There is nothing like being in the city where the film industry was birthed. But there is also nothing like leaving it from time to time. It is like binge watching. As much as I enjoy wearing an adult diaper for a week and not leaving the couch except for going to the front door to pay the delivery dude so I can watch six seasons of a twenty-two-episode series without taking breaks; I also enjoy the time away after I am all caught up and waiting for the next few seasons or to start another series. That is what it is like living in LALA Land. A break cleanses the senses and the go-go-go attitude. After being back a couple of weeks from my trip home I am starting to feel like Stella is getting her groove back. Stella, being me.
It was time to hit the bar scene again. I decided it was time to lift my self-imposed embargo. I make a habit to not go to the typical (bars/clubs) nightlife after I was consecutively caught sneaking in mini liquor bottles (the type of bottles you get on airplanes) or my monogrammed flask. At first it was cute, and then it was funny because I was the bad boy, but it hurriedly got gross, stupid and embarrassing. Very similar to Lindsay Lohan, David Hasselhoff, or Shia LaBeouf. But underneath the sneaking-in alcohol, I came to the realization I was getting locked into the cycle of ‘living the life’ instead of ‘living my life’.
UT (Ugg Twist) and DOG are my wing-people posse. UT has this thing where she only wears ugg boots and a grossly unmatching tutu. All this would not be so bad if she did not feel compelled to twirl when she giggles. If she is flirting, she may throw in a high-kick for flare. DOG refuses to engage with anyone he discerns has an IQ less than one hundred and forty. We call him DOG because he emits a low rumbling closed-mouth growl every time he feels someone says something stupid. Guess how many times that happens? So as one can imagine, my two wing-people were more repellent than they were enticing.
We are here at the Chateau Marmont. This is one of those Hollywood of Hollywood spots. I would have preferred a dingy dark dive bar to break off my gestating cobwebs before I go straight for top of the food chain of swanky places. It would be like starting an inbound college party-virgin with heroine instead of starting with a wine cooler or cider beer. But UT always wants to be seen (like that would be hard to do in a grossly unflattering tutu) and DOG would end up in the corner growling the whole time or conversing with the jukebox. It does not hurt that UT gets us free drinks at one of the bars because as she puts it, “Men like it when I giggle and gurgle at the same time with their penis in my mouth.” Not quite sure if that is a euphemism or a circus trick, but free drinks trumps all my moral qualms, ethical standards and personal opinions.
“Why do you insist on having two drinks at all times? It looks like you are waiting for someone,” UT pleads with me. “From what your bartender-friend told me, you like men who double-fist.” Damn it! She does a double twirl giggling her ass off. I know better than to be funny around her. This draws attention from the posturing posh people around us. “It tickles me when you make me laugh,” she sequels. I want to say something to her about the statement she uttered but I am petrified she will not only twirl but throw in a couple of high-kicks.
“Finally. Where’s he been?” She points to DOG heading our way. He has to tendency to wander off and start sniffing around. UT finds it rude and so unbecoming. “Next time you wander off to find something to piss on and claim, can you please let us know. So, unbecoming,” She scolds. “I tried to have a conversation with one beautiful blonde. She was so beautiful I reached to touch her face to see if she was real. She wasn’t a fan. I attempted to talk to one of the low-level employees and he wanted me to walk around the place with him as he cleaned. I told him I already went to the gym twice today; I wasn’t looking for a third visit. I made one last ditch effort to talk to that old geezer sitting in the corner drinking hundred-dollar scotch but he looked at me how I look at other people when I know they are being idiots. I took the hint. That’s it for any possible intelligent life forms in this place. I beg the extraterrestrials to come quickly before I perish of intellectual starvation,” he rattles off, fanning himself.
“Hey!” This guy beacons as he darts right for us. We all look at each other thinking, “He must be talking to one of you.” This socialite is so well dressed I would not doubt the stitching for his suit cost more than everything the three of us are wearing. “You’re Wonder Woman’s illegitimate son, right?!” UT and DOG look at me as if they finally see the man behind the glasses and realize I am Superman. “Hahahaha. I guess that is me,” I said sheepishly. I do not know why I am getting all Little Bo-Peep shy all of a sudden. “Wow. I can’t believe I’m running into you. You were awesome! That was a great PR stunt,” he goes on and on. Not one for being left out of the conversation, “Yes, he’s just delightful. He’s our super undercover dark knight. Hi, I’m delighted to find our stars hovering in the same hemisphere.” She thrusts her hand out in a manner that seems she is either anticipating it getting kissed or maybe she is looking for a handout. Either way she got neither. Mister Excitement only has eyes for Wonder Boy. Dismissing her, he zeros-in on me, “I’d like to know what’s going on with the project and if there’s any way I can get involved. I’ve passed my info along and an investment offer to the Big Guy but he’s notorious for keeping his boys club very small. Let’s have sushi and drinks at Urasawa, on me…well on the company. I’ll have a car pick you up.” “We’ll be delighted,” UT blabs, thrusting her hand yet again. Not giving her words any weight, he never breaks eye contact with me, waiting for a yes to his gracious, agenda-serving offer. Her hand, feeling like a weight hanging out in the air awaiting anyone to rescue it, falls fast to her own thigh. UT whimpers. “I will be waiting,” I say to Mister Excitement with a smile and a nod. He takes his card from his inside suit coat pocket and places it in my pocket as UT tries to intercept the card out of his hand. Smiling he utters, “Call me,” as he walks off without acknowledging either of my wing-crew.
...to be continued
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