Aura In LaLaLand

by Skye Grace

  They’re all beautiful, Aur, that’s the whole slurking point! You’ve never been able to see past that, and it bites you in the scut every time, you’ll see.

  She hates that talking to herself is the only thing keeping her from plunging off the cliff into insanity and untimely death. She slams her face down on the mattress and barely breathes until she can’t take anymore. She lifts her face up from the bed after a few minutes. She clicks the little round button on her phone, the one that supposedly holds the answers.

  “Who am I?” she mopes hopelessly into the phone.

  “Who are you?” the phone responds.

  “Good freaking question,” she pouts, popping the bottle from her lips. “Aura Lidell.”

  “Showing results for Aura Lidell,” the voice replies. Her stomach churns as she scrolls through articles about her body, her clothes, who she may or may not be dating, whether or not she’s getting along with her co-stars. She can’t bring herself to click on any of them, and remembers only the negative emotions that most of the article titles stir up for her.

  “Show me Liam Kennedy.” She holds her breath, expecting to see a picture, but instead the phone opens a Pandora’s box of text messages received just in the last few days, and then says, “Showing last message from Liam Kennedy.”

  ‘Happy Birthday, Beautiful! See you tonight!’ The corners of Aura’s mouth turn up just the slightest as she reads the message.

  “Who are you?” She breathes to herself. She moves her thumb the smallest amount and the screen shows a text he sent her last night, as well. ‘Most fun I’ve had in a while. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow, Birthday Girl. And you better believe I’ll have a nerf gun in my backseat, just in case.’ Aura feels light headed, thinking about a man she’s never met or rather, can’t really remember meeting.

  She taps again and asks, “Show messages from Sebastian Gerard.” There are no results, and that other Aura’s voice pops into her head again, screaming expletives aimed at one Sebastian G. It’s now that she just knows, she just has to see Liam. She grabs her bottle and phone, gliding down the wooden staircase with glass rails, to the house below, which, except for hardwood floors and tables, was almost all white or shades of it.

  The beautiful blue of the pool and ocean below shine through the back wall of the main floor, which was mostly all glass, washing everything in Aura’s vision with a bright turquoise haze. She wants so badly to zip outside to explore, dip in her toes or maybe more, restore her mental health in cool, blue water, but instead glances at the theater room. Liam. Gotta see Liam.

  Curled on the giant couch, covered and cocooned in soft fleece blankets with the AC cranked, Aura refuses to move from her spot for hours, nor does she want to. The’ Beautiful Deception’ disc spins her into its web of lies, while she becomes mesmerized by this man, this boy next door dreamy darling human being, and her insides get all gooey as she thinks of him wanting her. Is this why I’m here? She asks herself, I couldn’t find a boyfriend to save my life so I had to zap myself ten years in the future to find one? How pathetic.

  After watching episode after episode, she takes a sip of champagne and clicks around on her phone until she finds the video of her and Liam playing around on the set yesterday. She plays it over and over, her body remembering the goosebumps and butterflies, the intoxicating experience of flirting with someone who’s clearly interested. Not knowing how they feel about you, the newness, the excitement, it was absolutely exhilarating.

  She’d never really gotten to experience this before, at least not that she could remember without sipping bubbly, and she can tell that not only was she entirely addicted to the sensation, but that she’d gone seeking it many times over. Is this how it will feel tonight? She asks herself, her body flushing rosé at the possibility.

  She knows she has to pee, but her mind continues to ignore her body as she is transfixed by this boy, Liam and the very boy-next-door character he plays. So innocent, so charming. The dark blue gray eyes captivating, the slightly curly chocolate colored hair pushed to one side, the soft, pink lips. The more she sips and watches, the more Aura remembers the crush she’s had on Liam since day one, how hooked to her best friend’s show she really became. It was no wonder that she wanted to visit the set so frequently! But that wasn’t the only part of it...

  The allure of the show is not lost on her, and she is incredibly enthralled by the girls so beautiful she thinks they must be living dolls, by the drama and intrigue of it all. Who’s the killer? Who’s hiding the truth? Is there really a killer or is it all in their minds? A fear perpetuated by the lies so deep they become reality, it was truly fascinating to her. No wonder she frequented the set, if not just to snoop for clues.

