White

White Lines

(Ooh White Lines) Vision dreams of passion 
(Blowin’ through my mind)

Walking the line.  2012.

Lines.

“Arrogance isn’t a pretty shade of lipstick. Take it off.” This is what he says to me. So I’m taking it off. I’ve excused myself to the bathroom and actually wiping this color off along with my attitude.

He’s been here for ten minutes I can’t tell what he wants exactly, but he always wants something. It’s never that deep.

While he flips through a copy of Italian Vogue he becomes a bit nostalgic and is telling me about his trip to Italy if you can call twenty-four hours of binge drinking, drugs and anonymous whores a trip. Anyway he says that there’s this mosque that I have to see… “Oh but Jemma, it’s best if you do a line first.”

This morning I woke up promptly at 7:15 am to the sounds of Spandau Ballet dancing in my head before the alarm went off. Of course it’s early… Fred said to be ready to jump into character by 11:15 am. That’s the time for my callback. It’s some flat around the corner on the fourth floor at a leased out building. Of all places, it’s probably the nicest meeting I’ve taken in a while. 

And I’ve spent this morning listening to 80s music for my 80s book. This is me calling it ‘getting into character’ when it's not really like that at all. But what else is it like? It’s all for this 80s script that my agent sent over in a flash three weeks ago along with the book. A book I haven’t read until now. I know enough dialogue to pose for the audition, but the director saw my tape and wants to meet me. I’m completely wrong for the part, but they keep telling me otherwise. Tell me how does a pasty brunette play a sun-tanned blonde? So I keep telling myself that the book is better at identifying motivation than the script. Through reading it I will understand the how’s and why’s of this person and looking in the mirror means nothing about becoming her. This is how I get into character.

Why do they make movies about books? Because people are too lazy, of course I mean too busy, to read. It’s like a public service for those who aren’t able to find the time to read.

As I wipe off the lipstick and reach into the medicine cabinet to get his coke I decide that I’m dumping it down the drain. Down, down, down while the water runs. I hum a line of Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire while stopping to fix my eyes. He can wait. If this is why he really came, then there’s no reason to come back again.

“So what are you doing here?” I ask him while re-emerging with a smile.

“Jemma, you look really good, have you gotten some sun?” Always changing the subject. And of course back to where we started.

It is always an awkward conversation between awkward people who haven’t seen each other in six months. He’s thinking that I’m thinking we’re still sleeping together. I slept alone last night.

It all started when he came in. The moment when I answered the door and almost didn’t let him in. Hello’s that are forced out with an imaginary gun to the back of your head. Hugs that might feel less uncomfortable if it were a stranger. Then there’s a pause. That kind you make only for the Witnesses handing out flyers. You never let them in. No matter what. But I let him in. Smiling and laughing a cracked out grin that smells of tequila and gin at 10am with his awkward greeting.

It’s not that his story about Italian mosques wasn’t fascinating. But I find it necessary to try cutting through the red tape of the last fifteen minutes and get to the point before he starts telling me about the viewing of street art in Paris subways during the middle of April.

“Adrian to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

 “What?” He looks at me with irritation.

“Darling what do you want?”

“My gram.”

“It’s been six months… it’s gone.” Is he hard up? No one carries anything like that. He couldn’t have possibly come for a gram let alone remembered he left it.
“Wow Jemma, that script looks massive. Big part? Little part?” The sidestep to avoid.

“It’s a part.”

And he stops to look around before telling me about driving on Sunset last night. Telling me that there’s a faded line in the middle of the lane that causes him to feel like he has to make a choice. I tell him that’s not Sunset and that he should have just switched lanes. It sounds more like there’s another story I haven’t heard. I stop to wonder how Adrian has a car. But he interrupts me before that becomes an inquiry.

“Jemma, can I? He waves his hands up at me while pointing towards the sink.

 I nod and he heads into the newly painted kitchenette. His voice raises slightly as he rolls up the sleeves on his button-down brilliance before starting to wash his hands. “Don’t worry about the gram I have more. You don’t need? Cause I can…” With a flick of the wrist and the perfect timed punch line of a comedian he produces a small object.

“That’s quite alright Adrian.” Away it goes. Poof. Thin air.

The whole time he’s watching me try to cover my pages and hide the book. Washing and washing longer than is humanly necessary he asks me to tell him about the script and my basis for portrayal. I know he doesn’t care, but I start talking.

It isn’t long before I realized I’ve given him too much and it sounds like bragging. I wasn’t but it doesn’t matter. It’s enough.

