Planes, Star Wars & MDMA

“The energy in LA is just so different from anywhere else. The people, the sun, the atmosphere, the nightlife! I’m over in Marina del Rey because I always wanted to live by the ocean and the beach. I told myself as a kid that I would live by the beach one day and now I’m out here and I’m doing it! It’s surreal, it’s really surreal!” The Pilot raves to me from the driver's seat of his blue Mustang convertible, top currently down. “Obviously, being a pilot, I can work a lot of different places, but Cali for me really was where I always wanted to go. I really think I’m going to fall in love and settle down here. Sure, it’s expensive, but it’s worth it because it’s so beautiful and the weather is better than anywhere else.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” I reluctantly agree as I sink down in the passenger seat. I can’t tell if I’m annoyed because of the stereotypical recent LA transplant conversation I’m being forced into or because convertibles are a nightmare for my hair. Luckily we’re only a couple blocks from our destination.

The Pilot, a 35-year-old Michigan native I met on Bumble is turning out to be a bit more naively enthusiastic than I anticipated. We had drinks last week and it was a good enough time that when he invited me to dinner and a show at the Hollywood Bowl I couldn’t find a reason to say no. 

I know very few things about this man. I know he’s a pilot for a prominent airline, I forget which one. I know he loves his mother, and misses her. A lot. I know he has a nephew he facetimes almost every night. I know he says ‘Cali’ instead of ‘California’. None of these are negative qualities, besides mentioning his mother five times during a six minute car ride.

“Oh my god! Is that the Pantages? I’m going to take my mom to see Book of Mormon when she’s here, she’s been dying to see it!” Sorry, that’s six.

There’s something endearing about The Pilot, though. He has this big toothy smile and big bright blue eyes that light up when he gets excited. Note that I’m never excited about the same things that he’s excited about but I like that he’s excited! I like that one of the things he gets excited about is me! He’s very tall, probably close to 6’5, and skinny with narrow shoulders. He has a square jaw and a neat military style haircut. He looks like he’s flown a plane. 

This is the first time in a while I’ve gone on a date with a guy who has a plan for what he wants his life to look like. He doesn’t just want to go out and party and get drunk and fuck as many Calvin Klein models as he can. He wants substance. He wants a partner. A partner he can start a family with. Now I’m not saying that’s what I want but I’m saying I could want that. I could potentially maybe want that with the right guy. Maybe. 

“This is it, right?” The Pilot asks me as we take a right onto Selma.

“Yes sir,” I say, directing him to pull up in front of The Dream hotel. A Valet comes out to greet us and takes the keys from The Pilot. As we walk into the hotel, The Pilot remembers he forgot his cell phone in the car and runs back out to retrieve it. Once we’ve reached the elevator he thinks that he might want a jacket since we’re going to the roof and runs back out to the car to grab one. I start to develop a familiar annoyed feeling. I can’t quite place it, but I’ve had it before.

The Highlight Room, on the roof of The Dream is something of an ideal first date spot for someone who just moved to Los Angeles. With its 360 degree views of the city, its slightly pretentious but still extremely basic menu, and its out-of-work actor staff make it equal parts inviting and intimidating. The Pilot holds my reluctant hand as we exit the elevator and take in the view on the way to the host stand.

“Wow! Look at this view! This is gorgeous! This is beautiful! This is LA! This is what it's about!” I know where the annoyed feeling I’m having is coming from. It’s the same feeling I get when I’m hanging out with my mother for too long and she starts to make everything I say just a slightly bigger deal than it needs to be.

“Aren’t you in love with this view!?” The Pilot looks back at me on the way to our table.

“It’s really beautiful.” I say back, and I mean it. I could learn to appreciate the moment I’m in a bit more. Sure, I admit I’m getting annoyed at The Pilot for acting a little childish, but maybe that’s because I act a little too cool for everything all the time. I don’t try to. 

Once seated I scan over the drink menu. 

“I think I’m going to need a gigantic martini,” I say.

“That sounds really good!” The Pilot agrees, “I’ve been really into spritzes lately, I think I’m going to do one of those because I have a couple bottles of wine to take to the bowl.”

“Music to my ears,” I smile at him, he grins back, happy that he got a bit of approval. I recognize that and wonder if my annoyance has shown through on my face. Probably, I’m terrible at hiding my emotions. I try to soften up. “So, I’ve never been to the Hollywood Bowl before, what was the last thing you saw there?”

