My Weirdest Date

In Venice, California, there is a beachfront condo in a complex built in 2010. It has 2 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms, an office, kitchen, theater, rooftop bar, and patio with private beach access, and is worth $6.2 million. I looked it up. I found it on Zillow. I found satellite images of it on Google Earth. I saved photos to my desktop. I saved them to Pinterest. I posted them on Instagram. I did this because I doubted any of my friends would believe me without seeing it for themselves.

The twelve hours I spent in this condo made up the strangest date I’ve ever had in my life.

I arrived in an Uber at 6pm. The ride from the Valley was too expensive for my budget, but I decided to splurge, just this once—I was already nervous, and the added stress of finding a parking spot in Venice a block from the ocean would have sent me over the edge. I was sweating, and realizing I was sweating made me sweat more. Is it obvious? Should I just turn around and leave?

I punched the number of his condo into the callbox keypad.

“Yes?” came a voice.

“It’s Cara,” I said in a nervous high-pitched tone I’ve never heard come from my mouth before.

The door buzzed and I walked through the gate.

“I’m Matt,” he said, giving me a hug I wasn’t prepared for. He held the front door open for me. “Nice to finally meet you in person! Come in, come in!”

From the outside I assumed his apartment was one of many in this building, but based on the spaciousness I had just walked into, I guessed it was one of only two in the entire complex. Opulence wasn't the right word. It was pure luxury.

“Your home is beautiful,” I said, stunned.

“Thank you—I’ll give you the tour!”

I was abruptly whisked off to a staircase and ushered up.

“Let’s start at the top and work our way down.”

At the top of the stairs he led me through a door onto the roof, where he had a bar and lounge area worthy of a 5-star hotel. We went back inside and stepped into a master bedroom.

“This is where the magic happens,” he declared.

His bed was the most luxurious thing I’d ever seen. A golden silk duvet covered what I could only assume were sheets with a thread count higher than my student debt.

“I call it the black hole. Once you get in it you never leave,” he said.

“Is that…?” I started, pointing to what appeared to be a disco ball on a stand sitting on the bedside table.

“It projects stars onto the ceiling.”

“Wow.”

“Do you want to see?”

“…Sure?”

He pushed a button and the ball started whirring loudly. Green stars appeared on the walls and ceiling, drifting in a wide circular pattern as the ball rotated. The lights changed from green to blue to purple.

“Apparently it's from Bed... Bath and Beds..."

"Bed Bath and Beyond?"

"Sure. I loved it so much I got one for the guest bedroom too. You'll see.”

We continued down the hallway. He brought me to a stop in front of a mounted shadowbox on a wall.

“This was the first script I ever sold,” he said.

Inside the shadowbox were pages of typewritten text next to a large black and white photograph of him with Jack Nicholson, both much younger.

“Wow,” I said. "You're a screenwriter?"

“I was. The movie business is too toxic, so I transitioned into real estate. I sold Rihanna her house. Do you know Rihanna?”

“Yeah, of course I know Rihanna.”

“From where do you know Rhianna?”

“Um…everywhere? The radio?”

“No, I mean where did you meet her?”

“Oh—no—"

“So you don’t know Rihanna?”

Wow.

He led me into the biggest bathroom I'd ever seen, which led to a separate steam room. I was then shown the guest bedroom, where there was indeed another disco ball, his home theater room (red velvet...so much red velvet), his office, and we ended up back downstairs in his kitchen, which looked like something from the pages of Architectural Digest. Minimalist design but maximum product.

“You have so much fruit,” I observed, not knowing what to comment on first and landing on that for some reason.

“Take some, they’ll just go bad and go into the trash.”

"This place is incredible."

“Thank you. I had a home in Beverly Hills. But it was just too big. I like something smaller, like this place. I think it suits my needs more. It’s only me living here after all. What do I need all that space for?”

"I understand," I said, imagining how big his last house must have been.

---

Dinner was luscious. A fine carbonara pasta with shavings of things I couldn't pronounce, paired with a red wine from a year that was apparently superior to other years, and vegetables perfectly cooked and displayed as if we were in a gourmet restaurant. I never wanted to leave.

