Little girl, Big City

745pm 6.11.11

Scene: a web awards show, Hollywood

The commute to Hollywood is nearly always attrocious but that night, I felt nothing as I drifted through the space of possibly something.  The moments had been building.  Many conversations had been had.  I hadn’t seen him in ages.

I was a few minutes late getting in.  Ah the Avalon.  Or, more accurate, Bardot, the bar that resides above it.  The building towers high above the clouds with its ornate architecture.  Inside, Bardot greets the stars with its skylights and luscious curtains.

Navigating through the crowds was a metropolis in itself.  There were so many delightful and colorful characters present: the steampunk crew, the sex blogger, the alternative artist curator.  In attendance was a menagerie of Hollywood web royalty.  But, as much as all of them mattered, they mattered very little.

A smile drew across my face as I caught glimpse of him.  This familiar stranger whose name may never be even whispered.  Tonight we will prance about in public without a single touch on skin.

“Hello how are you?” a woman says to me, breaking me out of my daydream.

Back to business little girl.  Back to business.

7:30pm 11.25.09

Scene: A friends house on the West side, full of miscellaneous board games

“My computer finally bit the big one.  What should I buy to replace it?  I think it’s just a sign I need to get a laptop already.”

“What happened?”

“It crashed and burned.  I want to buy something.. tonight.”

“Black Friday is in a few days.  Just come over and you can borrow a spare laptop for a few days, but you have to get here fast.  I’m heading out to a Kiss concert tonight with a friend.”

I rivaled the Flash that night as I ran to the Firebird and jettisoned immediately over.

Vrrooom.

Whoosh.

Errrrrr.

My dear friend greeted me with a smile as he watched me sway back and forth on my tiptoes inside my low to the ground car.

“I fucking hate parallel parking.”

“It’s good to see you.”  he said as he hugged me and escorted me inside.

The chatter continued as it does when you’re visiting an old friend.  How I wish I had more time to hear his stories.  How I wish I had more time to hear all of their stories.

In between laughter, the friend pecked away at keys as I told him tales of the latest mistake.  Apparently, it was a little bit too hard with that last comment.

“So Jena…”

“So [friend]…”

“You said you’d wanted to see Kiss a couple of days ago with a friend of yours didn’t you?”

“Yeah but it was in the OC so I couldn’t go.”

“So I kind of locked myself out of the laptop.   You’re not going to be able to get online tonight.  And I’m not a huge Kiss fan.  My friend is single and just got broken up with.  And… so did you.  Why don’t you just go instead?”

“You really locked yourself out of the computer?”

“Yes.  Sorry.”

“Well… is he cute?”

“Let me ask him what he thinks about this…”

I looked up to see the thumbs up.  Green light… heading to watch a Kiss concert in floor seats at the Los Angeles Staples Center with my friend’s lawyer friend.

Sure.  Why not?

11:26pm 11.26.11

Scene: a dark windowpane facing a red bricked alleyway, Gallery Row Los Angeles

There are some scenes where you see in a movie but you don’t believe they would ever happen.  This night was one of them.

Over the holidays, the trio of Three’s Company had done their own things.  The lady of the house had gone up north for a few days, leaving the house for the suited gent and I to do what we will.

“Feel free to have as much sex as you want while I’m gone.” She’d said with a laugh just a few days prior.

On Sunday evening was the time where the three of us finally got to relax a bit, each in our own separate but intersected worlds.

There are many things about the suited gent, unbeknownst to this crowd as of current, that have lead several to believe that he truly is in his own little world.  He’d come home and chatted a few minutes with the ladies before going up to roost in the cave he calls his temporary (but long term) room.  It once had been occupied by a child far younger than this gent.  A little girl that loved the magic of make believe and childish whimsey.

The attachment to boyish dreams is part of his appeal.  He and I talked about his forays in movie watching this weekend as he hopped from Hugo to The Muppet Movie with several of his friends. I was disappointed at this news- a bit different than what I’d heard from other artist friends I’d seen earlier in the day.

My day, spent separately, had also been bustling nonstop go go go adventure.  Shopping downtown.  Mimosas and hamburgers (as classy ladies do).   Visits with friends.  Apartment viewings.  I’m not sure where this bird is going to land… and it’s simply fantastic.  Go go go.

