Sarah's Journal: May 6, 2013

Sarah:  May 6, 2013

I found Will right away last night, on the gossip site. He asked if my Internet was out and it made me feel guilty. I wasn't sure he would notice that I hadn't logged on for three days, though I would have if he had done the same. I didn't want him to know I was avoiding him, but I think he sensed it. He seemed cautious at first but then asked if we could set up a regular meeting time so we could better keep in touch. I agreed. It felt right, almost like he was asking me out.

Since our conversations have always focused on me, I took the lead and I asked him about his missing last name. He gave me an excuse about his family being overexposed in the press. He didn't want me judging him for stories on the internet that wasn't true. I wondered what kind of family lived in the press. Was his dad a serial killer? Or his mom a politician. “So you’re the son of a mob boss?” I asked.

“I wish. At least then I would have the power to snuff out the lying bastards.” His statement seemed too bitter to be a lie.

We switched to a chat room, after that, for a little more privacy. Will was either really creative and a good storyteller, or telling the truth. The way he worded his explanation made me want to believe him. Passion that liars rarely exhibit hung in his every thought and nothing he said contradicted his previous claims. I was looking for inconsistencies. When he told me his father was in the movie business, I wondered what kind of movies. Maybe it was because we were in a chat room that my brain immediately went there, but he squashed my thought like he could read my mind.

“He directs legitimate Hollywood movies, not adult films,” he wrote.

“So you’re one of those trust fund kids that spends all your time at the beach and in the clubs?” I asked, trying to marry the couch potato image, I first had of him, with a snooty Hollywood brat.

“Not me. I don’t enjoy clubbing. The beach, I like, but I don’t get to hang out there much, because I’m always working and I don't live off my parents' money. I work for what I have.” His assurance seemed sincere. From what I've read, most Hollywood brats admit that they don’t work. It’s a status symbol not to have a job.

We chatted for two hours and he answered every question I asked. Sometimes his answers were a bit cryptic, but I figured he would tell me more if we weren't in such a public environment. Besides he is not his parents—none of us are and whatever was going on in the press with them, he couldn't control. 

I always pictured him living down the street, or across the Cities, or at least in the five state area (I could handle that). I never expected him to be from Los Angeles. I didn't even consider it. In that moment, when I learned where he was from, all hope of dating him evaporated. Maybe it’s for the best. Now, I won’t have to worry that he’s using me or that he’s a fraud. We’ll just be friends. He’ll be like one of the girls with a super sexy guy’s point of view. I’m lucky, right?

Damn! I don’t want to just be friends.