Little girl, Big City

7:30am 1.19.12

Scene: a bedroom in a spooky historical loft, just outside of downtown Los Angeles

Yesterday was a doozy.  I went to bed early and woke up even earlier than usual.  I pinged the dark horse to say hello.

“Hi.”

“Hey there sexy.”

“How was your day?   You weren’t on all day.”

“Yeah it was good.  What did I do?  Oh went out drinking again.”

“No drunk text messages.”

“Yeah I know.  Next time.”

I told him about the disaster of my evening last night.

“I wanted to participate in a poetry reading yesterday and I got stuck with car crap.”

We talked more in private.  Things that maybe if I decide to tell you, you will know.

“I have flaws.  I am not perfect.” he said.

“I know.  But thanks for reminding me.”

“You need reminding.” he laughed.

“Don’t worry.  I’ll probably use them against you when I feel is appropriate and to my advantage.  Because I have a vagina and all that.”

“What are my flaws?”

“I’m not mad at you right now so…”

We talked more.  He teased.  I taunted back.

“You don’t want to be my sex prisoner? I will give you a metal bikini and chain you to my bed like I was in a Star Wars movie.”

“My hair isn’t long enough to braid like that.  So I guess that won’t work.”

“Wig.”

“Oh so you’re going to send me wigs now?  Fabulous!  You have my address.  You can send more flowers too.  Pretty please?”

He wanted to trade something.  Something that if we hadn’t had a six year long history I might have been off put by it.  Something a bit higher in a demand list than a guy I went out with once had asked on that first date.  Well, almost.  But that’s a different story.

“Not fair.”

“So fair.  You do that and you get presents.  You can juggle all the guys you want.  With me as safety, trips, dinners, presents.”

That was so not fair of him to say.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s an exciting invitation. And, quite frankly, I might be a bit crazy for not taking it and running with it.  He’s my best friend.  He’s been there in the background for years.  I never gave him a real chance when he was local but he always makes a point to see me when he comes home.  I’ve had an open invitation to travel Europe with a man whom adores me… and yet here I am, happily dating one failed romance after another, without a passport and not taking him up on that.

“How far is Dresden from you?”

“Far.  Prague is closer.”

“Someone sent me a postcard from there.  The water looks so close to the houses.  Darling will you send me to Peru?”

“No I want to go to Columbia.  I hear it’s awesome.  Plus lots of h0t Columbians.  Hot Columbians and jungle and coke.”

“But dear there’s mummies in Peru!  I want to get a hat and whip and pretend I’m the girl Indiana Jones!”

“Go to Egypt for that.  It’s closer to me.”

“Take me?

“Maybe.”

Happily ever after… is here whenever I decide to go into the after.  This just doesn’t seem real.

5:45pm 11.30.11

Scene: An office in downtown Los Angeles

A ping came from the past.

“Little girl big city.”

“That’s me.  There’s a blog to go with it as well.  How are you?”

He’d seen the pictures I’d posted on Facebook with the dress I’d bought while out apartment searching.  It had been a few minutes since I’d talked to Base.  He and I went out once back in ’09 but nothing ended up coming of it beyond some very great conversations.  We have continued to keep in touch throughout the years regardless.

“Kind of sexy if I must say.  I’m good.  How are you doing?  Did you ever work out your roommate situation?  You look thin.  Did you lose weight Stavros?  You look in shape.  You’ve still got some curves.  That’s a good thing.”

It continued into business and further flattery.

“You dabbled in modeling right?  I’ll shoot you.  I’ll hire you as my muse!”

“What a coincidence! The little girl in the big city also doubles as a Muse for Hire.”

Somewhere there was confusion when I mentioned that I was looking for an apartment.

“What about this roommate situation?  I thought you just moved in with him.”

I spaced.  I didn’t remember telling him about it, although I very well likely posted things alluding to that on various social mediums.  I didn’t gather from the way he’d reacted that he had read the blog before I’d told him about it.

“I thought you were involved in a steamy relationship with your roommate as of last week.”

“Yes that’s still ongoing..ish”

“Oh Stavros.  How many hearts have you broken this year alone?

“He’s entry one on the blog.  I’ve lost count?”

“So what’s the problem? Don’t y’all live together?”

And then the inevitable story unfolded.  Some of it has been written here.  Some if it hasn’t yet.

