The Film Guy: Achilles or Aphrodite (III)

26/10/12 23:23 Bonsoir ca va?

He couldn’t just be writing to “say hi” at 11:00 pm. He obviously wanted to see me, but why? Had he had a change of heart? Was he ready to redraft our story?

26/10/12 23:26 Besoin de partager des sentiments. Share feelings? What feelings?

My curiosity is always stronger than my reason. At the next metro stop I switched lines, traveling east along this new plot twist. Did I really think the Film Guy had something worthwhile to tell me? Not really. In fact, my spur of the moment decision was mainly driven by a subplot that had been percolating since the last contact with the Film Guy…

Remember back to his text message end of our as he put it “going nowhere” relationship? It was in accompanying his decline to my invitation to a film premiere party. Well, I wasn’t going to miss out on the fun because of him. La fête gave me the perfect opportunity to heal my bruised ego, firstly, with an endlessly refilled glass of champagne, and secondly, by flirting with this group of cute young art dealers. I easily fell under the charms of this terribly hot Greek god-like one (he was even actually half Greek, destined to be godly). Olive skin and slightly wavy dark hair tucked behind ears… we all have an Achilles’ heel. He was the first new cast member to this Franco-Greek mythological tale.

Not surprisingly, “Achilles” knew he was gorgeous, and I should have known better than to agree to go for a walk with him, a path which didn’t lead up to Mount Olympus, but to an out of the way bathroom… I had had a fair amount of divine bubbly, but there was no way I was going to ingest any other godly juices, as Achilles belt unbuckling was suggesting! Sure, he was sexy, but still, he wasn’t Zeus and I wasn’t an offering to the gods! My refusal granted me the honor of being snubbed by his royal uppitiness for the rest of the party. Before this morphed into an Antigone tragedy, another young member of the art dealer pantheon, offered me some champagne and after some decent conversation, that earned him my phone number (mostly to spite his un-godly friend).

An art dealer, hmmm, that should have guaranteed a sophisticated and smart catch, so I agreed to meet him for a drink. Apollo or Dionysus he was not. Tearing conversation out of him was a greater feat than the winning the Trojan War! Besides having nothing to say, he was sporting super preppy clothes and his favorite district of Paris was the stale, aristocratic 16th arrondissement – we were intergalactic opposites.

This brings us up to the night of the Film Guy’s text message. Before receiving it that night, I had resolutely decided that I would not see the boring art dealer again. So upon reading the Film Guy’s sms, my fateful side wanted to believe that he did want to give our love screenplay a second take.

Exiting the metro at the Place de la Nation, I fought through sheets of wind and rain (sent from Zeus up in the sky?) to our neutral café meeting point. I smiled nervously as he greeted me with a kiss on each cheek. Order us some wine, he then launched into his “feelings.”

Feelings for who…? Not for me! The Film Guy proceeded to tell me all about this ex-girlfriend of his. He claimed that he wasn’t still in love with, yet she kept meddling with his heart and mind. From what he described, she was a manipulator, in quite a similar way as the Mexican. She would use him for help, advice and contacts (she was an aspiring actress), she wound even talk to him about the new guy she was with, all this taking and giving no friendship value in return. The Film Guy went on and on with examples of how she tormented his mind, and he even admitted that as much as he couldn’t stand the mental torture, he also couldn’t resist it. He ultimately knew that he needed to stop seeing her if he would ever be able to liberate his mind and make room in his heart for anyone else.

Boy oh boy. Drama! The Film Guy really thrived on theatrics. I listened and offered my two Greek Lira cents, admittedly not worth much as a currency nor to him. I suppose he wanted to tell me all in an attempt to explain why he wasn’t able to be more available for me or any other woman for that matter, I think the real reason he texted me was to have someone that would console his anguish and not leave him lonely or alone.

Of course he invited me back to his place and I went out of sympathy and for my own comfort, while the Film Guy would never be seriously interested in me, it was nice to have a more affectionate adieu (compared to the “Take One” farewell via text message exchange) … which I got the next day, after some morning tea. Had he bought some for me after all? I wasn’t going to come back to find out. Off I went on a big work trip and easily slide out of his life (well, I hope for good, however, who knows when he’ll try to share some feelings again). The second draft of our story was a little less French film in ending, but at least it hadn’t declined into a Greek tragedy, it was more like a Woody Allen psychoanalytical fiasco. What did I have to do to find someone worthwhile? Pray to the gods? Oh Aphrodite, you surely have better heroes in store for me…

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