me.  But he decided to play ball; a characteristic I didn’t see often and was surprised by.

“I never assume anything.  In fact, I did run out and buy new flip flops and cargo shorts today….just in case”.  

When I read it, I laughed internally.  HIs response lightened our confrontational opening and I could tell that he had a sense of humor; which I liked.  There was something about him that seemed judgmental at first, but my pushback created a softening.  This dichotomy peaked my interest so I continued to chat with him so I could learn where this behavior was stemming from.  After a few back and forth messages, his interest in me was starting to peak and he wanted to know more,

“So, you are obviously attractive and funny, but what’s your story”, he asked.

With the intention of keeping the conversation light and fun, and being that I am on a poetry kick, I randomly decided to write him a poem of my past.

“Once upon a time, there was a girl from Florida.

Who had red hair and drove a Toyota

She came to LA, to live out her dreams

Got married and said, this ain’t working for me. 

So she got divorced and decided from then, 

That she would never get married again. 

And then she lived happily ever after.” 

I hit send and sat back to marvel at my unexpected creativity.  I thought the poem was a clever move; and I set the bar high.  Again, the Writer didn’t back down and he matched me with a similar poem. 

“I know a similar tale. 

It’s about a boy from New Jersey who drove a Nissan.

He also came to LA to live out his dreams…and he did. 

He met a princess who turned out to be an evil witch,

Got divorced, and also vowed to never to have a a wife again.

He is living happily ever after in Koreatown”

If I were to judge a poem contest, I would award myself the victory since my poem not only rhymed but also was the inspiration of originality.  However, I appreciated his effort and the playfulness of our banter. Despite the annoying introduction, I could tell that he was smart and he was not afraid of me; which is the feeling I get from most men.  I didn’t know if I actually liked him since I hadn’t met him yet nor do we agree on the importance of flip flops but, if I have learned anything from Mr. Grey, it is to not judge a book by his cover; or his breathing car or his rollerblading skills.  So I continued to engage with the Writer because I wanted to see where it could take us. 

On a random sunny day, I receive a phone call from an unknown number.  Since I like playing phone roulette, I answered.  

“Hello?” 

“Hey there.  I figured I would go old school and actually call you.  Do people do this anymore?”. It was the Writer..  A smile crept across my face.

Our conversation was much like our texting; playful, witty and fun.  He shared more of himself; detailing his life as a freelance screenwriter and devoted father to his 6 year old son.  He was recently divorced and categorized the life change as a “covid divorce”.  I could hear the hurt and anger in his voice as he spoke about his ex-wife; a rawness that accompanies recent pain.  I knew that his divorce trauma would fade over time, much like mine has.  But I wondered if he was a safe choice for me or if his past hurts would start to immediately project onto anything new he touched.   

Even though I could see the vulnerability in him, he did a good job hiding it.  He was committed to pretending that he was a well-seasoned single dad who was fighting women off like it was his job.  The obvious over-confident bravado was humorous to me.   He was easy to talk to and even though our conversation was mostly surface level; detailing our likes and dislikes, I began to be intrigued by him. He was new to the single life and since I was a veteran, I wanted to show him how fun life could be.  I suppose it was something I wished someone would have shown me when I was newly divorced.  I wanted to help him experience new things, go on adventures, smile, laugh and feel young again. 

Even though I was building the beginning of a relationship with the Writer, I couldn’t help but compare him to Mr. Grey. I remembered my feelings of uncertainty when I first met Mr. Grey. After our third date, I was not interested in Mr. Grey as a boyfriend but he was so passionate and such a great lover that I didn’t want to give up that part. So I didn’t. And I still haven’t. But now that I was entertaining The Writer, I didn’t want to deceive him and I knew I needed to be transparent about being committed to no commitment.  I didn’t want to get too far down the line before I confess my commitment and I could sense that non-traditional courting would be a new thing for the Writer.  So one day, when we were chatting on the phone, I explained my dating philosophy.  

“I am taking the next six months to date.  I am not committing to anyone because I think it takes six months to know a person.  So I am dating non-exclusively so that I can get to know people and decide who is the best person for me over the course of time.”

“So how long has it been so far”, he asked after a short bout of silence

“I have been doing it for about 3 months”, I responded. 

“How is it going so far”, he replied

“There are good moments and not so good ones.  But overall, I am learning a lot about myself and what I want.  I am enjoying the journey and I look forward to seeing where it takes me.” I said.

My statement didn’t cause concern for him and I wondered if what I was saying was really sinking in.  But this opened up a conversation about dating and philosophy that I enjoyed talking about.  He started to share his current experiences with “thirsty” women.   I found his millennial-like vocabulary to be humorous and I loved that he was in touch with a vast knowledge of pop culture.  There was something about him that seemed surprising, yet I couldn’t put my finger on it.  