At last, I was to retire to my computer and music.  The lady was on the couch.  He- in this cave.

The loft was dark.  I looked up to the windowpane at the red bricks that have greeted me these two weeks and smiled at the sight that filled the scene.  The light of his room illuminated a box on the wall of the building across the alleyway.  He truly was in another world… living across the alley.. in a yellow lit room surrounded by brick.

You were a fantasy cloaked  in reality.

11:00 pm 11.21.11

Scene:  a dive bar with an orange neon sign, downtown Los Angeles

There were two extra couch surfers sprung on us when I’d come home from work.  The details surrounding their arrival made both the suited gentleman and I a bit frustrated.  While the suited gent has a room and a bed to sleep on while he is couch surfing this friend’s house as well, I, on the other hand, do not.  Adding to the mix that this pair of stoner musicians were smoking in the house, and, while it made me laugh, it bothered him.

Welcome to the in between of getting a place in downtown Los Angeles.   And of an unexpected encounter on top of another to turn it into an even steamier pressure cooker.

The owner of said couch establishment is the most delightful and good hearted woman you have never met.  She opened her home to the both of us.  When things started happening, it had a hiccup but then our world turned into a sitcom.

I wanted to get out.  The other set of couch surfers were not moving.  I didn’t have the heart to say anything to her about where I’d be sleeping even though I’d already given her money for the duration of my next apartment search.

“Come get a drink with me.” I told him as I gathered my purse and keys.

“Where?”

“Let’s go to the Gopher since we couldn’t get in this weekend.”

It was walking distance.  He grabbed a jacket out of his car and we walked the few blocks to greet that orange neon sign.

The night was quiet.  It was just the two of us.  Earlier in the evening, things had come out.  The black of night continued to capture us as libation after tasty libation was consumed.

“My precious suits are going to stink now.”

“They’re in another room.  At least you have somewhere to sleep.  I have no idea where I’m going to sleep tonight.”

“Why don’t you just talk to her?”

“I don’t want to be rude.  I’m thankful for everything she’s doing.  Don’t worry, I’ll be out of there soon.”

“That’s not what I meant.” he said.

I sipped my favorite beer- on draft there.  He had his whiskey drinks but I’m not sure which ones they were this time.

“They put scotch in this.” he complained.

It’s not really a whiskey bar.  It’s a dive.

“I have my beer.  I’m not complaining.”

“Neither am I.  I like it here.  Thank you for bringing me.”

And more and more drinking transpired.  But not too too much.  I had to work in the morning after all.

“Ask me anything you want.” he said to change the subject.

“I’m too sober for this conversation.”

“I’m not.  Ask me.  This doesn’t happen very often.  Take it.”

“I don’t think this is a good time to have this talk.  We’ve only known each other a little more than a week.”

“Ask me.  I want to know what’s going on in your head.”

“Look, I have no idea where I’m going to sleep tonight.  I guess in the back of my mind I was hoping someone would tell me I would just sleep in the same bed as you, but at this point, I’m grateful to sleep on the floor.  I don’t want any pressure.  I’m just enjoying all the moments.”

At 11:51, he and I both got a text from the woman we are staying with (who knows fully well what has been going on with us): “FYI, my friends fell asleep on the couches.  Sorry.  I’m sure you can share the bed for tonight?  Lol.. thank you both.  Night night.”

He looked up from his cell as we continued to talk.

“I guess you got your wish.”

11:30pm 11.23.11

Scene: a seedy hispanic dive bar, downtown Los Angeles

It took awhile to pick up that night, but sure enough it did.  The once empty dance floor covered in red light filled with the sound of trumpets and tubas.  The crowd poured forward like moths to a flame.  And then the fireflies came out.  The short ripped shorts, ruffled dresses, billowing scarves, feathers in hair, and fur lined cuffs blurred as the whole bar went into ludicrous speed.

I was there with a friend of mine.  We’d traded outtings from a Spanksgiving eve celebration to come out amongst gypsies in Los Angeles’ monthly endeavor into the underground- Malaboma.

It was, yet another Los Angeles first for me.  A highly anticipated Los Angeles first.

