So I had a shoot in Chicago...
So I had a shoot in Chicago...
Special Holiday NO ROCK AND ROLL EDITION. Just love, sweet love. It's the only thing that there's just too little of.
A note to my beloved readers: this will serve as our first annual HOLIDAY EDITION. Which means I’m taking the next two weeks off to try to learn to use fewer comma splices and maybe master the em dash. May we all find some peace, love and understanding, nothing funny about it.
This chapter is not about rock and roll, celebrity shenanigans, or glamorous photography. It is a kind of a weird love story. Star crossed love, right person wrong time kind of deal. Like, I can’t believe they’re not getting together situation. Other than having taken place at a photo shoot during 1990 it really doesn’t belong here. But casting about for something special to show you before taking a couple weeks off I found this. And think maybe it does belong absolutely right here, right now.
Until I began writing these memoirs of my photography career I tended to only write long form upon significant events: deaths, births, the sort of cataclysmic, life altering events that cry out for memorialization. My photo shoot of the actress Anna Chlumsky for Premiere Magazine in December of 1990 contained one of those events, or so I surmised at the time. Subsequent events crushed those hopes and then sub-subsequent events revived them. Thirty years later my beautiful family is testament that I was right the first time.
Unlike every single other one of these memoirs, I wrote a contemporaneous account of this photo shoot. Though ostensibly a session with young actress Anna Chlumsky (who later went on to fame in Veep), this shoot, and the story are about the day I met my wife. Reading this story written so long ago I’m reminded of the aphorism about never stepping in the same river twice. The river’s different, but so is the stepper. In addition to the cringier aspects (and they are there, can’t deny!) there I am. And there’s a rawness, a wistful quality that comes from not knowing how it will all turn out. Astute readers will, upon coming to the end of this tale, cry, “this is SO SAD! How can you end there?” Psyche.
Two years after the events in the following tale, Liz and I worked together again and it was pretty much instant kismet. I seem to recall avidly looking our horoscope combinations up in Linda Goodman’s Love Signs (she did NOT approve) before the end of the session. When a casual, “I’m going to Nantucket this weekend, what are you up to?” was met with, “I’m going to Nantucket this weekend!” our fates were sealed.
No they weren’t. Marriage is daily work against the vagaries of fate. I’ve fucked up plenty, ‘lo these twenty five some years now. But I’ve also broken the cycle of my parents divorce, helped raise up some extraordinary human beings, and managed to convince Liz to keep this operation going more than a quarter of a century. Neither one of us nor the river have been the same since moments after stepping. But we are still wading across that river, searching for light in the darkness of insanity. I ask myself, “Is all hope lost? Is there only pain and hatred and misery?” Nope, there’s wading through the river of life, together. Happy Holidays.
So I had a shoot in Chicago in early December. I hired a stylist sight unseen because the shoot was fast approaching, and we were running out of time. We spoke a couple times before the shoot and she sounded like she knew what she was doing. Elizabeth Celia Mechem showed up and proved that she did. She also had dark hair, super lascivious lips and green eyes to die for. As stunning as she was, I didn't really pay too much attention: I was working like a dog and Liz mentioned her boyfriend at least three times.
However, the first moment we were out of earshot, (my assistant) Jennifer collared me and said, "What the hell is going on with you and Liz?".
Of course I'd found her attractive, but didn't think I was being too obvious about it.
"Au contraire", Jennifer corrected me, and said she could virtually see the arc of light connecting us, in no uncertain terms.
"Hmmm", sez me, and promptly deputized Jen to scope the scene that night, when they shared a hotel room. Dinner was fun, but all three of us were totally burnt from the day's ordeal. We swilled a beer and a couple slices of Uno pizza before dragging our asses back to the slimy Best Western, where we split up and crashed.
When I was finally in the sanctuary of my own room, I found my thoughts centered on Liz, with a vengeance. It wasn't just lust, or a crush, it was like I'd been hit by a wave. I felt as if something extremely important had happened, but I wasn't briefed on what it was. I had this feeling of being a part of events beyond my control. Also, on top of all this intrigue and anticipation, an undeniable feeling of relief, Eureka, something being resolved.
Why the hell this should be so is a mystery, especially since Liz had mentioned her boyfriend at least three times during the shoot. And not only do I not want to date a stylist(or anyone from photo-land), but I don't think I'll be ready for a relationship until I resolve some of the more fundamental problems in my own life (ie work, self identity/image, finances etc). I went to sleep thinking something intense may have just happened, but my innate cynicism crept up and quashed any hopeful feelings I may have enjoyed.
