YOU CANT ALWAYS GET WHO YOU WANT

by Phil Brody

I saw her one night at a reception, a glass of wine in her hands . . .

Her little black dress met her suntanned legs, and she sauntered over to introduce herselfwhich caused my friends to politely excuse themselves and head to the bartender for a little, Over the next couple of weeks there was a frantic string of dates Ill have whatever hes having. starring passion and promise. We talked. I made her laugh. She Then, POOF! she vanished like revealed she was in LA to act, a an assistant in a rehearsed magic fact easy to surmise. Her act. ambition was intoxicating Absolut Dreams, straight up. No calls, no email, no textsjust When informed I was a writer, the occasional updated profile her brown eyes pulsed. Write me pic to act as a reminder of the something, Phil Brody, she said, smile that waned into a sea of grabbing my hand and not letting what-the-f**k? go. A short time later, I learned she I pocketed her digitsall ten was seeing someone. For the before we parted, before an over- record, I didnt go looking for her-shoulder glance gave way to this info. I simply saw the writing her smile. And then she waned on the wall one morning. into a sea of black dresses and Damn you, facebook. suntanned legs. The next morning there was a friend request from her, and I admit it made me beam. I liked her. So I poured a bowl of Smart Start and took our relationship to the next levelI hit ACCEPT.
Phil Brody is a writer living in bLAh.

failed sitcom and a slew of cartoon voice-over work. Ugh. I got dumped for some Beverly Hills 9021-ZERO. And with every Mobile Upload documenting nights out and about with him in Tinseltown, I was taunted by the smile that tricked me into believing there might be magic. As I write this, I ponder our initial conversation, and her ambition is painted in a new light a jaded light. Seems all the little starf**ker wanted was a dash of paparazzi in her life. Alas, I could not give her that. Its been months and I should have long forgot her. However, I still see her pithy status updates, which are supposed to make me laugh, but instead irritate. F**k you, facebook. Sure, I could unfriend her, but the action feels so petty. Instead, I opt for thistherapy via fingertips dancing on computer keyboard. As I wrap this up, I again ponder our initial conversation. Write me something, Phil Brody, she said, grabbing my hand. Well, I finally got around to that, I think as I let go.
emailphilbrody@gmail.com

I discovered the magician who made her go Ta-Da! was someone I knewor knew of. He was a B-List actor with a season of 90210 (the 90s version, mind you) on his IMDb, along with one