Going Down in La-La Land

by Andy Zeffer

  and brushes, and a long table with magazines strewn on top. Most were pornographic, both straight and gay.

  We proceeded on to the room where they shot their pictures. It looked more like a basement and was crammed with mismatched furniture. There was a cleared-out spot where a backdrop stood and some lighting equipment. The rest of the place was scattered with wigs, makeup, and other kinds of crap. Some of it I remembered seeing the models wearing in the grotesque photos I saw.

  By now it was early evening and everyone else had left for the day leaving Vince, Diego, Burger, and myself by ourselves.

  “So do you want to work out in our gym?” Diego asked. “That way you’ll look more pumped up in the photos.”

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  “Why don’t I show you the way while Diego sets up,” Vince offered.

  Vince led me outside and along a little walk that brought us to the back of the other house. On the exterior was a white spiral staircase that went up a few floors to a deck.

  Vince switched on some lights when we reached the top and I could see behind the sliding glass door a fully equipped home gym. There was about six or seven machines, a full set of weights, stereo, magazine rack, and TV suspended from the ceiling. Very nice, I thought. When we went inside Vince clicked on the TV/VCR, producing noises not heard on regular programming. Sure enough a porno was being shown and had been left inside. In fact, there was a whole stack along with a few shelves of porno on the floor.

  “They watch porn when they work out?” I asked incredulously.

  “Yeah, they enjoy it,” Vince answered nonchalantly, as if it were completely normal, not at all distracting.

  Vince left me to pump some iron while he went to help Diego. At this point I went from thinking that Burger and his crew were eccentric to downright freaky. He had created a perverse playground in Beverly Hills, where anything went.

  Good for him. He was probably one in a million.

  Still, it had to be unwise, viewing porn while working out. If nothing else, it took away focus.

  I was extra careful not to drop a dumbbell on my head while being distracted from my reps by the action on the television screen.

  It wouldn’t come as a surprise if Burger and Diego spent time working out a few muscles that didn’t normally get exercised in a typical gym, except maybe in the steam room.

  Finally I had to turn the TV sets off. I was surrounded by enough porn the rest of the day.

  Soon it was time for the shoot to begin. I went down to the photo studio and I got undressed while Diego poured wine for everyone.

  “All right, young Adam!” Burger pronounced in his exotic South African accent “Let’s get started!”

  “Would you care for some X?” Diego asked.

  “No thanks,” I smiled.

  I wanted to relax and have fun, but also remain in control of what went on as well. Otherwise, it looked like it could turn into a freaky scene. I had already taken a hint that Vince found me attractive, and tonight I got the point even more clearly. It was obvious Vince was more than happy to be nude next to me in front of the camera. However, the feeling was not mutual. Vince was a nice guy, but I had no interest in even fooling around with him. I didn’t find him at all attractive.

  Burger continued painting what looked like a tribal pattern all over me. The paintbrush trailed along my legs, across my back, up and down my arms, everywhere. The cool paint tickled lightly against my warm skin. The famed writer used black acrylic so it would be easy to wash off. He finished with my face. When he was done, the effect was theatrical, to say the least. I looked like a cross between an African warrior and a Hindu God.

  We started with a series of shots on the stairwell, me crawling on my hands and knees trying to convey a wild feeling to the camera. I felt like Grace Jones performing at Studio 54 as Burger clicked away with his camera.

  Some time later we moved into the studio where he took some more shots. Diego wanted some shots with my dick erect in them.

  Something possessed me to ask Diego if he would join in. I didn’t need Ecstasy to get freaky. Being next to a strapping man would arouse me.

  “Is that okay?” Diego asked Burger.

  Burger nodded his approval.

  A few shots later Burger was nude and in front of the camera as well. Only pictures were being taken, nothing more, no sexual acts or hanky-panky. But if anybody were to walk in at that moment God knows what thought would have sprung to mind. With me painted that way, probably that we were in the midst of some sort of satanic ritual.