Arrogance isn’t a pretty shade of lipstick. Even on you Jemma. Take it off.

This is where we are now.

Lines are like the things that people might say or do only they don’t but you might understand why they might say or do them.

On page 26 my character is having an existential crisis. “Who am I?” she cries in the middle of it all. Between the black characters in front of the white background she can not find herself. Today I know who I am. Arrogant and wearing the wrong shade of lipstick. At least I know it’s not me and that it’s really the bleach blonde tanned bimbo trying to find herself in between the pages while listening to really bad music.

“Have you seen Alex?”

“Alex? Isn’t he up in San Francisco? You must see him more than me.”

“No. He’s here in town. We’re supposed to catch up. I just thought…”

“Adrian. How long have you been here?”

“15 minutes.”

“It’s been more like 25, but I meant in town. How long?”

“I don’t know. How long have you been a superficial stuck-up starlet faking tans with lines to read?” He smiles and laughs. This is the part where I’m supposed to have a sense of humor and smile.  But I just can’t today.

I put my hands through my hair with a feeling of overwhelming frustration. There’s got to be a point to his damage, I just can’t figure it out. I think I’m going to be late and there are still 15 pages left.  I want to get angry and scream at him when he does this. I want to scream aloud and tell him that I may be a superficial starlet but at least I’m really being me. I want to scream and tell him that he’s a poor man’s shadow, excuse for someone who used to be real, someone who is faking their way through everything. But I don’t. Cause I wouldn’t mean it.

“You don’t mind?” He looks at me with his eyes bugged out and waves a pocket mirror. Adrian is always prepared in a crisis. I wonder what he’d do in the event of a water landing. Take it chilled or on the rocks?

I just shake my head. He knows I don’t care. And I’m supposed to be the arrogant one.

He does lines, like I learn them. With the exception that sometimes his escapades land him in the bath room of a cherry colored bar doing lines of blow off a naked stripper’s bare breasts whereas my performance might land me a part in the next big picture from the next big hot-shot director.

 “Let’s do lines together!” He announces. To this I can smile and giggle.

He does a line. I read a line. He does a line. I read a line. Then another. And another. Until I decide… “I can’t do this.”

“Come on, Jemma. What’s wrong? Want something? It’ll make you feel better. Loosen you up.”

“I’m good. I just can’t. Not now. I have to go to this callback and I think I’m going to be late.”

“Cattle callback?”

I laugh and tell him, “Why yes, with other superficial stuck-up starlets whose teeth and mouths are too wide.”

”Why? What? When?”

“In like 20 minutes.”

“Oh fuck. Let me call the driver. I can have you there in 10.”

“It’s only just around the corner. You can come if you want.”

Adrian is too pretentious sometimes. All morning he’s been riding around in a town car with a driver called Chaz calling it a stretch. The driver barely speaks English and prefers to call us for directions instead of talking or turning around. Adrian has already taken out his mirror to offer the driver a line after telling him about it on the phone. I’m more surprised when the guy doesn’t take it. I keep reading lines. I must look pissed. He won’t make eye contact and now he’s taking out that small object again. Shit. We’re going to pass the place. I’m getting out even though the car is still moving.

On page 27 my character has a breakthrough moment. A door opens and she walks through it. This is the scene the director wants me to read. I keep thinking back to Spandau Ballet and how the only reason this is a movie is because someone wrote a book. Playing my part as a public servant. Helping make the population literate.

This is ‘The Director’ a million girls want to work with and will accommodate in anyway. I should have done the line. But I didn’t. I understand why I said no and may have wanted to. ‘The Director’ likes my face. He told my agent this. This man that a million girls want to work with likes my face. I want him to like my acting. Take me seriously for this part. Because this is why I’m here. Instead my face got me here.

All of this is me ‘getting into character’ while I’m trying to remember my lines. Remembering those things that I might say or do only don’t so that they might understand why they are said or done.

We’re in a stretch. Although it isn’t. This is what they call a stretch in the city; here it’s a town car. It’s almost 11:00 and the driver keeps calling my cell for directions.  I’ve made this arrangement with the driver and offered him something for the road.  He declines. Jemma looks pissed, but I can’t help that she’s in a bad mood today. I offered her some candy. It’s too bad she doesn’t want to play. She’s so much more fun when she falls in the water. Maybe she will after this cattle audition for mindless blonde bimbos with superficial tans and weekend Daddy’s to pay their bills. Jemma is too good for this. I wonder if she still thinks we are sleeping together. I’m thinking of taking another hit as she opens the door. The stretch hasn’t quite stopped. This is what I’m thinking… I’m going to call Alex again.