We were all the way to dessert, a decadent chocolate mousse, by the time he took a breath and asked me a question about myself.

“So, what do you do?”

“I work for Sotheby’s,” I responded.

“You like art, then?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a Picasso in the hallway.”

“Yes, I saw that. A print from his Tête De Femme series.”

“I bought it from O Gallery last summer for twenty thousand.”

It’s worth two thousand. Including the frame.

“More wine?”

“Sure, thank you,” I said as he poured. “It’s lovely, the lithograph. A striking depiction of his wife Jacqueline.”

“Well, actually, his third wife.”

“Second. He never m—”

“I want to show you something.”

He started leading me away from the table, and I debated taking the mousse with me. It was amazing.

He plopped me down on the couch and put a record on the turntable.

“This pressing is my favorite.”

Oh no. I’ve seen this movie. Don’t let him walk behind you.

He turned the speaker volume up so loudly I could barely hear his voice, which was still going.

“Don’t worry. The unit next door is empty. We can be as loud as we want. The woman who used to live there, well, let’s just say she was crazy.”

“Really? In what way?” I shouted.

“Well,” he said, sitting down next to me and suddenly becoming serious. “Look, I’m a good guy.”

Oh no. The four words that are the red flag of all red flags. No one who calls themselves a “good guy” is a good guy. I should leave right now.

“And people take advantage sometimes. Women, mostly. This girl, a lovely Filipino actress, she came over occasionally, you know, and one day she snapped, started knocking over things. She broke a lot of expensive stuff, and cut her hand in the process, screamed at me like it was my fault, and ran off."

"What? Why did she 'snap'?"

“I don't know, she was crazy. But with that injury, she could have accused me of anything. She could have said I assaulted her. No one would believe me over her.”

A rich white man not being believed over a young Filipino woman? What world has this guy been living in?

“So I called a friend of mine who works in the FBI. He took care of it for me. She won’t be allowed back into the country.”

“What? Was she here illegally?”

“Well, let’s just say she was,” he said with a wink. “She won’t be finding any acting work now, I can tell you that. Maybe in London, but it’s doubtful,” he finished, clearly pleased with himself.

I was horrified.

“Where is your bathroom?” I asked.

---

Coming out of the bathroom, I became disoriented.

Which direction did I come from?

The left-hand wall in the hallway curved just enough to make it confusing, and I ended up taking a wrong turn and ending up at the back door, which opened onto a beachside patio. The sun had fully set, but I still stopped to look out at the ocean. To my shock, instead of a picturesque view, I was staring straight into a face pressed against the glass.

I screamed.

“Are you okay?” Matt called out, running over to me.

“There are people on your patio!”

He flew the door open.

“Jerry! Stacy! You’re just in time!”

“Oh, you were expecting people?” I said quietly to him.

“Just a couple of friends. Don’t worry, you’ll like them." he said to me, then announced to the newcomers, “This is Cara!”

“Nice to m—" I started.

“Cara, was it? I want to show you something,” Jerry said.

Oh boy. Not again.

---

The four of us ended up on the roof, drinking gin and seltzer and lounging around an electric fire pit.

“Matt's the most down-to-earth man I know,” Stacy said to me, while the men were conversing on their own. “All of these rich guys working in Hollywood, they’re all so full of themselves and in their own world. But look at him. Look at this place.”

She gestured to a neon beer sign over the bar.

“He’s so normal,” she finished, taking a sip of her drink.

I turned to hear what Matt and Jerry were talking about.

“There are way too many homeless. But homeless people are lazy. They could get jobs if they really wanted to. That’s the problem. They don’t want it enough,” Jerry said.

Oh no.

“Where’s your recycling?” I asked, picking up the empty seltzer cans.

“I don’t recycle. Recycling’s a scam. It just goes into our oceans anyway.”

Ah.

I walked to the bar and put the cans in the trash bin.

“Have you seen the guest bedroom?” Jerry said from behind me. I hadn’t realized he’d followed me, and I jumped when he spoke.

“Yes,” I said, collecting myself. “I got the whole tour.”

