French Kiss the Flirtation Goodbye

December 6, 2010 § Leave a comment

By: Betty in the Limelight

It’s awards season in Hollywood and that means I spend a lot of my evenings on my Sicilian’s arm at events.  Recently we were at an industry screening making the rounds of rubbing elbows.  We were canoodling by the cheese table when out of the corner of my eye I saw a man staring at me from across the Brie.  I whipped my back to the cheese stalker and faced my boyfriend, clutching on to him.  I turned five shades of red and said “The French guy is here!”

There he was at the other end of the fromage, black hair with a little more gray then I remember and those blue eyes.  Of course, I didn’t regret my decision of staying true to my Sicilian, but I stupidly didn’t expect to run into the French Guy outside of work.  I heard from friends at work a few weeks before that my forbidden flirtation was back in town and had asked about me, but I was on vacation at the time and I hadn’t given it another thought. So my Sicilian, being a truly nice guy said, “we’ll say hi if it happens organically,” which in a room of barely 40 people was GOING to happen.  AND he made me stop canoodling by the cheese because he actually felt bad for the French Guy. In truth, I did look great, I had a bit of a stomache bug earlier in the week so I fit into the skinny side of the closet and I was PMSing. My boobs were huge.

The would-be rivals met as the French Guy caught my eye when we crossed to the wine table.  I really needed to down a glass of vino but didn’t quite make it as he grabbed my hand.  I firmly squeezed his hand in my bravest manshake before he could bring it to his lips. Then I introduced my Sicilian, trying to remain calm.  We chatted about the French Guy having bought a house in LA and my Sicilian  was warm and charming and talked about French directors he had projects with. Not that I was anticipating punches to be thrown, but I appreciated my Sicilian’s kindness to the man I had turned down.  It was a bit like watching two dogs cautiously sniff one another rather than the car crash I was expecting.

Two days later when I went into work, one of my co-workers told me that the French Guy had been in the day before.  He told her that he had seen me and she said that he looked a bit wistful when he said “she looked very happy and in love with her boyfriend.  He’s very lucky.”   If nothing else, running into the French Guy while on my boyfriend’s arm made me feel a bit like a bad-ass Betty Draper, getting out of the kitchen and still making heads turn.


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