Patrick Dempsey.org - Is it a true story ?

Lisa
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Is it a true story ?
« Thread Started on Apr 16, 2006, 5:27am »

Is this a true story ? I came across it on the web. The writer is a certain “motherhooduncensored” and tells his encounter with Patrick.
This is the story. If you want to see the webpage go to :

http://motherhooduncensored.typepad.com/....trick_demp.html

Since the lovely HILS so kindly (note sarcasm) tagged me, I have decided (since I'm not a huge fan of the memes) to weave them into my PD encounter this week. So, do me a favor, leave me a f**king comment, will ya? It will make all this d**n creativity I've decided to dish out worthwhile.

The girls and I are dancing the night away at the Viper Room. We're celebrating our last night in LA. It's been a trip ala Sex and the City - bars, clubs, shopping, celebrity run-ins. I'm sporting a true LA look - D & G strapless number, manolos, and LV bag. Not too over the top, but enough for us to get in without a hassle from the door chick. I've seen a few celebs mingling amongst us real folks - Mischa Barton, John Leguizamo... blabla. I spotted Nick Carter hitting hard on some large-boobed blonde. AH, the big city.

I take a break for a smoke (nuts, no one smokes out here - at least, that's what they try to get you to think) in the "designated smoking area" (might as well be Wyoming). I weave my way back, passing way too many "guysoncellphones;" it doesn't stop them from making the quick neck jerk my direction. I can't say I mind. I finally find my destination, not a moment too soon, and frantically (but not too desperately) search my bag for a cigarette. God knows I won't be able to find any in this place. I pop out the box - one left. Thank God.

I find a quiet seat in the corner, and lean back on the dark wall, each drag filling my lungs with a much needed fix. Through the smoke, I see a figure at the bar that I recognize. I can't make out his face, but I can feel his presence. I lose track of him as I turn to find an ashtray, and when I turn back, he's standing in front of me. I know him. Well.

He says, "Got any more of those?"

I smile. "Sorry," I say. "I think I'm out." "Hard to find cigarettes in this town..."

"Yeah," he replies. He laughs. "It's right up there with a good steak and a dark beer."

"Oh, well I do have a steak in here," I tell him. "But a beer is hard to fit in this thing [holding up purse].

He smiles [thank god]. The half-dressed dropdead gorgeous waitress comes over. He doesn't even acknowledge her. She drops off two glasses of champagne and a guiness. She slinks away. Her walk shows disappointment. I giggle, inside. "Don't worry. I ordered one just in case." He offers me a champagne. I'd rather have the guiness. But I accept. Without a second thought.

"This is one hell of a town," I tell him, not sure what else to say.

"You're not from here," he says. "That's a good thing."

I smile at him, softly. Looking down and around. Anxious. "Is anyone really from this place?," I ask.

He looks at me again. An unavoidable stare. Penetrating. "How long are you here?" he asks. I hear hope in his voice.

"I leave tomorrow," I say, reluctantly. "But, maybe I'll stay just another day... that is, if I can find some d**n cigarettes."

He laughs. And touches my hand. I faint, inside. "I think I can take care of that for you."

I smile at him. His hand feels warm on mine. At home.

"I've really been trying to quit," I reply. "Obviously, I'm not doing so well..." I laugh uncomfortably. Embarrassed at my admission of failure, desperately trying to think of something else to say.

"We all have our vices," he says, knowingly. He squeezes my hand and then takes it back. He can't talk without it. I like that.

"It's not our place to judge - chances are we're doing something just as bad or even worse... So, your secret is safe with me... Kristen... right?"

I look down like I had just seen my dead father. Am I wearing a f**king name tag? Jesus, how the hell does he know my name? "Yes, that's right," I reply, curiously, trying to catch my breath.

He senses my shock. Am I that obvious? "I saw you at the fundraiser last night. You know, The Children's Advocacy Group? It's something I'm passionate about. Children should never be hungry or victims of violence." He says it in a catchy, yet meaningful sort of way. Like a public service announcement from the heart.

I smile. "Nicely done." "Now I know why you make the big bucks..." I laugh and relax. Breathe.

"You want to get out of here?," he asks. "Perhaps a coffee... or since we're in LA, a soy mocha or honey lemon green tea?" He smiles at me. "And, we'll drink them in the car so we can smoke."

"Sounds very chic, yet still refreshingly high school," I reply. He gets me. I like it. "I'm in."

We leave our drinks and head out the back. I obsess in my mind as we walk out. What the hell is my hair doing right now? I could really use some gum, mint, SOMETHING. nuts, how will I get a hold of Jayne and MaMa? I could practically talk myself right out of this. Then I realize, he's holding my hand. How did I get here?

We're sitting close - his arm around me. He tells his driver to take us somewhere... I can't even understand him. All I can focus on is that I'm sitting here, with him, alone. It's good.

He looks at me. "My mom was sick last year- heart trouble, angina and clogged arteries, or something." He laughs. "You wouldn't know I play a doctor, would you?" "Anyway, she always told me that you have to take chances in life. You can't just sit back and watch opportunities pass you by." "She also told me not to smoke and live close to home... I figure one out of three ain't bad..."

I chuckle. "I always thought that I wasn't good enough. Then I realized, I'm the only one who really matters. You can't live your life trying to prove yourself to other people." It's quiet and still. What the hell am I saying? I should have just kept to safe stuff, like knitting or music or computers or even the f**king internet. Or maybe I should talk about sports now? Yes SPORTS...

"We all want a little recognition. In some way or another. It makes us human. I like your confidence," he adds. "You wear it well - just like your fancy bag." He points to it in a mocking sort of way.

I nudge him playfully and respond accordingly. "nuts, you gotta have a fancy purse in LA... Where else can I carry my coke, diet pills, and Kaballah water in a discreet, yet fashionable manner?"

He grabs me. Kisses my cheek. Softly. "Where have you been all my life?" he sighs, half serious, half joking. He leans back in. The kiss is longer. More passionate. Less joking.

We don't talk. I lay my head on his shoulder. It's surreal. Like a f**king Saturday night chick flick, but way better. I'm in it. I can hear the cheezy violin music in the background. I'm not sure where this is headed, but I feel like it's the right direction.