Without revealing so much that he would be scared away, I told him that I was writing about my experiences dating.  I had hoped that sharing this would provide us with further commonality; since he was also a writer.  But the topic seemed to make him uncomfortable and without really saying much, he almost immediately changed the subject. Weird.

Our phone roulette continued for about a week or two until our kid schedules aligned.  He wasn’t shy about wanting to meet me in person and since we had been talking regularly, I was looking forward to putting a face to the voice. As we entered the first date planning process, he offered to commute the 45 minutes from his hood of Koreatown into my suburban valley locale. When the Writer told me that he had never been to Costco in his 43 years, I jumped at the chance to create a lasting impression that would definitely earn me a spot in the memory book.  I suggested that we meet at the outdoor mall that was close to my house where we would bar hop our way to Costco.  The idea of being tipsy and sampling snacks sounded like a great time and I was excited when he accepted my invitation.  

I often thought of Mr. Grey during my conversations with the Writer. It was obvious that I still had lingering feelings for him. Comparison was common between him and the Writer. But I had hit a wall with Mr. Grey because of his escapades with Rocker Chick and his blatant bragging of conquests. And even though I was still spending time with Mr. Grey, I was still able to create enough distance to gain perspective. I knew that I couldn’t change him. I knew that I couldn’t demand for him to stop. I had no control over his behavior. But what I could do was tell him how I felt about it.

So I did what I do best; I wrote him a letter. 

“Dear Mr. Grey,

Since I have shared some of my most personal feelings about you through my writing, I thought this might be the best way to articulate how I have been feeling.

I like you.  And it isn’t because you seduce other women or because you have multiple lovers.  I like you because I see something in you.  Something special.  I like how we can talk for hours about nothing and everything.  I like that we laugh a lot and I don’t even know what we laugh about.  I like hanging out with you and spending time with you.  And of course, I like the chemistry we have and the way we are in the bedroom. 

It is completely irresistible. 

I write this not as yet another love letter in your dedication.  I write this because I have been feeling pretty crappy lately.  This feeling has been lingering for a while.  I have been burying it but it keeps surfacing more and more frequently.  And before I let it completely consume me and overtake me, I want to talk about it.  I want to talk about it because I can’t continue doing what we are doing.  I want it to change.  

I am not opposed to dating other people and I would like to continue to do so. 

But I want an elevated man. 

A man who knows HIS value. 

A man who uses his skills to make a woman feel beautiful and wanted but he also doesn’t use her for himself. 

He is judicious in who he brings into his bed, knowing that he may never find better than who currently warms it. 

He isn’t dating to fuck. 

He is dating to make sure that he has made the right choice.

And if he meets someone who takes her place, then it will be a hard conversation. 

But life is full of hard conversations. 

But what if he doesn’t? 

What if he spends the time searching only to realize that he has everything he ever wanted?

I want us to grow.  I want us to forge a new path.  I want us to create a new narrative, a new story for what love and relationships look like.  But I can’t do it like we have been doing it.  It is breaking me.  And I refuse to return to the place I just escaped.  I know what I want.  I know I can get it.  The question is are you willing and able to give it to me? 

All of my words are yours,

Carrie”

I emailed my letter to him and as soon as I hit “send” a feeling of anxiousness fell over me.  It was a hard line I was drawing; a line that challenged everything he was doing.  It was a call out for change.  A change in him.  A change in me.  A change in us.  In all honesty, I thought that it would be met with a “goodbye” or an adamant refusal to see himself in the same way that I viewed him. So I continued to focus my attention on the Writer; knowing that this distraction would make my release of Mr. Grey easier. After all, I thought the Writer was  a guy whose characteristics on paper made him a safer choice. 

When the date day with the Writer arrived, I was excited.  I didn’t know if I was going to be attracted to the Writer but I did know that I would have fun.  He was a good conversationalist and it was nice to branch out into something that seemed a bit more traditional than my experience with Mr. Grey.  I needed something that felt a bit normal, something to ground me again from my roller coast relationship with a man that was so intoxicating that I felt like an addict.  I wasn’t in recovery yet, but trying to wean myself off of my beautiful addiction to a man that thrilled me and devastated me all at once.  

As I stared into my closet, I contemplated what I should wear.  An entire wall consisted of dresses, which was my signature look. 

I wanted to represent my sense of style while still remaining comfortable since we would be walking a lot. 

I chose a flowy, short, flowered sundress that showed off my slender physique without showing too much. 

I paired the dress with a pair of white, low top Converse.  

As I applied my makeup and curled my auburn hair, I started to become nervous.  The fear of the unknown always made me anxious.  I took a deep breath and reminded myself that the Writer had a great personality, we were doing something fun and I loved Costco.  What could possibly be bad about that?  I felt a sense of relief sweep over my body as my nerves calmed and my jaw softened.  I looked in the mirror.  

