Chapter 6: A New Man

When I first decided to “Date in the Grey”, I knew that this may happen.  After all, when you commit to no commitment and force yourself to date multiple men at once, it is an expected byproduct. But what I wasn’t prepared for was the reality of the situation.  But after three months, I found myself being courted by two men that I liked.  While it was a watered down version of the Divorced Bachelorette, I was struggling with the division of my attention and feeling a bit guilty about my predicament.  My predisposition for “choosing one” was a constant battle. 

I didn’t know how to have multiple relationships at once.  It wasn’t something I have done before.  On one hand, I had Mr. Grey whose emotional unavailability kept me at bay yet always wanting more.  On the other hand, I had The Writer.  A man who was perfect on paper but was still getting to know and trying to see what was behind the perceived perfection. 

Even though Mr. Grey was the impetus of this journey, I was turning a cold shoulder towards him. 

I wanted wanted to him to be something that he wasn’t; a respectable man who could have any woman he wanted but chose only the right ones.

His blatant sexcapades with Rocker Chick and several other women was a turnoff for me and I didn’t want to be with a man who treated women like that.  So in turn, I started to see someone else too, the Writer.  And I thought this new man would divert my attention away from Mr. Grey.  Since I am not shy about walking away from a relationship when it no longer serves me, I was surprised when I found myself having a hard time giving up Mr. Grey.  I couldn’t understand my attraction and magnetism towards him.  Was it the challenge of wanting something that I couldn’t have?  Did the other woman make me want him more so I could “win” in the end?  I racked my brain trying to figure it out but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.  All I knew is that when I saw him, I didn’t do my traditional internal “yuck”, which was the universal sign that I needed to break up with that person.  Instead, I would see him and want more.  I wanted more conversation because they were deep and meaningful.   I wanted more of his touch because it drove me wild and left me breathless every time.  I wanted to chisel away the walls that were so thick around his heart that you could barely hear it beating from his chest.  The only thing I was clear about was that, despite all of the obvious red flags, I was still holding on.  

But wanting him was becoming more complicated because I was writing about him and he was reading it.  This dynamic didn’t allow me to hide my thoughts and feelings from him which made me feel utterly vulnerable.  As time went on and I kept writing, other people started voicing their opinions on social media and in my own personal sphere.  “You deserve better” was the common advice I received.   These opinions echoed throughout my mind constantly which caused me to strengthen my push away from Mr. Grey.  It also was the reason I was so willing to jump into the arms of someone else…so I could do “better”. 

One day, I received a call from one of my dear friends.  She is the type of woman who is a ride or die and I have tremendous respect for her.  Back in 2016, when I first found out about my husband’s affair, we were working together on a popular television show for E!.  While I was devastated by the deceit and betrayal that my soon-to-be ex-husband caused me, my friend went into “mama bear” mode.  Since we all worked in the entertainment industry, she took it upon herself to never work with my ex or his mistress turned wife again. She refused to take their calls, hire their clients and made it clear that it was because of who represented them.  All the while, she kept me financially afloat with small projects that would allow me to work in small increments while I healed my heart and nurtured my kids.  I always felt like I owed her big time for her allegiance and I will never forget what she did for me during my time of need.  Since then we have seen each other regularly and continue to work together on tv projects. 

“Hey, are you home?” she said.

“Yeah, I am just working.  What is going on?” I replied. 

“I have some clothes that my daughter has outgrown and I wanted to drop them off to you for your girls”, she explained

Yet another reason why she is awesome. 

“Yes, I’m home.  Come on over.  And thank you so much for the clothes!” I gushed. 

It was a weird day because it was raining in LA.  It rarely rains.  I was standing in my garage while I waited for her to arrive.   She drove up in her shiny blue Tesla space ship.

She had ordered it months ago and it finally was here.

“You finally got it!” I remarked with joy.

“Yep!” She replied with obvious excitement.

We marveled at her car while she unloaded a bag of practically brand new clothing for my girls.  Suddenly, she changed the subject,

“I read your blog. You really need to get rid of Mr. Grey,” she said.