I didn’t know many people there but as gypsy and suited man entered the bar one after the other, I noticed one in particular that shared a secret.

“You look like someone familar.” I said and I pulled her close to my ear.

“Oh?”

“Do you like to get tied up?”

She smiled and embraced me.

“It’s so great to see you!”

My night was glittering.  There were other flies on the radar, but naught one where warm wishes beyond that light moment would happen tonight.  My mind was elsewhere.  But that, said she, was a different story all together.

The trio- my friend and his two female friends- stood in the crowd and danced.  We dodged a menagerie of unwanted toys: the mexican guy with rat tails, the guy in the track jacket, the man who had borrowed Doc Brown’s time machine from the 80s just to be at this party, and, the favorite, the Indian lumberjack.  I was afraid to completely let go.  I didn’t want to make eye contact with any of those men.  They, however, blocked the path towards the front of the stage where the real dancing was happening.

But then the band started walking off the stage into the crowd.  They were wandering souls catering to a wandering clan of misfits.  The surge of the music filled the bar some more.  My heart raced as the tempo built up.  Some of the girls started a line and began dancing around the band.  I looked at my friend and said goodbye.  He might not have heard me but it only took a minute for him to know what I was about to do.

Dear girls last night, thank you for putting your hand out and giving me exactly what I wanted.

9:27pm 12.3.11

Scene: a posh club with a sea of mustaches, Hollywood

It was to be the annual celebration of a successful month long charity.  This was the piece de le resistance of the entire month long movement.  It was going to be a cavalcade of browns, blondes, and much more.  Get out the plaid and make your way to the bar boys, it’s your night.

So, given the opportunity to gawk at such marvels celebrating their little boys, I jumped at the chance.  I had never attended one of these galas, but I didn’t appear it.  We had been issued winning sashes “Man of Movember” and “Miss Movember”.  It went fabulously well paired with my friend, the distinguished mustachio who was dressed to the nines in his top had and vest.

I had sensory overload as handsome fellow after handsome fellow filed into the club.  So many choices and flavors of men with flavor savors.  What to do? What to do?

As we made way to the bar, for the first time in ages, I got nervous.  Not having a pair of testicles at a party celebrating them being healthy is not exactly a “woman’s party”.  This become more apparent as each person that we spoke to made fast friends with my friend first.  Except for one man in a newsboy hat.

I was standing by myself while my friend got drink after drink given to him.  Out of the corner of my eye, there he was: a fanciful dressed chap in a newsboy hat and suspenders.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

We chatted a bit before my friend returned.  We made our way to the dance floor.  We got lost in the sea of stache and ended up getting separated.  I looked over at my friend having a grand time, but something inside just was amiss with me that night.  I felt the anxiety build up and needed an escape, so I phoned a friend and left.  Immediately after however, I was told that he had come looking for me.

Damnit, I wish that I had stayed sir.

11:45am  11.10.9

Scene: a tax office in mid Wilshire

“I’m going to be having lunch with my father today.” I told the executives as I started packing my bags.

“We can’t wait to meet him.” they chimed back.

I was excited.  Dad has worked in big cities for my entire existence.

I think back to the days leading up to this moment.  Of how I didn’t understand the careful production in process as my mother piled of all of us kids in the car and drove to the station to pick dad up from the train after work.  Of the rush I got immediately as I caught glimpse of my dad getting off that train no matter what snowball I was throwing or bickering I was doing with my sister and brother at the time.

My whole life,  I had wanted that dream.  I wanted to ride a train to work in a nice office downtown and be just like my hero- my dad.  Now here it was.

Bells rang as the red office door swung open.  I felt a rush as I looked up from the email marketing campaign I had been setting up to start up to run while I was away.

“Are you ready?  Let’s go.”

There are some moments in your life that you build up in your head and never believe that they could ever live up to the dream.  This wasn’t one of them.

“Boss, I’ll see you in an hour.  I’m going to have lunch with my dad.”

11:45pm 11.19.11

Scene: the streets of downtown Los Angeles

The Golden Gopher had a line and so did Seven Grand.  However the youngs in the night commanded libations to soar them further into the stars.  Downtowning on a Saturday night.  This is why it’s generally best to go during the week.

