Maxfield, having heard my woes of leaving my homophobic ex-employer, had made arrangements for me to meet a businessman by the name of Leslie Reynolds. Leslie was supposedly a very wealthy venture capitalist; a friend of Hillary’s, who was interested in getting involved in the successful managed medical care industry. I told Maxfield I was into sports medicine, not managed care, but he told me it was important for me to meet Leslie. Eventually, I realized I had nothing to lose.

I called his office and though I never spoke to him directly, I was told by his assistant “Jonas” that Leslie wanted to meet me for lunch. I was expecting to hear him say Pinot, Muse, Chin Chin, or any other well-known L.A. lunch spots on the Westside, but The French Market? What the hell was a venture capitalist going to a coffee shop that was a cross-between Disneyland, a shopping mall, and a gay bar?

Suddenly I was nervous. Sure, I hoped this guy would have the money to perhaps help me start my own practice, but choosing a cruisy place like the Market to meet was well, in my opinion, tacky.

As I waited by the front door on a wooden bench, I watched a parade of men enter the main dining area. You name the type-- hustlers to actors, businessmen and politically correct non-profit drones to drag queens and transsexuals–they were all here.

“Eric?” Asked the male voice. I turned, seeing an extremely handsome man, early 40’s, wearing a black Armani suit. I stood, his piercing blue eyes staring me down with a cut jaw and salt and pepper hair. We shook hands and a firm grip greeted my palm. “Thank you for me meeting me today.” But suddenly something didn’t mix and as we walked to our table, I realized what it was. Leslie looked like a GQ model, but ironically acted like, well, for lack of a better word–a total queen.

“I jusssst love The French Market, don’t you? Oh, jeezzzz, there you are!” He looked past me to another table, waving hello to a man who smiled back. “How wassss Maui? Love the tan, Shawn. Call me baby!”
As we sat down at our table beneath a canopy of fake flowers and vines, I could feel myself becoming very uncomfortable. Here I was eating with one of the most handsome men I’d ever met and he was acting like a female game show contestant.

“Maxfield ssssaid you are fabuloussss.”

“Uh…” I cleared my throat, “Yes, Maxfield is…great.” I mumbled, noticing the gold Rolex across his right wrist.

“He sssaid you got involved with ssssome homophobic work nightmare? Jussst terrible. Now then, I’d like to cut to the chasssse. I’ve done sssome ressssearch on you.”

“Research?”

From his pocket he handed me a formal looking document with the letterhead CATALYST INQUIRY CORP. I opened it, discovering a 14 page computer print out of my entire life and family, including my medical school grades, credit reports, AND information on my treatment for sexual addiction in San Diego.

“Pleassse don’t be sssshocked. When I invest, I invessst in personalities. You’ve had quite an interesssting life. I like you.”

I simply handed it back. “Look,” I stated, “I don’t know what you want, but perhaps Maxfield made a mistake.”

“Missstake? I hate to brag, but I’m worth more than David Geffen.”

“What…do you do?”

“I invented the rainbow bumper sssticker. Actually, import/exporting. Family money. Old money. Ssssee what happensss when your parents only have one child who happensss to be queer? You get to invessst. Eric, I want to start a Sports Medicine Clinic. Are you interested?”

I was stunned. This guy didn’t waste any time. “Uh…” I mumbled.

“I understand. I’ll have Jonas send you my portfolio and you can see I’m legit. See, I like you already. You’re asking the right questions.” His eyes continued to dart around the room at passing men like a bee searching for pollen. “Gays exercise. They’re obsessed. Gays hurt themselves and where do they go? To Cedars Hospital. But if they had a choice between a major corporation or a gay friendly practice, where would they go?”

I remained quiet.

“To you, Eric,” he mumbled. “They would go to you.” He raised his water glass in a toast. “To the future.”

I clinked our water glasses together, following his lead with great caution.