I knew her words came from a loving place.  She had seen me heartbroken and devastated and had also witnessed the tremendous time and effort it took me to land in a place of healing.  Her words didn’t hurt me or cause me to become defensive; however, I knew that she wouldn’t understand my personal dilemma with Mr. Grey.  

“I know”, I said as guilt filled my emotional space.  I knew she was right.  Why was I holding on?

“You don’t need any more projects.  You need a man that is already complete.  That is what you deserve”, she said. I knew why she was saying this.  The common rhetoric was that a woman like me deserved a “knight in shining armor”.  A man who swoops in and hands me his wallet, provides me safety and security and wants to be a second father to my children.  The problem is that this wasn’t what I wanted.  I was proud of my independent nature and I didn’t want to allow any man to control me; through his wallet or otherwise.  So even though everyone else wanted me to find my prince, I was barfing at the thought.  I wanted a partner but  I didn’t know what that meant yet.  All I knew was that  I didn’t want “traditional”.  I wanted something much different but I was still trying to figure out what that meant.

As I stared at her knowing glance that read, “you know I am right”, I started to think that the Writer may be a better option for me. After all, he was smart, funny, seemingly successful and in the same life-space as me; all of the things that I should be looking for.  But we only had one glorious date and so I just didn’t know the foundation of his being.  That is the beauty of dating because it is how you discover the fabric of a man. So I wanted to give him more time. Maybe he could be the partner I had been looking for?

It had been over a week since my first date with the Writer and it was clear that we had chemistry.  After all, our date was comparable to a high school rendezvous; a couple of teenagers whose make-out session was so hot, it steamed up the windows of his car.   But in all my years of dating, I knew that chemistry wasn’t enough.  I needed connection, vulnerability and the opportunity to really see who this man truly was.  So the second date was going to be a step into this direction, or so I hoped. 

As opposed to our first date which was entirely planned by yours truly; the second date was completely in the hands of the Writer.  Since he came to my suburban part of Los Angeles for for our initial meeting, I volunteered to meet him in the lively city center where he resided.  The plan was to meet for dinner at a rooftop restaurant and the idea of a real adult date excited me.  The streets surrounding the restaurant were busy with traffic zooming by and skyscrapers dwarfing the streets.  It had been a long time since I had visited the hustle and bustle of this city. I circled the block several times, looking for the restaurant that apparently didn’t have signage.  Finally, I gave up on trying to find the exact restaurant location and parked at a meter on the congested street. I entered the address into my phone for the millionth time, hoping the directions would actually lead me to my location on foot.  I looked like a tourist with an electronic map as I walked down the street, following the instructions in my hand.  The location of the address took me to a swanky hotel and I went inside to ask someone for help.  The concierge directed me to a set of elevators which took me to the rooftop landing of the restaurant.  Since my “where’s Waldo” attempt at finding the establishment took a few minutes, I was surprised to see that the Writer was not there.

I went to the empty bar and took a seat and marveled at that beautiful market lights and greenery that decorated the premises. 

After not even a minute, I became impatient and texted him.

“I’m here”, I said

“You are? So am I.  I am waiting for you downstairs by the valet”, he quickly responded.

“I parked on the street and am at the bar.” I texted back.

Being that I was antsy and a bit nervous about our second introduction, I decided to leave the comfort of my seat at the bar and made my way to the elevators so I could greet him.  As he briskly walked out of the elevator, I was reminded of the ways I was attracted to him; his tall and slender physique, his bright smile and his gleaming eyes. 

“You are a sight for sore eyes,’ he said as he gave me a welcoming hug.

My goal with tonight’s ensemble had given the reaction I was looking for. 

My form fitting green dress hugged my curves perfectly and the green accented my tan skin and auburn hair. 

I paired the dress with knee high, tan, suede boots, which made me appear statuesque compared to my usual 5’4 frame but I still dwarfed him considerably. 

