The time I met Chuck Bass

May 26, 2012 at 4:17 pm 34 comments

We are moving in a couple of weeks. Scott will start a new job in July and if we don’t move, his commute will be a 2 hour drive each way on a good day. I’m fortunate to work in London and be able to commute from pretty much anywhere, so we decided we had to move sooner rather than later.

We found a great house in a highly desirable area a few weeks ago and submitted an offer. We got excited. We started planning where our furniture would go. A few days later, it fell through. Someone else was willing to commit to a much longer period living in the house. We were very disappointed.

We went away for our anniversary and returned home to find a major leak in our building that took out the power. I told myself not getting that house was actually a good thing. We’d struggle to rent out our flat quickly with the leak and the repair work. Being a big believer in signs and fate, I told Scott everything happens for a reason, that house just wasn’t right for us. He replied, “Someone offered a longer commitment. That’s the reason. There’s nothing else to it.”

A couple of weeks later, we found another house. It’s not in a location I’m particularly excited about, but it’s a nice house with plenty of space for all our things and extra rooms for guests. It’s a five minute walk (girl speed) from the train station with fast trains into London. I’m most excited about that. There’s a restaurant down the street that specializes in exotic meats, ranging from zebra to oryx. Scott is most excited about that.

We’ll be happy there. We can be happy anywhere.

I know that. I just wasn’t feeling it.

—

We’ve lived in Stevenage for four years. There’s nothing special about the place. It’s just a regular town outside London, but I’ve grown fond of it. We have our favorite restaurants, bars, and shops. It’s been good to us.

I’ve mentioned before how much I Iove the tv show, Gossip Girl, and the very popular character, “Chuck Bass”. I’ve told you (and pretty much everyone I know) that Ed Westwick, who plays Chuck, is originally from Stevenage.

Over the last four years, I have thought about running into Ed, aka Chuck Bass, around town. At Christmas time, when I’m in Waitrose, I think about how he could be standing next to me, buying a turkey with his mom. Or maybe I’d walk past him in the town centre the next time he’s popping into Superdrug for hair gel. Maybe we’ll run into each other at Nando’s in the Leisure Park, when we both reach for a bottle of peri-peri sauce.

It’s never happened.

But I think about it a lot, because it could happen! I wrote about this same thing two years ago. Sometimes on the last train home, when everyone is jolly and chatty, I’ll get talking to someone from Stevenage. We will discuss the highs and lows of the town and I will say, “But Chuck Bass from Gossip Girl is from here!” and a few people have said they know him/they went to school with him/their cousin went to his house one time.

Ahem…I’ve even been known to do this sort of thing:



After a long day at work and a horrific, sweaty commute home, I walked in the door on Wednesday night and was met with our neighbor’s loud music. Scott suggested walking to the old town to grab some dinner so we could sit in a quiet, air-conditioned restaurant for awhile.

We sat by the window and chatted about our upcoming move. I watched a group of guys cross in front of the window. The guy leading the group was wearing sunglasses at 8:45 pm. I was about to comment on how they looked like complete posers, when it hit me. That amazing bone structure! That hair!

“Oh my god. Oh my god. It’s…it’s…OH MY GOD! It’s…”

I couldn’t get the words out. I thought about reaching for my handbag to dig around for my phone, but my hands were shaking.

“It’s…it’s…oh my god. It’s CHUCK BASS!”

Scott looked over his shoulder. “Huh…yeah, it is. How did you recognize him?”

“Because I know him! That’s him! Oh my god, I finally saw him!”

Scott made some analogy, likening me spotting Chuck Bass to something about new cars.

“Why are we talking about cars?! It’s Chuck Bass! This is amazing!”

Even though I always said I could see him, I never expected to. His family probably moved. He probably only comes back to London. And you see celebrities all the time in London. But Stevenage?! This is huge.

As you can imagine, I couldn’t stop talking about it. I couldn’t finish my dinner I was so excited.

“I’m just so happy. It’s a sign! It’s a sign that we can move!”"

Scott looked up from his pizza, eyebrow raised.

“Well, that’s good because we are moving.”

“I know, but this is a sign. It’s like, ok, here’s what you wanted…you can move now.”

Ignoring my talk of signs, Scott said, “He’s probably going to a pub up the street.”

“Should we go?” I asked.

“Hey, if we need to go to a few pubs and drink beer, I’m fine with that.”

—

As we walked up the street, we I discussed the probability of seeing Chuck again, which bar he would most likely be in.

“Well, he smokes so probably one that has outdoor seating and—”

There he was, sitting right by the door of a chinese restaurant. I froze in my tracks and then quickly turned around. Scott kept walking.

“Psssst!” I whispered after Scott. He spun around. I pointed to the open door and we both flattened ourselves against the outside of the restaurant. (I’d love to see the CCTV footage of this.)

I mouthed, “It’s Chuck Bass” and pointed at the door again.

