He Wasn't Looking For a Hook-Up (P.1)

A country boy at heart (with two boys and a pet pig).

Keith, 43, cartoonist, lives in the valley with his two boys and pet pig.

“Can make a mean campfire. Country boy at heart,” he wrote on his profile. “Miss the four seasons back East. Snuggle weather, the colors of Fall, warm cider in the winter.”

A little chubby in the face in some pictures. But good hair, really good. James Dean hair. James Dean style. Levi’s rolled at the cuffs, sheep collared jean jacket, dark brown work boots.

The valley. I imagined driving past the Hollywood Bowl, over Barham, past Warner Brothers, down Victory Boulevard right on into that valley sun beating down on unattractive squat homes. And that name, Keith. I couldn’t date a Keith.

“You’re already talking yourself out of going out with him and you haven’t even met him yet,” my sister said.

Navigating traffic on the 101. I always got ahead of myself.

After two weeks of back and forth and no date, I was just about to delete him when he messaged,

“Let’s meet for coffee.”

“Sounds good,” I messaged back.

“How about Silver Lake?”

Driving across town for a coffee date? I like the men who come to my area. Like the guy who looked like the singer in Talking Heads, he lived in Northridge and drove twenty miles to take me out to an Argentine dinner. Or the Pasadena software engineer whose ex-wife, an underwear model who left him for another software engineer who, according to Pasadena guy, wasn’t even more handsome than him. He drove 15 miles to see me. And my sister, she had one guy fly in from San Francisco to take her out on a date.

Country boy Keith with your James Dean hair, two boys and pet pig – come to me. He was willing.

I wore a lavender patterned blouse, black faux leather jeans, bronze studded ankle boots and a silver cowboy belt. Hair loose, curly.

“I’m the guy with the beard outside,” he messaged, as I walked up and down Larchmont Village looking for the coffee shop we had planned to meet at. “Maybe you saw me and decided to bolt.”

“Lol,” I messaged spotting a bearded fellow seated in front of a gourmet cheese shop.

We looked at one another. Is this him?

“Hi,” I said, smiling.

“Hi.”

No recognition. He didn’t look much like Keith in his profile pictures. About twenty pounds heavier. Nice, inviting face though, with a dark head of good hair and a beard.

“Do you know where The Coffee Lab is?” I asked, still unsure if it was him.

Maybe he didn’t recognize me.

“No, but I’ll look it up for you,” he said.

Can’t be him.

“I’m on Western, across from the Wiltern Theater,” Keith messaged. “Are you here?”

I had no idea why he thought Korea Town was Larchmont, but I felt light and easy about it, I was in a good mood.

“Lol, such is the nature of dating,” cross eyed, crying emoji, I messaged.

“Hahaha. I can be there in five.”

Five minutes? Only a guy who lived in the valley would think he could get there that fast.

As I waited for Keith outside of the hip coffee shop where we had decided to meet, a young man came up to me.

“Are you in a band?” he asked.

“I have no musical ability,” I laughed. “So, no, definitely not in a band.

“Oh, I thought you might be because you got a rock n’ roll kind of look going on.”

Normally I wouldn’t be open to talking to some guy I wasn’t interested in but since I was just waiting, I continued to engage.

“You know, some of the best singers of all time could only sing in one key,” he said. “Like Johnny Cash. What do you do?”

“I’m a writer.”

“I have a story idea I can give you. I can give you a voice lesson too.”

A bearded man approached. Keith. He looked like his picture.

“Hi,” I said.

He put his hands in his coat pockets, awkward like. “Hi.”

The three of us just stood there.

“Nice to meet you,” I said to the Johnny Cash guy before turning my attention to Keith.

Later, as we walked down Larchmont with our iced-teas, Keith said, “Yeah, when I came up and you were talking to him I thought you had planned a back to back date.”

He was good natured about it. We spent an hour walking around the neighborhood, sitting in a shaded spot on a wood bench outside of Chevalier’s Books.

“How long have you been on Bumble?” he asked.

“On and off for a few years. How about you?”

“That’s some time. Just three weeks for me.”

I felt embarrassed. As if being on it longer somehow made me less desirable.

“I don’t think it’s for me,” he said. “I’ll probably delete it soon. My parents have been married for fifty-five years. I always thought that would be me. A big family, one marriage.”

“Have you been married before?” I asked.

“Two times. Still on really good terms with my ex though, at first we weren’t but with co-parenting, it’s so important for the kids. We’ve been divorced for about two years.”

He went on to tell me she liked to go out for five-hundred-dollar meals, that she was an actress and drove a Tesla. I pictured a pretty brunette, on the shorter side with brown eyes, pale skin. I wondered how they met.

“They say the produce aisle and the bookstore are the two best places to meet a girl,” he said. “I had hopes of meeting some cute girl at a bookstore. Seems like a lot of girls on Bumble are just looking for a hookup. I don’t get it.”

“I always think that’s what guys are looking for.”

“I’m not,” he said.

Read Part 2 HERE.