He checked in with the hostess and she led us to a small corner table where we had privacy.  As the waiter quickly approached and asked for our drink order, I was surprised that he remembered my signature drink; vodka soda with a splash of fresh lemon juice in a tall glass.  He was paying attention and I took that as a sign of genuine interest and proved I had made a lasting impression.

“To be honest, I couldn’t wait to see you again”, he said with a smile.

It was what every girl wanted to hear on a second date but I wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily.

“Oh yeah?  How come?”, I said, testing to see what his response would be.

“I thought we had a great first date and the shenanigans in my steamy car were quite memorable”, he admitted. “I had to turn my defroster on so I could drive home.”

“I was looking forward to seeing you again too”, but I ping of guilt entered my mind.  

To be honest, my mind was ping ponging between the Writer and Mr. Grey all week and I felt a bit a shame for entertaining more than one man.  

The Writer and I sat and chatted about kids and work.  He updated me on an Amazon television show that he had been writing and had recently received feedback on.  I shared my own experience with the television shows I had started producing and we connected on our unpredictable lives as freelance creatives.  When it was time to order some food, we agreed to share a few appetizers and I allowed him to choose.  After a few suggestions from our waiter, we chose two dishes; a safe bet and another that was an adventurous and recommended selection.  I liked that he was willing to try something new and wasn’t afraid to take a small pallet risk.  

“I want to know more about you”, he said while we waited for our food to arrive.

“I’ll tell you whatever you would like to know” I replied.  

I thought this was going to lead to a deeper conversation; one that included feelings and vulnerability.  I wanted to go there with him.  

“What is your favorite color” he quickly asked. 

“Red”, I said. 

So much for depth, I thought. 

When the food arrived, we slowly picked at our portions as we discussed the variety of our selections.  We continued typical small talk about likes and dislikes.  While his level of interest was flattering on the first date, the small talk was starting to bore me.  I wanted more from him and I wasn’t exactly sure how I was going to get it.  Since the appetizers were rather small, it allowed us to finish quickly and our date seemed to be coming to a premature end.  

“I feel like you are so far away”, he said, an obvious invitation to come closer.  “Do you want to come back to my house?  I only live about a mile away.  We can have another drink and I can show you my place.”

I knew that this was a dangerous invitation.  After all, it wasn’t my usual dating protocol to accept such an invitation.  But if I wanted to get closer to him, maybe this is the way I should do it; by allowing him to show me pieces of himself.  

“Sure, I would love to see where you live”, I said with my shiny smile.

As we made our way downstairs, we stepped into the busy and brightly lit street.  

“Where did you park?” I asked. 

“I was on a work call so I decided to walk to the restaurant.  You don’t mind if I hitch a ride with you, do you?”, he said. 

Something about this made me feel uncomfortable; almost like he assumed that I would come home with him.  But just like so many other times in my life, I recognized the warning sign but quickly dismissed it and lodged it in the back of my mind to mull over later.  

“My car is a mess, but you know…kids” I said as he hopped into the passenger seat of my SUV.  As I drove, he gave me directions to his home.  The streets were dark but narrow; typical of city life.  But like in many parts of LA, we turned down a random street and the city disappeared and a storybook like street took the place of the bright busyness of the major thorough fare.  Oak trees lined the silent streets and he instructed me to park in front of a big, green Craftman-style house.  “Wow”, I thought to myself.  The neighborhood was a bit sketchy but the house was amazing. As we approached the massive front door, we were welcomed by a sprawling porch.  This house seemed like it was transplanted from a southern plantation.  As I entered his house, I admired the massiveness of the space.  It was open and bright with a living area to the left and a dining room to the right.  A large opening appeared and as I peered in, I could see a massive kitchen island.  

“Want me to give you a tour?”, he said with pride. 

He began to introduce me to each room, which there were many.  The kitchen was enormous and meticulously designed.  The modern esthetic didn’t match the vintage nature of the exterior.  It could have easily been featured in the pages of “Architecture Digest”.  He showed me a small powder room before taking me up a huge staircase that led to the bedrooms.  First there was a guest room that also served as his work space. 