  The more she thinks about Beautiful Deception, the more she thinks about how much Rowan would love it. I can’t believe I forgot about Rowan already, Aura frets. Distracted by boys, of course, even now. Is this what did it? The reason she’s not in my life now, because I cared more about random fleeting romances than my own best friend? Maybe I don’t deserve her anymore...

  Suddenly her phone begins to play a song she doesn’t really recognize, but gives her the strangest desire to dance all night. The phone has been buzzing with text messages all afternoon, but no one has actually called, until now.

  The phone displays that, ‘Evil Slag’ is calling and Aura’s breath catches in her throat. She presses ignore, naturally. The phone rings again, same caller.

  She takes in a sharp breath, “Hello?” she asks, voice tiny.

  “Slag, screening my calls is gonna get you a small birthday gift.”

  Aura breathes a sigh of relief, recognizing the voice as her pop star best friend, Monroe. She just enjoys thinking that phrase, let alone saying it aloud. Hopefully she’d get the chance to sometime, maybe tonight even?

  “I’m drinking Veuve and eating pastries, Whore! What do you want?”

  Monroe laughs uncontrollably at Aura’s response. Guess I’ll have to get used to this coming for my mouth when I’m around her, she thinks to herself, giggling. God, she’s cool.

  “Don’t tell Alexis, but I’m taking you out before the party and we’re meeting them there. Sometimes it’s not all about the dolls,” she drawls, and Aura welcomes the adventure.

  “But I don’t know if I can stop watching them, or Liam…” She trails, and Monroe makes a fake puking sound that she giggles at.

  “Too bad!” Monroe laughs. “You’ll see them tonight anyway.”

  She swallows hard. “Um… do you think…Sebastian is gonna show tonight?”

  She can almost hear Monroe roll her eyes as she asks her the question. “Slag, you know Sebastian only cares about saving the orcas or whatever. Is there a ‘Keep Oceans Green’ benefit next door? Cause then maybe, yeah, he’ll come. I thought you were over him and onto the next?” Aura presses her pink lips together in worry, twirling her lush, dark curls that she just couldn’t get used to, around her finger.

  “I think I’m over him, I just... Why would I invite him to my party and he says yes if we’re over and I’m moving on to Liam?” The question makes the pop star genuinely snort.

  “That’s like asking a pot or kettle why it’s black. Because it IS, Aura! You do this slack because you’re you, I think it’s like, a medical necessity for you at this point… your need to feed off this much drama. It’s all about the pretty boys who treat you terribly and blah blah BLAH! I’m done!” Aura tries to protest weakly but is thwarted by an onslaught of directions from Monroe.

  “Hooker, you need to get in our typical gear and be out here in 15. Don’t forget to grab your party dress and heels in case we have to go straight to the club later.”

  It takes a few sips for her to recall that their ‘typical look’ was the long wavy locks, Aura’s being less ratted and full of glitter than Monroe’s, along with tons of bronzer on the cheek bones, tiny denim shorts, cowboy boots, and a tank top with a classic rock band’s name scrawled across the chest. She nea
rly ties on a red bandana in her hair and stops, stuffing it in her enormous purse for Monroe, just in case. The whole look is clearly more Monroe’s style than Aura’s, but there’s something about going along with Monroe’s plans that make her feel like a little girl getting to try on mom’s high heels.

  She throws the little black dress and heels hanging on the back of her bedroom door in a bag and runs out to meet Monroe.

  Aura whines dramatically as she makes her way to the drive way, “My stuff’s gonna get all wrinkly,” she pouts, “Can’t we leave it here? Hit the road a little early and make it back here to get changed?”

  “Girl, where we’re going, they ain’t got roads!” Monroe squeals as she hops in the convertible to join her, everything on her head, glitter, piercings, lip gloss, it was all reflecting the LA sun like an epic drag queen halo. Aura couldn’t help but gawk at her crazy beauty while settling into the glamorous, beckoning little automobile.

  “Beautiful, God... this car is beautiful…” Aura whispers.