“He doesn’t live in the real world.  His grandmother died.  He has an inheritance.  He hasn’t really ever had a job. Just interns.  He’s 27.  Going on 13.  He’s supposed to be writing a western right now.  He was going to school to work in city planning.  Didn’t get into grad school.  He doesn’t want to sit in a desk for 15 years to do what he would not be  for sure able to do if he went to grad school.  He’s thinking about moving to New Orleans. A place he has set in his mind that he can ‘forget about his problems’.”

“He’s a dreamer.”

“Yeah. So am I.  Why do you think I want to help him?”

12:20pm 1.5.12

Scene: an office building in downtown Los Angeles

The No Pants Train Ride was coming up and the suited gent had not given me back my dad’s shirt.  You can kind of gather some things about the details here.  A night of passion in me wearing one of my very corporate dad’s old hand me downs that never made it to Goodwill and it… just sort of stayed in his room.

“Get that back to me please.  I wouldn’t care if it wasn’t my dad’s in the first place.”

“I promise I will.”

Weeks passed.  Conversations had.  The shirt never made a cameo.

The time had come.

“Hey I really need to get that.  It’s been weeks.  You said you were going to get it cleaned and get it to me even when I was still there.  I think you’ve had more than enough time.”

“I can do that.  When did you want to come by?”

“Actually I want you to bring it to my work.  It’s not far and I know you’re not working anyway..”

“Sure I can do that.  I can get it to you today.”

“When?”

“I’ll leave in about five minutes.  What are your cross streets again?  Grand and [redacted]?”

“No.  Grand and [redacted].”

It then got busy here.  I was working on a project and manually generating invoices.  It was something I hadn’t had to do here previously.

“Sorry.  I’m going to need a minute.  It got busy at work.”

“Well I can come by after I have lunch with my dad if that works too.”

I don’t trust him not to flake.  He’s a habitual flaker.  And again, I don’t trust him.  He’s had plenty of time.  I wanted to wear that shirt on Sunday.  I needed to get it washed still.  It would take all of five minutes to get things done.

I told my boss.

“I need a few minutes.  I have someone dropping something off.  I can come right back.  Is that ok?”

“No problem.”

I went downstairs to the lobby and waited.  I don’t like this at all.  I was nervous that he would try and pull some cute move on me as if things hadn’t happened, and, had he been genuine it might have been different.  I just didn’t need the gloss over it.  I had made my decision.

“I’m pulling up to the side now.  I see you!”

Deep breath Jen.  It’ll all be over in five minutes.

8pm 12.5.11

Scene: a loft in Gallery Row, downtown Los Angeles

Looking back, I’m not sure how we got here but there we were.  It was one thing after another.  A domino of passion followed by pain followed by more passion.  Rinse and repeat.

The suited gent was on a destructive tangent.  He kept countering his actions.  One minute he was giving me the heavy about getting flowers from a paramour I dated years ago, the next minute he was telling me he wasn’t ready to be involved in a relationship.

“Why can’t you just be honest with me?  Are you just that incapable of doing that for anyone including yourself?”

“I’ve been more honest with you than any of them.” he told me.

“Why?”

“Because you see the man behind the curtain.”

I think about the morning I saw him in the windowpane.  He was completely right.

You could cut the silence like a thick fog.  He walked upstairs to his room.  I picked up my keys and grabbed my purse.  I don’t know why he holds back so much.  I don’t know why I do either.  But he’s right.  I’m right.  And maybe that’s why I was attracted to him in the first place.

From one magician to another- it’s difficult living in both worlds magical and real sometimes.

1.8.12  12:55pm

Scene: Wilshire and Western train station, upstairs

Once a year there’s a fantastic excuse to don your best underwear out in public.  In most major cities, the tradition is honored with the flashmob entitled: The No Pants Metro Ride.  It is an event coordinated by the groups Improv Everywhere and the local chapter GuerrilLA.   Various acts of shenanigans have transpired due to these amazing groups.  I am happy to be a part of them.

In Los Angeles, this particular flashmob has been going on for four years.  In other cities, it has been going on much longer.  I have been a participant for 3 years.

In other words, it’s a fun excuse to get some new cute underwear and meet some eccentric new friends.

As if I needed that right?

This mission was different however.  This time, I was to assume the role of Agent Red and assist in coordinating an entourage of Los Angeles pantsless denizens.

Getting dressed was an adventure.  The idea is to be discreet as possible.  I was a downtown girl now.  I wanted to look the part.

Getting ready earlier I picked and plotted my attire with careful measure: a pinstripped collared dress shirt, black cincher at the waist, long flowing black silk gloves, dark grey corporate sensible knee length skirt, high heeled yellow khaki oxford shoes, … open cut fishnet stockings with bows,  black laced silk underwear.  I grabbed a black bonnet and my shades.  It was a mission and I was to be undercover.

