A man cheated on his wife with me… and she wrote a book about it.

Not surprisingly, it didn’t take long for me to succumb to the LA stereotype of dating an older man. My first job in LA  (well, second, if you count being a personal assistant to a woman who transcribed medical records and claimed she was psychic) was at a camera rental store on Melrose Avenue, not the trendy part- the shitty part by the freeway. I sat behind a desk all day printing contracts for customers to sign, but mostly I was on Myspace, amazed that people existed in other parts of the world. I would occasionally meet a semi-famous person, like Danica McKellar who played Winnie Cooper, and oddly enough the man my high school was named after, Loy Norrix. I had no idea Loy was an actual person until I saw his receipt and was very confused. I also met a commercial director named John who is still one of the strangest humans I’ve known. I found out many years after we lost touch that he had electroconvulsive therapy, and a secret daughter. His ex-wife -who he was cheating on with me- wrote about all of this in a book. 

***

John walked up to the front counter and looked at me like he knew me. He was renting a camera for a music video he was shooting in India. He was wearing a dark denim jacket with light denim jeans. You know those early 00’s jeans with designs embroidered on the back pockets? Those. I couldn’t tell if he was really stylish, trying too hard, or Canadian. He reminded me of Beck- light brown hair and blue eyes. He was older than me, I assumed he was 30 because, as a 22 year old, 30 was old as hell. 

“Oh hello, how are you doing today?” He said with a grin so large I thought I was in the Black Hole Sun music video. 

“Good, I guess. How are you?” Please leave me alone so I can go back to curating my Myspace Top 8.

“I’m just spectacularly fabulous, headed to India tomorrow!”

“Sounds fun!” I tried to match his tone but I have a problem with sounding sarcastic even when I’m genuinely enthused.

He stood there and smiled, like he wanted to say something, then he walked towards the door.  He stopped, then, walked back towards me. What does this maniac want now?

“You have a great… something about you… your aura? I don’t know, but would you want to maybe hang out when I return from India?” 

I was young and didn’t know how to say no so I agreed. He said he’d talk to me in a month. He didn’t ask for my number or anything so I assumed he was either a wizard or I’d never see him again. 

Exactly one month later he showed up to my job. Wearing the same exact outfit.

***

Ten years after John and I lost touch, I went at an AlAnon meeting (the one for family/friends of alcoholics) in Silverlake and I saw a familiar looking woman walk into the room. It took me about three seconds to realize it was her. We made eye contact but I have no idea if she recognized me because it had been ten years since we met. I spent the hour occasionally looking at her to see if she was looking at me. I considered getting up to leave but that would draw attention. After the meeting I went home and googled her to make sure it was the same woman. It was definitely Stacey, John’s ex-wife.

I also saw that she was an author of several books. I read the descriptions for them and one of them caught my attention. It was about her fucked up relationships, one being with a “Harvard grad.” I previewed the first few pages and read a sentence that described her ex as “having a strange quirk- he punctuates his conversations with cartoon noises, like woo-hoo! or hee-hee!”  Yeah, that was him. I needed to buy this book immediately. I spent the rest of my day reading the entire thing. 

***

For our first date, John picked me up from my shitty Hollywood studio apartment where I slept on an air mattress, and drove me downtown. On the twenty minute drive he told me about going to Harvard, the time he went rafting on the LA river and was nearly arrested, his job as an animator on PeeWee’s Playhouse, and the movie he was currently writing that was basically his life’s work. He also mentioned a sister who was involved with the CIA. I, of course, googled this after our date and found out she was incarcerated for pretending to be an FBI spy for the Iraqis. A judge ruled her “mentally unfit” and eventually released her.  His father also ran for political office in the 90s and was caught using illegal funding. Not understanding what red flags were at the time, I was fascinated.

That night, we went to a Japanese restaurant in the Omni hotel and had $97 worth of sushi and 2 bottles of sake.  There’s no way I would remember that exact amount had I not read it in Stacey’s book.

***

Stacey had sensed something was wrong with John. He was acting distant towards her. Stacey also knew John kept all his receipts in the front pockets of his jeans. She decided to go through them one night while John was in the shower and found a receipt from the Omni hotel for $97 and checked the date, it was a night John claimed to be out of town. She found movie tickets and a receipt for a hotel in Santa Monica on the weekend he was supposedly in Texas visiting his daughter. Wait, daughter? This was news to me. When she confronted him he denied it and changed the subject, even getting a little angry with her. She knew he was lying but she kept ignoring it because she was in love. 

She mentions how John was in a months-long depressive slump until he got a job to direct a music video in India. He talked about all the fun equipment he was renting from a camera store on Melrose. She thought it was so odd he kept repeating the name of the camera store and a fun sing-songy way. John didn’t invite Stacey to India with him for this job, but she insisted on going, thinking this trip might bring them closer together. It didn’t. When they returned, John needed to shoot more stuff, so he needed to make a few more trips to a certain camera store to get more equipment. 

