March 25th, 1990

March 25th, 1990

At home

“You went to Paris? Just like that?” David asked.

“It’s only a forty-minute flight.”

“Man, that’s just crazy. How was it?”

“It was wonderful, I looked at a bunch of houses.”

“Anything good?”

“They each had something unique to offer but…”

“But what?”

“Perhaps living alone in the middle of the French countryside isn’t the best idea.”

“Then how about the city?”



“No, I mean yes” I stuttered. “I’d love that but I can’t afford city prices yet.”

David laughed his lovely laugh.

“What’re you laughing at?”

“I like that you said yet.”

“Well, someday I suppose, if that’s what I want.”

“Either way, it’s cool that you looked.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I did, Jean Jacques was really helpful,” I blurted, without thinking about it.

“Who’s Jean Jacques?” David asked, without missing a beat.

“Eh, he’s someone I met earlier this year.”

“He’s French?”

“Yes, Parisian born and bred.”

“Is he someone special?”

I was a bit taken aback by his question and cleared my throat while I quickly thought of an appropriate response. “In some ways he is. He’s much older and has been really helpful but in a romantic sense, no, he’s not special. Not in that regard.”

“So he’s more like a friend?”

One of mum’s most used phrases popped into my head; Honesty is the best policy.

“Ehm, I’ll be perfectly honest with you, we didn’t start out that way but that’s how it is now.”

“So he’s someone you’ll see again?”

“Yes, I’m sure I will.”

“And that’s cool. Right?”

“Yeah it is, actually. He’s a good guy. I hope I’m making it clear that he’s just a friend.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” he laughed, “But I do have one more question for you.”

“What’s that?”

“When are you coming to LA?”


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