Hanging around

photo credit: c/o tylershields.com

It's amazing what a person can accomplish in a day just by hanging around. It's even more interesting what a person might accomplish by doing a little bit of something everyday. I think when you wonder too much you miss the point of it all. What's the point? Magic. The magic in the trick is not knowing how it's done. It's in knowing that you're watching something wonderful happen. And there's magic in everyday. The image is borrowed from SUSPENSE, an upcoming exhibit by photographer Tyler Shields at the Guy Hepner gallery in LA. The story is an excerpt from a book I finished writing some time last year. I suppose it will be eventually published. I don't really make any decisions about the unpublished material that I haven't edited or shared. By all means follow up on the artist... I guarantee you will be impressed by the work or perhaps you won't. I'm personally rarely disappointed. One thing I will advise: Check  your personal feelings at the door. You'll definitely have a reaction. It's not everyone's cup of tea... but I did warn you about such things when you visited my blog.

enjoy!

kisses, m. 

A day in the life of Addison Kelly

(1-31-2011)

It’s 3:30 in the afternoon and I’m hanging thirteen stories above the ground looking up at the sky. Somewhere below there’s a man making sure I don’t fall off the roof the wrong way.  Addison tells me one more minute before disappearing over the top edge of the roof with a harness strapped around his waist. It’s the last place I thought I’d be twenty four hours ago but it’s the first place that I can think to start. About to tumble head over heels, thanks to a man.

Well, don’t get ahead of yourself. No it’s not like that. I wouldn’t call it a love affair, because it’s not. Or for that matter love at first sight, cause it isn’t like that either. But a lifelong friendship is what it has become. I’ve known Add for nearly six years and it seems like a lifetime. I’m often told that Add’s a strange looking fellow. Not at all what you expect, but I just don’t see it. He’s as good looking as they come and just as strange in his own way. Aren’t we all though?

Friend.

Madison Henry - (friend)

How did I come to such a friendship? Addison Kelly is a remarkable storyteller and me as a writer; I can’t pass up a good tale. Always with Add -“give me more.” And I could spend hours if not an entire day listening and participating in Add’s latest invention, meeting a new stranger or taking in a story. Often much to my husband’s dismay.

James Henry - (Collaborator/Friend.)

Madison likes to believe that I’m a needy creature. That it disappoints me when she spends the day in the middle of or listening to Add’s nonsense. Hell I can’t blame her for that. He’s always a got a story to tell. And it’s always a helluva day with Add. But I suppose it is a little interesting when your wife has a childhood friend that’s a grown-up.

The day starts by merely planning. And we’ve started planning out the night at 4pm. Add says it’s happening somewhere on the side of building before telling me that we have to stop in on a friend of his.  After that friend it involves a handful of spray paint and a few more tools. But that won’t happen until later. Dinner is spent with Addison telling me about the necessities we need at the hardware store and trying to convince me we need to visit the Iron Anchor for a little while.

Friend (cont.)

Strain aka John Strand – (Artist/Friend)

Addison Kelly. Sounds weird to say his name like that. To me he’s always going to be Add. Add’s a cool guy and I’m not just saying that cause you’re asking. I met him while I was hanging off a bridge putting the finishing touches on a piece. Armed with two cans of my best Krylon, he leaned over and asked if I wanted a hand. I said ok and before long he was using my harnesses to work on his stuff. We were just kids back then, he wasn’t anything like this artist that’s got work in a museum or on some rich fucker’s wall. Ah, but he’s not like that. He’s still Add and we don’t talk about the work like it’s a commodity.

Michael Cranston (art dealer)

Addison isn’t merely a commodity. Yeah, I like to see him as a friend. A colleague. We don’t often see each other but for dinner discussions about work. And it’s on occasion that he brings me a bottle of wine to celebrate the completion of a new project. Every bottle is accompanied by a delightful yarn. And see that’s the one thing I like to tell people about Addison; it’s his knack for a good story.

Beckett Sinclair (friend/dog walker/sculptor)

Friends. We go way back. There’s this one time he bailed me outta jail on account of me getting arrested for breaking into his house. See, he didn’t mind. Some people say don’t mix friends with money. Add don’t think like that. He figured it was his fault being that he asked me to come over and get a set of acrylics from his studio and forgot to leave a key under the mat. Nah, Add ain’t like nothing else.