  Monroe looks at her as if she has Cedars Sinai on speed dial. Genuine concern. “What the slurk did you take, Aura?” she drawls, clearly worried.

  “Nothing. Oh, just a little champagne.” Aura smiles cutely.

  “Honey Boo Boo, ain’t no champagne gonna mess you up to the point where you don’t know this is your damn car!”

  She gasps, My car? My car? My car. My car! The phrase repeats in her head as she takes in the vintage car smell. “You took my car out?” Monroe rolls her eyes in response, handing her a bottle of Jack Daniels.

  “Time to put your big girl panties on, buttercup. We’re off to see the Wizard!”

  Monroe slams the car, a pristine, cherry red ‘62 Corvette Convertible with white coves, red leather interior, sparkling chrome and 270 horsepower v8 engine, into park and Aura launches forward.

  Her head nearly slams into the windshield, the car’s tiny cab leaving a lot of space to be desired. The burn of the brown liquor her friend holds so dear has snaked its way down Aura’s throat and somehow into her thoughts and memories. She hated to drink this much, or really at all, but if was the only way to help her remember. She doesn’t know how she could turn any drink down, even one as burny and unfriendly as this one, if it can help her recall this life she’s created.

  This car is her baby, “The love of my life,” she whispers with a bitter little laugh, realizing just how true the statement really is. All Aura ever wanted was love and happiness, and the irony that she’d so far only found it with a car is not lost on her now. No wonder I hated New York. Everyone walks. LA, everyone drives, she muses to herself.

  Chapter Five

  It still takes her several seconds of staring at the Sunset strip building looming in front of them, old brick, and obvious lettering everywhere, to figure out where Monroe has taken her.

  “It’s your birthday present! Anything you want,” her dark blue eyes sparkle and her toothy grin gleams that little spark of gold as she pops out of the car, dragging Aura with her. She digs her heels into the pavement in front of the shop.

  “What? Scared?” Monroe giggles, amusing herself immensely, before pulling her the rest of the way inside.

  “Who are you today, Aura?” the figure behind the counter speaks coolly.

  “I’m afraid I don’t even know, myself,” she says, her cowboy boots make her feel as if she’s ‘saddling’ up to the stranger, her head enveloped in a cloud of smoke as she nears him, a purple haze of blueberry hookah vapor blown around her and Monroe.

  Monroe giggles, grabbing the mouthpiece from his hand, helping herself. Floor to ceiling tattoo options cover the shop, but as the smoke clears, all Aura can focus on is the man in front of her. The pomade side-slicked brown hair, shiny blue suit and brown suede boots, dark rimmed glasses and questioning grey eyes. She racks her brain for memories of him, but the newness, the exhilaration of not knowing is just as exciting as the rush of memories from sipping something gives.

  “Finally going to take the plunge? Commit to something for more than ten minutes, for once?” The corners of his mouth turn up into a sarcastic little smile.

  The smallest pink heart, the tiniest bird, the teeniest Seattle skyline, must've been homesick when I had this one done, she’d mused as she was dressing earlier, assessing the state her skin was in. They were all quick, non-committal little symbols of her wishy-washy, actress persona.

  “Don’t tell me, a star? A tiny Chinese character for strength? I mean come on, Aura!” The master tattooer of Los Angeles laughs, “Who are you, really?”

  She feels as if floating away would be the best option possible at this moment, a helium cloaked nightmare. Her head is awash in the sweet blueberry fog and deliciously loud laughter, and then suddenly her legs are moving independently from her brain, delicate fingers running across rows and rows of framed inkspirations.

  She thumbs across pictures of mushrooms and kittens, roses and sugar skulls, fingers pausing on a Marilyn inspired pinup. “Look, you!” Aura giggles before moving on.

  “I wish my mom had named me after Elvis instead, though,” the blonde grins.

  “Oh, this!” Aura lets out an amped up little hiss, pointing at a little retro guitar. “And it can say ‘Love me tender,’” she recommends excitedly to her friend. “What do you think?”

  Monroe squeals, “Yes! This is why I love you! I think I wanna get it… just right in the middle of my upper back, like yours Aura.” She gasps, running to look in the nearest mirror. She’d missed one.

