A strange personal chemistry quirk: I do not get drunk enough to vomit repeatedly or black out. Long stretches of time don’t go unexplained as I usually remember everything and remain in control of myself. I do get hangovers the next day, however, and currently I was grappling with a pretty bad one.

“Aren’t you supposed to have a bloody mary or something like that? You know, hair of the dog,” remarked Paul Sorvino after seeing me sucking wind trying to make it over from the fairway.

“Normally I would say yes, but right now the thought of any alcohol is revolting.”

“You kids, you have to watch what you do to yourselves.”

“Uh huh.”

We needed a fourth that morning to round out our group of Paul, his neighbor Mickey Vance, and myself. The regulars were busy and couldn’t make it out last minute, so the two turned to me and I knew of only one person who golfed and would be awake that early: My friend Devin. But there would be conditions.

“Remember the rules,” I reminded him when he arrived and met us with his golf bag in tow.

“I know, no prodding Sorvino for any acting gigs.”

“And?” I added.

Devin sighed like a homely high school girl just finding out the one person at her school who was uglier had a crush on her. “No bringing up acting unless he starts. I am not here to job hunt.”

I nodded. “Good. Just want to make sure we are hunky dory.”

We started playing and as usual I stunk up the place. Whenever it was a par 5 the others would shoot between 6 and 8, while I brought up the rear with a 9 or 10.

“Where is your discipline?” asked Paul after another bad showing by me. “You have no control over your body. Everything I have taught you you’ve thrown out the window with baby and the bath water.” He lowered his head and shook it in disappointment.

“I wish I could blame it on the hangover, but I can’t. This is no different than all the other times,” I confessed.

“Hell, sometimes a bloody mary or two helps my game. Maybe you should take the cart back to the clubhouse and visit the bar,” Mr. Vance suggested.

My stomach turned. “No, I couldn’t. Not today.” I pulled my driver from the bag and stepped to the tee. Delicately I placed the pin into the damp earth and gently balanced the Titleist ball atop it. Lining up the club’s center with the ball once, then twice, I looked into the distance at the flag softly waving above the hole some two hundred yards away. Concentrate, I told myself, don’t think about all the booze you had last night or the verbal jabs from the bunch, only think about the ball and that flag at the other end. For a moment my mind wandered into the ‘be the ball spiel by Chevy Chase in Caddyshack and I briefly imagined myself as Danny Noonan. I would have screwed Lacy Underall too, I thought. Really given her a good going. When I snapped back to the present the guys were waiting impatiently.

“You gonna line up that shot all day?” asked Paul. Devin was behind him wearing a grimace and shaking his head.

I stopped the practice swings and again looked towards the flag. Control your body, control your body I chided myself. I swung the club back until it was just above my shoulders, and in one fluid motion brought it down and swung through the ball.

The ball made a whoof sound as it made contact with the club and flew off at a tangent to my intended course. A slice. A collective groan came from the guys behind me.

“Well, at least I know I won’t be bringing up the rear today,” laughed Devin.

“Come on, Devin, let’s see your stuff,” Paul prodded.

Devin stepped to the tee and as I had previously done, placed his pin into the ground and rested his ball atop the pin. After a couple of practice swings he deftly whacked the ball, sending it shooting down the center of fairway.

“Nice, very nice,” Paul and Mr. Vance commented when Devin’s ball came to rest some hundred-plus yards away.

“Thanks,” Devin replied as he bent over to grab the tee pin and returned it to his pocket. He shot a grin over my way. “You know, maybe we are being too hard on Reed this morning. He’s had a lot on his mind of late.”

“I have?” I asked.

“Sure you have, like that little blondie of yours.”

Paul and Mr. Vance piped up. “Is that right? Who is she?” they asked, squawking like hens. Previously I had mentioned to Devin that Paul Sorvino loved to vicariously live through people’s stories, especially the lurid ones involving women and high times.

Mr. Vance readied himself to take his turn and Devin switched places with him before turning to face me. “Well tell us Reed, tell us all about poor little Carolyn, the fish that got away. The one who's half a world away,” he mocked.

“I think you just did it for the both of us,” I scoffed.

Mr. Vance whacked his shot and it followed along the same path as Devin’s, coming to rest a few yards away from Devin’s ball.

“You see fellas, when our hero here was transferred to Toronto for work he did what any of us would do in his situation: Learn the lay of the land, meet its women, and then really learn the lay of the land, if you get my drift.” Paul and Mr. Vance chuckled in response as they drew closer to Devin.

“I’m with you guys – there’s nothing wrong with doing that. So one day he walks into some bar or restaurant and sitting off to a corner is a woman he catches a glimpse of from the corner of his eye. Sure, she has the looks and she’s put together correctly like all the others, but this one has that inexplicable something that sets her apart. She’s someone who gives him pause, who freezes everything around him. I am sure each of us has been there. Am I right, guys?”

