King Charles

Charles texted me today. It's been months since I've heard from him, though he's been on my mind lately and I had a feeling after he randomly "liked" one of my older photos on Facebook that he was gearing up to get in touch. He said he's been in NYC for the past month, hoped I was doing well, would like to meet up for coffee sometime after he returns to LA on Friday. I haven't responded yet.

Charles and I met at a West Hollywood bar one Saturday night last April. I was with Lynne, uncharacteristically wearing a fire engine red mini-dress with the intent to meet someone hot. I succeeded.

"I want that one," I told Lynne.

Charles was wearing a black beanie and kept catching my eye from across the crowded room. We both gave in at the same moment, smiling and high-fiving one another above the heads of the shorter patrons as a sort of mutual congratulations for being the sexiest people in attendance. I drunkenly toyed with the two necklaces that dangled down his lean chest before embarking on the who-what-where-when-and-why niceties. He told me I was refreshing. Beautiful. Cool. Smart. Sexy. Lynne generously confirmed all of the above and, perhaps too generously, invited Charles to come hang out at our pad. Definitely not my idea. I'd been content to exchange numbers with him and call it a night, but Lynne operated differently. Lynne's influence, after all, had conjured the red mini-dress.

And so began a casual fling with someone who was, as fate would have it, fresh out of a relationship.

"It's bad timing," he would say. "I wish I'd met you a few months from now, when my life wasn't such a mess. Why do you have to be so fucking amazing?! I hate you."

Charles and I would stay up all night, flipping through videos on YouTube of indie artists and bands that he needed me to hear. He opened my ears to new, obscure music that fired up my own musical inspiration anew, shaking me out of the old-and-familiar rut I'd been stuck in without even realizing I'd been stuck in it to begin with. King Charles, CocoRosie, the tUnE-yaRdS, Angus & Julia Stone, Cold War Kids, The Avett Brothers, Frightened Rabbit, The Cool Kids, Born Ruffians, and so many more. Knowing I play the organ, he even found an old PJ Harvey cover of Peggy Lee's "Is That All There Is," which is so tripped out and dark and hypnotically melodramatic...in other words, just my steez. In turn, I introduced him to Devendra Banhart, which was more than enough repayment for all of the above, as far as Charles was concerned.

We played music and sang and drew designs all over each other's bodies as candles cast a soft glow from every corner of my bedroom. Unfortunately, the sex was highly dissatisfying. It became apparent to me that Charles was still involved with his ex and therefore, incapable of achieving even momentary emotional intimacy with me when it came time to get hot and heavy. Our chemistry was amazing, yes, and his kisses were steamy, but he had difficulty staying hard and would try to play it off like he was holding back out of the desire to be "good." Usually, whiskey was involved. Always, I enjoyed his company, regardless of the fact that his penis knew it still belonged to another woman. Charles recognized all too clearly that I wasn't the girl he could simply screw around with, that I was relationship material and he had to be careful with my feelings. As his ex continued to dominate his existence, I began to lose interest, knowing it couldn't go anywhere, not caring to be the one he called late at night after the two of them had fought and he didn't want to be alone.

Still, I've checked in on him via Facebook, doing my fair share of "lurking" whenever the urge hits, curious as to how he's doing and still thinking of him fondly. He sparked my passion for discovering largely undiscovered music, hunting for treasures buried beneath the mainstream. There's a part of me that would love to show off all of the amazing, obscure songs I've found in the months that we've spent apart. There's another part of me that's wary, knowing (by virtue of Facebook-stalking) that the ex had joined him for at least a week in New York during his trip. And then, beyond that, is the curiosity. Coffee seems harmless enough. I'll text him back tomorrow, make him wait a whole twenty-four hours so he sweats a bit. I think of Joseph...

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