I arrived early to my location to a vacant station.   The other agents were not there yet.  I parked myself upstairs next to a pillar and pulled off a long glove to check in with Ooh-Kla to ensure that I was at the correct position.

“Excuse me are you Agent Red?”

I placed my hand up to the side of my face by my ear.  The signal.  The cue.

“Welcome to the mission.”

12.20.11 8:52Am

Scene: Broadway & 6th, historic Downtown Los Angeles

Ah the morning routine.  It’s comfortable.  It’s quiet.  It’s fun dancing down the streets of downtown and never knowing who or what you will encounter.  But I’ll tell you a secret that’s not really much of a secret- you might encounter something wonderfully fantastic if you time it just right.

My place with the suited gent is just a few blocks around the corner from work.  On the way, however, are more than a handful of historical buildings that… well let’s just say I have a relationship with.

On the side entrance to what was the Los Angeles Theatre is a dead ended alleyway.  It is a favorite place for dozens of pigeons every single morning.  And every single morning I do the same thing.  This one, I happened to get caught.

I put “Eye of the Tiger” on as I rounded the corner coming up to it.  I was channeling my inner panther.  The words from a Three Stooges show echoed in my mind:

“Step by step.  Inch by inch!”

I looked over from my lifted camera phone to my left to see that people in the building right before the alleyway were watching me.

I held up one finger to my lips and continued my mission.  Moments later, a flurry of birds went in the air.  I ducked and looked over to see the people still watching me.   I pointed at the sky.

“One of these days, I’m going to catch you birds!”

I laughed.  They laughed.

God I love mornings in downtown.

8:45 pm 1.1.12

Scene: a partitioned room in a spooky historical loft, just outside of downtown Los Angeles

“I’ve never seen this.  Is it good?”

“Yeah.  Do you want to watch it?”

“Sure.”

“I’m sorry I’m so exhausted today.”

I’d slept in the car on the way here back from San Diego.  My medication had hit me hard down there.  Add to that our late night out in San Diego with him pampering me and the buzz of Hollywood to buy some underwear for the No Pants Train Ride next weekend, and I had headache.

“If you give us your email, we have all kinds of exclusive parties…” the counter attendant at Frederick’s of Hollywood had told me.

“I’m a downtowner.  I’m not a fan of Hollywood.  But thank you.”

We’d driven back to my place.  It was going to be something quiet for now.  We’d get dinner later.

We laid in bed and just watched Ghost World. Of all the places that I could have been for the weekend.  Of all the people beyond family that I could have been with, I’d chosen him- the dark prince of my past.  The dark prince of my… ever constant.

He was due to leave back overseas the next day.  Our time together was very limited.  We could have been parading about the town tonight.   But this was comfortable.  This was something that… I am still not sure how to define even after all of these years.  Even after all of this history.

“What time is it?  Did you want to get something to eat?”

“We can go when this is over.  I’m in no rush.  This is just kind of… for lack of a better word… nice.”

He kissed my forehead and held me tighter.

“Yes it is.”

7:50am 10.31.11

Scene: Grand St, downtown Los Angeles

It was only one bus ride away from the Brewery.  Twenty minutes to arrive.  I could practically see the building from the top of the loft I was residing in then.

This was a huge change coming.  It was what my father called his daily regimen: a position in a corporate building located in the center of downtown Los Angeles.  It was what I’d asked the universe for and it was happening.

I thought back to my time in Chicago back in February.  About the story of the stop on the L that formally would announce each stop’s name with “This is” in front of it.

So… this is Grand huh?

I thanked the driver of the bus and walked down the street to the number that would ultimately be my destiny.  I had a destination.  Little did I know that it would be the next important one.

A woman greeted me as I came into the office.  She was warm and sweet.  An angel in disguise.

“[The boss] will be right with you.”

My interview went exceedingly well.

“When will I hear from you?”

“You should hear from us later in the week.”

I smiled and shook his hand.  A suited chap.  My my how I do enjoy gawking at the suited chaps.  (But that’s a different story.)

I felt confident as I walked outside and greeted the crisp autumn air.  Do you know that feeling when you know you absolutely have no worries or cares about anything?  That’s how I felt when I walked out that day.  And that’s why I was humbled and happily unsurprised when I got the email the following day asking me to come in for a second interview.

This is Grand.

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.