Two and half hours in a hardware store produces enough materials for a small military settlement. Paint, tools and wires are nestled safely within two shopping carts. The man at the counter smiles and nods as we make one more pass through before checking out.

The Iron Anchor introduces us to the lovely Svetlanka, a bartender who isn’t at all afraid to tell you what she’s thinking, quite heavy handed on the alcohol and wears her female facial hair with a sense of pride and duty. It takes Addison two hours, a couple of interesting stories and a handful drinks to get the lovely  Svetlanka to listen to his idea about her posing for a wall piece. A piece that will take place if she cooperates. Three more drinks and she may promise Add an unborn child whether it’s his or not.

Friend. (Cont.)

Madison Henry.

The first time I met Addison Kelly we were both in line at the DMV. Addy was registering an old DODGE truck and me I was paying dues on my 94 Honda Civic. Our first conversation was about cars. Mostly odd since I know very little about cars. And Addy well he wasn’t so much talking about cars as he was telling me a story about a car. A story much like your grandfather might tell you. Sounds pretty odd coming from a young man, but that’s just Add.

To describe Addison Kelly is much like referring to all old man. How we are friends at all I’ll never know. To this day my husband wonders how we are friends. Sometimes I just tell him to go along with it instead of wondering. Its how I’ve come to understand things.

James Henry.

Addison was in the middle of telling a story when Madison introduced us. The middle of a story. It’s funny but that’s the best way to describe the friendship. You’re in the middle of something that’s about to take place. And although you don’t know it at the time but you are in the middle of a story.

Celine Patrick – (friend/artist)

Addison introduced himself to me in the middle of the biography section at the public library. Apologized for bothering me but instantly said he had to tell me how beautiful I was. I wanted to be icked out by the whole thing, but somehow he was charming and I simply said thank you. The whole time I kept thinking who does things like that anymore?

Strain.

Add is a good friend. Not that it’s hard to get along with Add. Actually there are a few people. But it’s not that they get along badly. Wait that’s not it. They just don’t know how to take him or bother to get to know him. Most people are surprised to realize how much they have in common with Add when they start talking to him.

The night gets started somewhere in the middle of a convenience store its 12:38 am. Addison says we need Corndogs and Reeses Pieces. Svetlanka the non-model bartender from the Iron Anchor is standing outside the store with a handful of posies smoking a cigar. We’ve become fast friends after spending the last two and a half hours at the Iron Anchor getting familiar while discussing how she will be posing for Add’s next piece. I’m feeling like this is more like a bad joke than an art project when he tells me these things will complete our painting. Add has a tad twisted sense of humor so I’m waiting for the punch line to kick in. It doesn’t. Somewhere around 12:45am with his serious face he reassures me, “No Joke!”

Artist.

James Henry. (collaborator/friend)

By true calling Add’s a pretty damn good painter. You might find something he’s done hanging in a law office or on a wall at the Modern Art Museum. My work? I’m strictly a paint man. And don’t get me wrong I like to get down and dirty. But that’s not like what Add’s doing. He’s a bit of genius with what he’s got going. It’s not often but occasionally he lets me down to work on something with him. And cause he’s Add, occasionally he’ll throw in a few things for flavor. Mixed media is what the art dealer likes to call it. I call it a big ass mess. Albeit a bit fun. BIG. Anyhow, that’s just something the missus and I joke about though.

Michael Cranston (Art Dealer/Colleague)

Addison Kelly. Now the thing you have to understand about Addison is that he doesn’t work like you or me. Doesn’t pay the bills the same way. And sure as hell doesn’t pay the tax man the same way. Yet he is the most upstanding individual I’ve ever met. Most people wonder what he does. At this moment he might tell you “a little of this a little of that” and that’s not entirely untrue. Snake Charmer? Lion tamer? Musician? Builder? Repairman? If you can think of a name for it, then he’s done it. The world to Addison Kelly is that of possibility. Anything is up for grabs. And for the last three years or so he’s made his living creating something from things that most people toss out. With a little paint or other odd’s and end’s thrown in there’s a masterpiece every time.

Madison Henry.

Addison and Work. Work with Addison is never work. It’s that age old saying, if you’re doing what you love then you never find yourself working a day in your life. Which brings me back to how I ended up where I’m at now.  Spending an entire day in the life and shadow of Addison Kelly. This wasn’t my idea. But Addy’s got a “grand ol plan” and he tells me the world has to know about it. When that mind starts to work there’s nothing that can stop it. Also he knows I’m outta work, needing a challenge. What are friends for?

