Maybe Tomorrow

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.

The wind was the only sound that we heard, warm air filled with specks of Sunday that tickled our skin. Our bodies sloped together, shaping the road through a silent language. So this is what Leo meant.

The landscape had a circus-like quality, with colors and shapes of a dry California summer performing about. We were slow-riding yellow clowns, making our way down Mulholland Drive, a twisty expanse of road that is a favorite of thrill riders from across LA. But BMW bikes are heavy, and not made to cut the corners like Japanese crotch rockets. So, we just took our time and silently enjoyed the ride.

I knew this road well, Mulholland always reminded me of home, so when I needed a break from LA, I would get on PCH, turn onto Malibu Canyon and reconnect with a much more simple time of life. As I looked around the familiar landscape, I wondered what took me so long to return.

Maybe, I was just waiting for the right moment.

I took a left onto a gravel road, and slowed as I made my entrance toward an often-overlooked part of the Southern California landscape, Paramount Ranch. Technically, this was not really a ranch, but a Western movie set that was used for scores of old westerns, and most recently by Dr. Quinn. And no, I never watched the show. The ranch was started in the early part of the centure as a studio workaround to unions, located just outside the boundary.

The set itself is comforting, though often upstaged by Malibu Creek’s Mash sets up the road. But there is an underdog quality to this place that I love. I wanted to share it.

“Here we are,” I said, stopping the bike.

“Wow, that was awesome. I wasn’t even scared. Not even when that guy in the pickup passed us.”

“So he did pass us, I actually closed my eyes. Hmm, maybe you should drive back.”

She hit me across the chest. This was going well.

“Have you ever been here?” I asked, recovering from her blow.

“Never, I didn’t even know it existed.”

“Damn Heather, you and your roommates need to hand in your Blockbuster card and get the fuck out of Couchville.”

She hit me again.

“Shut up, Rob, I'm active. I just never come this way.”

“Well, today, you do. C'mon.”

This time, I grabbed her hand and lead her across the bridge, where a small creek floated by effortlessly.

“This is beautiful,” she said as she looked at the western town to the right. No one was there but us and a Macy's-casual couple getting photographed. We kept our distance, allowing each to scurry along capriciously in our own privately connected worlds.

“Ok, so over here is where they filmed a bunch of things, back when people made westerns, I guess?” I failed to share the Dr. Quinn reference, and my lack of knowledge in Western cinema wasn’t really worth mentioning. I was bringing my “A” game, and self-deprecation wasn't on the menu. For on this day I was Ryan, not Seth, even if I did wear the penguin.

“I don’t really watch them,” she said.

“Yea, me either, so what the fuck do we care about these stupid shoot-'em-ups, right? Let’s go over here,” I said, leading her toward the open meadow and away from the engagement photography.

The meadow was huge and deserted, less one blanket set as a light blue island among the green. I started to walk toward it. Finally, I stopped right in front.

“Uh, Rob, I think this belongs to those people,” she said, looking toward the western set.

“Shit, they’re getting their pictures taken, they won’t be back for a while.”

“Rob, no,” she said, smiling incredulously. But I could tell for her there was some appeal in squatting someone else’s picnic. So I pushed it.

“C’mon,” I said, “have a seat.”

“No, no no," she said. It’s too weird.”

“All right, how about this, baby steps. Let’s play with their Frisbee, how’s that?”

She looked at me and smiled nervously. She shook her head "yes."

I leaned down and looked it over.

“Sweet, 165 grams, that’s totally my size. Get ready for some kick-ass throws,” I said sarcastically. Ok, Seth was begininning to rear his white-fro'd head, time to back it up.

So we stood around and played, tossing the Frisbee back and forth, hitting trees, making each other run, and playing human fetch and frisbee golf. The disc flew high into the sky and low into the creek. We ran after each throw in mad dashes, like mildly disobedient children borrowing toys that did not belong. It was a complete rush. It was complete freedom.

“Hey, they’re leaving,” she said, hiding the Frisbee behind her back and motioning for me to turn around.

“Should I yell to them? Do you think they’re coming back? I think they totally forgot," she added, like gunfire.

“Love will do that to you.”

“I probably should tell them,” she said, throwing down the Frisbee on the blanket so they would be none the wiser.

“That would be the right thing to do,” I said.

She started walking towards them, and after about 20 feet, I yelled out her name. I was sitting on the blanket with the picnic backpack open. Her eyes went big.

She hastened her walk back, reminiscent of a power tiptoe, smiling and smirking at my insolence the whole time. She was in drawn disbelief.

“Rob, you can’t, what are you doing?” She asked, pulling me up.

“Well, before you rip my arm off, this is probably a good time to say, 'let's eat.'"

“What?” she said, even more confused.

"Yea, this is mine, well, ours. I brought this for us. It was a surprise. I needed to see if we clicked first before I opened it. I would hate to waste good brie."

She hit me once again, and gave a look that cannot be captured in words. If you've ever gotten or given such a look, you know what I mean.

“I came here before I picked you up and put the stuff down. I’m glad nobody took it. I would have made you buy me dinner.”

“Uhh, Rob,” she screamed, rushing me on the blanket. She jumped on me and began to wrestle. It was so pure and fun, it wasn’t even sexual.

She rolled over next to me, out of breath. I was still laughing.

“Rob Lowe, you’re bad news,” she said, smiling, "but damn, this is the sexiest date I’ve had in my life.”

I smiled and looked at her, waiting for the sign. Was "sexiest" the sign? But before I could even process, it happened. We both leaned in simultaneously for the kiss. It was soft and pure, like a caress. It wasn’t a make love kiss, it was a foreshadow kiss. I only experienced two of those in my life, and they all signaled a brilliant beginning. This was definately not a kiss goodbye. It was a kiss hello.

“I never thought I would be setup by a 14-year old,” she said, “but, I think I owe her one.”

“Fourteen, she told me she was 15?” I said, laughing to myself, then letting it rest, “Yea, I guess we owe her one, maybe a nice fruit basket, or some tickets to Britneys LaLeche Tour.”

“Or maybe the OC box set,” she added.

“We’ll think of something.” I said.

"Yea, we don't have to decide today. Maybe tomorrow?"

"Yea, maybe tomorrow," I said, smiling at her inference.

So we rested and ate and lived and closed off the world around us. We laughed, we flirted and we got to know each other, a 21-year old California beauty and a 30-year old guy from Pennsylvania. It was as right as a first date could be. It was as right as it has ever been.

I've never been more happy to be Rob Lowe.