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agreed to meet on Vermont Avenue at the Figaro Bistro, the French café (it’s been used in several commercials), but just to swap books. He said I had to pick a book he hadn’t read, as if I knew what the hell he read, or if he could read (ha, ha). I remembered that Kenneth, the painter, had given me his copy of John Forte’s Ask the Dusk and that it had simply blown me away, and, well, Kenneth knew more than me in so many worldly ways that I figured it was my best bet to impress the actor with.
    I decided to play it casual, just regular blue jeans with my patch ‘DREAM UP’ and my classic snug brown tee (suggesting spunky, yet smart, with some class) and for sexy, my black polka dot thong (not that he was going to see it). And my lime green bra; I’m the type that likes my bra and panties not to match and to be oh-so-bright and colorful. After all, sex is serious enough these days. I wore my brown leather slip-on boots with a slight heel. If I had been in New York, I would have worn my black combat boots for the sheer gorilla-girl look, but Los Angeles is about ease and comfort. I walked; I figured why bring my car when the day was nice.
    He was wearing a grey shirt, not the one in the headshot, but a shade lighter, and loose, faded Levi blue jeans and running sneakers. Hell, he could have worn a sleeping bag: he was super striking. He was at a table a few feet from the door. He wasn’t hiding. I slid in after feeling his eyes go up and down my body. I think he would have liked a backside view as well, but he’d have to wait. We both smiled and he slid his book over first. Wow—Anais Nin’s Little Birds, a collection of erotic stories, a book I hadn’t read since college that I had figured, or hoped, no man had read because it felt so truly personal. I pushed my Forte book over and he gave me a cocky grin. Maybe he was born that way.
    “Read the first story!” he said, like he was my teacher and I was his pupil.
    “Yes, instructor,” I said.
    “Justin!” He reminded me as he opened his book.
    Justin, hmm, not a bad name. I told him mine, but he didn’t look up, that’s how cocky he was. The waitress had been instructed before I arrived. She put two Arnold Palmers and a plateful full of fresh fruit in front of us and left, but not before getting a wink from cocky Justin.
    The first story was Little Birds from which Nin’s book took its title. I wouldn’t dare spoil it by giving away any details; it’s just a naughty story and it reminded me of how my college years really were all about being the most dominating sexual woman I could be. It wasn’t just ‘in-and-out’ fornication that my college friends and I were after—it was about the greatest orgasm, the longest head banging sex one could have. And I did.
    It’s like Justin suddenly became a part of my Mr. Darcy plan. Jane Austen wasn’t just writing about ‘love’, she was explaining the attainable feeling when one finds her soul mate. Oh my. Had I found mine? I glanced up; Justin was eating a slice of apple. How Adam and Eve can you get? He was grinning at me, with wet lips and serious eyes.
    “Bonus points on the book. Can I keep it?” he asked, as he put his sexy, cute, thin lips over his straw and sucked his drink down. I had plenty of other mementos from Kenneth the famed artist; the book didn’t matter.
    “Sure,” I said.
    “Thanks, and that’s for you, to get you restarted,” he said, as he filled his mouth with blueberries. Oh, so cocky. It’s not like I could roll my eyes and ask what the hell he meant by that, because I’d be admitting it. So I just nodded like a card player bluffing. When you’re an actress, so much of life is acting ‘as if’. Of course you try to figure out your next move, the right line to say, all the while not letting the other person steal your spotlight. Cocky guys, who are actors, are always jockeying for the lead role. The spotlight! He pushed the fruit plate at me, eyeing me in a forceful way,