Fighting hard to reverse my natural reticence, Jen spent the entire plane ride home firing me up about Liz. The word on the boyfriend was encouraging, or as encouraging as such a thing can be (she does have one, after all). She told Jen that she had only recently started seeing him, and wasn't really comfortable calling him "boyfriend". Even better, she called their relationship "spiritual" and said she felt like the man in the relationship.
As bodaciously cool as Liz seemed, if not for Jen and her prodding, I wouldn't have followed up on this at all. When I hear that someone I like has a mate, I immediately get over it and look elsewhere. I don't know if it's a case of not wanting the same to happen to me later on down the road, or a chronic lack of self confidence; I usually run the other way with all due haste. When I mentioned this, Jennifer made the point that I should let Liz (or whomever) make her own decision and decide for herself if her boyfriend will get to stick around.
As it was, Liz was leaving for home (San Francisco) the day after the shoot, and wouldn't be back for two weeks, so there wasn't much I could do anyway. Trying not to get myself worked into a tizzy over an imaginary affair, I did assure Jen that I'd call Liz over the holidays and leave a message and then follow up after we all got back in town. I left a message saying "Hi" and asking her out to coffee when we returned to town.
I called her a couple weeks later. Thinking I was stupid and wondering how I could have hallucinated that such a cool woman would even like me I was regretting even making the call when I said "So what are you up to this week?" and she replied, "Having coffee with you." No fucking way! Could Ms. Jen have been right? Could this brilliant and fabulous babe like me? Nah, gotta be a fluke.
We go to Bubby's for Joe a couple days later. Liz is even more steamin' than I remembered. The more we talk the more I'm convinced that we were made for each other. She cross-country skis, backpacks, meditates, is a vegetarian, speaks Italian, is an ex Deadhead, you get the picture. However, it's not until after we part (big bear hug, peck on cheek, nothing more) that I realize what an extraordinary encounter I'd just had.
We talked of things I don't tell anyone, much less someone I've just met. Time stood still; as I think back on it, I picture a movie: long lens with the subject in sharp focus, everything else a big blurry color field. I felt this incredible simpatico bond, like I could tell her anything and had known her forever. We traded tales of our families, bitched about our careers, even talked babies, goals, lifestyles. How weird to do all this on the first date. All this seems so cliche, but I swear it's true: I felt this weird physical/bio-chemical/atomic attraction. Not lust either, though that joker was certainly lurking just offstage. This was something different than I've ever felt. Love? I don't even think I believe in that shit. All I know is it made me want to throw up when I thought of it afterward.
One thing we didn't talk about was her boyfriend, though I listened carefully for any mention. The only reference was the fact that they were going to London together some two weeks hence. A lame thing to hear for sure, but I noticed that she didn't bring him up "casually" the way people do when they want to signal "hands off". Me & Otis (I had brought out the big guns and spared no effort for this date, after all) walked her from Bubby's up to Broadway where she had to buy some boots. While we were in the store I laughed and joked that I couldn't believe she had gotten me to go shopping on our first date, I hate shopping. I hugged her in the snow outside and asked if I could see her before she went to London. She said yes, we could have dinner, I said I'd call her, and that was it.
So Friday rolls around, I haven't heard from Liz, so I give her a buzz. It's Friday afternoon, I'm trying to get out of town for the weekend, and I really just called to set up dinner. Liz instantly gets into fairly serious territory by saying,"Sparks are flying, huh?" And then says, "But I guess it's too early for this conversation, right?" I'm like, "No, it's not too early", especially since I keep wondering what is happening here anyway. I'm particularly surprised to hear her refer to "our next date", "sparks" etc. because previous experience has led me to believe that women don't want to hear that kind of shit, especially early on.
You go start talking about "dates" when you've only had coffee and they run. Fast.
So something is up with Liz. Each time I get to thinking I'm hallucinating the whole thing, she turns around and inflates my hopes again. We chat briefly, this time including her boyfriend (whom she finally gives a name to: Stefan) and agree that something is indeed going on, and that we should have dinner Monday night to talk about it. I tell her that Jennifer too saw the sparks flying between us, and that this sort of thing generally didn't happen to me, in fact never had. I also told her I thought she was pretty incredible and couldn't wait for dinner Monday night.