Paul and Mr. Vance both nodded furiously like bobblehead dolls.

“So our boy falls. He falls hard. And he thinks she falls hard too. Except she isn’t there for the reasons he thinks she is. At least that’s what I think.”

My smile disappeared. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Devin?”

“It means she played you. Used you. Strung you along.” He walked over to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Dude, she knows you come from a family with money.”

“Careful,” I cautioned.

“Who was so quick to agree to go to Europe with you over the summer, especially after you offered to pay? I like the girl and all, but I think she was in it all along for the free trip.”

I dropped my club and grabbed Devin by the lapels of his shirt, pinning his back against the side of the golf cart. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do but cut the crap,” I hissed. I could feel my face turning red. “You are insulting me and embarrassing yourself. You don’t even know her or what I put her through for that ‘free trip.’”

Paul and Mr. Vance lost interest, figuring no lurid details would be in the offing. Returning to the game, Paul piped up. “Hey ladies, do you mind? We have a game to play here.”

Devin tore himself away from my grip and shimmied away from the cart. He calmly reached down and retrieved his driver. “Relax, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he replied, pointing the handle end of the driver at me. “It’s just another point of view. Think of it as devil’s advocate stuff.”
________________________________________________________________

Whenever my ego took a hit and I needed a quick bounce back, I’d head over to the Starbucks on Robertson in the orthodox Jewish portion of West Los Angeles for a cup of coffee. Their joe was no different from what one would find at any other of the thousands of Starbucks in the state; it all came down to the clientele and employees. This particular Starbucks was frequented by teenage girls who attended the surrounding private Jewish high schools and they always gathered in groups of six or eight for frothy caramel macchiatos while they did their homework and engaged in people watching. The latter activity is what made things so easy; I’d go into the shop, order my coffee, flash a smile their way and maybe drop some glib comment that would send the group into a tizzy, and then sit within earshot and intermittently listen for the next few minutes while they talked about me. Sometimes things would go too far and I’d get embarrassed and feel sleazy hearing 15 and 16 year old girls talk what they’d want to do to me, but it was always a good shot for the ego and never failed to get me thinking the world was once again firmly spinning around me by the time I left the coffee shop.

There was another perk to seeking out this particular Starbucks: An aspiring brunette actress named Suzette who worked part time as a barista when she wasn’t shuffling off to auditions. She and I usually engaged in light and flirty banter whenever I was there. It only helped to stoke the ego.

I headed straight for Starbucks as soon as our round of golf finished. It was still early and traffic was congested by the commuters making their way through the Pico Boulevard corridor. As I pulled onto Robertson I was reminded by the random graffiti tagging how this was a rougher section of town than its populace let on. It was gritty, it was dirty. It was the sort of place you wouldn’t be thrilled about being in late at night. Homeless people regularly lined the streets. As I turned into the alley behind Starbucks and looked for an open parking spot I remembered how one Christmas my friend Courtney, in a rare act of selflessness, went into this same Starbucks and spent about $150 dollars in gift cards, and then went out on the street and gave the cards to the homeless people wandering this part of town. At the time I thought it was a waste of money and let her know it. A couple of months later Courtney and a female friend exited a sushi bar further up the street only to be tailed by some shady character. A homeless guy trying to hole up for the night under a storefront marquee recognized Courtney as the girl who had given him the gift card and scared away the would-be thug. It turns out in addition to the good deed, Courtney had bought herself some protection in a roundabout way. Karma can be like that sometimes…roundabout. Take care of others and they will take care of you.

I pulled into the last open parking spot. Today I wasn’t feeling taken care of, and so I had to pull a lame tactic from my bag of tricks. I shut off the engine and sat in my car silently, contemplating whether I really wanted to go through with this.

A homeless person walking by startled my focus back to the present as she rapped on the window. “Spare some change, mister?” she asked through the closed window.

I opened the door and stepped out. “Sorry,” I began, “I don’t have any loose change. Maybe hit me up on the way out after I’ve ordered my coffee, okay?” I tapped the alarm button on the remote and my car chirped twice in response. The woman didn’t respond, likely used to what would be one of a hundred rejections she’d get today. We began to part but after taking only a few steps I paused. What are you doing, man? She’s a human being. Everybody is good enough for some change, dude. Give her a fucking dollar.

I turned back in her direction. “Hey there, come here. I’m sorry I dismissed you like that.” I dug into my pocket for a dollar. “Here. Take this and have a good day.”

I put the dollar bill into her dirty, gloved hand. She looked at it for a moment in silence. Maybe I threw her for a loss. Maybe she had written me off as being like all the others who dismissed her with a wave and a look of disdain. Maybe this was the first thing that had gone right for her all morning.