“That’s insane that you’ve never been when you live right next to it! That’s crazy!” The Pilot acts as though I’ve committed a crime.

“I know, it’s just nuts.”

“Last month I saw the Los Angeles Philharmonic twice and then earlier this month I saw them play the Phantom of the Opera.” 

“You saw the Phantom of the Opera there?”

“No, I saw the Philharmonic play the Phantom of the Opera songs.”

“Oh. Okay.” That sounds so boring to me, but I’m here for it.

“Yeah, tonight is going to be a little different because they’re showing Star Wars, and they’ll be playing the movie while the LA Philharmonic will be playing the score.”

“So we’ll be able to watch the movie?” I ask. The Pilot laughs.

“Well yeah! If you want to watch the movie! I’ll probably be watching the musicians play.”

“Huh,” I think for a moment to myself. That is interesting. “We are two different people.” I say with a smile as though to make it a good thing.

“That’s why I thought this would be a good time to bring you, because the movie will also be playing. We’ll both enjoy it.” Now that’s sweet. He knew that I have the attention span of a squirrel on crack cocaine, and chose a show that wouldn’t make me bored out of my skull. That is sweet? Right?

“Hi! Are you two ready to order?” The Waitress appears almost out of nowhere.

“Yeah, I’m ready for everything I think,” says The Pilot, who looks at me for approval.

“Me too,” I say, “I’m gonna do a Belvedere martini, slightly dirty, no vermouth and just regular olives are fine. Then I think the market salad looks good.”

“Thank you,” says the waitress as I hand her my menu.

“And I’m going to do an aperol spritz,” The Pilot looks at his menu for a moment, “and the steak frights, medium please.” The way I am holding myself together well enough not to have a visceral reaction to the pronunciation of the word ‘frite’ is award winning.

“That sounds great,” The Waitress says in an alarmingly polite voice and walks away to put in our order. The Pilot smiles at me in a funny way that makes me feel slightly off kilter.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. I’m just curious, and I know we talked about this a little bit the other night when we had drinks, and you don’t have to have an answer right now, but I am curious what you’re looking for down the line.” The Pilot asks the question.

“Like I said the other night, I’m really just dating right now. I’m open to a lot but I’m not sure what it is that I really want yet.” I give my best politically correct answer, “What are you picturing down the line for you?”

“I see myself settled down. I want to have kids, do you want to have kids?” You have to admire his directness.

“I… would like to … maybe do that. It would depend on a thousand factors.”

“I really would like to have two kids. I know that that would be a little complicated because my work takes me away sometimes for a week at a time so I would have to find a partner that would be okay with staying home.” The Pilot looks at me for a long time without saying anything. 

I smile at him, unsure of what he’s looking for, then I realize that he wasn’t making statements he was asking a question. He was asking me if I would be okay with staying home with his hypothetical dream kids while he flies to every corner of the world living his dream of turning autopilot on and off.

“I… have to go to the bathroom.”

I shut and lock the door behind me. 

What the fuck?

I look in the mirror while I contemplate a life as an oppressed housewife. It doesn’t sound so bad. I could stay at home all the time. I could purchase Alo and Lululemon. I could take toddlers to the park. I could develop a sexual relationship with a pilates instructor. I could do it. I could try.

I reach into my faux Prada triangle bag looking for my mint Glossier balm dotcom. I moisturize my lips and start to feel myself grow angry. What kind of nerve does this guy have? Who has the audacity to ask someone to stay home with their kids while they live their dream? How fucking selfish can you be to want to have kids, then spend sixty percent of your time not with them while your partner takes care of them for you? 

I drop my balm dotcom into my bag and I see something that brings my thought train to a screeching halt. I reach into my bag to reveal a small plastic baggie containing half a sparkly orange pressed pill. A tesla. Half a tesla.

It’s hard to ignore the excitement growing inside me at this moment. It must be leftover from last weekend or maybe the weekend before? It doesn’t matter, the only question is what to do? I make eye contact with myself in the mirror as if my reflection would speak to me the answer.

What would Martha do?

My reflection makes a skeptical face, then shakes his head ‘no’. We can’t do a molly on a date. That would be crazy. That would be insane. That would not be something a future housewife would do. I agree with myself and reluctantly drop the tesla back into my bag and exit the restroom.

