Monday, November 8, 2010

Zdrastvotye, menya zovut Scarlet y ya...

Hello, my name is Scarlet and I am a Chronic Homewrecker...


Okay. Over the past couple months of creating musical magic with him, I have begun to develop an enormous artcrush on C. Clearly. We spend a lot of time together. Late nights. Inside jokes. Booze. Booze, because I get self-conscious and stiff when I'm playing for expensive recording equipment, and being tense or stiff or nervous makes you suck, and a couple hefty chugs of vodka really help the situation. He lays down on the floor when I play and closes his eyes and listens. I lay down on the floor and watch him point microphones at speakers and play an electric guitar and six pedals at the same time and then close my eyes and listen to what comes out. He looks like one of the characters in a videogame my brother used to play when we were little. I call him that, as a nickname. He's married. Right now.

On Saturday night a couple weeks ago I went to the studio and there were a couple people there and we were drinking and one of them ended up staying pretty late. He was really funny, the guy, a producer for this really famous hip hop group, but they were talking about all these people they know in common from LA from like the early nineties for hours. Obviously I couldn't add anything to the conversation. The guy also wouldn't really believe I was over nineteen years old, which was kind of annoying. So around midnight I started getting really antsy and pretty bored and realized I actually just wanted to be hanging out with C all night and started pacing a little bit and he noticed, and I went to check my phone a bunch of times and even said I should probably get going and he said why don't you play for us, you should hear her play, it's ridiculous, and I said nah, no, and I went and sat down at it and put my foot on the mute pedal and pressed down on the keys silently like a little brat, and after a few minutes C got up and started pacing a little too and then he sat down next to me on the bench and started playing and I started drawing him on this napkin and when I looked up at him he started kissing me and we sat there kissing like that and not moving, and he was still playing these slow beautiful haunting notes, until he played one really quiet, put his arm around my waist and let the chord linger like that, and I let the pen and napkin fall out of hand and put it on his knee and then he started running his fingers through my hair and I was holding my breath and then he stopped and his friend was still there (apparently TWEETING) and he just goes, "All right, man...."

And so, his friend, amused, made up some excuse about having to go wait for someone somewhere and C went upstairs to let him out and he came back down and looked at me and knelt down and laughed and said,

"Well, I knew that would work!"

And I laughed and then he took my hand and I stood up and he picked me up off the ground and making out with me up against the wall and and and et cetera.........

But not all the way et cetera.... he was totally consumed by guilt at some point.... which surprised me. Considering how he is. And where we met. How I've seen him, around women, and stuff, we'd discussed it before, more sorta jokingly, how I kind of assumed he was a male-slut but, quite the opposite... he's another one, married for six years, totally faithful, in a relationship of more like twenty years on and off...

So we've kind of been prancing around town together, at clubs, the studio, around his music buddies and to restaurants and I've made dinner for him and Madeline loves him and the whole nine, and it's been amazing and I'm thrilled that I'm not, again, in this situation, of sitting across somebody mutually wanting to @*&# and not. (Though, I kind of am...)

But, furthermore... C is not the type to just go around with a girlfriend. I feel like I'm just so used to that, like it's just the standard for me, and I just expect it.

But he's actually now in serious, heavy, no-joke divorce mode, and he says he doesn't want to talk about it and no, it's not about me, it's been a long time coming, and it's gotten so close so many times, and it won't affect anything and don't worry about it, and "trust me-- you are not responsible, okay?"

And I'm like, no, I'm NOT. I'm not. I'm not responsible! I'm not asking anymore questions, and I'm trying not to worry about it, and to believe, that these grownups all around me know what they're doing, that I'm not responsible for anyone (or ANYTWO...) married and working with me whose never been unfaithful, or touched a client-- that these no-ring-wearing, 40-year-old, very-successful MEN will not do anything stupid and blame it on me. And then drop out of my life. After I've trusted them and only them with it.

But... I do worry about it, just a little bit. Just a little. Yeah.


  1. swear there's a scent that osmoses through probability like the way there's theoretical distance everywhere but everywhere there's no more than say a restraining order's distance between predator and prey,

    something about those taken, the rapture of it perhaps,

    and damn lady you're picture pretty (saved, y'know, for archival purposes), not that one forgets but over and over again [VERB] (i'm not sure, which word),

    here's to sending oxygen in your general direction,

  2. Yes and I worry about you, and so should you C has obviously got to go through a lot of things before he is on the same page as you. Is this what you are looking for? Don't give your heart away before your ready.

    We don't like reading about you in pain. I saw this coming didn't you?