That itinerary looks perfect, my love! O’Hare is the right airport, yes.
I think you might be right about the emails slowing down a bit, but I promise to write every single time I get an even remote possibility. I can’t believe it’s already been a week since you last wrote to me. I’m writing to you from my hotel on sticks, above the water. You should really be here with me. Come travel with me! Surely you can take off work for a bit?
And, I’m sure I can beat your campfire smell. I have a bit of a beard now too, but since the Serengeti trip finished on Friday, I’m on the island of Zanzibar. Just got here yesterday by ferry, was able to have a shower with hot water! Now, that’s what I call luxury - no expenses spared here! 4 days of nothing, no trucks, and no ten-hour-plus road trips. Just me and the beach. Already wish you were here.
That audition sounds rough. Do you want me to come over and kick some ass for making you snotty and emotional? You know they only did cos you were so good. When do you find out that you got it? If you do need to finish with acting though, I get that too.
Football was a bit like that for me once I realised I could no longer play professionally. I did play professionally for a bit, but was never good enough to move up. But with all your training, they must be crazy to let you go.
Hope you managed to get your sleep, or at least had a beer to calm the emotions. What else have you been up to?
Doing no exercise here has been killing me. I was up at 5-6 a.m. most days and not having dinner due to doing stuff or being in the truck ‘til 7 p.m. So, it’s hard to get a routine going again. That and missing the football (and you) are what’s most annoying. Will probably be a fat boy by the time I get to see you. You’ll turn your face in disgust.
Zanzibar is truly stunning. I’m staying in Stonetown tonight and then heading to a reggae competition later. Taking a bus north tomorrow to the beach area, and it’s nearly as beautiful as you.
I have a lot of fans out here too, otherwise known as mosquitoes. They flock to me in the hundreds to say hello and steal my blood. Wore long combat trousers and a long sleeve shirt the other night, sprayed my feet and went out. By the morning I had twenty-three bites on my feet. People battle to sit next to me at dinner cos they know they will be safe. Now, I say mosquitoes, but I really mean pterodactyls. They are massive. Bastards.
I know you might find this hard to believe but I have some colour about me – not pasty like when we met in Vegas. A slight resemblance to brownness. People no longer laugh at the reflecting man on the beach. I will put this down to the Malaria tablets I’m taking, since I’m usually very susceptible to the sun’s rays, and yet I’ve only gotten sun burnt once when we went white water rafting. Makes a change, eh?
Don’t mind your long emails. Actually prefer it. I love the way you write, and it gives me something to look forward to. And loved reading your answer to why you decided to stop when you saw us.
You’re leaving for New York soon, if I remember correctly from our last conversation? Say hi to Chelsea for me and have fun! I’ll certainly try to write before I leave for Malawi.
In the meantime –
1. What do your mates think of your impending trip to see me?
2. What have you learned so far this year? (That one is inspired by what I read in the paper this morning)
3. Early bird or night owl?
Stay happy my pretty.
G x
Wednesday, May 7th, 2008
Hello oh bearded one,
Can’t wait to see the pictures. Have you ever had this much stubble before? Or is this a first?
The beach sounds incredible. Freddie Mercury was from Zanzibar.
God, I am so ready for an adventure again. I think it’s been about every two or three years I move and/or travel for a long time, and even though I took two two-week vacations last year to Europe, it’s been almost four years since I’ve moved. I’m itching. I just sit at work all day, dreaming about flying away, far from LA and its pretentiousness. And hearing about your travels isn’t helping.
Although…OK, I do love hearing about it.
I’m going to the beach this week just like you. Hermosa Beach. My good friend, Kitty, and her family are renting a house right off the boardwalk. It’s her father’s 75th birthday. He actually escaped from Germany during the Holocaust. Kitty was the first girl I met when I moved to LA. I originally met her in New Jersey when orientation took place for college, but then we were randomly placed as roommates in the dorms, out of thousands of people. How weird is that?
Anyway, looking forward to the party. Her brother’s band is providing the musical background. Should be a good time.
I am also waking up at 5 or 6 a.m. most days due to my exercising, I think. It is true what they say about it giving you more energy.
A fat brown boy you’re turning into, huh? Hot!
What exactly is a reggae competition? A hotel on sticks? I picture this building held together by little bamboo sticks jutting out of the water and you floating away to the sea.
Let’s see what happens after Chicago before I come to travel with you. You never know, we really could end up hating each other. I really wish I was there, though. I do. But at the same time, I feel like there’s a reason we have this time apart…
I have a couple of auditions before the beach this weekend. Nip/Tuck and a Nike Commercial. I don’t know why - but I should be WAY more excited about this, but I’m not. In commercial auditions, you just line up like a pure bred in a dog show, and they pick the one that stands out the most, or is the most beautiful, or has a quirky voice. God, it’s ridiculous.
On the flip side, I’ve been recognized by a couple of my Alma Maters. My high school invited me back for the summer to teach acting (doesn’t pay enough for me to consider going back to Baltimore, but felt nice to be invited), and my college invited me back to speak to prospective students about my experience at school. I guess because my path wasn’t a normal one - the path to acting? I don’t know because I haven’t exactly “made it” yet, but I’m flattered to be asked to speak to future alumni. I really am looking forward to it.