“Let’s do this”, I said to myself. 

I arrived at the outdoor mall and looked around for a place to wait that didn’t make me look like I was hitchhiking.  I saw a large ledge at the front of a popular outdoor sporting goods store so I copped a squat on the make shift bench.  It was a warm night and the sun was still high in the sky.  I sat in the direct sunlight so that I could soak in all the warmth while I patiently waited.  As each car pulled in, a little flutter occurred in my stomach and my mind quickly asked, “is that him”?  With each approaching pedestrian, I was disappointed when they didn’t make eye contact and walked in the opposite direction.  His photos were not very revealing of what he actually looked like and I wondered if I would even recognize him upon arrival.  While I was lost in thought about how I ended up on a date with someone wondered if I could recognize, I saw a man approaching me.  He was tall with a slender yet athletic build.  He was dressed nicely, with a sense of style and comfort.  He wore jeans but paired them with trendy boots.  His collared shirt was untucked and unbuttoned enough to reveal a puff of light brown chest hair.  His face was warm and his smile lit him up.  I noticed his eyes immediately, a part of him that didn’t register through his dating profile.  

He looked at me with a sense of surprise and quickly asked me, 

“Did you pick this spot because it makes you look like some sort of angel? The sun is like a spotlight on you. Hi.  I’m the Writer”.  

His approach in person was just like his banter on the phone.  There was a sense of mistrust; like I was laying a trap for him.  I could tell that he had walls that were newly formed and I was going to have to tread carefully and gently if I wanted to scale them in any way.  

“Nope, I am not an angel.  Just a girl, waiting for a guy and didn’t want to stand so I found the only ledge big enough for me to sit.” I said as I smiled with both my mouth and my eyes.  

“Nice to meet you”, he said and spread his arms so I could lean into his hug.  Bingo.  That was easy.  Wall softened.  

We started to stroll along the sidewalk, making our way towards the belly of the mall.  As we walked, our bodies stayed close yet didn’t touch, I started to explain the lay of the land.

“There are 10 restaurants in this mall.  We are on the far side and Costco is on the clear other end.  I was thinking we could have a drink at a couple of different places before we head into my favorite store ever.  You should be excited.  It’s gonna be fun”, I said.  

We barely turned a corner when we were met with our first drinking establishment and without much hesitation, he agreed to follow me inside.  I slid into the booth and analyzed his body language to see how comfortable he was.  He sat far away from me, a sign of intimidation.

“You know I almost didn’t come”, he said.  

I thought it was a weird thing to say since he didn’t seem hesitant until this moment.  

“You told me that you like to write and you write about dating and relationships.” He continued, “Given that we are on a date, I assume that I am potential material for your writing and I don’t know how I feel about that.” He said. “But I talked to my sister about it and she encouraged me to show up and at least see what you were like.”

I sat in silence with a slight smirk on my face while he explained his discomfort.  When he was finished explaining his hesitancy, I simply asked, 

“How are you feeling now?  Do you regret coming?” 

“Absolutely not” , he replied. 

“That’s all that matters” I said as I drank him in with my eyes and smile. 

His witty banter started to surface after his confession and we laughed and talked about anything and everything.  On paper, we were a suitable match; we both had 6 year old kids.  He was married for 7 years, only a year less than my marriage lasted.  We both worked in the entertainment industry as freelancers.  His ex-wife was a powerful film executive whose career was her focus and who he played second fiddle to.  My ex was a talent agent at a large entertainment agency whose career always triumphed my own in every way.

“I always put myself second”, he explained. “Everything else came before me and over time, I was tired of it.  I didn’t want to do it anymore.”

While I never felt second in my own marriage, I did feel invisible as a woman and as a human.  My wants and needs were never a concern for anyone; including me.  Over time, I lost myself so significantly that when everything imploded; I was left with a shell of me.  But the best thing about shells is that you can fill them with whatever you want.  That is what I have done over the last few years and it was something that I could see he needed.  

During the course of our date, I saw the potential in him.  I saw his intellect, his passion, his creativity.  I saw how devoted to his son he was; a quality that instantly made him sexy.  I saw his allure; his piercing blue eyes that seemed playful and kind.  His tall 6’1 physique that was long and lean.  I saw his quirky sense of style that teetered between lumberjack and professor.  I saw that things he was trying to hide, like his thinning hair and his insecurity that he  overshadowed with a calm arrogance.  I saw his fear of being second fiddle to a powerful woman and his adamant need to be seen as a strong, confident man.  