“Let’s go look again, I want you to see something,” he said, not asking, but rather ushering me inside and into the guestroom.

“Sit,” he said, perching on the edge of the bed and putting a hand out beside him.

“Oh, okay,” I said, cautiously obliging.

"You're a lovely girl. How did you meet Matt?" Jerry asked.

"Tinder," I said.

“Ah. You have lovely feet."

“Thank you..?”

“So sexy.”

“What?”

“Take off your shoes and let me see your feet.”

“No…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay you.”

“Um—”

“How does five hundred for thirty minutes sound?”

“Thirty minutes of what?”

“Here, they need a massage,” he moaned, leaning over to grab my feet.

“No, no,” I said firmly, standing up and backing away from him.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m a nice guy,” he said as he approached me. My back was against the dresser. I had nowhere to run. He put his hands firmly on my lower back and dug his fingers in. He leaned in to kiss me.

Without thinking, and with one sweeping motion, I slid a tiny can of pepper spray out of my pocket and sprayed a stream of it directly into his face. He shouted expletives and I fell to the floor in pain, knocking things over as I went. I heard what could only be a little disco ball fall with a crash and start whirring, and I could make out flashes of green light through my tears. I hadn’t considered that the pepper spray would get into my eyes too at close range. I’d never used it before.

“What’s going on?” Matt yelled, running in and immediately starting to cough. Stacy was at his heels but stopped in the doorway, gagged, and ran back out.

“Oh God. Quick, get some dish soap. It’s in one of the kitchen cabinets.”

I got up and fumbled my way downstairs to the kitchen, only to be reminded that due to the modern decor, where there should have been drawers and cabinets there was only a sleek flat surface.

Um…cabinets?

I desperately started running my fingers along walls hoping to find a hidden seem or handle. My eyes burned and watered to the point I could barely see. I touched my hand above the stove to stable myself and something above me started moving, revealing a cabinet of glasses.

Ok…I can figure this out.

I tapped my fingers on the wall below and more doors magically appeared and opened.

I found the soap and ran back upstairs. The two men were in the guest bathroom, Jerry with his face in the sink and Matt holding him still while the faucet streamed water directly into his eye. I threw the soap bottle to Matt.

Catching my breath and realizing what I’d done to a man who would also probably deport women for less, I did the only thing I could think to do in the moment, and made a run for it, back down the stairs, out the back patio door, and onto the beach.

Getting out of that house felt like the greatest freedom. I looked at the openness of the ocean and night sky and filled my lungs with cool sea air. As I let it out, I began to cry in uncontrollable sobs.

Behind me I heard footsteps. Matt was walking toward me.

“I’m sorry. Look, they’re gone now. Would you come back in?” he said sympathetically.

“No. I’m getting an Uber home,” I replied.

“I’ll drive you.”

“No, that’s ok. I live all the way in the Valley.”

“It’s no trouble, really. It would make me feel better.”

Take a hint. I don’t want you knowing where I live.

I put my hands in my pockets.

Fuck. My phone’s inside.

“Fuck, my phone’s inside,” I said out loud.

“Come on, let’s go get it.”

He led me back toward the house.

“These beaches are a mess,” he said, kicking a piece of a plastic bottle. “It’s shameful.”

If only people recycled, I thought with an eyeroll that hurt.

---

Matt was apologetic, and I was tired, so I sat and ate the rest of the chocolate mousse while he talked more. He played more records loudly and danced, and I found myself genuinely laughing.

At four in the morning he fell asleep on the couch. Suddenly alone, I knew the last thing I should do was the one thing I wanted more than anything.

I made sure Matt was asleep and walked quietly up the stairs and into his bedroom. I laid down on the silk bedspread and breathed the biggest sigh of my life. The bed felt even more heavenly than it looked. I stretched out my arms and legs like a starfish and yawned. I rolled over and pushed the button on the disco ball. Star-shaped lights began swirling across the ceiling, fading from green, to blue, to purple, to pink…

After two hours of sleep, I snuck out and got an Uber home. The ride was out of my budget, but I decided to splurge, just this once.