She raised her head so that we were eye to eye. “Thanks mister, thanks.” She waved her hand that held the dollar. “Enjoy your coffee,” she added as she turned back to her cart and started walking away.

Inside, Suzette was manning the counter. “Well look who it is,” she began, a smile slowly widening across her face. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? And what’s with that beard of yours? It’s so wild and bushy.”

I approached the counter and rested my elbows on the cold brushed metal. “Good to see you too Suzette. Have you tackled Hollywood and wrestled it into submission with your charm and good looks?”

She blushed slightly. “Nope, not lately. I get the auditions, and I’ve even had a few call backs, but something always happens and I don’t survive the final rounds.” She punched at the counter. “So I keep at it. Oh well, that’s how it goes.” She reached forward and stroked the side of my beard. “It’s so rough. Why on earth did you grow it?”

“Careful, something might jump out and bite your hand,” I joked. She laughed nervously in response.

“So, what girls are in your life?” she asked.

“None currently.”

“Really? You must be between girls,” she added with a laugh.

“A guy can’t take a break?” I asked.

“A guy can. You can’t. You don’t have an off button. Whenever you say you don’t have any women back stocked I think something is wrong with the world.”

I leaned in towards her. “It could be I am changing for the better.”

“Right, like that will ever happen!” she exclaimed. She calmed and changed her tone. “I mean that in a positive way. The world needs people like you who can take the superficial and make it work for them. It reminds the rest of us what is important in life and what is not.”

“There’s probably an insult in there somewhere but I don’t feel like dissecting your comment.”

Suzette rubbed my hand. “Then don’t,” she grinned.

“And how is your love life?” I asked. “Any Mr. Right Now to brag about?”

“No,” she said with a harrumph. “All my time is filled with work and school and auditions, there’s time for nothing else.”

“You know, we could always go out,” I suggested.

“Oh no, we’ve been there before. And what did I get? Breakfast in bed and no phone call for almost two weeks.”

“Hey, people get busy. Besides, the breakfast should have counted for something.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “You better order your drink and go before you run afoul of me.”

I put in my order and found a two person table to sit at across from some young Jewish girls who were putting the finishing touches on some homework before scurrying off to school. As I sat down they looked over en masse and I shot them a toothy grin and said hello, quickly adding “finishing up last night’s homework?” They all covered their mouths and giggled.

My coffee soon came and I listened to their comments going around the table while I added a packet of equal to my cup:

“He’s so cute.”
“But he looks like he’s thirty or something.”
“Did you see that beard? It’s so wiry and gross!”
“I know, it looks like my Dad’s!”
“I bet he’d look good without the beard.”
“You’re like totally in love with him!”
“I am not! He’s like, my brother’s age.”

I chuckled silently while the banter continued for a few more minutes. One took a look at her watch and then they all squealed in unison over how late they were going to be. The group got up and quickly threw books and papers into their backpacks and messenger bags, then grabbed their sugary coffee drinks and darted towards the door, a few of them stopping momentarily in front of my table to smile the smile of a teen with a schoolgirl crush. I smiled back and they darted their eyes embarrassingly before skirting out the door.

Suzette came over to clean up their mess. “Looks like somebody has a fan club,” she commented as she passed by.

“Yeah, and the safest type: The sort you aren't tempted to touch because you’ll go to jail.”

“Haha, 15 gets you 20,” she laughed.

“It’s too bad people don’t react in the manner the girls did to other people when they are our age. By then the naiveté is gone and the jadedness has just begun to set in. Sometimes the teenage abandon is nice.”

“Teenage abandon is a transition, nothing else,” Suzette replied. “It’s a reflection of the insecurities we all have as we grow into our adult skin. As soon as our childhood and our pubescence is gone, the abandon goes away with it.” She came over and rubbed my shoulder, adding, “I am sure your dry spell will be over with soon enough. Don’t fret.”

I milked my time and slowly finished my coffee while watching the traffic at the intersection from my vantage point. As the time drew closer to nine the place got more and more busy. Pretty soon Suzette and her co-workers were totally consumed with customers. I tossed the cup out and silently exited Starbucks without saying goodbye to her. She was busy, she’d understand.

I was about to turn into the alley when a voice came from behind me. “Reed? Is that you hidden beneath that beard?”

I turned around and came face to face with Amy, a former co-worker of mine from Chiat/Day. She stood a few feet from me, a wide smile planted upon her face. She looked good.

“It is you! This is so cool. I am so happy to run into you!” She threw her arms around my shoulders and squeezed tightly. I smiled. That’s the thing about the randomness of life; like Karma, it’s just so roundabout.