  We took a break so that Mr. Author could paint Vince’s body, using white. He did it quicker and was not as detailed as with me. I noticed the paint did not sit well on Vince’s legs, they were too hairy. But the next thing I saw caused me to turn my head and make me sick to my stomach. Vince had the most disgustingly overgrown and neglected toenails I had seen my entire life, and I literally wanted to gag at the sight of them. I wanted to tell Vince he needed a pedicure, and fast. But I didn’t want to hurt or embarrass him, so instead I turned away.

  When they finished with him we took some photos together. The hideous toenails had soured my mood for it all, but I tried to act as if I was still into it. In retrospect, I should have taken Diego up on his offer of some Ecstasy; it would have made things a lot more enjoyable.

  Our shoot lasted for a little while longer and then it was time for me to take off. I took a shower, and most of the black paint came off rather easily. In fact, it had already begun to dry and flake off while we were working.

  While in the shower Diego popped his head in.

  “So what do you think of Vince?” he asked slyly.

  “He’s a very nice guy,” I answered tactfully.

  “You’re not into him, are you?” he smiled, knowing he was putting me in an awkward position.

  “Um, not particularly,” I answered, careful to be tactful.

  Not that being tactful helped much as far as Vince was concerned. When paying me my modeling fee he was considerably less friendly.

  “Here you go. Later,” he said while slapping the money in my hands and avoiding eye contact. I got out of that madhouse faster than a gang member fleeing a drive-by shooting.

  When I got home and told Candy about my dealings with Owen Burger, she was amused and entertained, but not at all surprised. Candy knew her fair share of characters as well.

  We had settled into our regular routine of sitting on her balcony and talking crap. I loved sitting out on the patio. It was the one place in this new city where I felt completely cozy, safe, and comfortable and had not a care in the world.

  “Sounds about as weird as my date from last week,” Candy commented.

  “Pray tell,” I laughed. This sounded like it was going to be a good story.

  “Well as usual the guy turned out to be a total creep and user,” Candy began.

  “It all started when I was called by an agent from the Akins Agency. I was really excited because for once someone from a reputable agency was getting back to me. So I look up the guy’s name, which is Greek, and I was a little surprised that he was listed as a literary agent, not talent.”

  Candy paused to take a drag from her cigarette. The only time she smoked was the end of the day, and only on the balcony.

  “I’m asking myself why a literary agent would want to see me. It’s not like I sent in a screenplay or anything. I figured he was taking on a bigger work load, so I call and make an appointment.

  My appointment was at five p.m., when a lot of people were emptying out of the place. But I see the guy, and am pleasantly surprised to find he was tall, dark, and handsome, about thirty-eight years old. So he sits me down and tells me he read on my resumé how I’m from the east coast, and this is something he is so impressed with, a New York trained actor, blah-dee-dah and all that.”

  “Oh oh,” I said. It sounded like this was leading to only one direction, the good old-fashioned casting couch.

  “Peopl
e from New York have a certain sensibility you don’t find in folks that come straight to LA,” Candy said, comically mimicking the agent’s voice.

  “Then he tells me he will pass my resumé on to the right people,” she continued. “Good thing he wasn’t so bad looking, or I already would have been out the door. After more chitchat, he eventually got to the real reason why he asked me to come in, suggesting we go out sometime. Normally I would have been annoyed and irritated. But I figured it couldn’t hurt, maybe he is a nice guy, and my divorce from Frank is definite. So he asks me what I’m doing that same night!”

  “Doesn’t waste any time, does he?” I asked wryly.

  “Exactly, so I tell him I have plans, and he asks me about the following night. I say okay. We meet at The Los Angeles County Museum of Art, and we actually had a pretty good time. Afterwards we headed over to his place for dinner. But the place had an unmistakable female touch. Actually there were two things that gave it away. The first was the curtains and the candles placed around the apartment. As a woman, I knew that only another woman would put in curtains like that, or a gay man. The second clue was more obvious. All over the walls were empty nails, with spaces that were perfect for hanging photos. It looked like this guy had gone through the place and tried to get rid of any evidence of a girlfriend, or wife.”

