Gone in Sixty Seconds

There are so many reasons not to date actors: they’re flakes, they don’t have steady jobs, they’re short. But when the only people you meet are actors, sometimes it’s unavoidable. I knew Rich was a rising star when I first met him. Objectively, he was attractive enough. He had black hair, green eyes and a killer smile. He did that grungy “I don’t care”/hair slightly greasy look to T.

But the thing about Rich was he had that spark. It’s not something you can really define, but everyone knows it when they see it – Star Quality. Star Quality on its own can take an actor pretty far, but when you combine it with actual talent, it’s an unstoppable combination. True talent is one of those qualities that can more than make up for deficiencies in other areas. It’s why guys like Lyle Lovett can nab girls like Julie Roberts (even if only briefly).

I met Rich in acting class. He was the one with whom everyone wanted to do scenes, discuss notes and be friends. It was a Tuesday class and not a lot of people went out afterwards, so we went for a coffee: him a latté, me a cappuccino. We starting hanging out, rehearsing scenes, watching DVDs and daydreaming together. I knew I wasn’t falling in love – I was mesmerized.

Then it happened. Someone else decided to tap into his Star Quality. Not another woman, a producer/director. He was going to star in an independent film by the latest Sundance sensation. It was to be filmed in France. He’d be gone for several months, but he wasn’t leaving for another three. He decided there was no point in us continuing to date. I guess I agreed.

I looked into his green eyes and the spark was gone. In its place was fear. Fear of success? Fear of blowing his big chance? I didn’t know. It was as if his urban cool was dissolving in front of me. I gave him a goodbye kiss and confirmed: the spark was gone.