December 1, 2010 § Leave a comment
By: Betty in the Limelight
Ask anyone who knows me and they will tell you that I am a very dedicated, supportive girlfriend to my Sicilian, but recently I had my dedication tested. Tested by the well known forbidden flirtation.
I have a high profile job in Hollywood and typically I am not one to have my head turned by celebrity. I like to keep it real by always reminding myself that everyone goes to the bathroom, number one and number two. So regardless of what any well-known male hottie says to me I am impervious like a sphinx by picturing them on the toilet. Until the French Guy.
Supposedly he is famous in France, but I was more interested in his blue eyes. His black hair had the beginnings of grey streaks and even his stumbling English couldn’t take away from his animated personality. What can I say, I love older men and the French Guy was 40. I saw him everyday at work and at first, because of my Sicilian, I would deftly deflect his advances. This only seemed to make him pursue me more boldly. Of course I never specifically said I HAD a boyfriend, so maybe he thought I was just playing hard to get. Men certainly do love the chase. The French Guy and I developed quite a charming banter, a mix of French, English and a lot of body language. Somehow our addictive flirtation transcended the language barrier. Don’t you let your mind wander, there was always very firmly a desk between us. No physical contact ever. Well, not beyond kissing my hand every time he saw me, which then became kissing me on both cheeks. The French can get away with things like that.
I asked myself “What is wrong with me?? I have a boyfriend I love, so why am I fantasizing about moving to Paris and giving my unborn children French names?” I also couldn’t believe that the French Guy was all that serious about our interactions, even though my French-as-a-second-language co-worker was too embarrassed to translate some of the things he would tell me. I clearly had a choice in this situation and even went so far as to write a list of pros and cons of both my boyfriend and the French Guy. Then I felt bad for evaluating them on what kind of life they could give me so I decided to just think of this forbidden flirtation as a passing thing.
After a month of all this un-consummated passion the French guy said, “someday I will take this desk from between us” in his devastating accent and offered to take me to Napa Valley. I took a deep breath and in my most dramatic voice I informed him I was in love with another man. When push came to shove, I chose my Sicilian. Even though his idea of a romance is more often times beer and pizza. I admit there were moments when I considered what my life would be like if I went down the path to Paris. Perhaps it’s true that the unattainable is enticing. Forbidden fruit is supposedly the sweetest.
The day after the French Guy departed back to Paris, I came in to work to find a sumptuous bouquet of three-dozen red roses and an enigmatic note that said “I will follow the flowers – The French Guy” and he had included his email. Clutch my pearls! I was stunned, I had never received flowers on that level before, and everyone in my office saw them, including my boss who pranced around saying “you’re getting married” all day, and he’s a big man to be prancing. I certainly couldn’t take the roses home where my Sicilian would see them, so I took the card and gave them to my co-worker who promptly took them to church and put them in front of the Virgin Mary. I hoped this would atone for any sinful flirtation that crossed the line.
My Sicilian was coming home that night from a trip that had run longer than expected and I was a bit upset with him. I had just spent the last month denying an international love affair to stay faithful to him and he can’t get home in a timely manner?! The more I thought about and the longer I waited the more angry I got. I’m talking steam out the ears, painted red cartoon-style. So I did what any toe tapping American woman would do; I told my boyfriend about the flowers alerting him to another cock circling the hen house. After that my Sicilian promptly stepped right up to the plate and hit a home run immediately inviting me to his family’s house for Christmas. On top of that he whisked me away to Santa Barbara for a romantic weekend and didn’t even invite Papa John or St Pauli’s Girl . Sometimes a little jealousy can be a healthy reminder for a man not to neglect his lady.