***

The more we hung out, the more I liked him. He was weird, and as someone who grew up in a small town of 80,000 people, any and all weird things fascinate me. He told me over and over how pretty I was and how happy I made him. He was manly and confident despite being sensitive. He held my hand a lot. He would do this odd caressing and finger squeeze that was uncomfortable at first, but I eventually looked forward to it. One time I mentioned I had no idea why Cap’n Crunch didn’t just have an all berries cereal (this was pre Oops All Berries), and the next time I saw him he gave me a box full of just the berries. Oh and also he was actually 39, not 30. 

He lived in a huge loft downtown with floor to ceiling windows, converted from an old bank building, across the hall from Ryan Gosling. It was about three thousand square feet, the floors were polished concrete and the walls were exposed brick. It was strewn with books and art, the kind you see in movies about tortured male artists. Ugh, I was so easily impressed. He had such a childlike manner that I assumed some fucked up shit happened in his youth, but eventually realized that mental illness ran in his family and that was most likely the culprit of his personality. At this point the only negative thing about him were those jeans, but he was so cute and quirky I could easily overlook them. 

He flew me to Toronto for a weekend where he was directing a commercial. The fact that a man spent money to put me on an airplane to come see him blew my mind. Especially in another country. Canada? So exotic! We went to dinner and got entrees that cost more than $20. I felt like a princess. I felt like I was in a direct-to-video Midwestern remake of Pretty Woman. I’m the type of person who thinks my life is a book that’s already written and the last page says “haha I told you so,” so this was a surprisingly dreamy weekend. 

***

During my month long affair with John, I only went to his home a few times. It was right next to a café called Pete’s where we would get garlic fries. He told me he was separated from his wife, but still legally married, so I would jokingly text him “Hey married man wanna hang out?”  I thought it was so cool and edgy. 

One day I texted him that exact thing and didn’t get a text back for a few hours, which was unusual for him, but then an unknown number called and I had a very strange feeling about it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Stacey, you texted my husband, who is this?” 

I started to panic.

“Umm, I think I texted the wrong number, sorry.”

“No but you texted my husband’s phone.”

“Nope, I didn’t.” Good one Melissa.

“Okay?”

“Bye!” I hung up and quickly threw my phone on the floor. 

She called back and left a voicemail, “Hi Melissa, it’s Stacey. I’m not mad, I just want to talk to you to figure out what’s going on between you and John. Please call me back.”

I did not call her back.

***

Stacey and John went to dinner one night and John left his phone in her purse. The next day Stacey was driving around running errands when she got a call from an unknown number. It was John and he asked where she was because he needed his phone ASAP. She asked why he needed it so urgently and he said he just needs it. So she told him he could come meet her to get it. Of course she was suspicious and decided to dig into her purse to find his phone. She saw an unread text message from a number she didn’t recognize. She opened the message and it said “hey there married man.” She felt sick. John arrived to get the phone and she confronted him. He said I was just some random dumb chick he met at the camera rental store and to not worry about me. I mean, he’s not wrong. 

John went into a long rant about how he was depressed and needed his mojo back, and the only way he knew how was with women. He said the only times in his life where he has motivation and success are when he’s single and dating new women. If he got a girl to like him he would get his power back. The only way he feels loved is if he’s desired by women.

So he was expecting me to fix him? I eat cereal for dinner. How was I to fix this 40 year old man? Of course it wasn’t me specifically, it could’ve been any random dumb chick working at a front desk of a camera rental store. 

Stacey and John go to therapy.  The therapist asks John if he’s willing to drop the logic that women help him get jobs. He doesn’t know the answer to that. The therapist asks if he’s willing to work on his marriage by no longer seeing me. He claims we “mostly talk on the phone anyway.” The therapist says “so you’ll stop calling her?” John says yes. 

Obviously that was a lie because I read in Stacey’s book that even after they went to therapy she would catch John on the phone with me, seeing him from afar smiling and laughing.

***

A few days after Stacy left me that voicemail, John finally called.

“So you’re not separated?” I asked.

“I’m sorry.  I left my phone in her purse when we were eating tacos and I made a goof.” He actually called this a goof.

“Okay, well this sucks.” 

“Yeah, I’m sorry again, you are a wondrous soul and the prettiest of pretties, you deserve better. I guess I’ll see you around.”  Even sad he sounded happy.

***

A few months later I quit my job at the camera rental store and I started working at this awful bar in Hollywood called Cabana Club. The money was slightly better and I had more time during the day to figure out what I was doing with my life. Photography has always been a passion of mine so I was perusing Craigslist for photo-related jobs and saw a post that caught my eye: Fine art photographer seeking subjects for a project about girls on MySpace. Please reply with link to your profile. The photographer was a woman who wanted to take pictures of women in their homes. It paid $100. Sounded perfect, so I replied to the ad. I immediately got an email back with a time and place to meet.

I enter the Borders book store on Hollywood & Vine and immediately see a beautiful woman sitting at a table in the cafe. She smiles at me and I assume she’s the Craigslist photographer so I walk over.

“Melissa?” She asks with a huge smile.

“Hi! Nice to meet you!”  I sat down across from her.

“I’m so happy you were interested in the project. I got over a hundred replies and had to narrow it down.” 

“Wow, that’s a ton!” Something starts to feel weird. I’m not sure what it is but I start to feel slightly paranoid, like this photoshoot and job aren’t real.