  She backs up to the antique glass, craning her neck to make out what the ornate, cursive script across her spine reads, ‘To thine own self be true.’ The irony is far too much for her this time, and her shoulders shake as the sobs rock her frame. “What was I thinking? Is this a joke?” she whispers to herself. What a stupid quote. I don’t know thine own true self at all, damnit!

  “More like a dare,” the artist responds, walking over to them. Monroe puts one ornately ringed hand on the man’s shoulder and the other on Aura’s.

  “Something to grow into, something to aspire to…” the pop star croons, regurgitating the line Aura had said when she’d chosen to get the quote done on her back, attempting to placate the sad starlett.

  Her misty eyes scan the walls until she finds the name of the artist hovering over her shoulder. “Atticus,” she reads aloud.

  “You don’t like it anymore. Want me to cover it Aura? With something big, bold… something you?” Atticus responds, twisting the tips of his skinny, curly-que mustache that she somehow finds comforting. She dries her eyes with her knuckles. There’ve been enough tears for today, Aura thinks, hoping it’s true.

  “Yes, Atticus… Something amazing. Not something I have to grow into, something that’s me, completely as is.” She grins and the man cracks a smile.

  “But it has to be just right. Something I need to think about, need to really experience and feel, so nothing for me today. Right now I just want Monroe to get this,” she smirks, pointing to the guitar tattoo wall, “I love Elvis.”

  “Really Monroe? You took her to get tattoos? You really want plastic wrap sticking out of her party dress?” Alexis whines over the phone. Monroe hadn’t really wanted to pick up, but apparently Aura hadn’t been responding to Alexis’ texts and someone had to be the middleman.

  “Relax, I’m the only one that got one. Just chill,” Monroe replies.

  “Good. Well I don’t know why she’s isn’t texting me back,” Alexis sighs. The truth is, Aura really hadn’t gotten that part down yet. “But this scene is taking forever so I think we’re gonna get ready here and head straight to the club when we’re done filming.”

  “Totally fine, I can take Aura back to my place to get ready,” Monroe drawls coolly into the phone without a single wince as Atticus finishes taping up her back.

  “Monroe…” Alexis complains. “You’re version of ‘getting ready’ is like the first half hour of ‘Intervention.’ You’ll both get shitfaced and
then Aura won’t even be able to remember her own birthday party I worked so hard to plan!”

  Monroe contemplates a tirade on the currently bossy blonde but Alexis cuts her off. “Just take it easy! Okay?”

  Monroe hangs up the phone and tosses it on her friend’s lap. “I can’t deal with her right now. It’s all good Aura, it’s just us till later, and we’re gonna have as much fun as you want!”

  Stopped on the strip, Aura stares at Monroe as she returns to bopping to the radio, waiting for the light to turn green. She wonders how she could’ve ever made a friend this cool. And, of course, it leads her to wonder how any of this happened. Pretending this is all normal to save what’s left of her sanity is beginning to exhaust her. Why… How… Have I been projected 10 years into the future? How could any of this even be possible?

  “Monroe… If I asked you to slap me, right now, would you?” Aura continues to stare, quite serious.

  Monroe laughs hysterically, and then glances at her curiously when she doesn’t laugh back. Her foot hits the gas and she waxes philosophic, “Aura… last time we played girl fight club it didn’t work out so well! Nobody wants you going Tyler Durden on them again, and you know Mark’s the only one who will get anywhere near you when you’re in fight mode!”

  Aura doesn’t understand that reference, or know anyone named Mark that she can remember. She just wants to see if Monroe can slap her, wake her up from all of this. Not that she necessarily wants to be woken up. She’s just so confused. And now she wants to ask who Mark is. She’d passed off her reaction upon finding the Bard tattoo on her back as an existential crisis, but doesn’t know how many more reactions like that she can have without her friend having her committed.

  What had happened last time she wanted to fight Monroe, and why would she possibly have wanted to? And what happened to Rowan, for that matter? She decides to drop it. “Fine, don’t slap me. If it’s a dream, I’ll wake up soon enough, right?” Monroe just rolls her eyes. Apparently she acted in crisis enough times that this seemed normal-esque. “And we’re stopping for cupcakes, end of story.”