I left for the weekend giddy with the memory of our conversation, thinking that perhaps I had found someone to share my life with. Not to sound too momentous and portentous, but that is what is so weird about this entire situation. From the beginning this was different. This wasn't my typical crush/lust thing. This wasn't even my extreme crush/lust thing. This was some sort of cosmically decreed bonding from another planet. The discerning reader will note that at this point in the story all is looking good. We are, in the immortal words of NASA, "Go at throttle up."
Monday dawned cold, blustery and nasty. As I drove Lisa, Patty and Otis down from the Catskills, Lisa and Patty continued what had been a weekend-long barrage of questions and proddings about La Liz. I had been trying to keep somewhat of a level head about the whole deal, but those romantic ladies spent all weekend getting me fired up about this big dinner date. I even got talked into stopping at the outlet mall, on the pretense of getting some nice clothes to wear for the big date. Each time I eyed the accumulating snow and started to complain that I wasn't going into one more damn store, one of those crafty babes would say, "I bet we could find you a studley and attractive shirt at that Woolrich outlet." Finally I dragged them out of there (although in fairness I must admit that I bought more than the two of them combined).
During the ninety minutes we dawdled, the snow piled up and driving got much more difficult. The Mazda kicks four-wheel-ass so it wasn't really a big deal, it just meant that I had to pay serious attention to the road, and stay out of the way of the other chuckleheads fishtailing their way to work.
On top of all this shit, Otis was acting kind of weird. When I reached down to grab something off the floor of the backseat, he actually snarled and bit me. I was so shocked, and concerned with all of us dying on the icy interstate, that I didn't even really react. Instead of the instant "alpha wolf rollover" disciplinary move which was called for, I yanked back my hand and halfheartedly smacked him. This moment was not without its comic potential however: poor Lisa Wagner was cowering into the corner of her half of the backseat while this out-of- control snarling beast attacked its owner, and went calmly back to growling and compulsively licking the seat back.
So we finally made it back to the city without further mishap, and I returned the truck to the parking lot (which is on the West Side Highway at Houston Street). The wind was howling, sheets of freezing rain were blowing horizontally at my face, and the sidewalks were a single sheet of ice stretching from the lot to my front door. I finally arrived back at my loft, drenched, irritable, freezing, and just feeling like I wasn't going to have any "big date" that night.
Sure enough, first message on the machine: "Chris, it's Liz. Liz Mechem. Uh, I'm not, uh, feeling real well, and I think I've gotta cancel for tonight." Ooooh. Shot down in flames. Not only am I being majorly blown off (she's not a very good liar), but what is with that "Liz Mechem" bit? Like I might not know which Liz she is? Please. And then, continuing the day's karma, I go to call her, and I can't call out of the neighborhood because of the storm! Major low point of life. Spent the rest of the afternoon watching the snow and ice turn gray, then black.
Finally, at eight or so I reached her answering machine. I left her a nice, non-threatening message, "Sorry you feel bad, call me when you feel better" sort of thing. And if she's so sick, why isn't she at home? She could of course be sleeping, but why give anyone the benefit of the doubt, when I'm feeling cranky as a cat in a hot tub? At this point I was almost relieved, in a weird way. The adventure up to this point had really been too good to be true, and things like this just didn't work out for me. It wasn't natural. Somehow her blowing me off brought the whole experience down to a more pedestrian level. It was much easier to deal with mentally when I considered it as just another fling gone bad. Unfortunately, I still had this nagging glimpse of the astral plane which wouldn't quite leave my head.
A couple hours later the phone rings, and it's La Liz. She's like those people who call you to try and sell you something. She sounds like she's reading from a script: "Listen Chris, we've got to cool it with the flirting. It's really making me uncomfortable."
I'm not too shocked by this. It didn't take Yuri Geller to be able to divine from her message that she was giving me the brush.
