Love Wrench

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.
Mission Five: Re-take the SATs.
Mission Five: Become a PUA (Pick Up Artist) and wing Cali to 5 F-closes.

I rarely use my cell phone to just shoot the shit. Most of my conversations consist of brief interludes about very specific meeting-type information. But cellphones can do more than just set up rendevous or find a friend at a concert. Sometimes they can get you out of a bad situation or into a good one.

Daniel is up for any adventure. He is one of those guys who will do just about anything to get out of the house. I’m sure everyone has a friend like that. But the best thing about Daniel is his enthusiasm for life. It is refreshing, especially since so many of my other friends are complete cynics.

I picked him up in West Hollywood and drove through Laurel Canyon to the Valley. It was definitely out of my way, but the adventure wouldn’t be the same without the scent of Guerlain swirling in my car for days after. My plan to close this realtor came with the cerebral help of an effeminate wingman, and there was no one else who could procure such a title.

I briefed Daniel on the new mission and how it related to this realtor. He was in, maybe even more than I was. To me, it was a challenge. Something that precluded my teaching of Cali. A shit test. To him, it was entertainment. Because whether this adventure would be a home run or a train wreck, he knew the experience would be a memorable one.

“Ok, Rob, well if you’re going to try and pick up this woman, you need to clean up. We can go back to my place and shave that horrible mustache. You look like a leatherman," he said, almost immediately.

“D, you’re missing the fucking point here. I don’t want to look conventional or handsome. That’s the true test of game.”

“Oh my God Rob, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. But, whatever, you obviously have an agenda.”

And I did. One that was formulated on Wilshire Blvd., between Westwood and Fairfax. It’s wasn’t the most extravagant plan, but it was one I hoped would work. Daniel was entranced by his role. It was integral, to say the least, even as the mission evolved.

We cut through Laurel Canyon, traversing the hillside shacks and mansions. LC is definitely Hollywood’s version of Topanga, a funky mix of disparate real estate and interesting characters. I always pay close attention to the sign for Wonderland Avenue, and allow my consciousness to race back years, to Frank Zappa and Danny Sugarman, and absorb the amount of debauchery that took place along that stretch of glam road. More recently, Wonderland came to light with the Val Kilmer movie, and his recount of the John Holmes story (don’t need to tell the ladies who he is, right?)

Sugarman, on the other hand is lesser-known and now-deceased former inhabitant. He co-wrote “No one here gets out alive,” the story of Jim Morrison and the Doors. He also wrote "Wonderland Avenue," another book about his personal addictions, as well as drug habits of those around him, including Mackenzie Phillips.

But, I was brought back to the turn, to the night, to the mission by Daniel.

“She’s going to think you’re gay. I mean with me and everything. And the Volvo,” he finished, snickering.

“I know," I answered, not wanting history to release me.

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“She’ll probably think you’re gay," I said, as I snapped back to present, "You’re wearing a Ben Sherman beanie. Does that bother you?”

He laughed. In a “My God Rob Lowe, you are so lucky you’re not gay, because I would destroy your body with my love wrench,” kind of way. I was flattered. Hopefully I had saved some charm for the realtor chick.

“It’s all covered,” I told him, “Just follow the plan.”

And the plan was foolproof, as choreographed with “The Game” as the testimonial underpin. The first thing I needed to do was Neg her, which is basically a backhanded compliment, or a forehanded slam, depending on your feeling about tennis metaphors. This helps establish a dominance, and a slight disinterest in the subject. It communicates that I will not fall under her spell the way others have.

Next, I would be nebulous about my sexuality. This would help rationalize the “Neg” in her head. But again, this was another misdirect. This woman would be used to getting everything she wanted based on her looks and probable charm. She would not know how to react to someone was not immediately enamored by her beauty. The part of her brain that was not trying to compute that internally would be looking externally for answers, gleaning information from Daniel and me. Taking us in. Deconstructing.

Daniel, on the other hand had to keep his macho together for a bit. I told him to downplay his flame, at least until the neg set in. Then, he could introduce his flamboyance slowly. As the sun of discovery began to rise, she would rationalize me as a catty gay man, easily explaining away my apparent disinterest in getting into her presumably fantastic undergarments.

From there, I would allow her to regain her heading, once-again enabling her beauty-based comfort zone to guide her through the showing. But as her heat began to rise, I would do the same and thoroughly lay on the charm, allowing her to elevate me from woman hater to man she wanted to save. The takeaway of this stage would be, “Why are all the good ones either married or gay?.” The emotional connection would be there from the start, albeit a negative one. It would be simple to spin it into a positive.

But that would be just the beginning. Still ahead would be fake cell phone calls and the most important part of the plan, the close.

I thought it through once, and rehearsed a few lines inside my head while Daniel wheeled through the limited collection of Erasure on my Ipod. He was getting in character as well.

I was ready for this woman. I was ready to test my game. I was ready to take the flack from Alex for stealing his realtor girl. I was ready for it all.

I drove slowly along the twisty valley road until I reached a darkened circular driveway. A petite blonde woman in her late-30’s smiled in our direction from the porch. I didn’t smile back. At least, not yet.

Let the game begin.