Elizabeth Teets
BRIEF ROMANCES WITH FAMOUS MEN
Andy
I have never heard of Andy’s band. All my friends talk about what an influence he was on them. How whatever album saved their life, or they lost their virginity to a song he wrote. I try listening to them and I don’t like the music at all. I’m a little too young to have known them, only twenty-three. But still he is a rock star, and I like him, because he’s a rock star, and he likes me. I discovered I liked him when we were in a crowded bar and I was pushed into him mouth first. My chest speckled patchy pink with embarrassment.
“Sorry Andy, don’t want you to think I was trying to kiss you.”
He didn’t even flinch, just looked back, “Oh you can kiss me anytime.”
I was confused and so I clarified, “I mean I got pushed into you.”
He just continued to stare at me starry-eyed as my chest went scarlet and repeated himself in a cool even tone as his lips curled up into a smirk, “Like I said anytime, anytime.”
I went home swooning like a teenager but with a hard lump in the pit of my stomach. The rock star wanted to kiss me. After that I liked him more aggressively than the other girls. I tried harder for his attention, always asking him to come over so I could make him spaghetti. He never comes over but rushes up to me when we are out at night to pay me my attention tax and keep me on his hook. Pausing between the compliments he dishes out to me like candy.
“Hi Elizabeth, I like your lips. And your jacket. And your attitude.”
Victory. I spent hours trying on clothes, finally picking the jacket, a light pink biker style I’ve matched it with Nicki Manaj’s Mac Lipstick.
The rush is intense but honestly, I have no idea how I would explain him to my mom, he’s over forty. But I like the idea anyway. I feel disconnected from my broken body, I don’t like feeling like a rape victim anymore. I need rockstar fluids in my bed and mouth to put me back together again. But once I get the courage and decide to go out and fuck him one night, he’s over it. He knows he could have me, but also I will end up a liability. A broken heart he doesn't want to clean up.
A few months later he is gone. The much younger girl in that other band he’s been screwing, the reason he is always too busy for spaghetti, writes a blog post. Emotional abuse. We all believe her. Because of the blog and because of the much younger women he's always after. I’m on the older end. Everyone agrees we can’t be his friend anymore, but we don’t do anything specific. He makes a new Twitter account and I discover I am blocked. I don’t know why. His words are in my mind “Oh you can kiss me anytime.”
Jack….But Lily Tomlin
I watch Jack’s television show religiously because Lily Tomlin is on it. I had met Jack twice before and he always made up theme songs with my name. “Teets is coming fast and she is kicking some ass.”
I rushed up to him at the after party for the Bridgetown Comedy Festival held in a cold cement warehouse, but he doesn’t remember me or the songs. I carry on with my mission anyway.
“Tell me about Lily Tomlin, you get to play her son, do you guys hang out? Tell me everything!”
I don’t notice what will be described to me later. I assume the smirk he is giving me is because he finds me annoying not charming. He gives me basic information. Tells me she is great, and tries to change the subject.
I push further. I want to know more about Lily, I refuse to let it go.
“We have lunch sometimes,” he offers.
A single sliver is all and get, and then he is successful in changing the subject. We talk about ice cream and pets and who’s dancing, but after every sentence, he laughs at me and says dramatically, “But Lily Tomlin!”
He keeps it up, “I like mint ice cream…but LILY TOMLIN” I think that he is making fun of me, I don’t realize it’s supposed to be a flirt.
I don’t notice because I am in still in love with Greg, the reason I’ve been waiting at the party to begin with, and because I want to know about my comedy hero, and because Jack is famous now and he doesn’t make up any songs for me. I don’t notice because I know Shayna has spent half the weekend fucking Jack in his hotel room at the Doug Fir and the other half telling everyone about it. I didn't notice anything because I am in love with Greg and he is all I can see.
The moment I walk away from Jack I am kicked out of the party by Greg’s ex-girlfriend Autumn. I see her staring at me and then check all four pages of the guestlist for my name that is not there. I came with Yseuf, who had spent the last four nights on my couch. I watch Autumn go tattle to Megan, the festival’s main producer, as I pretend to look at my phone. Megan comes my way, “You’re not supposed to be here.”
I plead my case, explain to her I’m a plus one to a respected comedian crashing on my couch. Megan walks away possibly satisfied with my answer, possibly not wanting to kick out the girl the festival's headliner has spent the night flirting with. Keeping the talent happy is priority. I feel victorious either way. Take that Autumn.
I’m annoyed at Autumn, she's thirty. Aren’t people supposed to be mature by then? I have five years to go. I find Greg and tell him I need to talk to him. He blows me off. When I think everything is clear, Autumn’s best friend puts her face up in mine and calls me a fucking bitch and a stupid cunt over and over again until I leave. Shaken and defeated. Kicked off the playground.
Greg doesn’t believe me. He tells me I am having unhealthy delusions. About Autumn kicking me out. About our relationship. He texts me, “I know that this will be hard for you to hear but this isn’t true.”
I’m mad. I know what I saw.
My lungs feel full and hot. Crimson anger turns to helplessness. Greg is supposed to be my friend, why is he lying to me? Why is he making me feel crazy? I’m wearing the real vintage Gianni Versace jacket I got for four dollars at an estate sale. Nothing bad is supposed to happen in magic four-dollar vintage Versace.