My biggest fear as I hang dangling thirteen stories above the ground? A day becomes a week and that becomes a year. Add says no. And I know that he’s right.

Four and a half hours and thirteen popsicle sticks later, the sun is coming up Svetlanka has called over her girlfriend. The four of us, we’re standing in the middle of the parking lot at a closed Dairy Queen with a newly painted wall mural that looks a bit like the outline of Svetlanka with her hands above her head somewhere in the middle. There’s a pile of cigarillos next to the scene of the crime next to several cans of Krylon with freshly painted popsicle sticks hanging out of them with candy paper wrappers. Add tells me there was no way the corndogs sticks would have worked as I swallow another cold bit of cherry ice. Svetlanka covers her girlfriend with a dozen kisses and I watch Add snap a couple of Polaroid’s before telling me they’re playing his song on the copy machine at my house. I tell him James is asleep and we shouldn’t. He tells me, “No he’s not” while stopping to look at his watch.

Artist (cont.)

Svetlanka (Barmaid/Model)

We’ve met at the bar many times. He tells me I’m beautiful. I know this. In my home country I am very beautiful. No I never posed for artist. It is honor for such gentlemen. Is this ok? My speaking is bad. I can talk about anything. You want cigar?

James Henry. (collaborator/friend)

Last time we’d visited he was working with a 79 Datsun and an 87 model that looks like she’d rather be entertaining a fashion ensemble than being worked into some mechanical artwork. The entire time she spent waiting for the plaster to dry with a cigarette crooked in the corner of her mouth. Addy kept telling us about the interested buyer while flipping the pages in Italian Vogue for the bored model. When he says, “there’s a man in New York waiting to see this painted body work,” for the most part this means he’s already sold the unfinished piece. We decided to leave as the last pieces of plaster harden around the thin woman’s legs and Add brings out a sledgehammer.

Anastasia Peterson (Model)

Oh no, I don’t mind it so much. Dirty. You definitely get a little dirty. The last time I came down to work with Addison he was re-envisioning this color scheme on a landscape mural while working in a tube of lights that required a harness and buckle. He was using the curve of my torso as a… I don’t know how to explain. He was using me as a paintbrush. It was all so very interesting. Funny. And amazing. You’re probably wondering where the funny comes in the equation. It’s all very serious until you’re strapped in a harness swinging buck naked covered in paint. Before your mind wanders, it’s not very sexy. And Addison, well he’s a gentleman. Let me just say, they don’t make ‘em like Addison anymore that’s for sure. His ex-wife… it’s a damn shame she left him. A shame for her that is. Some girls don’t know what they have.

The morning continues at my house around 7 o’clock. And James isn’t sleeping. He’s been up all night in the studio working out something. It feels more like 3 in the afternoon, but it doesn’t matter as the Xerox machine is counting down from 1000. We’re still sitting having a coffee and talking about the plan for the day. I can’t see what he has in mind as the hot water comes to a boil. It involves paint and a tall building. Two things that I’m not at all sure I want to participate in. James pops his head in to find out when I will “really” be home. I tell James later and then tell Addison that there’s no room for negotiating on time. He says then we better get moving soon.

Copies. Nearly 11 am. Dozens of inverted images are strewn across the street in front of my house. A hand, a face, an elbow. It’s odd to see the brightly colored body parts scattered on the lawn. Addy’s pulled together a make-shift contraption to color the copies. The wind is kicking in and making the production line a bit of a problem. I’m watching and waiting for the neighbors to intercede over the chaos of color. And somehow it never happens.

The damn shame.

Madison Henry.

Addison’s wife. That’s a sad story. And it’s something that happened long before I met him. But I can tell you a little. She’s… she was pretty fucked up how she left. It wasn’t what I’d call reasonable. There wasn’t a time when she was ever satisfied with what he would do for her. Took him through the ringer with all of her cheating. Blamed him for refusing to commit over and over again. When he finally did she accused him of every type of indiscretion. Add’s not that kinda guy. He never would’ve cheated on that girl. Would have given her the moon and somehow it wasn’t enough. It’s a shame that she left, even after he put that ring on her finger.

Beckett Sinclair.

I wouldn’t call it a bad relationship. Being married to someone is a strange thing. It’s not that you want to upset the other person. You want to be the thing that stays true to you and true to the relationship. Upset just happens sometimes. In their case, there was a bit of bitterness on both sides. And in the end she left him.  

James Henry.