  “No way!” I exclaimed.

  “But wait, it gets worse!” Candy laughed and put out her hands to signal she wasn’t finished.

  “By the time dinner was over I was over him and ready to go. But as soon as the plates were off the table, the candles got lit and he puts on a Patsy Cline CD. Now he wants to slow dance. I try to protest but he grabs me. Now this is the very first time I am so close to him. When I looked up at him, I noticed something that had escaped me the whole night. Looking closely at his hairline I could see all these little plugs, but they didn’t seem to come out of his scalp. Instead, he wore what must have been an expensive weave, or whatever they call that ‘nonsurgical hair replacement.’ Now my mood swung from boredom and disappointment to repulsion. I came up with a quick excuse for a fast exit and left in disgust.”

  “Good God,” I grumbled, “we’ve encountered so much dirt all the water in the world isn’t enough to clean us off.”

  “No kidding,” Candy replied. “So the next day I bring it up to some girl I know from the audition rounds. She gets a knowing look on her face and asks me the jerk’s name. Then she rolls her eyes, tells me the guy is in fact married, and that his wife lives in New York and they have a bicoastal relationship. Turns out he does it to girls all the time. He gets one of the assistants in the talent department to pull the pictures of all the attractive woman and keep them aside, and then he goes through them and decides who he wants to try and sleep with.”

  “Unbelievable,” I said.

  “Even more unbelievable was the scathing e-mail I left him. I’ll show it to you later,” she said with a smirk.

  I stopped for a moment to light one of the candles that went out.

  “You know, speaking of dirt, Adam, I’m getting really concerned with these people you are hanging with. I mean Dale seems like he means well, but mold grows mold, and look at what he does and who he is constantly hanging around,” Candy said with concern.

  Candy rarely got serious. But when she did, she pursed her lips together and moved them to one side of her face, and narrowed her eyes. It almost looked like she was trying to figure out a riddle.

  “Oh, they’re not all so bad,” I sighed. “And Dale’s probably one of the coolest guys I’ve ever dated, minus his profession. But who am I to judge anyways, now that I’m Mr. Fuck-on-camera. Besides, it’s his job that concerns me as much as his drug use. He swears he’s just doing crystal every occasional weekend, but he seems so high-strung this week.”

  “You know, I’ve seen so many people who are fucked up on drugs and sex in this town,” Candy said quietly. “Everybody wants to be somebody, everybody wants to be famous. You are still young, Adam, there are so many options you can pursue. You have the advantage of youth, and once that’s lost you can’t get it back. I just want you to use it wisely, you know.”

  I just nodded back, looking down.

  “Have you heard about any real jobs?” Candy asked.

  “The accounts receivable department at Universal called me. I have an interview next week,” I answered solemnly.

  “That’s not so bad,” Candy said consolingly. “You’ve got to get your foot in the door somehow.”

  “I guess.”

  “Any other luck with the employment agencies?” She pursued the subject further, even though I didn’t feel like talking about it.

  “I don’t even want to go there,” I said.

  “I hear you,” Candy said knowingly. “It’s called lack of marketable job skills. I feel the same way. I never go to those places because I know they are going to ask me to take Word test, then an Excel test, then a Power Point test, and by the time I leave I’ll feel so tested and demoralized I wished I hadn’t gone in the first place.”

  “That’s not even counting Quark, HTML, and the second language I need to learn,” I stated. “Good Lord, I could go to school for years.”

  “You’re right. And even with all those skills they’d probably want you to have two or three years experience,” Candy joked. “My favorite job interviews were with Wells Fargo and Dean Whitter, at a point when I was fed up with the acting thing and thought I’d get back into sales. Wells Fargo sits me down for an exam and has me do long division, multiplication, and percentages with a paper and pencil, the kind of shit I haven’t done since high school. Then of course there is a time limit, so I fail. Same thing at Dean Whitter, only they had the nerve to ask me questions like how much I made at my last job and what percentage of my income I saved. I mean, if I were making so much money at a previous job, why the hell would I need to be interviewing for a new one? I swear you can’t win.”