These weren’t things he was comfortable showing me, but I saw them anyway.  The potential poured out of him with every story and engaging conversation we had throughout the night.  We ordered a couple of cocktails; his signature drink of choice was sophisticated tequila over ice; mine being vodka and sparkling water with fresh lemon in a tall glass so I could savor each sip. 

The more we talked, the more he began to soften in my presence.  He moved closer; a sign that he no longer feared me; at least for right now.  Since he travelled from the depths of Koreatown, I insisted on paying for the first round of drinks which he hesitantly accepted.  

We made our way through the moderately crowded mall until our slight buzz began to ween and another bar was found.  We entered into the deserted Italian restaurant and planted ourselves at the empty bar.  We ordered another round of our signature drinks and a small pizza to share. 

“You look so much better in person than in your photos”, I blurted.  The alcohol had eliminated my filter.  

“So do you. Your photos are great but you are so much more beautiful in real life.  You have an energy that radiates out of you.  It is really attractive.” He replied.  I guess I am not the only one who lost their filter. 

The alcohol was loosening us up and not only was he no longer afraid to get close but his hands were beginning to touch my skin.  I was sensing an urgency to fulfill my Costco prophecy and I began to rush him out of the restaurant so that I could expose him to something new.  I led the way to the supersized store, only to find out that we had spent too much time drinking and talking to make his Costco dreams come true because the lights were no longer lit and the garage gates were firmly secure; an obvious sign of closure.  A wave of disappointment crossed my face and I displayed disappointment only comparable to toddler whose toy store was no longer available.  

We stood in the darkness of the newly paved cobblestone-like street as I looked up at him with my “I’m sorry” eyes.  

“I really want to kiss you right now but I don’t know if that would be appropriate”, he said. 

“I think you should go for it.  You can always apologize later” I said as I raised on my tippy toes to reach his mouth with mine.  

His kiss was not like I expected, but not in a bad way.  His mouth seemed hollow, like he was missing a tongue.  After a few short pecks, I began an investigation to see if my missing tongue theory was true.  At the very back of his hallow mouth, I found his a short, pointy piece of him that was tongue-like.  Maybe he had a turtle-like tongue, one that needed some convincing to come out of its shell.  There was only one way to find out.

“Let’s go find dark corners and makeout like teenagers” I suggested as I broke away from him and led him up a dark staircase. 

For the next hour, we hopscotched around the desolate mall, making out feverishly until passersby haulted our shenanigans.  His hands began to roam my body over my flowery dress, making their way underneath but without touching any of my private parts.   As the antics progressed, it was becoming clear that the progression of our attraction was becoming inappropriate for this family family venue.  We made our way back to the outdoor recreation store in which our cars were parked and I attempted to say goodbye but he wasn’t ready to leave just yet.  

He invited me to continue our teen-themed night in the backseat of his car.  Not being one to turn down an invitation, I agreed.  He opened the backseat door and I was greeted by the evidence of a 6 year old.  He moved a large, high-backed booster seat into the trunk of his car and as he did;  a Highlights magazine left a trail of “I’m a dad” evidence.  I sat down on the crumb covered seat and made room for him to enter through the same open door.  As the door closed and we were alone in the backseat of his Rav4, we looked at each other and giggled.  

“I can’t believe that a Highlights Magazine fell out of the carseat”, he said while his face turned a pastel shade of red. 

I didn’t say anything but calmed him with a kiss; inadvertently giving him the “it’s ok” with my mouth.  Our makeout session continued; this time without passersby.  Time stood still in the backseat of the car and when I came up for air, I noticed a heavy fog that had completely made the outside world invisible.  This was something movies were made of.

“I have to go now.  I don’t want this to go too far on a first date.” I vulnerably admitted. 

“Me neither”, he said as we both adjusted our clothes and started to get out of the car.  

As he walked me across the parking lot to my car, we didn’t say a thing, but took turns chuckling to ourselves about what just happened. 

“I had a great time”, he said. 

“Me too. Sorry I couldn’t show you Costco”, I smiled.

“I could care less about Costco. I am glad I finally got to meet you.  I would definitely like to see you again”, he gushed. 

We had one final parking lot kiss and we both headed in opposite directions.  

I drove the 3 short blocks to my home and texted him my usual “thank you for a great night”.

As I entered my home, the sweaty fog started to subside and I couldn’t help but think of Mr. Grey.  My distraction from him was only temporary and I was conscious of the fact that I was still drawn to him in every way.

“How was the date”, he texted as if he had a sixth sense and his ears were burning with my thought of him. 

“It was good.  I had fun.” I replied, feeling a bit guilty about my teenaged makeout session for every parent to see.  

“What are you doing now?”, he asked .

We have had many conversations that started this way, which meant that I knew his next question would be, “Want to come over?”

Next:

Chapter 6: A New Man