The way Maddie tells it, there’s nothing like the way she left him. It makes you wonder how someone can drag another person through the mud before heading out. Maybe they grew apart. Maybe there wasn’t anything there to begin with.

Somewhere it’s noon and somewhere it’s actually 1 pm but the important thing is that the corner of Amsterdam and 9th are now covered in freshly painted copies of random body parts. There is a faded picture of Madonna with a strategically placed magenta foot in her mouth. And three oversized symbols mocked up out of the remaining pieces. A crescent moon is looking back at me when Add tells me about the crane at 1:30.

At 1:38 there’s a man that keeps handing me the keys to a crane while Add talks to a homeless man. The crane is large enough to lift and move a car. Add says we’re not moving cars between talking about street art with the homeless man. I wonder if he knows what he’s doing. He must get the same impression as me and keeps making phones calls instead of stopping. Between being kept on hold and waiting Add tells me about the building and paint again. I shrug and nod. There’s no real sense in avoiding it. I know that there will be no change in plans when the homeless man says he thinks there might be a Van Gogh of street art.

The crane is next to a building that is next to a large empty lot. The space directly next to the building contains a large canvas and drop cloth. The canvas rests across a pad large enough to catch a falling person. Add tells me this is what I’m doing. I tell him, “Really?” before shaking my head yes. Saying no won’t do anybody a bit of good.

The damn shame (cont.)

Strain.

Damn shame. Add never talks about it unless asked and even then he’s pretty tight-lipped. You can’t really talk about something that never gets talked about. I remember how they met and even though we all knew each other pretty well it wasn’t a good idea back then. To say there were problems before it ever started would be an understatement.

Anastasia Peterson.

I take it you’ve never been in a love situation if you can't relate. I mean, you don’t just say forever and mean something else. That’s not the truth. You have to understand that with a man like Add there’s no room for deceit. And that’s all she was. Demanding the truth from a man and lying. Giving it to some other guy. Who does that?

Celine Patrick (friend)

I think with Addison it comes down to the last thing he ever wanted. It’s what happened with her. She wanted something different than what he wanted. She gave him no choice. It’s all very sad. There’s nothing worse than losing your heart.

Not a bit of good is exactly what I’m thinking as Add yells over the side of the building, “Ready?” and starts to pour the paint onto me. I think of the color red although he’s pouring black and purple. Somewhere below me the man that is supposed to make sure I land right is giving the signal cause I can see the look in Addy’s eye change. Its then I look up and back down before telling him, “Only if you are,” With my agreement he snaps the harness securely into place and takes a dive over the edge. A dive that will pull me down with him.

 It’s 3:55. Nearly 24 hours later, sheets of color blanket the sky before both my head and heels find themselves back on the ground. And after I finish wondering if we’ll do it again, Add tells me “Ready?”

Drugs in your body?

There's time for indulgence and there's a time to know your limits... Do you know your limit? When will you reach it? Anyhoo, here's an image I was playing with and creating last Christmas. It reminded me of The Inauthentic Life, formerly the Perspectives, which will be published later this year. Here's the first snippet I wrote from the book... along with links to a few of the other chapters. Enjoy! 

Kisses, m.

Downtown drugs. December 2012. 

Drugs in my body.

It’s been three days and you haven’t been here.

It’s 11 at night. 11:13 burned in red screaming out from the black. Where did you go?  Look around and you’re not here. There’s a stranger looking at me in the mirror. It’s time to head out. Maybe I’ll find you through distraction. Grab the bottle and take a couple for the road. Did you call a cab for me? Wait. You’re gone. Wayne isn’t going to mind the noise from the cab. Oh, he’s already waiting. Grab my coat. Let’s go.

Downtown.

It’s 8am. There are still a dozen places to go. People are everything right now. Standing on the wall. Touching my waist when I pass. Grabbing at my body. A woman just walked up and kissed me outside of the Zebra last night. Still can’t hear you. I’m pretty sure I locked up last night. Alex is with me now. He wants breakfast. I’m not hungry. I keep telling him I need to go back to the house. I’m out. If I dry up I’ll never find you. When are you coming back? I’m out of this head when you’re not around.

Alex says he knows a guy that can keep me HYDRATED and that I should forget about going home. It’s time to get breakfast. We’re standing next to the guy that sells flowers for nickels or trades them for oranges. Alex is eating an orange and telling me to hold his flowers. I’m almost completely dry. Something about this feels like you. Were you here before me? I’m catching up now. The man selling the flowers puts a cigarette in my mouth and lights it. Alex is laughing. Alex is kissing him. There’s music. We’re dancing on the street corner. It’s 9am.