I figure all is lost anyway, and some perverse side of me decides I have nothing to lose by laying it all on the line, and telling her how I feel. So I launch into a monologue the likes of which hasn't ever been seen around these parts. I tell her about the electricity between us, how even Jennifer noticed it. I tell her how I've been thinking of her nonstop since I met her, and how disturbing this is since I don't even know her. I tell her how I felt when we were having coffee at Bubby's, the whole deal with the lens and colors, everything. And great God almighty, she goes and says yes, yes, she feels it too. But lest I go and have my head explode, she explains that she wants to do the right thing with Stefan (the boyfriend). I tell her, Fuck that! you gotta go with your heart. Each time I've been let down has been when she gets a couple days to think with her head. After we see each other or talk she gets her heart going again and I have a chance. She tries to give me the brush, but can't. I kick it into overdrive, and tell her how I feel obligated, yes obligated to act on this because it's not every day that you get a sign from the gods. In fact, for me, it's entirely unprecedented. I just don't do this with people. And if this is something that not only I feel, but you feel, and even third parties (Jennifer) see, then we are morally bound to act on it. I mentioned that I hadn't even touched her yet, except a friendly bear hug. She said she noticed, and it was driving her crazy. At this point she actually muttered, "Oh, I could go crazy on you..." After a major pause for breath, I say "why don't you?" She fears "pain and shame". She has a boyfriend, and has to do right by him.
I see her point, and wouldn't want her to dump some dude for me. Wouldn't I always fear it'd happen to me? And how much can you trust someone who acts on a whim of her heart? But again, how can you trust someone who doesn't? I sympathize with her, and it sucks. I am flattered and uplifted by the mere fact that she feels some of this stuff too, and it's not just my wishful thinking. But that fact is true too. By that I mean there is some sort of cosmic bond between the two of us. Liz even suggested at one point that maybe we were meant to be best friends. I ask her if she really thinks that may be true, and she has to admit she doesn't. No shit, Sherlock. This may not be pure lust or a silly crush, but there is definitely an intense sexual vibe mixed in with everything else. And I do feel obligated to act on this cosmic bond thing. Liz has one, and only one, killer rebuttal to that theory: if it was meant to be, why isn't she single? She hasn't hung out with anyone for three years, and now she's got this new boyfriend. Why didn't we meet six months ago?
I can't refute it, but keep returning to how I feel we have to follow our hearts and bodies and the cosmic whirlwind. Whew, this must be love, cause I'm talking like a fucking idiot.
Some deep belief that this truly is meant to be keeps me relaxed, yet insistent. I say,"Hey you're right, you can't blow off your boyfriend, but I need to see you." She's going to England with Stefan a week hence. I know this, but am thinking maybe I've planted enough of a seed in her mind to get her thinking of me when she's in England with the beau. A long shot, yes, but the only one I've got. So we agree I won't call her again that week, but we'll talk when she gets home from England.
I get off the phone thinking all is not lost. We're not having passionate sex after a captivating dinner, but I'm not going down in flames while hearing her remind me of her last name on my machine, either. Even as she called to show me the door, I talked with her intensely for two hours, including a call waiting interuption from Stefan, whom she told she'd call right back. It's going to be a long two weeks, but as Jennifer said, "Two weeks isn't very long when you consider a lifetime." Nice thinking, but not very comforting in the short term. And while I'm thinking thsese thoughts, she's vacationing with some other dude.
So Liz was back about a week when I decided I had to call. I left a message on her machine on a Thursday afternoon. I hadn't heard anything by Friday, so I headed up to Claryville to do some thinking and skiing. I didn't have a touch tone phone there, so I didn't call my machine, but when I returned to town on Monday there was still no call from Liz. Hmmm. I'd considered a lot of possible outcomes, but just being completely blown off had not been among them. Wow, go figure.
Now what to do? Grovel like a dog and call again? Act like the aloof lothario, and forget the whole thing? Just as these thoughts were building to a climax, she called me on Tuesday morning. Again she started off by attempting to give me the old heave ho, but just couldn't do it. She started by saying she almost didn't call me back, but then we ended up talking for a good forty minutes or so. Liz thought we should try to "demystify" each other. While we both were having these strong feelings, we really didn't know each other at all. She had had a wonderful time in Europe with the beau, and asserted she really did love him. She called herself "unavailable". I asked what to do to demystify each other, and she suggested lunch. I suggested right now, so we met a couple hours later at Spring Street Natural.
As I walked up there in the rapidly falling snow, I realized that every time we'd hung out it had snowed. Snow has long been my favorite weather, now it was adding an even more surreal note to an already mystical experience. I, too, was all for demystification. This whole experience had left me confused and kind of annoyed at myself for acting so irrationally. I was flipping out for a woman I didn't even know. Maybe getting to know her on a less astral plane was a good idea.
