Bourbon Street Cafe, Rosebank Mall

Thursday, April 15, 2004

Service: N/A
Food: N/A
Ambience: *
Babe Count: * * * *

Myrto and I are sitting in a very closed Bourbon Street Cafe at the top of the escalators in Rosebank Mall. Everything's closed, and this is the only place that still has comfie chairs for late night types to sit in.

The reason I'm in a space where I'm able to sit and flirt with a gorgeous babe is that I sent Jacqui the email I needed to send on Monday night. I smsed her to say I'd sent it. It basically asked her whether or not to wait for her, whether or not she had any thoughts on whether or not we had any potential of a future together. This morning I received her reply. A very loving, very straight, very unflinching, "No." So now I'm a free man again, even though I don't want to be.

What's more, I've told my therapist about this curious phenomenon I've encountered in myself. I seem to have three modes. Celibate. Shagadelic. Relationship. She said, "Roy, maybe try and integrate shagadelic and relationship. Allow yourself to just be. Don't make any decisions about the women you date. If you want to shag, shag. If you want to have a relationship, have one. But don't pre-judge. Just allow what comes to come."

So I'm trying to do that. Instead of just going all out to shag someone, I'm also allowing myself to just enjoy the idea that I might be able to date without conquest. Without even the need to call the encounter a date. Maybe I'm just allowed to enjoy myself. And the woman I'm with.

Seconds ago Myrto and I were in TriBeCa downstairs, opposite Cinema Nouveau, sitting in the smoking section with a bunch of South African filmmakers, most of whom work at DV8 in some or other capacity. We were sitting in the smoking section, cos our mutual buddy, Ben Horowitz, the chap who introduced us, is a chain smoker, as are most of the filmmakers we've been sitting with. In just half an hour of sitting with them, my clothes need a double dose of dry-cleaning!

Myrto is Greek. Studied filmmaking at UWC, one of the most prestigious film schools in the world. She's made two short films, and wants to direct. "Right now, I'm doing the script supervising thing," she says. This is a woman with a plan, and she's following it, and success is definitely on its way.

Earlier, down in TriBeCa, I said, "Uh, I'm sure people ask you this a lot, but are you wearing contact lenses?"

She smiles, and her dimples reach their little fingers into my trousers. "No, all mine," she says.

I say, "Well, then I know people say this a lot, but I'll say it anyway... you have absolutely beautiful eyes."

"It's good to hear it," she says. I'm not even sure I can describe the colour. A kind of turquoise, green, bluish, deep colour. Amazing eyes.

The reason a whole bunch of filmmakers have been convening at Cinema Nouveau is that DV8 and Ster Kinekor invited a bunch of us to the premiere of a "low" budget Irish movie, INTERMISSION. Several times during the movie, spontaneous applause broke out, and most of us clapped at the end too. A remarkably loveable set of characters in the film, doing some bad things, and affirming the power of true love. Tugged at my heartstrings, made me laugh, and gave me some thrills on the action front too. A film I'd love to have made.

Ben and I were sitting four rows from the front when he recognised Myrto somewhere else in the cinema.

"Join us, Myrto," Ben calls.

She's there alone. Promising. Succulent body. These unbelievable eyes. Layered black hair in a tiered bob. Yummy. Ben moves to his right, leaving a gap in the middle for her.

I've drawn one of my ink portraits of her. But everyone at the TriBeCa table agreed that it might be her in twenty years time.

Up at the deserted Bourbon Street, we're in intense discussion about making films. "Why aren't you directing shorts in your spare time?" I ask.

"I've done my shorts," she says.

"But speak to Ben. The hotel story we were chatting about in the cinema before the film started is amazing. Maybe he'll let you direct it."

"Good idea," she says.

She's got my Coffee-Shop Schmuck card, and has commented on my Che Guevara-ness.

"So where do you live?" I ask. "Must be Bedfordview if you're truly Greek."

"Not at all," she says. "Houghton. But I did go to that famous school in Bedfordview."

"Saheti?" I say.

Myrto nods, the dimples massaging my beltline.

A few of my childhood friends went to highschool there. Paul Christelis for one. And a more recent buddy from a couple of years ago. "Do you know Harry Sideropoulos?"

"Harry's my best buddy!" she says. "I love him to bits!"

"Pleeeeeease use my card," I say. "And I'm definitely going to grill Harry about you." I'll do no such thing. Instead, I'll beg him to put in a good word for me. Which I do as soon as I've seen Myrto to her car. I sms Harry, thanking him for his message of support re my mom's rape, and telling him I've met the remarkable Myrto, and asking him to help out a buddy. Maybe she'll phone. But she's going to be in Cape Town for a few months, so maybe I'll just have to be patient.