Still downtown.

The cab put us out in the middle of midday traffic. It’s Alex’s fault. The cab driver didn’t agree that oral sex would pay the fare. Even I said that before we hailed it. We’re out on the avenue ten blocks from where it’s wet, but seventeen blocks away from the oranges now. Dryer. You’re close though. I’m leaving here. Alex says to wait and catches up. There’s a place we can go. I’m waiting. He says it’s around the corner.

The alley isn’t long enough. Seems like a hallway or closet. It’s a liar pretending to be something it’s not. But that doesn’t matter anymore. I’m wet. Messy. Back in pursuit. I almost lost it for a minute there. Alex came through. I’m not going to stop for the next day. Maybe you’re already there. Living in tomorrow. Dancing in the dream that hasn’t happened yet. I need another one. I can feel…

Alex is gone. He says to swing by Zebra or Defiance if I wanna hit the party later. It’s 2pm. Why do I bother with this watch? You like this watch. It would hurt if I lost it. I’m waiting on a park bench with this watch that you love thinking of breaking it out of spite.

Downtown Driving.

Gina is waving to me from across the street. She has an Escalade. Wayne sent Gina to drive me around. Did you call Wayne? You didn’t tell me you were stopping in. I missed you. This is a nice car and Gina is very nice. Except Gina doesn’t really know me. Not like Wayne and Alex. I’ve never met Gina but she knows you very well.  Gina smiles a lot. Gina talks a lot. Tells me about where we are going.

The escalade takes a sharp left at the next intersection and continues. I ask her why she should take this sort of job from Wayne. She says that this is what her job for Wayne is. I ask her if driving strange men around is really a profession that one aspires for. Gina has a giggle. Some girls have a laugh. Gina giggles before explaining that her job requires her to assist Wayne. She says sometimes that means driving around strange men then half giggles. I ask if this comes with stock options and a title. Gina has a laugh now and hands me a business card.

The traffic stops for an accident. The escalade stops. I want a drink. Gina pops opens a compartment and hands me a bottle. I take a hit and drink of bottled Perrier. The car is amazing. Cold bottled water appears from the dash on command. I’m holding her business card like it’s a cigarette; Rolled up and sandwiched in between my fingers. Wayne calls her his personal liaison. I tell her I’m convinced this means she washes his clothes and books his appointments with hookers. Gina giggles. Gina likes it when I make fun of her job. I’m done making fun. I need another hit.

The Four Seasons

Gina takes me to the Four Seasons. She has an appointment with a client and I’m having drinks with Wayne at 5:30. It’s only 4:15pm. You aren’t at the Four Seasons. You don’t like hotel bars. I’m the opposite of dry. What trouble can I find?

The ladies locker room isn’t where I should be. So I’m leaving even though she asks me to stay. Who? Someone. She follows me. Smiles and says come back to my room. It’s 4:25. I’ve got time. I need another hit.

It’s 5:15. The maids’ pantry is stocked with a thousand tiny little chocolate mints. There’s a closet full of those tiny mini bar liquors that is now missing thirty eight tiny bottles of Stoli Vodka. Mint Chocolate and Vodka sounds like an amazing new flavor for ice cream.  You would love that. Why don’t they put alcohol in ice cream? I’ll ask Wayne. He makes things happen. My bottles clink clank while I walk across the empty lobby.

I’m at the hotel bar. Wayne is here early. I’m beyond soaked. I show him my new dance that produces three little bottles from the bottom of my left pant leg. Wayne thinks it’s funny and asks me about Gina. I say client with inappropriate finger quotes. Wayne shakes his head and smacks me on the shoulder. I share about the party invite from Alex. Wayne looks at his watch, nods and tells me to order a drink. I forget about Stoli and Chocolate Mint Ice Cream… before I forget about you.

Frank’s Place.

Frank is a business associate of Wayne and Alex. Frank has an amazing waterfall in his living room. The bottom of the falls is covered by tiny bullets of red and whites, green and blues, yellow and purples. An arsenal of pure intoxication. Frank says help yourself. I’m already packed, but I’ll take a few more for the road please.

You’re not at Frank’s. I can’t help it but I’m not looking anymore. There’s no mirrors here to remind me of strangers. I’m the life of the party. Dancing in a waterfall of color and light amid a sea of girls in white cat-suits. Wayne says Frank loves to throw parties. I don’t know what time it is. The watch is broken. Water.

Driving Downtown. 