1. Well, some of my friends think my impending trip is insane. They think I’m crazy, but Sam is used to my craziness. Not Chelsea though, because she met you and is very excited (I think if it were the 4 of us she would be more so).
But yeah most people think it’s really cool and exciting. I don’t think I ever thought you would really follow through with keeping in contact, to be honest. I don’t think most people would, what with traveling the world and meeting so many other people along the way. It would be easy to forget a young lady you met for eight hours in Vegas. My friends are as equally impressed about that as I am. (Nice touch with the bracelet too…I can’t believe you sent that to me all the way from Africa.) My boss is slightly worried that I will be raped and slaughtered, but she’s an over-anxious Jewish mom.
2. What have I learned this year? I have learned that as soon as I start focusing on myself and my own wellbeing, everything else falls into place. People come into your life for a reason. I learned that even when you truly dislike someone, you can still learn a shitload from them.
I also learned that working for someone you don’t respect will test your integrity more than anything else. I learned that there are people who follow through with what they say they will do (you). Oh, and I’ve learned a lot more than I would care to know about working with Excel, baby furniture, how not to run a business, and that having money and success certainly doesn’t bring happiness. I learned that adventure comes when you least expect it.
3. Night owl or early bird? I used to definitely be the night owl. That was more during my partying days. I can obviously still pull the all nighters (a la Vegas style) but I’m finding myself more and more an early bird. I just love having hours to myself before anyone else wakes up where I can work out, read, lay in bed and think and daydream. And when I do stay out late I can’t sleep past 9 a.m. really. Like last night.
Now you have to answer before my next questions!
Don’t be a stranger.
A
xo
THE DAY BEFORE VEGAS
I tried to get up quietly so as not to wake Chelsea. The girls who lived above me were so loud last night that neither of us had gotten much sleep. I often left my large bay window overlooking the courtyard open to keep the air circulating in the apartment. The downside was the noisy neighbors. My apartment was small, but it was tiny with two of us sleeping in it. Getting out of bed, I carefully pushed the desk chair that leant up against it, and did a little jig around her suitcase. Needless to say, in my clumsiness, I fell over my own shoes. She woke up.
“You OK?” she asked groggily.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“S’OK. I wasn’t really sleeping. What time is it?”
“Umm, 7:30,” I said as I picked myself up.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“Love some,” I responded. Two word answers were all I could muster. As soon as I had gotten in the shower, Chels must have hopped straight out of bed and into the kitchen.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, clean and wrapped in a purple towel, she had a cup of coffee waiting for me on my vanity table, the bed was made, the dead spider was gone from the ceiling, and I swore I saw a hummingbird singing next to her ear.
“What time is Zayna picking you up today?” I asked, towel-drying my hair, trying not to sound as guilty as I felt about leaving her all day.
“It looks like she can’t make it until after one or so. Ramsey is flying in this morning, so she has to pick him up from the airport before she can come get me,” Chelsea said. She handed me a cup of coffee. Ramsey was Zayna’s well-to-do husband. He often flew between London, Lebanon and Orange County.
They got married the previous year in a picturesque, beachside villa right off the Pacific Coast Highway in Laguna Beach. It was a three-day affair boasting elegance and grace with an all-you-need ceremony lasting five minutes, all-you-can-eat treats, all-in-white dress code, and a DJ that she personally flew in 3,000 miles from New York. After their dramatic three-year back-and-forth relationship, she couldn’t have asked for a smoother wedding.
“Well, if you’re not spending all your time burning mixed tapes,” I said with a wry smile, “there is a quaint little shopping complex around the corner to the left and three blocks walk. Be careful of Elvis, he can sometimes get feisty, but all the other characters won’t touch you if you keep walking and keep your eyes focused straight ahead. There’s the Mann’s Chinese Theatre… or the Chinese Mann’s Theatre, I can never remember…they have all those famous handprints in the cement. But more importantly, Forever 21 and Express are right next door…and, if you-”
“I think I’ll be OK for the next couple of hours. Thanks AC,” she hadn’t called me that in years. It brought an unexpected smile to my lips.
“No problem, Bubba.” I used her dad’s nickname for her. I took a sip of the coffee. “And, don’t you dare break out the vacuum cleaner while I’m gone.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it - and mess up your carefully crafted layer of fine dust?”
“Hey, I cleaned before you came. Well, while you’re at it, my purses could use some organizing – color code ‘em!”
“Don’t forget to dye your hair while you’re out,” she said straight-faced.
“I’ll pick up some Vaseline so you can find yet another use for it,” I quickly shot back.
“Make sure you don’t forget to hide your boss’s purchases from her husband,” she responded.
“How did you know that?” I said.
“It’s on your list of ‘Things to do for My Boss Daily’. I accidentally glanced over at it in between looking at your dead spider and your dirty Kleenex. How does she get away with that?”
“She says it’s a must for all wives, a rule that I should quickly learn before my next relationship. Not that that will ever happen.”
“Crazy.”
