Close Call #3: Rebz

(What's a Close Call? Click here!) Pretty soon after I had arrived in San Diego, I started the search for a girlfriend. I put in several personal ads in the Reader, but I almost never got any responses. If I did get a response, it almost never panned out into getting to meet someone.

(There was one woman I did get to meet. I won't spend a full article discussing her, but it's a pretty funny story. Her name was Elizabeth. {Yes, her real first name. I'm breaking a rule here, but it's for a very good reason.} She had described herself as having medium-length brown hair. We had arranged to meet at El Torito in Mission Valley. I got there a few minutes early. I saw this woman come in matching the description and she was obviously scanning the room trying to find someone. I approached her. "Are you Elizabeth?" She nodded her head. "Well, I'm Fayd." She then looked at me like, "Am I supposed to know you?" I realized what was going on. "You must not be the Elizabeth I'm supposed to meet." She shook her head. I then went outside. I was trying to figure out if that had really been her and she was lying to me. However the "real" Elizabeth walked up a few minutes later. It just didn't work out.)

I had to change my strategy and start paying to call the 900 number for the Reader personal ads. My phone bills had a tendency to get pretty astronomical.

The biggest problem was that I would respond to a lot of ads every week, but I would get very few phone calls back. Sometimes, I would get calls from women playing "personal ad roulette." They'd ask a couple of questions and if I answered in a way not to their liking, they would hang up the phone. I wound up hoping these women would get emotionally abused by whomever they declared the "winner." Sometimes, I would have rather lengthy conversations that seemed to go pretty well, but they wouldn't call back again.

Because responding to ads was costing too much, I decided to change my strategy. I would closely read the ads and just pick a couple to respond to. This particular time in October of 1992, I only left messages for two. Both of them called me back. One left a message on my machine, but never called again. The other called while I was at home and I actually succeeded in meeting her and going on a few dates with her. Her name was Rebz.

She was 23 years old and lived in Ocean Beach. She had a degree in Theatre. She typically worked in the costume departments of various productions. She had worked at the Old Globe Theatre in Balboa Park and had worked in other cities. Her income was dependent on her being able to find a project at any given time, but she never seemed to have a problem.

During our conversation, she determined I was one of those people who liked to wear black all the time. I got the idea she thought I was Goth, but I wasn't. I just liked to wear black clothing.

Since I had told her I had never set foot on the beach, she invited me to come meet her at Ocean Beach. I went over and I recognized her right away from her description. She wore a black shirt and jean shorts. She had blonde hair and was very attractive, but not so attractive that I felt like she was out of my league. She had me take off my shoes and socks so I could get my feet wet. I complied and screamed when the cold water rushed onto my feet. She thought it was funny.

We arranged to go out again over the weekend. We went walking around Cabrillo Point. We discussed the current Presidential race and how we both admired Bill Clinton. While I still wasn't going to vote for him (or George HW Bush or Ross Perot), I still hoped he would win. (An interesting side note: In 1988, when Bill Clinton became known for giving a lengthy introduction to Michael Dukakis at the DNC that year, he appeared on Johnny Carson and played his saxophone. It was one of the few instances in which I was able to see into the future. I knew that in four years, he would be the next President of the United States. It's too bad that kind of premonition doesn't happen to me more regularly.)

I remember going back to her apartment that day. She lived with a couple of male roommates and I met one of them. She made us something to drink and we hung out in her room awhile, but nothing happened. We made plans to go to a movie.

We wound up going to see the "Director's Cut" of "Blade Runner" at the Park Theatre. I remember the night we went, we had to park about two blocks away. I also remember seeing someone's car with a flashing red light inside and joking about trying to make the car alarm go off. It didn't happen. I drove her back to the apartment and that was basically the end of the date.

Our next date was to see "1492: Conquest of Paradise." I'm not certain, but we may have been the only two people in the theatre. Neither one of us had seen the other Christopher Columbus movie that was released earlier that year, but Rebz commented that the actor probably wasn't as sexy as Gerard Depardieu.

As were were walking from the theatre out to my car, I started holding her hand. She seemed to be okay with it. However, when we were driving to her apartment, she stayed silent the whole time. I tried to get her to tell me what was on her mind, but all she would say was, "Nothing."

Not long after that date, she called me and told me she was going to be working a temporary costuming job in Chicago. She would be leaving within the next week and was going to be gone about a month. I told her it was okay and to let me know when she got back.

Figuring there was a chance I might be able to see her again before she left, I noticed that a drive-in was showing "Thelma & Louise." Since our first two movie dates consisted of seeing films directed by Ridley Scott, I called and left a message suggesting that we make it "three in a row." She later called me back and said she didn't think she was going to have time for that. I told her I was kidding and that I would see her when she got back from Chicago.

I didn't realize it, but that would be the last time I would talk to her. She never did try to call me back after she'd returned.

In February of 1993, I was driving through Ocean Beach. I saw her walking down the street. Because of a certain life-changing situation at the time, I did not try to get her attention. While I had changed my phone number since she went to Chicago, she wouldn't have been able to call me at home. However, she knew where I worked, so she could have easily called me there. I just don't know if she even tried. It would have been nice to know that she liked me well enough to get back in touch with me.

Her real name is VERY common, so I have been unable to locate her on-line. It's too bad. I'd like to know what happened to her.