“Everything in this house is huge except your computer”, I teased.  “I am surprised you can even see what you are working on on that tiny laptop screen”.

“Well, you know” he smirked as he led me to another large room.  

The room was covered in toys and made it abundantly clear that this was his son’s room.  It reminded me of my daughters’ eternal mess that they left behind in their absence. We moved quickly down the hall and finally he showed me his room.  It was bare, with a single bed on a pedestal that made it seem regal.  The walls were white but seemed lonely.  The closet was clearly missing the fullness it once occupied. The space spoke volumes of his place in life.  He had just cleaned house but his home wasn’t his just yet.  

“You have a really beautiful home” I said. 

“Thank you.  I fought really hard for it in my divorce” he admitted.  

It was clear that this was their family home since it was way too big for a single parent and a part-time kid.  You could still tell that the move-out was fresh by the big empty spaces that were left untouched.  It felt as if something or rather someone was missing.  

It must be difficult living in a space that once housed so many memories, I thought to myself.

I wondered why he tortured himself with the constant reminder.  Maybe I would ask him at some point, maybe it would bring us closer.

We wondered into the massive kitchen where he made us both cocktails; me a signature vodka and soda and a tequila on the rocks for himself.  We went into the living room to enjoy our beverages. 

“I really like this table” I said as I admired the meticulous detail of the wooden frame. 

“Thank you.  I made it” he said. 

I guess a woodworking hobby could be sexy after all. 

Before I could take a second sip of my cocktail, he was starting to kiss me with his hallow mouth I remembered from our first date.  This time, the learning curve of our kissing was not as severe and we quickly found our groove.  Before I knew it, his hands were all over me; like he had been fantasizing about this moment since our last encounter.  To be honest, I wasn’t ready for him but I didn’t stop him. I wanted to feel closer to him, to feel vulnerable with him.  So when the clothes started to come off and the invitation was presented to join him upstairs, I agreed; even though I wasn’t convinced that this was entirely a great idea. 

I followed his naked body up the staircase and into his bedroom where the lights were exposing ever nook and crevice.  He turned on some classic rock that didn’t seem to fit the mood.  He jumped on the bed like a college frat boy and patted it for me to join.  I slowly made my way, hoping that I could turn the mood into something more sensual.  We started to kiss again and we moved through each one of the bases so quickly that the moment passed before it even began.  He quickly reached into his bedside table and pulled out a brightly covered small package.  I was a bit confused before I realized that they were condoms; but not the kind you would see on the CVS shelves.  

“I have to special order these.  The regular ones don’t fit”, he said.  

Oh god. 

The experience was similar to our makeout session but in a totally different way.  The normal fluidity in the motions was missing and replaced with a sense of stumbling and stalling.  It reminded me of something from American Pie but without anything edible.  His approach was systematic like he was following a sex ed manual.  First you, put this here and add this there.  The more I tried to insert my own finesse into the mix, the quicker he moved onto the next bullet point.  And just like that, it was over and almost instantly, I missed Mr. Grey.  

Ugh, why am I thinking about him right now? 

As I gathered my clothes from the floor, I tried to remember what my first time with Mr. Grey was like; it probably wasn’t good, right?  After all, the first time is never really that good.  As much as I tried to convince myself that my experience with the Writer was totally normal; I knew deep down that it wasn’t.  And as soon as I recognized that there was something severely missing, I remembered how I felt with Mr. Grey initially.  There were some parts that were similar; the uncomfortable nature of not knowing what each other likes and dislikes.  The self conscious thoughts about someone seeing my most personal parts.  These were the awkward and uncomfortable feelings I felt with many partners on the first time; and Mr. Grey was no exception.  But from the very beginning, Mr. Grey took interest in pleasing me.  He may not have known what I liked or didn’t like, but he wasn’t afraid to explore and find out.  His goal always was and continues to be all about me; and in turn, I allowed it to be about him too.  It was like this from the very beginning and no matter how I tried to convince myself that my experience with the Writer could be just as enjoyable; it wasn’t.  And, to be honest, I don’t know if it ever could be.  But maybe sex wasn’t the most important thing.  Maybe having a stable partner who wasn’t a constant wildcard had its own perks.  As I said goodbye and rushed out of the door, I promised myself that I would keep trying with the Writer because maybe there was more to him then appeared on the surface and under the sheets.  