In my company was the unnamed dapper gent, clad in a camel hair tie and matching sweater, and the lord of the Bacon.

As bar after bar showed lines lines lines, we came to a consensus that we would just go to that one fanciful (and arguably legendary) sandwich shop with nostalgic cocktails.

I squeezed my way to the front bar and ordered our drinks.

“Two Mad Hatters and a Guiness.”

“Manhattans or Mad Hatters?”

“Mad Hatters.  Can you do it?”

“Let me check.”

I returned back to the table and told the boys the drinks were on their way.

“What did you order?”

“I got us both Mad Hatters.  You said they were good.”

“What’s in that?” the lord Bacon asked me.

“Absinthe.”

The gent turned to me.  ”Oh wow. Can you handle that?”

The bartender raised his hand and beckoned me to come over.  The drinks were ready.

I guess there’s only one way to find out.

545 am 11.18.11

Scene: a couch in a loft in Gallery Row, downtown Los Angeles

It was a restless sleep yet again tonight.  There’s just too much excitement in the air.  A new job.  A new place in the works.  A new romance.   I’m not sure of all the details or how long anything will last, but, for some reason unbeknownst to me, I feel washed over with peace.

The unnamed gent went out with friends last night and so did I.  I got in early and ended up reading before I passed out.

The red bricked wall across the alleyway was still dark when I awoke.  This may not be the city that never sleeps but it sure does make it difficult at times.

There is an energy racing the streets of downtown Los Angeles.  It is a fever that whips through and catches you like the sun as it peers its head and smiles down from atop a skyscraper.  I’ve got the fever and it’s not going away anytime soon.

It has become routine for me to wake up earlier and earlier.  While the city sleeps and the bricks turn their bright reds and whites, is when I can gather my thoughts and relax without worry or care for another soul.

And then I felt his kiss.

Dressed in a suit and tie, he had come home again.

“Did you have a good time tonight?”  I asked him.

“Very much so.  I’m going to eat an apple and go to sleep.  I’ll let you get back to your writing.”

We hugged and chatted a few minutes before he wandered up to his cave.

Good morning Los Angeles.  Good morning.

11:24am 9.11.9

Scene: a messy apartment in Palms- a section of Culver City, Los Angeles adjacent

I was awaiting a meeting and brooding when I got the text:

“Hopeless fucks took my carry on in Seattle because “the overhead compartments were full” then proceeded to lose it.  Laptop, camera, medication.  Fucking American air system.”

It was my friend from Australia,  making an extended layover in Los Angeles before returning back to the Aussie after his trip to the Penny Arcade Expo.  It was to be his first trip stateside.  This detour was specifically to visit me- a woman he’d met online a year prior on a video game forum with a cheesy name.

“Where are you now?  Do you have a phone charger?”

“Sitting at LAX thinking about my next move.  Too early to check in to my hotel.   Need to find a decent cab fee and call Delta in two hours.  Bleh, fucking bleh.”

So, I did what any decent human being should do, I went immediately to go get him.

Now, let me put this out there right away: cars and I don’t have the best of relationships.  Specifically ones that have come from my Uncle Jay.  I love my uncle to pieces, but there have been horror stories of most every vehicle I’ve gotten from this uncle.  Today was no exception.

I took off on the 405 and headed towards LAX in my 1995 Firebird.  At the time, this car was gorgeous (on the outside).  However, it was a bit difficult for me to drive as the stick had been ridiculously hard to shift since it was purchased.

As I went my merry way being the hero, I noticed that the car was becoming more and more easy to shift.

“Maybe dad is right and I just needed to get used to it.” I said to myself as I pulled up curbside to retrieve my foreign friend.  He and I hugged as I took his belongings and loaded them into the tiny white sports car.

The drive back was light at this time of day.  We were in lane three when it happened.  Yes, it, happened.  The buildings started to slow down.  The blur of the passing cars was coming to a close.  Right there in lane three on the dreaded 405.  I looked over at him as the car silently came to a stop and just smiled.  I reached into the center console for my phone and my video camera and began to sing.

“Blue skies.  All of them gone.  Nothing but blue skies. From now on.”