“She simply orders things online, and while her husband is at work, I hide the packages. He never sees the credit card statement, and she never has to leave the house. Ignorance meets greed, and they say they’re happy,” I explained.
“That is awful,” Chels said in shock.
“Yeah, but that’s the way she wants to live her life. I agree though, where’s the trust?” I preferred not to judge Tess Goldman, but I did disagree with her.
“Well, don’t let me stop you from your conspiracies. I’ll be here mopping your kitchen floor,” she said with a half smile.
“You know what? Feel free to do your magic. I know you love it.” I paused. “It’s so, so good to have you here.”
“I know,” she said, pulling out the broom.
I went to work.
***
Driving in the Hollywood Hills felt like I should be somewhere much more glamorous. I really didn’t see what all the fuss was about. Most of the houses going up Wonderland Park Avenue were grossly undersized, seeming to topple over on each other, with little to no vegetation or color of any sort, besides the random imported palm tree.
The potholes were big enough to fit a year’s worth of food for 1,000 anorexic Hollywood actresses. And yet, I so badly wanted to live here. Just to say I was living in The Hills would be good enough. Saying I worked in The Hills got a slight “Ohhh” from people, but not the major ahhhh ohhhhh I would get if I lived here.
I loved Tess Goldman’s meandering driveway. It dangerously curved at angles that would throw even the most adept buffalo off its course. The gate to enter the premises made for a grand entrance, and I felt particularly special entering the code every morning to open it, one of the lucky ones with access. I had often stopped at the first bend in the driveway and watched the sun move across the sky, setting on dreams and desires. At the edge was the Pacific Ocean, but it could only be seen on a particularly clear day. There was also the Hollywood sign to the left, and a few scattered houses down below.
The layout of the outside of the house was mysterious. I still had yet to figure it out. A secret garden thrust itself around a drop and under an orange tree. The path next to it cobbled off to a foreboding fence. The pool was surrounded by a monstrous, black wire fence. It was put up to prevent the 4-year-old, IVF-formed twin girls from falling into the water.
The house had a four-car garage, a fully functioning tiled outhouse with shower, sink and toilet for use when swimming in the pool (which I had yet to see the family do), an outdoor refrigerator and full bar with surround-sound speakers. The back of the house featured a complete outdoor play set including an adult-sized trampoline, a slide, monkey bars, swings, and a sandbox. Looping around the playground, a balcony littered with leaves and dirt from lack of use stood lonely. Up some broken, tattered, wooden steps, another house where the maid could live loomed.
I despised the inside of Tess Goldman’s house. There was no clear front door. No doorbell, no welcome mat, not a knocker in sight. Even though the outside was distinctly unique and fantasy-worthy, I did actually hate the interior. The rooms were broken up by one long corridor. There was no central living space. No light ever entered the house, curtains were kept drawn and views were left unseen. Is this what the glory of recognition and money brought? A large, dark, empty house in the Hills? Who needed the Hills if it was darker than the Valley? I would do it differently, I liked to think.
My Ford Explorer squeaked and bumped up the driveway that morning, briefly stopping so I could breathe in the freshest mountain air in Hollywood. That was one reason to live here that wasn’t shallow or superficial. Rich people got the freshest air in LA. I maneuvered up past the housekeeper’s car and pool to my spot next to the nanny’s.
This day had to go off without a hitch so I could convince Tess to let me off tomorrow, and so that I could get out of work on time today to join Chelsea. I climbed over the passenger’s seat, reached to grab Tess’s Venti Nonfat, No Ice, No Melon, 6-scoop of Matcha, Iced Green Tea Lat
te and my Triple Grande Soy Latte, my purse, and my laptop, swung open the door and out my balancing act went.
Sometimes I would park four streets away from where I was going if it meant avoiding any and all signs of people. I had left the driver’s door broken and locked since an accident a few months back, and being too busy with my work, and not wanting to spend the dough on getting it fixed, I was subjected to the seat hurdling embarrassment. And, everyday I cursed it.
I juggled for my keys once more to find the house key. I looked to see if the nanny’s work car was parked in the garage as it usually was. The car was there, but Tess’s wasn’t.
Shit.
Tess was in China. I felt like a big nincompoop. I bought her drink as a habit. But the nanny’s car here didn’t make sense. Yasmena, the nanny, was supposed to take the girls to their new playgroup today. I knew I had told her that. It was on the calendar. Did I tell her? My heart started thumping. I would definitely get the blame for this one if the girls weren’t at their playgroup. I was in charge of their schedule.
I ran into the house yelling for Yasmena, the walls echoing my words.
“Yasmena, Yaaaassmmmeennaaa!” I hurried. I ran into the kitchen. No Yasmena the nanny. I ran into the living room. No Yasmena the nanny. I threw drinks on table, put my purse down and placed the laptop on the counter. I rummaged through my purse looking for my phone.
“Adayle?” I heard a voice from the hallway.
“Yes, in here! In the kitchen!” I said, even louder than before.
“You loca? Em, mister Goldman no happy.” Rosita the housekeeper said to me in low, angry tones.
“Señor Goldman esta aqui?” I responded with my heart in my throat, and in the best Spanish I could muster.
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