Gina came to Frank’s. Wayne says it’s 10:20pm. I say where did the time go? Wayne says that Technicolor waterfall held me hostage for three hours. Wayne tells me there were no girls and that Frank wasn’t having that kind of party. Gina smiles and tells me I was still the life of the party. I laugh.

Wayne tells Gina to head over to Spiral. She makes a left and a right quickly before flipping a bitch amid traffic. I need a hit. Wayne looks over his shoulder as I’m pulling at my coat pockets. There’s only three mints and a tiny bottle of Stoli. Wayne laughs and waves my bottle of skittles. I tell Wayne to fuck himself and give it back. Gina says I should wait until Spiral. Spiral is a party on a boat that never sinks. I want my candy. Gina says we should arrive in 5-4-3-2-1. Give me the bottle.

Spiral.

Alex is at Spiral. Somewhere aboard this boat. Wayne is gone to check our coats. Wayne is gone with my bottle. Mirrors everywhere. You are close again. You’re in the familiar shadows that disappear around corners. I can never find you. I feel sick. The club rocks with the uneasiness of the movement all around.

Alex finds me in the corner talking to you but you’re not there. Just a thousand strangers reflecting back. Alex says the boat is leaving. I laugh and tell him this boat isn’t for sailing. We leave anyway. Wayne is throwing up in the parking lot next to the car. Gina looks like she fell in the water. She is still smiling. Happy Gina. Pretty girl. Alex hands me back my bottle. Wayne realizes that he left my jacket in the check.

Zebra.

I’m in a corner booth sitting next to Andy Warhol. It isn’t really Andy though. Andy is dead. This guy says he’s Andy though. Real cool cat. He even looks like Andy but with red hair and dark skin. I know you would find the humor in that bit if you were here. When will you be surfacing? Gina is drinking a Midori and dancing on a chair while Wayne lifts up her dress. Alex has decided that imitation Andy is his soul mate. Why am I at this party? I’m waiting for you. Drying up.  

There’s a mirror. That’s not a stranger. You’re here. You’re dancing now. Come closer and talk. It’s been four days. Maybe we should talk. No more distractions. Let’s go home. I’ll fix something. You can be in control. I’m ready to be dry. Stop dancing. Now.

The bottle. Don’t eat the candy. I’m tired.

Out in the street.

Walking. More candy. More Stoli. But at least you’re here. We agree and there’s no place like home. Alex and Andy are walking behind us. The world spins madly. You want to know about the watch cause it’s late and there’s no way to tell time. You keep interrogating me about our jacket cause you’re cold. I’m not cold. I honestly don’t care what time it is. Maybe I’ll take a hit of red and put you back in your cage.  Why don’t I then? I’m tired. Why don’t you take control? Quit hiding in there if you don’t like what happens when you’re gone. 

Standing in front of a store filled with paint cans of every color. I can see you in the reflection. Still mad about the jacket? Look what I did to our hair. Andy Imposter laughs like a donkey when I talk to you. Alex tells him that it’s ok and this is how we are. I don’t want to go home with you. Crawl back in or take over. Alex has a bump left. I’m taking it. Deal with it. Junkie? Go away or hold the fort while I disappear inward for a while.

Defiance.

Wayne says Defiance is where people come for sex and candy. Alex and Andy haven’t left the bathroom for an hour. Check one. There’s a mirror behind the bar. No stranger danger. Quiet. You’re still mad, but coming around. Even you have to admit you enjoyed that line. Let’s have some fun. There’s a nice smoking bar and there’s a man with candy in the back. Check two. Why do you care what time it is? Let’s get wet. Jump in the pool.

Alex says it’s 4am. Andy says it’s 5am. I don’t care. I say let’s find Wayne.

Apartment K.

Wayne is sleeping on the floor by the sofa-like chair thing that you bought last month. Alex is smoking in the bathroom while Gina takes a piss. I’m spent and resting on your favorite chair. Alex tells me that you spilled all the candy in the street this morning. I say to him that’s wonderful. Gina hasn’t giggled yet. According to the watch that Alex stole from Wayne it’s 10am. I ask Gina to take Alex home. Alex says he prefers to walk. There’s a stranger in the mirror. I don’t know where you went. Maybe you’re still in the streets? I’m ready to leave. Come out come out wherever you are. I can hear you. You know the score.

Five days and you haven’t really been here.

Other Chapters

* Drugs In my Body

* Lines

* Alone Time

* Swallow

* Stuck at 12:22

* 5am

* Mirrors

* Caught