The Other Man

I'm in love with another man. Let me call him Daniel. We met last summer in the South of France, in Provence to be precise, exactitude being something he approves of. I would like to say we bonded in an outdoor cafe over buttery croissant and café crème, or at a chic bistro seated in bentwood chairs with steaming mussels and chilled rosé before us.

No, Daniel and I met through my husband Ron. He introduced us at Marseille airport and then offered him a ride to the village where we were staying.

Daniel makes a good first impression. He is well built and polite, well spoken and persuasive. He exudes confidence and authority. Above all, he has a great-sounding baritone, like the guy in the Men's Wearhouse ad, though in the beginning Daniel refused to speak anything but French, something that could have gotten in the way of our relationship, as my technical French is comme-ci, comme-ca.

In the end, Ron reprogrammed Daniel--the built-in GPS on our car rental--in English with an upper crusty British accent, perfect pitch, clipped cadence and distinguished diction. I'm surprised my American husband went for the haughty English thing, but he is less superficial than me and more interested in results.

When our holiday ended, I mourned leaving Daniel behind. But because I have an open-minded spouse with a penchant for electronic gadgets, Daniel showed up on our doorstep in autumn. I wept with joy. I was the proud owner of the handheld Daniel in a pink leather jacket.

I'm the ideal match for a GPS. Pre-Daniel, the husband and wife scenario went like this:

"Hi," says an assistant.

"Is Ron available?" my voice quivers above roaring traffic.

"He's in a meeting."

"Uh, could I have a quick word? Nothing urgent," I whimper, sticking a finger in my other ear to block out the honking, "I'm just...um...lost."

I blame urban living. I straddled cities car-less most of my life. In Tehran, we had a chauffeur, and Joseph, the Iranian-Armenian bus driver who drove me to school in a VW van. In Edinburgh, I simply memorized the bus number from my boarding school to Princess Street where I shopped for LPs on Saturdays. Oxford was doable by bike. In London, I rode the Tube, in Paris, the Metro, in DC, the other Metro. I never got lost underground.

When I moved to Los Angeles, got a car and ended up in South Central asking for directions, I knew I was in trouble. Ironically, my first job was as a film agent trainee where I started in the mailroom delivering scripts. Though there were occasional highlights, like the time I delivered a screenplay to the Spielberg digs, mostly there were low points, the worse, stuck in a rut on an unpaved canyon road with a trunk full of scripts and nary a signpost.

So, Daniel riding shotgun in my car is the best thing that has happened to me. Our courtship days were gung-ho. We went out all the time, Daniel taking me places I had never been before. He accepted my faults, did everything I asked. He was a formidable listener -- and I can run off -- I no longer felt lonely and getting lost was impossible. I waxed about him nonstop. Post-Daniel, the husband and wife scenario went like this:

"Hi honey," I chirp.

('Turn left on Mansion Road,' goes a muffled Daniel.)

"Hey. Did you find the estate sale?"

"I found three! Daniel is amazing. I just keep punching in the addresses and voila."

"Hmm, maybe he should start paying the bills."

Though he does not do credit card debt, Daniel does marriage counseling, for being on 4-wheels brings out the worse in couples. My husband drives around aimlessly like a Neanderthal looking for a familiar cave, while I roll down my window and shriek at random members of the biped tribe asking for directions.

Now Daniel commands our mobile front seat couch. He gives steadfast guidance for a one-time fee, competent counselor in a compact box. Ron and I no longer squabble at intersections, because Daniel knows we are neither on Venus nor on Mars but on asphalt and he can get us back on track.

Like every committed relationship, ours has its ups and downs.

On the upside, Daniel sends me forth on fresh routes with found confidence. I bloom with the unspoken assurance that he will take care of me through whatever left, right and U-turns life brings. I drive with a certain je ne sait quoi. I make confetti out of MapQuest printouts.

The downside is I grow needy, panicking if I forget him, even on my grocery run. He grates on me at times, especially if I know a straightforward way and he insists on a convoluted route. 'Recalculating...' he repeats, when I ignore him. He can be a pompous ass. If we have a sore disagreement, I'm prone to cut him off, revealing my controlling personality.

Still, we have found a comfortable groove. I love Daniel despite his always being right. He loves me in spite of the fact that without him I'm a mole in daylight steering a Volvo, rooting out maps piled on my passenger seat at traffic lights.

We are like an old married couple.

