Meant To Be

Meant To Be

I’d seen this guy before, all moustache and eyes and uniform. He was good, I had to grant him that. Those eyes never seemed to blink. I couldn’t imagine Moustache going off for a quick illicit smoke, a quick whack in the can even. The man probably didn’t even take pee breaks. Probably had some kind of urine bladder strapped to his leg. He could be pissing right now, not missing a second of the action, his urine warm against his thigh. I.P Standing.
The action. I was the action, and I had yet to act. Darrin Powers was somewhere on that lot and I needed to see him. I’ve been here before. That’s when I first met Moustache. He and a cohort had gotten in my way. Their outward politeness, calm, was a ruse. They were brutes. They’d squeezed my arms so hard herding me off the lot that they left marks there. Purplish, yellowish bruises which I had a hell of a time explaining to Ted. He’d been more suspicious than concerned, figuring I was having rough sex behind his back.
Rough sex. Darrin Peters. Forgive the segues of my mind. I’m not into rough sex—bruises hurt, regardless of how they got there—but Darrin could do what he liked to me, whatever he wanted. If I could just get close enough to him, I could tell him that. And so much more. I knew with a certainty, as certain as the fact of this green grass I’m crouched upon now, that Darrin Peters needed me as much as I needed him.
There’s a scene in his first movie where he tells Monica Styles that he’s been waiting for her his whole life, he just didn’t know it until then, ‘then’ being a sleazy dive in Tijuana, which he transforms into the Riviera just by his presence. That’s not actually part of the plot or anything, the Riviera. Darrin Peters doesn’t make crappy sci-fi movies. His movies are more real than real life. I’ve watched that scene at least a hundred times, pausing the DVD when he smiles my favorite Darrin Peters smile. He does it just before he moves in to kiss
her, just a hint of teeth visible, a coy, almost bashful smile. Monica is out of the frame just then. It’s a tight close-up of Darrin, and he’s looking right at me, not at her. At me.
Darrin Peters needs me. It’s such an obvious thing to me. Sometimes it floors me that no one else seems to get it. They intercept my mail, my emails, my gifts, the flowers. That’s why he hasn’t contacted me yet. He doesn’t know where to find me, doesn’t know where I am.
A ladybug has landed on my wrist. I can feel the subtle tickle of its tiny feet move across my skin. I figure this is a sign. I love ladybugs, have done ever since I was a kid who believed
that the number of spots on them indicated how many years old they were. Mother told me that. I don’t think she was lying. I think she believed it herself.

The ladybug is a sign. In a Rolling Stone interview, Darrin said his parents used to own a red and black VW bug that “looked like a ladybug.” One of his fondest childhood memories. Everything means something. I learned that long ago. There are signs and meanings everywhere. You just have to be open, to be vigilant, and you’ll see them. Mother taught me that.
Moustache will never see such things. People like him see only what’s on the surface. I pity their meaningless existence. My existence used to be pretty meaningless, so my pity is genuine. I’ve been there. When Mother passed away the bottom fell out of my life. I was glad her suffering was over, but she was gone. Gone. I found refuge in the usual suspects: booze, drugs, sex. That couple years was pretty much a write-off, and I still sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, sweating, freaking out, thinking I’ve become that person again.
Darrin Peters saved my life. I remember the first time I really saw him. It was at the Ardent. I’d sneaked in to see the movie. Had no idea what was playing. Then the picture started, and for some reason I didn’t pass out shortly after the opening credits that time. The movie was Meet Your Maker, and it started Darrin Peters. I’d seen the name before, seen it in supermarket tabloids, what have you, but that day I met him for the first time. And he talked to me. Communicated. It was an afternoon matinee, a Saturday, and I remember it like it was yesterday. My life changed that day. It had meaning again. Darrin Peters saved my life. When he spoke from that screen, he spoke to me. He became my companion, my inamorata-to-be, my life.
My friend Jerry has a room in his suite devoted to all things Monica Styles. It’s decent. He’s a big fan, and has collected some choice stuff over the years. But there’s really no Monica and Jerry, not like there’s a Darrin and I. The world is ready to know that we’re a couple.
I know Darrin will love my collection. All the movies and all the posters of course, framed under glass. No surprise there. But also some pretty unique things too. A pair of his sunglasses, some tip money he left at a restaurant, a cigarette butt he tossed aside at a shoot, a bike seat from his snazzy hybrid that he left propped up against his trailer on location for Obedience, a couple strands of his pubic hair…don’t even ask how I got that! But best of all, the signed note he sent me before they began to intercept my mail. He spelled my name wrong on the envelope, but I know that was just him joking around. He’s got a sense of humor. That’s just one reason it’s meant to be. The note’s short but sweet. If you didn’t know him like I do you might think it impersonal. But I can read between the lines. When I got that note from him, I knew he knew that we were meant to be. That he

