Coffee and the Single Girl

Just today I was sitting at a café in Hollywood. I stared at the traffic while sipping my black coffee when, suddenly, Mr. Joaquin Phoenix came into my line of sight.

We had met a few months before at a poetry slam in Albuquerque. I was trying to lay low, but a friend insisted I get up on stage. Not surprisingly, the impromptu performance of my environmental impact study of a new cell tower in the historic neighborhood of Hyder Park made the crowd go wild. Joaquin was there, and he noticed me. We talked. We laughed. We drove around and beat up treasure hunters at a nearby archaeological dig. Finally, we parted. Though we spoke on the phone, I didn't see him again until now.

"I missed you the other night."

"The other night?"

"At Elton John's party."

"Ah. It completely slipped by me."

Mr. Elton John (excuse me, Sir) had thrown a post-Oscar bash/AIDS fundraising event at some famous Los Angeles eatery. Naturally, I had been invited. But I didn't go. I couldn't. And I didn't have the heart to tell Joaquin - sensitive that he is - that I had recently decided to protest sprawl. Therefore, I would not attend any function I couldn't get to by public transportation. Now I know that in the scheme of causes AIDS probably ranks higher than sprawl, but a girl's got to pick her battles.

Anyway.

Joaquin sat and grabbed my hands in his. (I'll admit that I went quite tingly when he did this.) He tried staring into my eyes, but, well, I'm just not into that. Very disconcerting. I stared at my coffee and lost all brain activity.

"I wanted to see you again. You know, when they announced my name at the Oscars I looked right into the camera and said 'I Love You.' That was for you. Did you see it? Why won't you look at me?"

"Yes."

"What? Is there a problem? Why won't you look at me? Why are you making that face?"

"Yes, you, uh, no problems."

"I don't understand. You have such a way with words. The Carver Court Housing Project MOA Implementation brought such tears to my eyes that I couldn't help but drive to it a number of times to stare at its beauty. The cops were called on me twice. M. Night is turning it into a film."

"Just stop staring at me, please. I don't like it."

"Oh."

So he looked away, thankfully, and I came back to reality. I remembered that report - a survey I did in Orlando. It was a good one. I squeezed his hands, sincerity oozing from my fingers, and told him it could never be. I kissed him chastely. He bowed his head and sighed. As I walked away I realized that I hadn't finished my coffee. It was damn good coffee, too. Oh well.