The drive home was silent as I was filled with thought.  My phone pinged and I knew who it was.  It was the same person who had a sixth sense about whenever my dates ended.  I was happy to see that he was still interested in talking since my the letter I wrote detailed how I was at a precipice of change in our relationship.   

“Hypocrite” entered my mind.  While I knew that my relationship with these two men was not the same as Mr. Grey’s relationship with several random women; I wasn’t exactly behaving like Mother Theresa.  Was I an “elevated woman?” I thought so.  I liked the Writer.   There were parts of him that I enjoyed.  But I was trying to distract myself with him and in turn, it was making me do things that I wouldn’t typically do.  But isn’t that the same thing Mr. Grey told me about Rocker chick?  It wasn’t until this moment that I understood the actions of Mr. Grey.  Up until now, I couldn’t understand why he would spend time with someone who he wasn’t “super into”, but now I did.  I understood entirely too well.  

This revelation made me want to have a conversation with Mr. Grey even more but I had no idea how my thoughts and feelings of the letter landed on his stoic heart.  I explained that I didn’t want to continue with him if our relationship didn’t change; after all, I was tired of the obvious philandering and the constant womanizing.  I valued myself as a person and as a woman and I didn’t want to cause further harm to my pieced together heart.  I wanted change but more specifically, I wanted him to change. 

“Do you want to talk?”, he wrote, giving no inclination on how the conversation would go.

“Yes.” I replied. 

Knowing that I didn’t want the anxiety of the conversation to loom over my head for the remainder of the night, I headed to his home.  It wasn’t something I ever did; leave one date and go directly to another but nothing with Mr. Grey was conventional. And in turn, neither was our relationship.  

When I arrived, I knocked once and opened the unlocked door.  He was standing in front of me, looking boyish and manly all at once. It wasn’t until this moment that I became nervous.  I was nervous about what he would say in response to my letter. .  The anxiety of “not knowing” made me want to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible.  I entered into his house, he offered me a drink and we sat down without saying much else.  

Ever since I gave him the letter, I had been running his possible responses through my head.  I imagined that he would lecture me about his “no commitment” philosophy and accuse me of trying to “possess” him.  I figured he would be defensive and place the majority of the blame on me since we had an agreement to date other people; which he had been doing and was honest about.  I knew that I didn’t have a leg to stand on but at the same time, I also knew that I couldn’t hide my emotions just because they didn’t fit into these rules.  So I was prepared to hear him out and prepared to walk away. But I also had to recognize the pieces in myself that were also at fault. 

“I read your letter.   Honestly, it really hit me hard” he said.  I prepped myself for what I thought was coming next.

“A lot of what you wrote is right.  I haven’t been an “elevated man”.  I have used women to fill a space in my life because I am unfulfilled.  But I want to be elevated.  I don’t want to keep doing what I am doing; in fact, I am tired of it. I want to let you know that this isn’t how I operate all the time.  I don’t spend my life chasing women indefinitely.  I use the first six months to get to know the people that I date and test them in a way.  I want to see if they can handle a guy like me and all of my untraditional viewpoints.  But after the six months, I don’t shy away from being exclusive, in fact; I want that.  Being with someone allows me to focus on other parts of my life that I want to grow.  And I can see myself growing with you.  You are someone who is really special.  Every man has a list of checkboxes that they want to fulfill and through dating you have to opportunity to see which ones each person can check off.  But with you, you check all the boxes.  In fact, you check boxes I didn’t know I wanted or existed.”

My jaw was hanging open and for the first time in my life; I had no words. 

