Date with a KILLER!!
Have you ever seen any of the Lifetime movies where the girl isn’t aware that the man that she is dating is, in actuality, a killer who is eventually going to try to kill her? He is always some handsome ‘catch of a man’ who is so seemingly perfect –too perfect—until his psycho killer personality rears its scary head? I have seen so many of those movies that you would think that by this stage in my life, I would be outwardly skeptical of any ‘random stranger’ that I happened to meet.
Two years ago, I was out with one of my girlfriends, catching up and indulging in the relatively cheap happy hour menu at Café Roma in Beverly Hills. We were sitting on two bar stools, giggling ourselves silly – the $6 glasses of wine undoubtedly contributing to the giddiness—when all of a sudden, a handsome man pushed his way in-between us to order a cocktail. When he spotted my friend, you could tell that he was very attracted to her and he immediately began to engage her in flirtatious banter.
The man was visiting from Texas, and if his accent wasn’t a giveaway to his tourist identity, the Crocs he wore on his feet were an obvious sign that this guy wasn’t from the hood of Beverly. He said his best friend was on his way to meet him, and he asked if we would like to join them for dinner. Okay, so I had just eaten two appetizers and was on my second glass of wine, and I wasn’t interested in hanging out with this tourist and his friend for another few hours, but my girlfriend seemed to really like this Texas boy named… Jess. So, even before meeting Jess’s friend, I conceded to hang out with the Texan tourists to make my girlfriend happy.
Jess ended up being a gentleman, and when our bill came, he insisted upon paying for the entire happy hour bill. I was starting to think that maybe there really was something to southern charm, holding out hope that my last-minute dinner companion would be just as cute and charming as my girlfriend’s Texas boy. I was starting to daydream, hoping that my Texas guy was going to be a southern prince, and was sipping on my cheap wine, when Jess taped my shoulder and said “Janell, meet Tommy.”
I swiveled around on my bar stool, with my happy alcohol-induced buzz, and had my first look at Tommy: 50ish, 6 foot 5, skinny – yet with a protruding belly of some sort—wearing khaki shorts, a Hawaiian button-down shirt, and flip flops. He had a full head of dark brown hair, and I was trying to determine if he had an attractive face, but all I could see was his big, bushy, MASSIVE handlebar moustache— one that was so pronounced that it practically swallowed up his face.
All I could think was ‘God, I am going to be stuck with ‘Croc-boy’ and ‘Moustache-Man’ for the next several hours, and I prayed that I didn’t run into anyone I knew for the rest of the night. Tommy and Jess were staying at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, and the concierge had told him that the Soho House was the hottest place to go in LA. My girlfriend piped up and said, “Oh Janell knows lots of people who go there, maybe she can get us in?” as she looked at me. I tried to tell them that it was a private club, and as I was not a member, I had no way to get them in. Besides that, even if I could… would I take them and be seen with them there? NOT!
Tommy wanted to go, and said he could throw a few hundred at the door and knew we could get in. He informed us he was wealthy and could buy his way into anywhere in the world by throwing cash at the door. At this point, I was really starting to get irritated with Tommy, as I patiently tried to explain to him that LA is a city where money doesn’t always talk. The two of us were bickering back and forth. I was starting to hate his obnoxious ‘money can buy all attitude’ and I told my girlfriend that I was tired and really wanted to go home. Tommy looked relieved, as neither of us wanted to spend two more hours in each other’s company. But Jess insisted I stay, and I conceded to dinner down the street at Mastros, where I have to add that Tommy’s money-throwing talents did manage to get us a table in the best section of the already-packed restaurant.
Okay, so how bad could dinner at Mastros really be? As such, I settled in and decided to order literally ‘everything I wanted’ as I did not care if Tommy liked me or not. I was stuck in this situation, so I decided to make the best of it and pig the fuck out. As such, I suggested the seafood tower as an appetizer for all of us, and then ordered a petit filet and lobster garlic mashed potatoes, and what the hell, wouldn’t a bottle of Opus One go swimmingly with my dining choices? (And remember, I had already eaten two appetizers, let’s just say this prairie Canadian girl can really put it back when she wants to).
As Jess and my girlfriend chatted away, I was forced to make conversation with Tommy. As it turned out—handlebar moustache aside—Tommy was a really interesting man. He owned an oil company in Texas, had a ski chalet in Vail, had been divorced twice, had three kids, but most importantly… he had a dog, and in my books, dog people are good people. By the time dinner ended, Girlfriend and Jess took off and left the two of us to chat, and we ended up sitting and talking for several hours about life.
Tommy said that he was bored with his life, that he had been everywhere, travelled the world, and that there was no excitement left for him. I told him maybe he should try giving instead of taking, and spend his time helping others with his wads of cash; that helping others to make the world a better place just might make him see his world in a lovelier light. I think the Texas oilman was not used to big mouthed, opinionated girls like me, and for some reason my sassy suggestions seemed to resonate with him.
Finally it was midnight, and even though he did not turn into a Prince, he was a gentleman and ordered a car to make sure I got home safely. And I realized that I had met a new friend, and was glad that I had given him and his handlebar moustache a chance.
