Showing posts with label Cafe in Paris. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cafe in Paris. Show all posts

Monday, January 21, 2013

Can't get Blue Monday out of your head?

"Cafe in Paris." Paris. Vegas. vs. Cafe Deva. Modesto.

It's Monday but is it Blue?  There is the question. Another question would be: where are you? Are you here or somewhere else? Physically? In your heart or in your head? Perhaps in a hotel room wishing it were Paris? Well there's one thing you can't order up from the Concierge... And that's change of city without the travel. At least now anyways. Perhaps in a few years you'll think of where you want to be and then be there. Anything is possible. Impossible only exists in your mind. Anyhoo, the picture is a memento of mine and the story is from "The Inauthentic Life" [formerly the Perspectives] which will be published this year. Enjoy the story. Enjoy the day... blue or otherwise. Oh I hear it's Inauguration day. Did you watch? kisses, m.

Blue Monday.

It’s Monday. I know its Monday by the clock on my phone. Lifting the corner of one eyelid tells me this information but that won’t tell me where the hell this is. It could be any place anywhere in another time zone, but that doesn’t matter because it wouldn’t change the fact that it’s Monday.

Mondays. Do you remember what we used to do on Mondays? I recall it involved the tip of your tongue and… the blue dress. The one you always loved. The way its belt held the gathered pieces of my skirt. And  when we played in the garden. Do you remember the way it felt in the garden? Dangerous. Sexy. Your blonde hair now brown looked sun kissed and wild dancing upon my shoulders while you kissed my neck and lifted my skirt. Do you remember?

I’ve been wide awake but lying here with both eyes seemingly closed listening to my James fabulously managing me while my Skyler is attempting to visualize a concept to dress me.

James is talking to Skyler about the color fuchsia, how it’s supposed to match the color of my blue eyes that aren’t really blue and make them pop green when the camera flashes. And instead of shooting me to put me out of my misery they’re only capturing my very essence with a flash. The gown could be purple. But it’s not. It’s the fuchsia that the angels have sent down to mask the color of my complexion in an attempt to avoid sending the very obvious message to the public “she’s strung out again.” But the rumors that aren’t supposed to be true are, and there’s not enough fuchsia fabric that makes my eyes pop to avoid it.

The drugs, it was never about the drugs. I fell this morning. Cut my face and left arm. You know what they’ll say if they get wind of it? Suicide attempt. And who knows they might be right. I remember when you used to call me your falling angel. And how Dr. Grant called that terminology counterproductive to my treatment. What happened to us?

Somehow in the middle of this conversation of semantics I interrupt with my brown eyes not yet blue to find out the one thing I don’t yet know.
“Where are we?”
The Plaza. The W. The Standard.
“Well good morning to you too, sunshine. Does it even matter?”
“We are where we need to be.”
“It might as well be.”
Paris looks the same when you’re sitting in the penthouse suite of a 10 star hotel with the blinds closed. But it isn’t Paris when James starts going over my itinerary for the day. It’s 9am somewhere amazing in LA, maybe even the Chateau but it doesn’t matter cause I’ve been locked away from the world for the last 24 hours preparing to greet the press to plug this film Malcolm put me in last year. Without losing a beat he tells me that the people from the press will begin to arrive in two hours. While James prattles on and on I think about running dramatically, pulling back the blinds that lock us away from the real world and jumping out the window. After James drops a handful of scripts on the bed I’m snapped back to reality. He tells me “pick one, any one” before telling me that I need to be a fuchsia princess with blue eyes that pop so they won’t notice my hair. But first I need to take a call. Skyler hands me the phone and tells me “smile with your voice” and I fake it. I’m busy faking location and eye color, mood shouldn’t be a problem. Singing into the line I pretend that I’m playing a fair game when it’s nothing like that at all.

It’s last week when I’m in another bathroom and not playing fair when I tell her I’m not coming in. But I tell her anyway. Monday night’s walkthrough means everything to Chloe and for that reason alone I tell her it will have to be another time. I can hear the tension in her voice and it carries the same weight as that of a ninety year old woman. I can remember how I kept listening to her talking and watching myself in the bathroom mirror. After I take a pill I tell her “you’re beautiful” before telling her “I have to go.” I say it because I know it will hurt. It’s always leaving with Chloe. No one ever stays because she sucks them dry. I want to feel sorry for her but I don’t. I can’t.  I didn’t want to hang up. I wanted to tell her anything but goodbye but I couldn’t. I sit on the toilet. I try to cry but the tears can’t come because they aren’t for me.

Instead of tears there are three more pills and a pair of scissors that are screaming at me to take action. And I couldn’t stop myself from taking action. Like the director that yells into the megaphone, “ACTION” screams through my brain as I cut that woman out of my hair. Piece by piece I’m cutting not stopping while the tears start to fall. It’s release, it’s the end, the beginning and I can’t find the right feeling for how much I love Chloe but I can feel the pain escape as my hands demolish the beautiful brown locks of hair that have been my trademark. Quintessential Inza is now gone and it’s the only thing I can feel. My tears keep falling until I reach the scalp. Looking down at the marble basin I can see the beautiful pieces of me and I want to feel free instead I only feel pain.

