There is a guy called Jason I was chatting to online before I even came here to LA. He’s super cute but he has a boyfriend and I don’t wreck homes. But he gave me a lot of helpful info when I was moving over, we met up for beers etc but haven’t seen him in ages.
Now that I have visas and residency here in the States, I decided to upgrade from the $50 Greencard Limbo furniture collection and I go out and hit Helm’s Bakery, a converted warehouse of furniture stores out in Culver City. As I yearn for the days when I would drop $3000 on a sofa without blinking, I bump into Jason; he’s working in one of the stores. He’s also now living in Long Beach and single.
We chat, doing the usual swapping of dating war stories. It turns out he’s a writer as well and has a Civil War series that he’s trying to get funding for. We arrange to have a coffee down in Long Beach. I don’t know if this is a work date, or a date date or whatever, but down to LB I go.
Long Beach isn’t called Long Beach because the beach is long. It’s because it is a looooooooooooong way from everywhere else in LA. It is actually its own separate city. I mention this so that you understand that you don’t just happen to be there, you have to be on a mission.
However, I do like it and have friends there and it’s good to go and breathe different air sometimes. Jason and I speak that morning, it’s on and I’m sitting at Hot Java Cafe at the appointed time with a coffee.
I wait the 5 required minutes and I text.
Me text: I’m here, where are you?
Ten more minutes go by.
Me text: ?
Ten minutes later there’s a reply.
Jason text: Sry, lkng at house r u there long?
Me text: How long do you think you’ll be?
Jason text: b there n 20 call u
Me text: OK
Jason never shows or calls. I take his number out of my phone and think about how much petrol money he owes me. The sad part is that I’m kind of used to this now in LA, people just don’t pitch up at all. I don’t get it, it wasn’t how I was raised. But c’est la, you can’t let these things get you down.
Three weeks later I’m having a meeting in Century City. I’d been at the opening of OutFest the night before, the gay and lesbian film fest here in LA and was quasi hung over, but think that it somehow added to my artistic mystery.
The cell rings, but I don’t know the number. My film Diary of a Superhero is being cast and I’m getting a lot of calls from people I don’t know, so I answer. There’s a guy on the other end.
Caller: Hey Karl.
Caller: How you doing?
Me: Good thanks.
Caller: Congrats on getting the film greenlit, that’s great!
Me: Thanks mate, sorry, who is this?
Caller: It’s Jason.
Jason?… Jason?… maybe he’s calling from the Canadian production office.
Me: Oh, hi mate, so is this about the film?
Jason: Yeah, I was talking to my friend John, who you met last night at OutFest and he said you got funding for Diary.
Me: Yeah, we did…um, sorry Jason, how do we know each other?
Jason: You know, from the furniture store.
I think this must be what it’s like when you get a call from a clown that’s in your house with your children in a David Lynch film, because this can’t really be happening.
Me: Is this Jason that never turned up for coffee in Long Beach?
Jason: Oh, well you see, what happened was….
I hang up.
Un-be-fuckin-lievable. But in LA, you’d better believe it.