AFTER MY WIFE AND I SPLIT, she took up with a Dutch screenwriter named Hans and moved to L.A. When Hans was on strike, they invited me out to visit and I obliged. We agreed to meet at an exclusive beach club that had a special iron gate at its entrance. From the club promenade one could look out and watch the whales diving and singing in the straits. Hans seemed nice enough, but I couldn’t understand his desire to befriend me. He was a wiry sort, with orange-red hair, and he liked to wear dark clothes, even in the summer and in California. “What would you like to drink?” “Was your flight all right?” “Is the hotel comfortable?” “You know, you can always stay with us.” He also tried to win me over by gifting me various treasured items of modern day hipsterdom, such as a freshly pressed edition of Talking Heads’ classic 1980 album Remain in Light. “This is high quality, 180-gram vinyl,” Hans said, displaying my gift. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that because of the divorce settlement, I didn’t have the money for a decent turntable or sound system. I decided to file the record away for future listening. A man’s got to have some goals, you know. He also presented me a copy of Thunderball signed by Ian Fleming. Such artifacts are easy to come by if you are one of Hollywood’s top writers, even if you are on strike. I put it away in my knapsack. The club had a tennis area divided into two sections. The first had “batting cages,” where new players could try out their backhands, and then the second had the proper, luxurious courts. Taylor Swift was there playing tennis against Idris Elba. “Fifteen-Love,” Taylor announced. “Thirty-Love.” They both wore shorts so bleached white you had to squint to look at them. “Do you want to play a game?” Hans said. My ex was behind him, toying with an umbrella like Deborah Kerr in The King and I. “After that, we can have lunch at the club restaurant. It’s no problem.” I agreed and said I needed to go and change my clothes. On the way out, I left the Talking Heads LP and the Ian Fleming novel with someone up front. I knew Hans meant well, but L.A. was not for me.
north! 