A knock on the door from Skyler snaps me back forward in time and tells me to come out of the bathroom and get dressed.

It’s Monday and these aren’t the blues. It so much more than that cause I’ve hurt you with my words, the ones I didn’t say, the wrong ones I did and all that I’ve haven’t done but there’s no going back. I’m sorry I hung up the last time we spoke. I don’t know why I did... I promise you it was never about the drugs. Never.

James tells me that I’m beautiful between taking calls as Skyler undresses me and Chiffa covers the fading scar on my face and arm. Chiffa smiles when he says it. I like how she smiles cause it’s real. Real. I know James believes that I’m beautiful. But it isn’t love though. James doesn’t’ love me. He doesn’t’ even care. But I have him and he has me. It’s funny but that’s enough. I have James and that’s all that matters. This one man is paid to think I’m fabulous and that is better than someone that doesn’t want me anymore. Sometimes I think that James is afraid of me. It’s not that he wants to be here. It’s the alternative that he’s afraid of. Alone. Unpaid. Unattached. It’s not fair to say that about James. James is here because he plays the role better than any other.

Then there’s the role I never should have filled. It was never fair when I slept with Grayson. He wanted me more than Ava, but he knew he couldn’t give me what I wanted...

You. Ava never even compared to you and Grayson knew that it would never be…

“Enough. It’s not enough. With you… It never will be.” I know he’s right when he says it but it doesn’t stop me from crying about it. There comes the warm hot saline and he’s wrapped around me with both arms trying to stop it from happening. Grayson is not like the others. And they’ll never see what he sees in me. It’s a shame. A shame that he has to. I love the way he cares about me and that’s the most dangerous thing I can think of.

Once you’ve let someone all the way in there’s no going back.” Dr Grant tells me her take on my fears of losing Grayson. It’s eleven o’clock last Friday and I’ve finished telling her that I don’t want to lose Grayson, how his possibly leaving sends me spinning. But I don’t tell her about Chloe because it isn’t about her. Maybe I don’t want it to be. I keep thinking. Even if Chloe never comes back at least she could return my calls. If she bothered to call I'd know she cared. My mind spins wildly while she keeps talking, “You can’t pretend that Chloe didn’t leave and…”

When you love someone you don’t just up and leave when it gets rough. But that’s how it is with Chloe. Checking out while the rest of the world has to deal is her thing. She gets what she needs from you and leaves. Only she doesn’t realize that its her that’s always leaving. She’s the one that pushes you away when she loses interest. Sucking out the pieces out of you might make it easier to swallow but it doesn’t change that its her that always leaves. Standing in the same room looking at you but completely vacant. Gone. Stay or be ignored. That's how it is with her. 

When my mind falls back forward she’s still talking “ Chloe simply represents your need for…” but I don’t care what she’s saying and at 11:15 I decide that I’m ready to end the session because this has nothing to do with Chloe.

For all the things I’m not afraid of my therapist still tells me about the things that scare me. Frankly I don’t need to pay her $500 a session to find out that I’m afraid of someone leaving. I already know that. The idea that someone might get all the way in again and then leave taking me along with them completely frightens me. I want a commitment and I don’t fear that anymore. It’s the leaving that scares you. We’re all so co-dependent and terrified on the inside. But we want someone to choose to stay anyway.

There’s something about intimacy that frightens people. But you always knew that. She came, may have come after you but I never stopped loving you despite your inability to let me in.

Sometimes I think I should simply hire someone for the intimacy. I have all these other people that I pay to perform a purpose that the real people in my life have ceased to fulfill. Why not pay someone to be my confessor. Someone to be completely open and bare with. Honestly it’s not the sex I’m paying for, it’s the intimacy. The ability to share a moment with someone and not have them leave afterwards. They have to stay because they’re paid to. That’s the thing nowadays. It’s all sex and no intimacy.

Even now when Chiffa leaves I’m changing my clothes and Skyler is helping me there is no intimacy or feeling to our shared moment alone. I’m naked and he’s already talking about getting a Grande Zebra Mocha Latte Frappacino. Sklyer contemplates whip cream while my shoving breasts into the front of the dress with both hands. The moment sends my heart racing and my flesh spinning. While I’m lost in the past thinking of your hands pressing against me Skyler wants to know how many calories are in whipping cream. There’s nothing intimate about it. I ask him for a Passion Iced Tea Lemonade when he zips me up before leaving. I’m all alone again in the oversized hotel bedroom and I wonder how much it would cost for intimacy.

