The Incredibly True and Heartbreaking Tale of my First Hollywood Breakup, Chapter 6

Part A: Home, Sweet Home

When Amaris came home to Portland on the weekends, it almost felt as if there was no film at all taking over her life - she just wanted to enjoy her weekend at home and had grown a little weary of many of the dynamics involved in creating this particular film. She didn't want to talk about the film much at all (a major contrast from when she was working on an exciting project that earned accolades from several notable film festivals).

No matter - while I found the initial premise of this particular film to be somewhat intriguing, my enthusiasm waned with each additional bit of exposure I had to the inside scoop of this particular film.

Part B: Hey, can you help me out here? I can't tell from here if that is a red flag..or is it pink...or orange?

But then Amaris would return to L.A. and fell back into a life of this particular film and little else. I heard additional tales of the lack of camaraderie between Hester and A-J; I heard about Hester coming into work sporting a big 'ole pout and whining about some boy she'd attempted to date the night before. Amaris would, of course, listen and render feedback, when it was solicited.

Was she just choosing the wrong boys, Hester inquired of Amaris. Why were her dates always disastrous?, she wondered aloud. Of course, Amaris wanted to suggest to Hester that perhaps she might be barking up the wrong gendertree, but Amaris knew tact like no other. Thus, the power-imbalanced mentorship of editing and of life began. Hester had come to call Amaris a friend and found that she could tell her anything.

Suddenly, the post-production schedule on the film became less daunting and, rather than spending the wee hours making editing alteration and cataloging footage, Amaris and Hester were hanging out, going to movies, dining and imbibing.

Part C: Everyone needs a bosom for a pillow

When I confessed to Amaris my skepticism of Hester's intentions in becoming so palsy-walsy with her, she dismissed it, calling Hester young and naive and in need of someone to talk to. She reiterated her suspicion that Hester was on the verge of coming out and, thus, needed someone to turn to in the lesbian community. Very likely with a jealous and condescending tone to my voice, I said to Amaris, "yeah, I managed just fine without that."

But then Amaris came home for the, by now, routine and perhaps obligatory weekend lovefest, all along assuring me that I have absolutely nothing to worry about. Venturing into potentially dangerous territory, I pelted Amaris with questions regarding HER intentions with Hester:

Was she at all attracted to her?
Did anything about Hester turn her on?
Did she fantasize about her?
Would she ever make a move on her?

I had some initial regrets after the last syllable of the last question emerged from me. Did I really want the answers to these questions? But Amaris' responses were genuinely reassuring:

Was she attracted to her? "Ew, no."
Did Hester turn her on? "Not even remotely. Well, maybe the idea of mentoring her and helping her realize 'who she is' gives me a little bit of a woody, but it's not anything sexual at all."
Did she ever fantasize about her? "Not in a sexual way. Fantasize seems like kind of a loaded word. I mean, I've thought about a future in which we're friends - I have plenty of friends in the film world, but I could use more editor friends."
Would she ever make a move on her? "Never."

When I drove Amaris to the airport for her return to L.A., I felt a little bit better (funny what a passionate weekend can do to one's perception). I tried convincing myself that I was making a mountain out of a molehill and I was foolish to be worried over this situation.

But when Amaris returned to L.A. and the now established routine of spending every evening after work with Hester, I began to smell a rat. Amaris had a zillion friends - why wasn't she spending any time with them? When I asked this, I was instructed to 'stop being so jealous' - that it's not a very attractive trait.

Before long, the surface-level aquaintanceship had morphed into a deep ocean of Hester's every problem being spilled out for Amaris' consideration. On multiple occasions, in which their evenings out (dates?) culminated in a return to Hester's small cottage in Venice Beach, deep conversations resulted in Hester crying on Amaris' shoulder and being held until the sobs subsided.

What the hell was going on here? Was I stupid? Or was I the loving and trusting partner struggling to accept what I was assured was the truth from the girl I loved?