***

It is kind of insane that up until this point I had never been to a show at the Hollywood Bowl. Say what you want about The Pilot, but he is right on this one. It’s like this whole subculture of LA that I was totally unaware of. People literally take the whole day and just hang out at the bowl before a concert or show or whatever. They have a picnic or eat at one of the restaurants and socialize with each other. Like. Why did I not know this? Oh, I know, because I’m not a thousand years old. Because I have never until this moment had a reason or desire to listen to live classical music.

This being said, moving through the crowd of families with laughing children carrying lightsabers is making me pretty excited to watch Star Wars. I’m not a mega nerd or anything like that but I’m no stranger to the franchise. I hold The Pilot’s hand as he leads me through the crowd toward our seats.

Once we settle into our seats I take in the view. The theater is beautiful. Iconic. I feel genuine excitement, at the very least I’m going to enjoy the movie.

“So I have pink or white moscato, which would you like?” My heart drops. I look over to see two bottles of Barefoot moscato in his oversized tote bag. It is so sweet of him to bring wine for us to share, but moscato? I’m not a wine person, and I can’t prove this, but I know for a fact that Norman Bates drank moscato. Norman Bates and every other dickless mama’s boy in the world.

“White, please.” I say with a smile. I’m going to get through this. I am not going to let him annoy me. I am going to be the best version of myself. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, I take it out to see it’s a text from Kyle.

Kyle: Hey! How’s the bowl? Text me when you’re done, Nate and I are going outtttttt!

“Ya know, there is one thing about LA that is really hard,” The Pilot says.

“What’s that?”

“Making friends. Making friends is really hard here,” he says, “I’ve lived in Detroit, Boston and Huston and I’ve never had so much trouble making friends.”

“Really?” I ask, now feeling sorry for this sweet man with the sweet wine.

“Yeah, it’s tough. I even went to The Abbey the other night by myself, but no one talked to me. Everyone seems very standoffish here.” He’s not wrong. I probably am a big contributor to the problem.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It just gets lonely sometimes, but my mom and dad are coming to visit next week and that should be really fun. I’m hoping to take them here at least one time while they’re in town.” That’s seven.

I sip my wine as the lights lower and the familiar sound of the Star Wars theme begins. 

***

The Pilot’s blue mustang comes to a stop in front of my apartment. I’m feeling a little buzzed and a little nauseous from the wine.

“Thanks for the ride, I loved the movie,” I say, nervous about what’s going to happen next.

“I'm happy you had fun. I had a great time too,” The Pilot says, turning to face me, he lingers as though waiting for something and I give it to him. A kiss, nothing too enthusiastic, nothing too open mouthed. Not a peck, one of my lips was in between one of his lips at one point, but I pulled away before it could develop into a make out.

“Have a good night.”

***

I slam down my second lemon drop shot and wave my hand at the bartender to order another. HiTops is packed and the music is far superior to anything the Philharmonic could dish out. Kyle and Nate stand on either side of me, they knock back identical shots and share looks of dismay after hearing my recap of my date.

“He sounds awful!” Kyle says with wide eyes. Nate, standing next to him, nods in agreement.

“I don’t care how tall he is, telling you he wants you to be a housewife is crazy!” Nate says.

“I am a horrible person aren’t I? I was probably so mean to him. He’s this lonely, sweet guy who deserves to find someone great. Why can’t I like someone like that?” I ask. There has to be something wrong with me that I can’t appreciate a good man when he comes around. Does every man I fall for have to have some irreparable toxic trait in order for me to stick around?

“Why would you want to like a person like that?” Nate asks, “He sounds so boring.”

“He is boring!” I say, “but that doesn’t mean that…” I’m hearing what is about to come out of my mouth and realize how ridiculous I sound.

Kyle puts a hand on my shoulder, “you’re not a horrible person.” He says, “you were probably mean to him, but you’re not a horrible person for not liking him.” I know he’s right. I just wish, just once I could fall for the boring, nice guy with no problems, a decent job and a good head on his shoulders. 

One Last Time by Ariana Grande starts to play, and the boys react how they normally do with screams and cheers and pleas to head to the dance floor.

I look at Kyle and Nate and feel a genuine happiness. Like for now this is enough. For now this is what makes me happy. I may not have plans to settle down and start a family but I definitely have one. That’s when I remember:

“You guys wanna do a tesla?”