It takes me a while to see what I didn’t. That Autumn is jealous, she's not worth the next three months I will spend checking her Twitter every day so we can subtweet each other back and forth. I don’t see that Gregs' love was all gone well before I met him. Or that I could have left them both and spent the night eating ice cream with Lily Tomlin's TV son.
Kenny
I’m in a Lyft Line on my way to meet Aubrey at Los Angeles Pride. It’s Dyke Day and we are going up going up in the canyon to picnic like good proud bi women. I’m in the front seat next to the driver, a handsome black man in his forties. There are two men in the back at first, they gossip about television. The driver asks them if they know the show Storage Wars.
“I’m Kenny from that show,” he says but it’s not a brag.
It would be hard to brag about your television experience while you are currently driving a Lyft. I watch Storage Wars sometimes when I visit my parents, but I have no idea if he’s telling the truth. It would be a very weird lie. The men get out and a block later two women in their forties get in the back seat, one of them is growing tiny breasts for the first time. We go up the canyon and they get out first, I briefly consider following them, we are probably going to the same place and they seem to know where it is. I’m using a vague location Aubrey sent as my destination, but my phone is almost dead and I don’t want to get lost. Kenny and I immediately get stuck in Pride traffic. We sit for hours. He asks me about the couple that gets out, I explain.
“Wait, so you’re telling me that was a woman? They were a couple?”
“Yeah Kenny,” I say.
“Shit okay then,” Kenny says in a way that tells me he’s cool.
I like Kenny immediately. He drives me all around the hills and we have no idea where we are, but we get along even though we don’t talk about anything in particular.
“I could go on a road trip with you,” Kenny declares twenty minutes in.
“Do you like burgers?” he asks me.
“Yeah, I like burgers,” I tell him.
“Yeah, I would go on a road trip with you.” Kenny seems satisfied that he was right about me. He drives me to a park where I am supposed to meet Aubrey, but no one is there. We go around and around looking for her, but we don’t see her.
“Don’t worry,” Kenny says, “I’m not charging you. I’m Blackman and you’re Blackman’s Robin, you can’t charge Robin extra, but you also can’t just drop your partner off in the wrong spot.”
Live From New York, It’s Matty Matt
Later that night after paling around with Kenny I’m standing with Courtney outside the Pack Theater waiting to see Ella’s play. Courtney is smoking, and I am taking the occasional drag because I think the cigarette goes with the new white and green jumpsuit I am wearing. Everyone is saying some guy from Saturday Night Live is here. They keep saying his full name in whispers though I’m sure he overhears, it is probably the reason he is there to begin with. I cannot tell you which cast member because I like my career, so we will call him Matty Matt.
The name Matty Matt keeps bumping around the crowd on the sidewalk like a beach ball, everyone gets their chance to keep it in the air.
I don’t know who Matty Matt is. Courtney explains, “Former SNL guy.” taking a drag and trying to look casual as she sneaks a peak over her shoulder, “I don’t see him now though.”
When I tell my mom later I met Matty Matt she considers this a huge celebrity sighting. She cried the day Chris Farley died.
Courtney is halfway through her cigarette, she smokes them fast but I keep interrupting her and trying to swirl it on my finger like Bette Davis. A drunk guy comes up to me, appearing out of nowhere.
“I like your outfit.” He smiles at me and I take a few steps back from him. He holds out his right hand, his left hand is occupied holding a forty.
“Hi, I’m Matty Matt.”
I take a moment to feel special before rolling my eyes. Of course, this fool is who everyone is swooning over. I don’t see anything other than another fat drunk comedian hitting on me. Unfortunately, fat drunk comedians are my type, but I’m trying to quit. I’m shocked to find I am deeply unimpressed for once, I consider it growth. A fan comes up to him and asks for a photo. An improviser who's looks almost thirty. This kid is drooling, thanking Matty Matt for inspiring him. Matty Matt moves the top half of his body around for the picture but keeps his toes firmly planted on the ground towards me.
While he is distracted talking, Courtney whispers to me, “He must be off the wagon again, but I think he’s still on that other NBC show right now.”
He’s sweet, takes the phone and waves the kid with the camera off before I can get away. He's not letting me out of his sight, even if it means being called a dick on Twitter later.
Matty Matt tries to flirt, it gets awkward fast. He knows he’s striking out. I feel bad for him, under any other circumstances he’s probably a sweet guy. But by twenty-seven I have known plenty of sweet guys who act badly, and I’d let them get away with it.
“Well we need to go inside now,” Courtney tells him, attempting to pull me away from the slaughter.
He looks at Courtney. “You have a really nice body.” She does. She works out excessively and is a dancer.
“Your body needs work,” he says to me.
Courtney and I both hiss at him, “Wow that was so rude.”
He sits on the hood of a car parked on the street which we are certain doesn’t belong to him.
“What? it’s not a bad thing my body also needs work. Come sit on my lap I like you.”
Courtney and I leave him drunk still sitting on the car.
Inside Courtney and I hold each other’s hands in the auditorium. The play is horrible, but our friend does a good job with what she can. We are both thinking about how if we just go back outside and get over our disgust I can have everything. This wasn’t a let me fuck you hit on. This was a let me love you hit on. If we just went back outside I could be living in a penthouse apartment with a million count sheets and have a shopping budget by tomorrow. I probably wouldn’t even mind fucking him, he’s sweet in the way I like and good looking. I'm also in credit card debt. But instead, we just sit there and watch our friend’s crappy play.