  Then Candy stood up, leaned over the balcony, flung her arms out comically, and screamed, “I’m tired of putting myself out there! I’m tired of feeling rejected! I’m tired of having low self-esteem! And I’m tired of having negative thoughts!”

  It was too bad no casting director was around to see this groundbreaking performance. I had to keep myself from shouting “Bravo!”

  Then she turned around giggling and asked, “Does that give you an idea about how I’ve been feeling lately?”

  “Yeah. I get it. Now let’s go inside, before one of the neighbors throws something at us and Orly comes banging and screaming at the door.”

  A New John

  “Shit!” I yelled in exasperation.

  The tape gun got messed up again for the hundredth time that afternoon, sticking tape everywhere but the package. Ron was raking in the bucks from his perverted flicks, couldn’t he spring for a tape gun where the blade wasn’t dulled down to nothing?

  “How’s our newest star doing?” a familiar flat voice asked from behind.

  Speak of the devil.

  “Ron, you gotta give me some cash to run to Staples with. Every tape gun in this warehouse is useless,” I grumbled.

  “Here,” he said, and pulling out his wallet slapped some twenties in my hand. “Check to see if we need any other supplies while you’re at it.”

  “No problem,” I said, looking down at the tape gun and trying to peel apart the jumbled mess.

  “There’s something else I need to talk to you about,” Ron suddenly lowered his voice and took on an expression of gravity. He looked so stupid when he took on an air of importance. Where other people just say what’s needed to be said, it was as if Ron was coaching himself.

  “Let me shut the door first,” he said, turning around and stepping in between the stacks of boxes.

  This odd bit of intriguing behavior during what was an otherwise excruciatingly monotonous afternoon stole my attention away from the tape gun and made me take notice.

  “Listen,” Ron said to me in a low
ered voice, “I have another client for you, a very important, high-paying client.”

  “Okay. Cool. I could use the money,” I said.

  What I wanted to say was “Is that all?” and “Haven’t we been down this road before, so what’s the big deal?”

  Sometimes Ron’s theatrics made me think he really wanted to be an actor. Shit, he probably came to this town for that very reason himself, until realizing he didn’t have a prayer.

  “Now, I mean this one is very important. He’s not just well-known in the business like Wayne Hanley, he is a huge star,” Ron said almost in a scolding tone, as if to chastise me for my casual response.

  “Who? Another butt-munching munchkin?” I asked in mock eagerness.

  “You’re not going to believe me when I tell you,” Ron said, ignoring my smart-ass humor. “And it is of grave importance that word doesn’t get out. He is paying for discretion, in addition to your looks.”

  “That’s fine,” I said, annoyed at the suggestion that this whole business was the biggest thrill of my life, something I’d go flaunting around town like a homecoming queen showing off her crown and sash.

  “I’m not going to go blabbing to anybody. So who is it?”

  “Let me give you a hint. He is a big daddy, but not the kind of daddy we typically think of. He plays one of America’s most beloved fathers on TV.”

  “Oh for Christ sakes, I have no clue!” I said in exasperation. “Will you just tell me already, Ron?”

  “All right, all right, lower your voice,” Ron said in an unnecessary panic. There was nobody around the place but the two of us in a closed room.

  “Do you know the show Life’s Lessons?” asked Ron. The name rang a bell, but I wasn’t exactly sure.

  “It sounds familiar,” I said.

  “The sitcom about the high school principal and his family?” Ron pressed.

  Now it dawned on me. I’d never seen an entire episode but caught moments of it when flipping between channels, and promos when watching other programs. Amid a sea of dating and plastic surgery reality shows, it seemed to be a popular sitcom. It starred a gregarious overweight all-American Joe as a popular and well-loved high school principal complete with the typical bland but pretty wife who played straight guy to his gags, and a few children if I remembered correctly. The show also featured a number of hot-looking students and an even hotter-looking coach.