Then I pointed to a tree about 10 feet in front of the restaurant. We walked casually to the tree and I pretended to be looking for something on my phone.

“What exactly are we doing?” Scott asked.

“We’re pretending to look for something. Just stand there and talk to me. How can we take the photo? What should we do?”

He muttered, “This is so obvious.”

“No, it’s not. They aren’t looking at us. I don’t think my phone will take a good picture. Why didn’t you bring your phone? You always have your phone!”

Scott looked back at the restaurant. “Hmm, we always wondered about that restaurant. If it’s good enough for Chuck Bass, it’s good enough for us, eh? It must be ok. We should try it before we move.”

“FOCUS! Help me! Please!”

I snapped a few photos over Scott’s shoulder.

“You can’t see him in these photos. My phone is crap! Ugh, why don’t I have a better phone?!”

“You’re the one who doesn’t want to change price plans. If you want to upgrade–”

I interrupted him, “Help me! Please!”

“People are going to think we’re having a fight out here.”

“Ok, just smile and laugh,” I said, and then my fake laughter turned to hysterical giggles. The kind you get in church and the whole pew shakes.

Scott grabbed the phone and told me to walk away before anyone saw us.





I suggested Scott goes up to the door and pretended to be reading the menu. He could sneakily snap a pic and this could all be over. Scott refused. I begged. I told him he’s my only hope. He sighed, said he better not get beat up by Chuck Bass’ mates, and relegated me to the “look out” point down the street.

I watched Scott pretending to talk on my phone. Every now and then, he’d turn around and face the restaurant. He couldn’t bring himself to go over to the menu by the front door. Instead he took pics through the frosted windows, all spy-like. (That’s not more suspicious. Nope, not at all.)



Scott gave up. By this point, we both desperately needed a drink. Over beers, we I discussed what I’d do when I see Chuck. I’ve seen celebrities before but I’ve never approached any. This is different. This is Stevenage and this is Chuck Bass. This obsession with one day seeing him has become a Thing now. I can’t not say something.

“What if he’s a jerk to me?” I ask.

“If he is, just say, ‘Wow, I didn’t realize you were a cock in real life. I thought you just played one on TV.’”

So, we had a plan B.

—

But Chuck Bass didn’t show up.

I suggested we go home. I got more than I wanted. Even though the pictures weren’t great quality, I did see him and that’s all that matters. That’s enough.

I told myself this as we walking back down the high street. Clearly tired of hearing me wonder aloud about the possibility of ever seeing him again, Scott said, “Just go see if he’s still sitting in the restaurant. I’m sure he’d love to be approached by a fan so he can show off in front of all his mates.”

Chuck Bass wasn’t in the restaurant anymore, but I felt a surge of oh-what-the-hell. I saw a group of people sitting outside the pub next door and pulled Scott towards it as he protested, “Really? This is happening? We can’t check every pub and restaurant for him.”

Chuck’s friends were sitting out front in the beer garden. There were more of them than before, but there was no Chuck.

“Oh well, ” Scott said, reading my mind. “Let’s get a drink since we’re here.”

—

There he was, standing at the bar. I stopped moving, possibly even stopped breathing.

Scott whispered behind me, “Ok, here we go. This is it.”

I was right behind Chuck, so close I’m not even sure it was really him. I opened my mouth to greet him, but instead, I said, “What do you want to drink, Scott?” as if we’re there for drinks and nothing else, as if I have not been stalking Chuck Bass all night.

Oh god, this is getting crazy, I told myself. It’s nearly 11 pm on a school night. You have an early morning meeting. You are not a celebrity who can drink until the wee hours of the morning. Just get what you came for and leave.

I tapped his arm. “Excuse me? Can I get a picture with you? Do you mind?”

He looked at me for a couple of seconds, as if he was trying to recall who I was. Or maybe he was about to tell me to piss off. I was trying to remember the comeback Scott had given me.

Then Chuck said, “‘Course you can, darling.” Only in his English accent, it was more like dahlin’.

I now know the true meaning of going weak in the knees.

—

He introduced himself (“Ed”, not “Chuck”), asked us our names, shook our hands. He asked me what I was doing in Stevenage, where I was from. He said he really liked DC; he “f-ing loves Georgetown”.

He was very cool. Ridiculously good looking in person. Taller than I expected. Smelled great. His jacket was so soft.

I only remembered we were meant to take a picture when he put his arm around me and pulled me close.



I think this photo shows you how I felt. This is pretty much how I looked for the following 48 hours too. Just a huge cheesy grin on my face.

I thanked him for taking the picture with me. He was very kind. Then he picked up his beer, nodded at Scott, and touched my arm as he said, “Great to meet you. I’ll see you out there.”

We sat as far away from him as we could. I was most definitely playing it cool. Scott and I talked about all the things we need to do before our move. I only interrupted twice to quietly squeal, “This is amazing! Can you believe it?”