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© 2019 Rachel Melvin. All rights reserved.  

How Bitches Are Made® and HBAM™ are trademarks owned by Rachel Melvin. 

"Just Friends" and the games they play.

April 25, 2017


- A lesson in never shitting where you eat and never eating your own words. -


PT 4: Is this more than you bargained for? Yes. 

(click here to read PT 1, here for PT2, and here for PT3)



Shortly after Double D started shamelessly jamming his tongue down her throat, things with Xena were over. He’d since taken to the casting of our show to find his conquests, occasionally using them to rile me up, make me jealous, or pit me against them. It often worked, too, until I, instead, wised up and started befriending them. Like in the instance of Karen…


Fresh off the whole Calliope, Walter, Cocaine Mistress debacle, I was intent upon facing

problems head on in an effort to avoid any unnecessary pain that may arise from a misunderstanding. So, when Double D, in a rather abrasive lecture, mind you, brought it to my attention that the new girl he was seeing was under the impression I harbored inexplicable amounts of contempt and ill will toward her…? I immediately wanted to meet her face to face to clear the air. Of course, this was the last thing Double D wanted.


I knew Karen’s name and face, not only because she was supposedly dating Double D, but because I’d lost a role to her a couple years prior. You rarely forget a girl’s name when that happens, especially if she shares that name with other stars in the business. So, when I was invited to the premieer of Uncle’s recent film, I figured there was a high probability I might see her there and RSVP’d “yes”. As luck would have it, I spotted Karen leaving the venue at the same time I was, and I approached her.


“Hi! You don’t know me, but are you Karen?” I asked. She froze like a deer in headlights and nervously shook her head “yes.” Clearly, she was familiar with me, too and was bracing herself for whatever hell she suspected I was about to rain down on her.


“I’m Rachel Melvin,” I said, reaching for her hand to shake. She slowly extended hers. “I just want to tell you: I don’t know you, I don’t have an opinion of you, and I’m not sure why you’re hearing otherwise. But, for that, I’m truly sorry.” 


Though she looked confused, I mistook her reaction for shock, and we spoke briefly before parting ways amicably. Our paths fortuitously crossed again a few months later when we wound up at a mutual friend’s birthday party. I’ve considered her one of my best friends ever since.



Early into my friendship with Karen though, I’d learned why she was seemingly nervous when I approached her at the premiere that day. It wasn’t because of my reputation as Double D’s slighted and bitter ex-lover; rather, I came to know it was because she’d watched the show I was on and was a huge fan. I learned she had little knowledge of me outside of that, including any rumors she’d supposedly heard with regard to my feelings toward her. And, as if all these revelations weren’t enough, she told me that despite any interest he had in her, Karen’s relationship with Double D had only ever been platonic.


“I wasn’t interested in him, and I’m pretty sure his only real interest in me was my Uncle or my Dad,” she told me. Apparently, Double D had a film he wanted to make and was hoping Karen's dad, a Producer, might be the guy to do it. “We had dinner one time, the three of us. I figured the least I could do was give the guy what he wanted, so he’d leave me alone.” 


It’s entertaining for me to wonder who could have been spreading all those rumors and lies and just what benefit they thought they would get by doing so. I can certainly tell you, whoever it was certainly wasn’t counting on me to use a voice he never knew I had. 





Suffice it so say, in befriending the girls he was interested in, I inadvertently established myself as somewhat of a cock block for Double D, which really threw a wrench in his pants. As a result, he eventually started working his way back to me. 


Despite his Douchebag tendencies, I regrettably and inexplicably, still had feelings for him, so I agreed to dinners, movies, hang outs on the reg, and pretending only the good parts of our past existed. I also obliged the occasional sleep over where we’d hook up. We may not have had the title of boyfriend and girlfriend, but we were definitely still telling the story. The only thing we weren’t doing was kissing (unless there was penetration, because how fucking weird would that be?), which was merely an excuse to continue categorizing us as “just friends.”


Still stringing me along, despite an expressed desire to refrain from doing so, Double D kept one foot in and one foot out so, I never knew where he stood, and he could maintain all the power. Whenever I’d confront him about it, he’d simply say he cared too much for me to let me out of his life completely. But, let’s be real, he couldn’t “let me out of his life,” even if he wanted to. We saw each other every day in the halls at work and our wanton apartment community. 


I recognize it was a treacherous situation for us to be in; hell, I’d recognized it from the get go, but Double D was doing nothing to make the definition of our relationship clear - let alone establish boundaries. And, that argument we’d had where I’d managed to remove the metaphorical tape on my mouth? Well, that turned out to be a fleeting moment of sobering clarity, and ever since, I’d been doing nothing except, once again, following his schizophrenic lead. The 1950’s would have been so proud of me.



Over Christmas that year, Double D bought me an extremely sentimental gift, which of course, I interpreted to mean something else than what he ultimately played it off as.  When Spring arrived shortly thereafter, freshly picked flowers once again decorated my car’s windshield. Once more, he started looking at me with adoring eyes, just before telling me I was “a good one,” something he used to do rather frequently when we were together. Despite this behavior, Double D all the while maintained we were still “just friends.” "Just friends" - a ball-less way of saying, "I'd like to have my cake and eat it, too, please." Hopefully, you know better than I did in my twenties not only how to read subtext, but to take that cake elsewhere. Or, in the very least, I hope you realized it sooner than I did.


Eventually, with all the mixed signals and no viable options, I could do nothing except adopt a lesson from Double D's playbook and take him at his word, which is exactly what I did when a particular band came to our studio that very Spring and extended a sweet offer I simply couldn’t refuse. 


You might even say it was the icing on the cake, and oh, it caused quite the fall out, boy...



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