Photo by Matt O'Callaghan

Blacktress is meeting her friend Shante Shannon for dinner at The Village Idiot, a gastro-pub on Melrose.  For the first time in history, Blacktress is on time for a social outing.  Shante calls to say she is stuck in traffic coming from the west side, and is going to be late.  Go figure.

While Blacktress waits at the bar for her friend to arrive, she catches the eye of Brandon Henry, a thirty something in a button down and jeans.  She buys his line.  He buys her a Lemon drop martini.  They engage in casual flirtatious banter.

Twenty minutes later Shante arrives semi-frazzled and desperate for girl talk.  The whole purpose for this outing is to get the dish on Shante’s weekend getaway to Miami with Anthony Morgan, a documentary filmmaker who is currently giving her some action.

“Well thanks for the drink.  It was so nice to meet you,” Blacktress says as the segue between sliding off of her barstool and giving Brandon Henry the slip.

“Wait, you’re not leaving me already are you?”  He asks placing his hand over his heart like it’s just been broken.  His eyes grow pitiful.

“C’mon, ladies.  Sit.  Have one more drink with me,” he pleads.

“Okay, a quick drink,” Blacktress says.

Brandon smiles.  “Look at how lucky I am.”

Shit, I’ve been caught in the web of an Elmer, Blacktress thinks.

Elmer is the nickname Blacktress gives guys who buy her one drink and then stick to her like glue for the rest of the night.

The next evening at The Edison, Blacktress meets another Elmer who first tries to feed her a Marciano cherry, then attempts to make her sit in his lap.  It’s becoming an epidemic. She has to do something.

“Can I get a little space?   You bought me a drink not a dream home.  You don’t get to own me now.   Jeeeez.  Go over there or something,” she snarls.

Elmer pouts before peeling away.

Later that week, Blacktress re-enacts the scene for her hippie, friend Nirvana, as they wait in line for a taping of Jimmy Kimmel Live.

“Ouch,” Nirvana says sucking her teeth and then covering her mouth with a fist.  “Poor guy.”

“Poor guy?  Poor me.  I was the one being smothered and force-fed in a relationship that was only 35 minutes old.  He said he worked at Lionsgate.  I just wanted to make a connection not a baby.”

Nirvana shakes her head disapprovingly as she fidgets with the sides of her organic cotton peasant skirt.

“That’s what’s wrong with LA.  Everyone’s always trying to make business connections and no one’s trying to make spiritual connections.  But that’s the glue that really holds us together, you know what I mean?”

“Wow”  Blacktress says feigning sincerity.  “And all this time I thought it was Facebook.”

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