And now, Suzy Soro's unreleased book continues ...

Suzy met a dentist at a divorce party and gave him her cell number inside of 12 minutes.  But he's married and his wife has Mad Cow Disease.  He proceeds to tell her all sorts of uninteresting things and Suzy decides it may be time for another fake cell phone call.  

Instead, she fakes a migraine.

All the Bad Sex I’ve Had, a very, very, very long book (Part 3)

George was forty when I fell in love with him. I was in show business so I was age range 36-43. I'd known him for ten years and always had a crush on him, even though he was married. We were in the same talent agency and we'd meet at charity events and parties and I'd always walk away thinking, "Why can't I find a guy like George?" He had that languid Elvis thing going on and was the kind of man women call dangerous because they're sexy and don't know it. This magnet for women seemed oblivious to his considerable charms.

He was Italian, every inch of him smooth and sleek, all except for the shaggy brown hair that fell over his eyes and the two day stubble. And he was tall, taller than any man I'd ever gone out with. I had never melted under a man's gaze before like those women in romance novels always did, but he stared at me so intently that I was sure he could see my heart beating and my body decomposing.
 
George was a retired baseball player and had been a pitcher for the Kansas City Royals. I didn't know a lot about sports, except that O.J. was guilty. George missed playing, he'd retired at thirty-four with a rotator cuff injury and now his only sport was playing poker with his friends and watching ESPN, ESPN 2, Sports Net, Fox Sports, and even Spanish Fox Sports. There was always a TV on somewhere in his house with a game playing, horses running, cars racing or Mexicans yelling.
 
Once at the agency I saw him in his baseball uniform. It was after a photo shoot for Sports Illustrated and all the secretaries left their desks to sneak a peek at him. I remembered telling him that he looked really handsome and he was leaning against a wall and said, "Yeah?" I smiled at him and he smiled back. I don't remember breathing.
 
George had gone from commercial pitchman to actor and we were once both cast in small roles in a Robert Redford movie. I was dating Reed at the time and George had to listen to me complain about my relationship in between takes. I don't remember exactly what he said, but he told me I deserved better and I'm sure he thought I was nuts to stay with someone who was so mean to me. I loved every moment on that movie, because I would cling to George like a life raft, hoping he'd take me from the Titanic that was Reed. And he did, even if only for a few hours a day.
    
It was Figgy who told me George's wife had breast cancer. She was the wife of one of George's friends. I kept making a mental note to call him but didn't. I hadn't talked to him since he and Patty moved away from California the year before. Six more months went by and Figgy called to tell me Patty was dying. I immediately phoned George on his cell and after I told him how sorry I was, I burst into tears. It seemed an odd reaction at the time since I'd only met Patty twice, but if George thought it was odd, he didn't say anything. I thought maybe I was crying for his children, and definitely crying for George, who I knew worshipped his wife.
 
They had come back to California for treatment and Patty was in a Los Angeles hospital. When they gave her a few weeks to live, she told George she wanted to die at home. Her condition was so perilous that she didn't have a chance of making the three hour drive back in a car, so George rented an RV and had it equipped with oxygen and IV drips and all the comforts Patty would need. She died before they had the chance to use it.
 
I went to the memorial service they held in Hollywood and George was so heartbroken that I couldn't look at him without tearing up. He wept openly and I handed him a Kleenex out of a little plastic package I had remembered to bring. I handed him my card before I left and told him to call me if he needed to talk.
 
George's agent stood next to me and some of George's friends at the memorial and said, 'Well, the poor girl's finally at rest.' We all agreed to that. And then he added, "How many times did she call me and say, "Well this time it's really over between me and George." I didn't know his agent very well but remembered thinking what an asshole he was to say something so inappropriate at a memorial. But what do you expect for ten percent?
 
George and I talked on the phone a lot after Patty's death; I knew he was missing the closeness he had with his wife. And even though we had talked over the years, this was a different kind of conversation. And it felt like we had always talked like that. George was honest; if he was angry, he told me. He wasn't one of those men who ignored or punished with their silence. And when he was happy, he told me that too.
 
I wasn't sure where any of it was going but the ride was scenic. He called me about once a week and I would check in on his grieving and he said because he had watched Patty die over the course of a year he had been grieving a lot longer than people realized.