Fat chance. As soon as I saw her (for the third time)I was again smitten with that weird out of body feeling. And I don't think I was the only one feeling it. We joked about trying to demystify each other. She told me she had been nervous before coffee last time and was glad there hadn't been time to get worked up before this rendez-vous. But through all, there was a tension that could be cut with a knife. We kept catching each other's eyes, gazing into them for a moment, looking away shyly.
I'm sorry, I have tons of female friends. Lots are cute as hell, and there are even some I think I might sleep with some time. I know from flirting, sexual tension, trading messages, etc. In other words, it's not that big a deal for me to lunch with a fabulously cute babe, even one with whom I may share some sexual tension. This was a big deal. I honestly don't think I was imagining the sparks between us. Sparkling eyes, flushed cheeks, and all those other more subtle signs; you can't fake that shit. Our conversation ranged over the usual topics, most of which seemed to be testing each other for common likes and dislikes.
I know that the whole idea (hers, anyway) was to drag this whole thing back down to the mundane "lunch" level, but it sure didn't seem to work. By this point in the adventure I still had hope, but listening to her words (instead of tone) told me to give it up. Maybe a little lunch wasn't a bad idea. She was causing me fairly serious mental dislocation; maybe she was right, that we should just be friends. I mean, even if I can't make her mine, I should still want to hang with her on a friendly or professional level, right? Apparently not, as this was anything but a typical lunch with a female friend. Call me silly and adolescent, but I don't think I can hang out casually. I've got plenty of experience chanelling lust into rewarding friendships and professional relationships. Repeat refrain: this is different. So my heart was torn during lunch, leaping at the joy of hanging out with Liz, and collapsing with the thought that this was indeed not to be.
As we parted there was an awkward moment. I gave her a hug, nothing else. We then separated but held each other's arms for a little too long. I said I'd call her, she said "Only during the daytime". It was a joke, but I guess I looked bummed, cause she immediately said she didn't mean it. All along on this ride, I'd been giving her every opportunity to back off, including even saying a couple of times, "I won't even call if you don't want me to," but she'd always demurred and encouraged me.
So I left her there in the snow. I said I'd call her, but it's now been two weeks and I haven't. I don't think I will either. I feel as though I've done everything, and it's her turn to make the move. I don't mean that as some silly head game. I believe I've laid out my feelings, made them clear, told her I need to hang with her, and done everything possible to win her over. I don't know Stefan, or what the two of them are like together. I only know that something intense is up between the two of us. For a change I feel that I acted completely correctly, without any of the bonehead moves that are my hallmark. If it is meant to be, as I continually assert (to myself and to Liz) then it will be. I feel like I've done everything in my power to convince Liz we need to go with this. If she doesn't act, then maybe I was wrong. Unfortunately, the more time goes by, the less real the whole event seems. That is, in fact, one of my main reasons for writing this tale. These events did happen, but as they fade into memory they begin to seem exaggerated and improbable. The truly depressing thing is that if this is the way I'm thinking, I can imagine Liz may have put the whole thing behind her. Each time we have been apart for any length of time she's intellectualized her way out of it. I get the feeling that leaving her alone is only giving her room to pave over her feelings and invent new rationalizations for her strange urges. Though that may be so, I don't want to be a doormat and keep planting my face right where she can walk on it.
This whole experience has been especially painful because I had never been a believer in "true love". I'd seen it in other people, but had never experienced it myself. I've had tons of crushes, lots of lust, even an occasional spiritual bonding or two. I have never felt anything remotely like this before. While it is joyously uplifting to know that I can actually feel this way and find a soul mate out there, it is perhaps more tragic that I found her and can't have her. I've always believed that there were numerous people I could be happy with. All my relationships have developed slowly. I felt I could grow to love a number of different types of people, depending on my situation. Now I wonder about that. Is there one woman waiting for me? If I found her and don't get her, am I destined to live life alone? Dating was always fun because you never knew who you'd end up actually hanging with. Girls that seemed wrong in some way turned out to be right in others. Now that I know I can be hit by lightning, squalls and showers don't seem as enjoyable.
I don't want to wallow in self-pity, but I can't even seem to get excited about going on dates with cute girls anymore. The merest thought of Liz makes me massively depressed and I feel a tremendous sense of loss. I almost (but not quite) wish I hadn't met her.