“I really like you a lot and that scares me.  I have only felt this way once in my life and that person still holds a special place for me.  I have always considered her “the one that got away”.  Back then, I wasn’t ready for the kind of relationship that I am now.  She had kids and I wasn’t looking to play that role at that time in my life.  I know you are busy with your work and your kids and so I used dating as a way to disconnect from you but also fill my time and keep me distracted. But I can see how much this hurts you and that isn’t what I want.  I really like us and I don’t want to lose us.”

If I could have scripted the perfect thing for him to say, it still wouldn’t be as impactful as this response.  Tears started to stream down my face.  The emotions of my night were weighing heavily on my heart.  

I gathered myself until I was finally able to form words,

“I know what it is like to feel lonely sometimes.  I felt like that when I first got divorced.  Actually, it took me a long time to not feel that way.  And I did what you do, I found comfort in the arms of a men to fill my time.  But I still felt empty. It wasn’t until I created relationships outside of romance, starting spending time doing hobbies I loved and working a job I cared about; that is when the loneliness faded.  I know you haven’t been in LA for a long time like I have and I also know that you hate your job.  But you can change all that.  I feel like I have gotten to know you over these last few months and I know how brilliant you are.  Any company you work for will be lucky to have you.  Find a job that fulfills and challenges you; not depletes and bores you.  Don’t wait for people to reach out to you to make plans, take charge.  Call them and invite them out.  Create a circle of male friends that you can lean on and talk to.  If you start putting all of your effort into yourself instead of into dating, you will be so much happier.”

“I know.  You are right and that is exactly what I am going to do.  I am not a man that doesn’t go after the things I want, you will see” he said, looking at me with such sincerity that it made me ball like a baby. 

“I am no different from you”, I admitted.  “I didn’t want to get close to you so I started to date the Writer so I could gain some perspective.  I thought he was a safer choice for me because he seemed to be a better choice.  So I pushed you away so I could make room for him.  I slept with him tonight and I hate myself for it.  I never sleep with guys on the second date but for some reason, I didn’t stop myself.  I wanted to fill the space that you occupied and I thought I could do it with him.  But in the end, it didn’t feel good and I ended doing the exact same thing that you did to me.  I am so sorry.  I made myself believe that I was better than you and you weren’t good enough.  But now I see that neither of us is better or worse, we are human and sometimes we don’t always do the “right” thing. But what is “right” anyway?”

He took me into his arms and held me there while I hyperventilated like a hyena.  It became impossible to not laugh at the moment so I pulled away, smiled and wiped my tear stained face.  

“Sometimes it isn’t about finding the perfect person” he began “No one is perfect.  Everyone is fucked up.  But I think it is about finding the person that is fucked up in the same ways as you are fucked up” he finished with a smile. 

He took me into his arms and hugged me again; strong and firm.  As I pulled away to look at him, our eyes met, followed by our lips.  The drug of his passion entered my veins like a warm, soft blanket; making me all fuzzy inside.  I wanted him to be the man I saw in him.  I wanted him to to have everything he ever wanted and to go after all of his dreams. I knew that he could, he was capable.  But whether he would actually follow through on his words was still to be determined.  

He held me in his arms the entire night.  Our bodies were connected in a pretzel like fashion when I woke to his blaring alarm signally it was time for work.  After a few snooze sessions, he broke away from my embrace and turned on the shower.  I watched his naked body in the shadow of the bathroom door.  My mind still did not signal the internal “yuck” that led me to a means to an end, rather the contrary.  I laid my head on the one flat pillow that I had declared my own and replayed the nights events.  

It seemed like just yesterday where my life was less complicated; the Writer seemed so promising and I was pushing Mr. Grey out.  But now, I didn’t know what to do.  I was in a place of limbo; teetering between a seemingly safe but unfulfilling choice and something far less defined and still riddled with red flags.  I collected my things and said my farewell as I made my way through the early morning dew and found my car.  That is when I heard another ping on my phone. 

“When can I see you again?”, said the Writer

Chapter 7:

The Truth Will Set You Free