The photographer continues: “The project is going to be displayed in my friend’s gallery downtown…”

I start to drift off a little, half paying attention to what she’s saying, and recalling a conversation I had with John about his ex: “Stacey’s a super tall, stylish bi-racial woman with an amazing afro.”

Wait. Did this photographer say her name was Stacey? No. She didn’t say her name. While she was talking I looked down at the printed out emails she brought and I saw at the bottom of one it said, “Look forward to meeting you, Stacey.” 

Oh shit, this was Stacey. Did she know who I was? Maybe she didn’t. Of course she didn’t, that would be insane, right?

Stacey continues: “It’s based on a screenplay I wrote about a woman who finds out her dead husband was cheating on her with a much younger girl, and she discovers all this out from his Myspace page.”

Okay yes this was definitely Stacey. I kept nodding and smiling. Was she going to punch me in the face? Was she going to scream at me? I just continued to listen and act unaware. 

She asked me some questions and I have no memory of what we discussed but I remember sweating and wanting to get the hell out of there.

“Yeah, sounds great, I’m definitely interested!”  Lies.

“Okay great, we’ll keep in touch. So nice to meet you!” 

Ahhhhhh! I ran out of there and texted John: “By any chance is Stacey doing a photography project?” He replied : “She is!”

***

Towards the end of the book I assumed she was going to finish talking about their divorce and blah blah, but she decided to turn her failed relationship into a project. She started writing a script about a woman whose husband dies and she finds out via MySpace he has been having an affair with a much younger woman. She then poses as a photographer to meet this younger woman. While working on the script, Stacey thinks it might be a good idea to actually go through with this photo project for research. She has a friend who owns a gallery and wants to put together an art show featuring the photos. Stacey creates a Craigslist ad similar to what she wrote in her script: Fine art photographer seeking subjects for a project about girls on MySpace. Please reply with link to your profile. 

Stacey wasn’t expecting me to reply to the ad, but she thought for half a second how hilarious it would be if I did. 

She wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming response to her ad. While sifting through over 100 replies she clicks on the link to a MySpace profile and recognizes it immediately. It’s mine. She knows it’s mine because she saw me on John’s profile. She’s shocked, but knows she can’t pass up this opportunity. It’s life imitating art imitating life. She writes me back with a time and place to meet. 

***

Stacey sees me walk into Borders and isn’t sure if she’s going to confront me or just play it cool. All the growth she’s learned in her forty-one years kicks in and she decides to stay present in the moment, explaining the project like she has been doing with the rest of the girls. She says I told her I wanted to be a model, but notices the acne on my chin, shitty black eyeliner, and childish gestures, and starts to feel more like my protective mother than my rival. She wonders if I’ll find the validation I’m looking for by dating older married men. She feels a sense of closure after our meeting, which is the exact opposite of what I was feeling.

John calls Stacey after he gets my text and says, “I hear Melissa wants you to take her picture.” Stacey says she might just have to and loves the idea of the girl John cheated with and his ex-wife forming a creative alliance.

***

Needless to say, I didn’t end up doing the project. I did, however, start talking to John again. He swore to me they were officially broken up and getting divorced. He moved out of their loft to give Stacey some time to find a new place. A part of me believed him, but a part of me missed him so I convinced myself he was telling the truth.

***

One of the last times I saw him was at a loft downtown he was living at temporarily. It was some sort of design office during the day, and he had a tiny room with a bed that was on top of a closet, so you could barely sit up or you’d bump your head. It was a far cry from the glamorous apartment across from Ryan Gosling. 

He texted at 2am asking me to come over to “sleep.” I was at a rave nearby so I showed up to his place drunk, high, and wearing tiny American Apparel shorts. We had some more drinks, and when he went to the bathroom I noticed his computer was open to his MySpace profile. Being the snoop I was I decided to look at who he was messaging with. I was shocked, but also not shocked, to see tons of conservations with women around my age, asking them on dates. It made me feel shitty. I knew we were not in any sort of committed relationship, but a part of me really wanted to think I was all that he thought about it. 

We had sex and I bumped my head on the ceiling too many times. It was summer and he had no AC so it was hot as hell in this loft. Everything felt off. I was still upset about seeing those messages to other girls, and this sex felt more mechanical than usual. I turned over to sleep and spotted his dumb embroidered pocket jeans crumpled up on the floor. They were a sign this was coming to an end.

***

According to Stacy’s book, John tried to get back with her a couple times because he claimed to be cured from electroconvulsive therapy, but she knew better. She also said she has no doubt I’ll probably relate to a lot of what she wrote in fifteen years, sometime after I get married.

Funnily enough, It’s been almost exactly fifteen years since we met and I completely understand her point of view and wish I had talked to her at Borders that day. What would I have said though? What could I have possibly told her that would make her feel better? Maybe I should’ve said something when I saw her in Silverlake. I feel like I should apologize, but that doesn’t seem right. I was 22 and didn’t have even a fraction of her life experience. But now? Now I would’ve called her back in a second and probably formed a friendship over how we were both lied to, John’s bizarre upbeat disposition, and those fucking jeans.