Follow Charlotte Safavi on Twitter: www.twitter.com/charlottesafavi

Comments

[Marcijo]

Yeah, mine is a gorgeous Aussie called "Sheila"....I know, I know!
Liked your piece!

[Charlotte Safavi - Huffpost Blogger]

Thanks! I don't know why we like to name things but we do. Say hi to Sheila!

[Meghan Allen]

How clever! The beginning had me wondering, but by the end, I was laughing aloud. This article is my favorite thus far. Keep them coming!

[Charlotte Safavi - Huffpost Blogger]

Thanks, Meghan!

[LordMoon]

Unfortunately, there are the short cuts, and traffic moves that a Daniel can never provide, like when to move from the left to far right lane of the 110 heading north to Pasadena, just before the 4 level.

Or like how to take the off ramps on the 10 freeway to avoid gridlock heading West.

I suppose, that those with road anxiety will now feel haughtily free from their Thomas Guide, but a GPS, will never give you the kinds of moves you need to avoid the daydreaming hordes, putting on eye make up, as they mindlessly swerve in front of you without a signal.

Eventually they all discover the route through Highland Park, to avoid a 110 freeway frozen solid by rain. And intuition, experience, feel come into play, once again to find a quicker way.

[Charlotte Safavi - Huffpost Blogger]

This is true. I promise I don't put on eye makeup when I drive, I do pay attention and listed to Daniel when he pipes up and I don't know where I'm going. He's especially useful for new routes or when I get lost. Probably the best way is to consult the Thomas Guide as well. Thanks for sharing.

[Ladan]

I really enjoyed reading this story. Believe it or not people like that actually exist. I happen to know one very well!!

[Charlotte Safavi - Huffpost Blogger]

Yes they do!

[scottyknows]

I am my wife's 'Daniel.' Having been a delivery driver for 16 years, I know every area and road in So-Cal, whereas she couldn't find California Adventure from Disneyland.

I've often thought about a GPS, but of course 99% of the time we're traveling familiar ground. And those few times she might need one I'd rather drive her as she doesn't seem to enjoy the congested roads that I'm so used to.

[Charlotte Safavi - Huffpost Blogger]

Thanks for sharing your driving stories. I'm afraid Daniel would be toast if I could ride shotgun with my husband most of the time. Your wife is lucky!

[teamtortoise]

Daniel sounds very useful. I'll have to look in to finding one of my own, but I think I'll call him George.

[Charlotte Safavi - Huffpost Blogger]

When you do, maybe we can introduce them. Really Daniel changed my life!

[girlwithgreeneyes]

Sorry but I have to report that I don't need GPS. Having grown up
in the country I always know which way is north and with a single
exception in 22 years of marriage I am always right. However,
every couple I know has a very personal relationship with their
GPS device - arguing with the route chosen by the device rather
than each other. Wonder if I'll every step up to GPS. I actually read
maps looking to discover new routes.

[Charlotte Safavi - Huffpost Blogger]

I wish I had your confidence--and eyesight (reading maps has become challenging for me lately!) Thanks for sharing.

[twets]

Yeah - but you will soon realize how dumb and commanding Daniel can be when you miss the turning he told you to take. Suddenly he takes on an imperious commanding voice dripping with derision: "Turn Back" (the implied "you missed the turning idiot" is strong and present. I now listen to my GPS instructions in languages I cannot understand - it makes for a far more interesting journey and interaction!!!!

[Charlotte Safavi - Huffpost Blogger]

True, sometimes, Daniel is not so smart. Today he was telling me to take a U-turn on an intersection that had a no U-turn sign posted!

[Kiki Petriti]

Charlotte, is a great piece...Sometimes, I feel the same...So many hours working with PC, Iphone, using GPS system...They are the love of my life....I feel like I'm unfaithul to my husband...with the "other man"...Phoivos (my Iphone)

[Charlotte Safavi - Huffpost Blogger]

Daniel says hi to Phoivos!

[foodcoma]

This is a great piece and right on the money. I have a partner who needs a GPS to find the bathroom, so I can totally relate. What we need is more articles like this on HP!

[Charlotte Safavi - Huffpost Blogger]

Thanks for your support. I rather like the idea of an at-home GPS, maybe one to help me find my car keys!

[ricelaker]

I enjoyed this piece very much. I swear even before I read your article my wife named my "other woman" Charlotte. Beautifully written piece.

[Charlotte Safavi - Huffpost Blogger]

Appreciate your comment. Say hi to Charlotte from me!