loved me. It was like he was giving me his blessing, like he was giving me the go-ahead to continue on this path.
That’s the big difference between Jerry and I. Jerry’s just obsessed. I’m on a mission. On a spiritual path, with union and enlightenment the ultimate reward. Ted calls it my ‘crazy hobby.’ He finds it amusing, something to tell his buddies and be guaranteed a hearty laugh in response. As long as Mother’s money keeps the cash flowing, he doesn’t care what I do. Yes, the money’s what brought us together, but Ted loves me in his way.
But not like Darrin. Soon I’ll have to let Ted go. Darrin is an open-minded man, but I don’t want Ted in our picture. I’ll kiss him off with a few grand. He’ll live.
Thinking about Ted and I makes me impatient. I try not to think of all the time that could have been spent with Darrin instead. All the shared experiences we may have accumulated by now. And yes of course, the sex too. All those times with Ted… I was really thinking of Darrin. It’s the only way I could get off. I don’t think Ted ever suspected. If he did, he never let on. Sure, there are pictures of Darrin throughout the bedroom, on the walls, on the dresser. But that’s pretty much the case all over the house. Ted’s been pretty tolerant that way. I’ll give him that.
I like to think that in one of Darrin’s homes—let’s say the mansion in New England—that he’s got pictures of me everywhere. I’m not delusional. I’m no celebrity, no movie star, so it’s not nearly as easy to come by my likeness. Just the practicalities of decorating his place with pictures of me would be a challenge. Still. It’s a harmless fantasy. Who knows? Darrin’s no fool. Maybe he managed to scan one of the photos I sent him before it was intercepted, before it was Returned To Sender or tossed by one of his minions. I like to sometimes think of a wallet-size me stuffed tight in his billfold, Darrin Peters sitting on my face! Oh, don’t get me started!
It’s almost noon. I’ve been here since eight in the morning. If I know my Darrin, he’ll not settle for catering, he’ll head off to his favorite seafood place downtown. And that’s what I’m counting on. For him to leave the lot. Ideally, he’ll drive himself—that sky blue BMW of his that I can’t wait for him to take us for weekend getaways in. But even if he’s got a driver, I’ll follow through with my plan. Today’s the day. I just know it is. I can feel it in my bones.

Yes! I’ve been waiting for this moment, planned for it so long, and now, now I see his car at the gates. He’s chatting with the guards. My Darrin. I’ve got to time it perfectly. It should take me about ten seconds to reach the middle of the road. He’s still chatting. C’mon. Can’t you sense me

waiting here? Oh my god. There. He's moving towards the road’s the time. I’m running, sprinting for the road. Now. Now's the time. I'm running, sprinting for the road. Thank god I’m in decent shape. Don’t want to have a coronary on this day of all days. At this meeting, of all meetings.
I’ve timed it just right. Okay, if I just slow a fraction we should meet in the middle and I’ll fill his screen. Yes. A little pain will be worth it. Just thinking of him scooping me up in his arms off the road like that scene in Near Horizon floods me with endorphins. It’ll dull the pain. Darrin will dull the pain. When he looks into the eyes of the person he hits in Near Horizon you can tell it’s love. “It takes drastic measures to lead a happy life,” Mother would say, and I don’t think I truly understood her until now.
Now; this suspended moment now as we look at one another— Darrin looks shocked, surprised. He’s gripping the wheel as if terrified. Surely he knew this was going to happen, knew how inevitable it was. Fate. Fate’s wheels greased a little by yours truly. Surrender my love, surrender to it as I surrender to the screech and squeal of your blue BMW. Be gentle with me my darling, this is no movie. I’m breakable. I’m in good shape but I’m no stunt person.
We’re so close now. Time has slowed right down. I can feel your presence. Darrin Peters. We’re changing each other’s lives right now. After this, everything will be different. Better. How could it not be? We’ll be together. They say people live longer when coupled. After today, we’ll live forever.
I can feel your lips crushing mine now, feel the weight of you atop me. Your arms squeezing the life out of me. You like to play rough! That’s okay, I’ll get used to it. Anything for you, Darrin.
Pain. So much pain now. And so quiet. I hear nothing now. I flew. You set me aloft, Darrin. Gravity is no match for our love.
Ladybugs. I love ladybugs. I remember the one I saw earlier today. Seems like a lifetime ago now. I forgot to see how ‘old’ it was, forgot to count the spots. I too flew, I want to tell the ladybug.
I see it now. It’s alit upon my wrist again. I can’t feel it, but I can see it make its determined way across my skin. No tickling sensation this time, but eyes don’t lie, I can see it. I want to weep for its beauty, its fragility.
I want to show the ladybug to Darrin. Where is he? Here I am. Scoop me up. Save me. Together let’s count the spots.