Well, we aren’t done yet, what about the Killer bit… hmm, lets continue…
So Tommy kept emailing me over the next few months, sharing photos of his life: pictures of his homes, his kids, his dog – basically we became email friends. Then one day out of the blue he invited me to celebrate his birthday in Vegas. He was hosting a big party for all of his friends. He said he would fly me in, and put me up at the Cosmopolitan as he would like to get to know me better.
Hmm, I wasn’t sure what the implications were in the ‘get to know me’ better bit, however he did emphasize that I would have my own room, and he thought I would enjoy meeting and hanging out with his friends. Okay, so VEGAS – it’s only an hour away by plane, and worst case, if he was a wacko I could always run to the airport and jump on a flight as flights leave to LAX practically every hour. Plus let’s face it, how bad could two nights in Vegas be with a Texas Oil GAZILLIONAIRE???
So I packed my Louis Vuitton and off to Vegas I went….
Well let’s just say that throwing money at people in Vegas – works, EVERYTIME. Tommy had his birthday scheduled out for the two days, and his friends were cool right down to their handlebar moustaches. I felt like I was in a time warp, hanging out with a bunch of Tom Selleck wannabe’s from Magnum P.I. However, money does make for easy fun, and over the two days we went to the best restaurants, saw shows, a concert, laid out in the sun and drank – a lot. I started to notice that Tommy was never without a drink in his hands, even the first morning at breakfast he had a double vodka and tomato juice. I started to count his drinks, and he had at least 2 to 3 an hour – and at that, was completely sober. The second night after the tasting menu at Guy Savoy, we gambled. By this time in my trip it was obvious to everyone—including me—that Tommy liked me. We started to gamble and he kept giving me money to gamble with, and let’s just say that when you aren’t gambling with your own money, it is a lot of fun, and you have nothing to lose. By the end of the night I had about $700 in my pocket and had consumed a few glasses of champagne, and Tommy’s handlebar moustache was actually starting looking pretty damn sexy to me.
With that revelation, I realized that I must be drunk, and as I could barely keep my eyes open, I gave him a kiss on the cheek and went to my room and basically, passed out. At five am, I almost had a heart attack when I was awoken by someone trying to break into my room. I feared that a rapist, stalker, or killer was loose in the Cosmopolitan hotel and I was about to be the highlight of the Vegas morning news.
The killer ended up being a drunken Tommy who slur-rely explained that ‘he who pays for the room, gets a key to the room’, and he jumped into bed with me and cuddled me and passed out. I laid there rather motionless until he got up to pee (like a racehorse I will add, for like at least 4 minutes straight I will add) and came back and sat beside me, and apologized for his drunken brazen actions.
We actually ended up talking the rest of the night, and I told him that he had better be a gentleman as, after all, we weren’t even on an official date. He said I was a weird chick in a good way, and wondered if I would let him get to know me further.
By the time I flew home, I was actually beginning to wonder if I could go from Beverly Hills to Southfork and be happy. Could I change my name to Janellabelle? Tommy was sweet, funny, and generous, and I was actually even quite fond of his handlebar moustache. Moving to Texas aside, it was his constant and continual drinking that was troublesome to me.
Regardless, I was back in La La Land and ready to resume my life and see what transpired between me and my Texan guy.
Okay Janell, so that was the killer part of the story?? You made us read through long-assed story to find out that the killer in him was only his killer intrusion?
Hang on, my killer story isn’t done yet….
So for the next few weeks, Tommy called me daily. In one very long call, he asked if he told me something about himself, something he regretted having happened, if I could get beyond his past regrettable transgressions. And I, jokingly said, well as long as you weren’t a wife beater, a criminal or a killer, I could likely get past anything … as I giggled at his oddly phrased question.
The next day I didn’t hear from Tommy. In fact a few days went by where I didn’t receive an email, text or call. I was upset and going over every text and email with a fine-tooth comb, trying to figure out what I may have said or done wrong. As I was telling this tale to a male colleague at work, hoping for some testosterone-inspired advice, my colleague asked if I had ever googled him.
And of course, I hadn’t. So we both started to google his name, and my colleague said….”does he live in Dallas? Because there is a Tommy _____ from Dallas who ran over a boy, killing him while driving an ATV drunk as a skunk at a party, and he was so drunk that he dragged the poor kid’s body for a block before he realized that he had even hit someone. “
Ugh, Tommy was killer. He wasn’t a hitman killer, or a mobster killer, or a psycho killer, or a serial killer, or even a lady-killer – he was a drunk, who became so drunk that he became a reckless drunken killer.
There was a trial, he was arrested on second degree murder, and once I started to dig, I found out that his lawyer had come up with some ‘technical ATV malfunction’ bullshit of a defense, leaving an entire community enraged that this his rich-drunken-KILLER-ass had been vindicated by a jury of his peers.
Of course, I never heard from him again.
And the moral of this story is…
- Handlebar Moustaches and Crocs can grow on you, so give people you normally wouldn’t find attractive a chance, because you never know lies beneath the surface.
- You can date someone with ‘Killer Style’, or who is ‘Killer Fancy’, but never someone who is a ‘Killer Drunk’ because you never know who might get injured in their drunken state of intoxication.
- I was sad to learn that not all ‘Dog People’ are good people, and that even some good people make bad choices sometimes.
Check out the audio link below… Cheers!!!