After learning that my could be lover is homeless, I decide to let him stay with me for the next two weeks. I’ve been in bad situations before, never homeless but down on my luck. I believe in karma what goes around comes around. It’s not like he’s a stranger who I let share my bed with. We have been conversing via phone, text and IM/Facebook every day for the past 1.5 months. He just left out some major details, like being broke, can’t find work as an actor/stuntman, ex girlfriend issues and living in a van. The SNL skit The Man Who Lives Down By The River resonates in my head. Oy!

Does the man in the van have a plan? No Mam!
Does the man in the van have a plan? No Mam!

Would I have come knowing this? Driven 17 hours from Eugene, OR to LA? I don’t know, probably not. But I’m back in warm, sunny California so I might as well enjoy his company. He’s affectionate with a nice body, a great kisser and a wonderful story-teller. He talks for hours about his glory days as a stuntman/cowboy.

We stay at an Airbnb, in Rolling Hills Estates for two nights. It’s on the same street he used to live years ago when he was doing well. He gives me a tour. I hear cats meowing, but they are not cats. Big M tells me I hear peacocks. They are everywhere. It’s amazing. The last time I saw one was in Paris France circa 1992.

Peacock
Peacock
Peacock doing the mating dance
Peacock doing the mating dance

We head back to the guest cottage. As we are getting ready to go out to eat I hear his cry. I rush into the bathroom and he’s on his knees holding his neck. His face is distorted from the excruciating pain. The pain juts through the back of his neck where it’s debilitating him. He’s swears under his breath and slowly gets up.

He tells me he had a neck operation six months ago due to his moto/rodeo days. The pain comes and goes and I can see it in his face. There is nothing I can do and it breaks my heart to see him this way. I try to a help him as much as I can. Is there anything else that can go wrong with him? Seriously? There is a dark cloud looming over his head ready to unleash its fury at any moment.

Minutes pass and the pain subsides. Maybe having a nice meal will make him feel better. I take him out to eat. I don’t want him to starve. He’s not much of a drinker which is good (alcoholism runs in his family) and he doesn’t get expensive items on the menu. His idea of food is hamburgers from a fast food joint and ice-cream that’s his drug of choice.  Opposite from me. I like pubs and nicer establishments where I can sit in a nice environment and enjoy my food, drink and conversation without feeling rushed. I’m not talking about fancy just down to earth.

How can someone who eats like crap have such a nice physique? While I try to eat as healthy as possible but have a flabby tummy. Hmmm. He works out four times a week doing intense exercises. I think that’s the secret to looking good; those gorgeous abs attest to that.

Is this relationship going to last? What am I thinking? Maybe he will be one of those down and out actors who gets his big break again and turns his life around. You know the rags to riches story. It’s nice to dream, after all we are in California…