Sept 98
Waiting For Dick
by Fran Drescher
I've started dating. Yikes!!! But what I should have learned about this strange tribal ritual during my late teens and early 20s, I'm only now discovering. (I married my high school sweetheart, and after two decades together, we decided to separate.) No matter how young or old you are, for women there's no escaping one main issue. We must face this challenge head on, shoulders back, chin up high, with courage and fortitude. Ladies, meet your match: men. They are a breed unto themselves, completely and utterly different from the female gender. It has become increasingly clear to me that women are "little women" from birth, and men forever and always start out and remain "little boys."
Well, where's the attraction? What's the bargain? For one thing, they're so cute. I mean, is a guy not adorable when he puts on a baseball cap? Couldn't ya just kiss them all over when they get so excited shouting for their favorite team on TV? And how about when they're asleep? Is there anything more endearing? It's actually a perfect fit. On the one side, there's woman--nurturing, caring, sensitive--and on the other side there's man--needy, needy, needy.
So where's the downside? you might be wondering. Don't get me started. Okay, you twisted my arm. Well, for one thing, many of these furry bundles of joy give mixed messages (beware of this trait, ladies; it's a lulu). I've learned the hard way that most fellas fall into one of two categories: Mr. No Future and Mr. Elusive.
Let's start with Mr. No Future (Brian is my yutz). This guy says he loves you, but, like a broken record, insists he needs his space. Mr No Future is afraid of commitment. Brian's feet get so cold that if he were a cartoon, he'd be wearing blocks of ice instead of shoes.
Then there's Mr. Elusive. He's the guy who seems to be really interested and takes your number, but then you never hear from him again. I'll give you an example from personal experience: Dick.
I attended this party around the pool at a well known publicist's home in Beverly Hills--twinkling lights, caterers, the whole nine yards. I must say I looked way cute, but not in a trying-too-hard sort of way, and I began to play the room, or the backyard, as it were. That's where I met this guy, Dick. Turns out he's the producer of a critically acclaimed, everybody's talking about, low-budget indie film. My immediate impression was, too straight, too clean-cut, too put together, but I persevered. Don't be negative; be open, I kept telling myself. So I gave him my number and never heard from him.
Oh, well. A week later, after a particularly tough writing day, I planned an evening with my girlfriends to dine at the trendy Little Door restaurant and then to go see a hot singer at Largo (it's imperative to put oneself out there, to have fun, with or without a man). As I waited for the valet, who came strolling by but Dick. This time, though, he no longer looked conservative. There he was, a couple of margaritas down the hatch, his hair longer and curling over his collar. He threw his arms around me and gave me a kiss like a long-lost lover and asked where we were off to.
Next thing I knew, we were all at Largo bouncing to the beat. I could tell my friends thought he was cute, and I was pleased he was there. Suddenly he began to whisper in my ear. Sweet nothings? NO! Compliments? NO!! "How old are you?" WHAT?! Did he just ask me how old I am? "Well, you look so great I was just curious," he said. So I gave him my usual answer, "Ageless," but he didn't bite. "No, come on, how old are you? Someone said mid-30s." Is this guy for real? I'm thinking, and I ignored him for the rest of the show.
But Dick hung in and walked me to my car, or almost to my car, when this sloshed UCLA grad student threw her arms around him. "Dick, Dick, where've ya been? I haven't heard from you in a while." Welcome to the club, honey, and get in line. Just as I was beginning to feel like returned merchandise from a Macy's half-off sale, my ego reminded me that I am a beautiful, successful celebrity, and with that I turned and walked away. Well, that's all it took to find Dick fast on my heels suggesting we get together, and I guess I got swept up in my girlfriends' obvious approval, 'cause I found myself saying, "How about Monday?" Well, Monday never came, and this time I deleted his number from my Casio and crossed him off the list.
The next thing you know my manager, my assistant and I were on a plane to Miami, the kickoff of my tour to promote the wedding episode of The Nanny. Our trip was arduous, and long flight delays drained us. When we arrived in New York, the final destination, we were beyond beat. I suggested, before even checking into the hotel, getting some wine, some food and some friends, pronto.
Well, Rialto restaurant in SoHo was hopping. The crowd was cool, the din noisy and the stress of the trip melted into a beautiful glass of pinot grigio. I was still wearing the clothes I'd been in all day -- my makeup, a thing of the past, had sunk into my pores -- when who walks right over to my table but good o1' Dick. He was looking awfully cute in a disheveled, boyish way that I guess I find appealing, and I jumped up to say hello.
I wondered why fate kept throwing us together. Why, out of all the places to eat in New York, did we end up at the same one at the same time? I found the whole thing very mystical (or perhaps I'd had too much wine), so when he suggested we get together while we were in Manhattan, I felt compelled to tell him what hotel I was staying at.
Well, the next day I was filled with regret. Not that I'd told him where I was staying, but that I hadn't written it down ... oy! A few days passed, and I was pumping out energy for shows like Letterman, Howard Stern and Conan, but still no word from Dick. There was Mother's Day at the Bryant Park Grill, the John Leguizamo show, Freak, and the Chaim Soutine exhibit at the Jewish Museum when lo and behold, who do I finally get a call from but the infamous Dick.
He'd had to fly back to L.A., and that's where he was calling from. I said I'd be back in town on Friday, and (not that I'm a glutton for punishment) we made a date for Saturday night.
By Thursday we knew our hard work had paid off: Wednesday's wedding episode was the highest-rated TV show of the night. It was a very happy day. Friday we flew to L.A. I could not wait to get home to see my doggie and rest up for my long overdue date with Dick.
Saturday became a day of primping. Massage in the morning, then I shaved my legs, I polished my nails, I even colored my hair, anticipating a night to remember. Well, by 3:00 P.M. I hadn't heard boo from Dick (am I gullible or what?), so I began to call my friends. I mean, it's one thing to get stood up, it's a whole other to be stood up and have to sit home. But it was like a conspiracy: Nobody answered. I left messages everywhere. I scanned the speed-dial lists on my phone, leaving no stone unturned, but it was hopeless. And all the while I'm vacillating about whether or not to call my Mr. No Future. I swore I wouldn't, not me, never again.
By 5:30, in an act of desperation, I caved in and dialed Brian --sexy, young, great-kisser Brian. Well, he wasn't home either. So I thought to myself, That's a good thing. I mean, under the circumstances do I really need this? I'm relieved he isn't home. I must have been insane to call him in the first place. Wait ... is that the phone I hear? I'm sure it's not the fax, but what if it's Brian? What if it's Dick?! I know. I'll screen the call. Two rings ... three rings ... "Oh, hell-ooo, Brian. What a surprise to hear from you.... "
Anyway, to make a long story short, I never did hear from Mr. Elusive. Next time I see that dick, I mean next time I see Dick, I shall engage my middle finger to express my innermost thoughts. But, meanwhile, I ended up having a long and stimulating conversation with Brian on the phone. We seemed to have so much to talk about. And wait, here's the worst part, we've actually started seeing each other again. I know, What an idiot, you're thinking; this guy is Mr. No Future, so give it up. But I don't have to tell you, it ain't easy.
Men, you can't live with 'em, and you can't live without 'em. Who knows? Maybe I'll figure out what I want to do with my life, with my relationships old and new. Or maybe I'll just keep running into Dick ....
