Marco….
was devastating.
I twist and turn, struggling to find words to describe the electricity of him as the late afternoon sun pours into my room, bouncing off deep red walls and opulent paintings. It is the time of day where the light is so buttery and lush, that you feel completely sacred and transcendent. Until quickly and quietly it just slips away. Gone. This is how I feel about Marco.
I am in Rome now. I walk the streets all day and well into the evening. He is half Italian and half Swiss so part of me thinks I have about a fifty per cent chance of running into him. It would make sense. I have come here to heal from so many things that it would be lovely to think that our story resumed somewhere around La Galleria Nazionale or perhaps my local Trattoria where for some reason they think I am on The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I play along. Italian translation; free shots of Genziana and tons of much needed flirting.
We, Marco and I, began our dance many months ago on the heels of Covid via International Tinder. For some reason during that time period I was dating up a storm and learning many life lessons through my slightly reckless, albeit very liberating behavior around men. I was convinced I wanted one. ASAP! The dating Apps were becoming my favorite Corona Virus companion and evening ( and daytime and weekend ) entertainment.
He was landlocked in his native Switzerland due to Visa issues around the pandemic and very far away from his beloved New York. I was experiencing my own isolation journals, locked down in LA with a hormonal teenager, mindlessly swiping left over chilled glasses of ANYTHING when I almost passed on his ruggedly handsome face.
As I scanned his profile, I thought well at least he wasn’t dressed up as a hot dog in search of “drama free mustard,” or perhaps naked, suspended above his living room on a metal chain ( with nipple clips ) looking for “Mrs. Right.” It also appeared he had many sexy interests; sky diving, scuba and perhaps working on the frontlines somewhere. I also liked the only thing he said about himself was “Man.”
His opening text was sweet and well mannered. He commented on the energy in all of my pictures, which was quite ironic as I found out shortly after that he was one of the most famous photographers in the world. A little banter later, he gave me his website to check out his work. I left the chat to do so.
Presidents, rock stars, and unimaginably beautiful women floated all over his site as well as his decade long involvement with landmines. Pro bono of course. I jumped back on our Tinder feed saying that I really couldn’t see myself with such an underachiever. Bubbles danced around the screen as I waited nervously for his response…..
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
He threw it right back at me and that is the moment when I fell in love. Plus never once in all the time that I knew him, did he ever respond with LOL!
I was hooked.
Each day “Good Morning Darling Canada” would drift across my phone just as he was waiting for his evening to begin. We would commiserate about how much we both hated ‘icicles’ as he called them, referring to our earlier life in winter climates. As I trounced around Malibu sending him pictures of the icy Pacific ocean and March beaches, he would tell me about the isolation in Switzerland, how it was eerily quiet as Covid raged on and on. He had been trapped there for almost 18 months as studios and clients had tried to get him back to the US to work.
Then it happened. He was officially summoned to Los Angeles after two years of exile, to work on a film shooting the likes of Bono, Pharrell, and a whole slew of other relative unknowns. We had been texting so much that I inadvertently butt dialed him as soon as he landed, fresh off a leisurely wine infused lunch with my sister.
Our chat was light and breezy with non stop tangible chemistry. He was heading directly to set and would be up and running immediately. It was Thursday March the 11th at 8:42 PM. Our meeting would have to wait.
Cut to Friday night ensconced in my purple track suit watching Bill Maher and nursing a citrusy Negroni cocktail. I was texting with my friend, who at that time happened to be my neighbor in a very cool retro apartment building, when my What’s App went off.
“Canada. What’s up?”
I freeze!
I look around the room. Had he somehow been listening to our conversation? My musings on the magic of our correspondence, my unabashed excitement at the prospect of inhaling every inch of him when we finally connected and maybe, just maybe that he was THE ONE? Oh god!! Or even more horrifying. Could he somehow see me in this atrocious mauve tracksuit????
“Hey Switzerland! Just chilling and reading the New York Times. How are you?”
“Exhausted, but wished I could meet you for a drink.”
Texting friend was put on 911 alert.
Shit was about to go down.
Sans track suit.
If you enjoyed this post, please share with all your friends! Grazie! MJxx
What a beginning want the
rest