Three's Company?

As portrayed by the popular media, Beverly Hills 90210 is an oasis of palm lined luxury, filled with impeccable shoppers - men wrapped with Hermes ties in perfect windsor knots and women teetering about in $800 stilettos with lasered white smiles, skinny as their skinny lattes. You'd probably never guess that lurking along these perfect people shopping these perfect boutiques along these perfect blocks are perfect lunatics. It was in Beverly Hills that a stammering man offered to purchase my thong for $200. It was also in Beverly Hills that I first encountered the Lebanese Brothers.

One fall day as I struggled under the weight of a tray of Il Fornaio coffees, a bifocaled Lebanese man kindly held the door for me. Chivalry is NOT dead, damnit! He walked me to my office and asked for my work number. I gave it to him, majorly impressed by his cojones. I'll dub him Troy, not his real name, but as random as the unfitting American name he'd chosen when he came to this country. He was so NOT a Troy.

A week later he called my office and I agreed to meet up with Troy for lunch. Approaching our meeting place, I realized I had only a vague recollection of what Troy looked like. Several gentlemen passed by, and I repeatedly performed the awkward stare of nonrecognition while playing Where's Troy? Ahhh Troy, straight ahead, the one with the thick glasses and generous beer gut. Awkward wave. A lot older than I remembered, I'm guessing mid-to-late 40s. Ah well, I thought, as I gave him a hug.

"Hello Renee. Good to see you again! Edgar is parking the car and he'll be joining us shortly." Edgar? Who is Edgar? "I hope you don't mind, Edgar is my brother."

I was a bit perplexed, maybe he just wanted to be friends or network or something, and hey, in my book, the more Lebanese the better. Edgar turned out to be a shorter and stouter version of Troy, but slightly better looking. I had a salad, they had pasta. They laughed at all of my jokes to the point of tears, told me I was their "new favorite American." I have to admit it was pretty fucking awesome. Two hours later, the Lebanese Brothers walked me back to the office and we exchanged air kisses and must-do-this-agains.

A week later on Halloween, Troy sent me a text to say he was in Beverly Hills, would I join him at Teuscher for coffee? Sure. At a little round table outside Teuscher sat Troy and Edgar, costumeless of course. I had on a tiara and feather boa, office appropriate and just plain dumb. Could they buy me coffee? A chocolate? Anything? I'll have an espresso and one of those yummy looking champagne truffles. Done and done. More chatter. More air kisses. Walking me back, a homeless man asked me what I was doing with the two scrooges. Ouch.

These random meetings with the Brothers continued for several months. One evening as I was rehashing about an awful MTV audition on the phone with Troy, he mentioned that I'd better not get fat or he'd stop dating me. Hold up. Okay, first off, neither I, nor my thighs, appreciate that. And I didn't realize we were dating. Every time I'd seen this man, Edgar had been in tow. They were like Siamese twins, inseparable, driving about in their Mercedes, Troy always at the wheel, Edgar always in the passenger seat. They even lived together. Perhaps this was a cultural thing I was unaware of. Maybe he's how that saying, "you date me, you date my whole family" came to exist.

Several months later I met up with Troy for a quick bite to say hi. For some reason. Edgar was there, of course. Troy demanded to know where I'd been all these months. Ohhhh, I'd been dating this guy. "Aha," Troy said, "I knew that was why you'd disappeared!" No Troy, actually that's not why, but whatever. He asked what had happened to the guy I'd been dating. "Oh, he was married." The laughter that followed was not appreciated but maybe was a bit deserved. Air kisses. Troy grabbed my ass.

I still run into Troy pretty much everywhere I go. At CVS while carrying a box of Tampons. At Il Fornaio. The last time I saw him I was at a stop light. Troy pulled up next to me with Edgar in the passenger seat. He held up traffic for the next 30 seconds shouting something about the three of us grabbing tea at Urth before the two of them sped off down Wilshire Boulevard, holding hands between their seats and chuckling about nonsense behind their thick foggy glasses.