Again. I’m looking at myself again but it’s not me in the mirror. I don’t recognize her. Right down to the brown eyes painted blue she’s a stranger. She’s dead inside. Deader than me. And she wants out. I want to tell her there’s no way out honey. You’re in this to the end with me. And we’re in the middle of a sinking ship. But I don’t say it and swallow another mouthful of water. Saying it, that will only make me feel crazy. As if the second round of pills on my tongue doesn’t do that already. The phone is ringing and I contemplate answering it. Somewhere it’s Blue Monday playing on the clock radio next to the phone while it rings I keep thinking about Sklyer returning with his coffee dancing to the song instead of picking up right away. I wait. Two rings becomes three then four and I wait to answer because on the other end of the line I’m sure it’s not anyone that gives a fuck. But instead of letting it ring I watch the person who isn’t me taking the call anyway. Between color of my dull complexion and the matted remains of my short brown hair I’m already in the middle of the conversation when I take another drink of water.

Tell me a little about your character.” She says.

This woman is sitting across from me wearing this season's Chanel suit jacket with last season's Prada skirt and a cheap pair of knockoff Steve Madden mules. She’s number twenty in a line of eighty five to sit and chat with me, pretend to like my work and call me Ms. Madison instead of Inza. From the waist down she’s tacky but they’ll never see it. I can’t quite explain what it feels like to play a narcissist that finds value in living. But after I’m finished telling her a little bit of the scripted PR she’s satisfied. When she throws back a laugh at my witty response, her smile is so wide that it pulls back painfully on the corners of her mouth. James motions to his watch for my mark. Cue smile. Cut. NEXT.

I can’t remember what it felt like in your arms. Did you hold her the way you held me? Do you like being single? C. I don’t want to feel like this. I had to leave. I left you before you could leave me. It’s worthless without you. I’m worthless.

There’s a scene in the film where my character is holding very still and she can’t quite catch her breath. On the inside I’m feeling the same way but it doesn’t show as they play the clip another time. It’s number fifty-five and the man sitting before me tells me the same as all the others, “You’ll win an Oscar for this one.” Somehow I don’t care but I know they’re right. I remember shooting that day and it was the same old story. Chloe was hysterical and screaming on the set between takes while Malcolm kept yelling at me to focus.

Ever notice how alone you feel when you’re walking through crowd of people. You’re not alone but it’s the loneliest place you can think to be. Surrounded. Connected. Alone.

C.  I’m scared. Scared for the one thing I never thought possible. I’m afraid that you’ll come back. Afraid of what it means for us because I want you to. I’m equally afraid that you’ll decide not to return. Grayson tells me this is what true love means. You can not live with or without it peacefully once it takes hold.

It’s around 4 o’clock when the press line has finally ended. The day like the mongers has left me feeling claustrophobic and I tell them I need a bit of air. It’s just an excuse to go outside but it turns into more than that when the valet sells me a gram. It’s hardly little Mary Sunshine when I lick the palm of my hand after doing a line inside the north elevator bay.

Going up is what he said and I said certainly. In this moment I don’t know this man’s name or how many lines we’ve shared before pressing stop on the elevator. It doesn’t matter that I’m in love with Chloe still or that Grayson is in love with me. It only matters that this man wants me and that’s enough right now. After he’s had his mouth between my legs  for five minutes I can’t remember if I cared what he said his name was or if he made me come when I decide that it’s enough. I want out of the elevator without my new friend.

Back in the room I want to tell them that I want to be alone. Alone on this blue Monday with my pills and lines before they issue in another round of the press. I want more than anything just for it all to make sense.

I want this to be Paris.
I want to be wonderful.
I want Chloe to love me the way I love her. She’ll never love me the way she loves herself.

And I can’t live without you. You can come and go. Just do it to me. No one else. I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else. C. I’m alone and I know you’re with someone else who doesn’t care. Looking for what you left here with me. I may have left but you checked out long before. I forgave you a long time ago. Come back.

I pour a double Vodka and take a hit while watching Skyler turn down the bed. He hands me the bottle of Vodka and downs the glass before destroying the fuchsia brilliance that wears me like a glove. His hands tear and press into my ribs and I catch my breath because I can’t get enough. It’s human connection with someone I care about and it sends my heart pounding. It’s been too long and I reach over to kiss him. Skyler lifts my face with his hands and kisses me back slowly before carrying me to bed. I don’t want to go back to sleep. I take another hit then tell him more and motion for the valium. With a shake of his head he hands it to me before leaving the room. I swallow three and chase it with the vodka bottle. I’m not tired… but not waking up wouldn’t bother me in the least. So I chase another line with a few more pills before swallowing the last of the Vodka. And as I let my eyelids fall close I realize it’s still Monday. Another without you.

I’m in the hotel lobby waiting for the elevator. There’s a beautiful woman in a purple dress coming at me. I’m not worried about you when she’s coming. You left again. It doesn’t matter I like getting lost in hotels. It’s too bad you’re gone cause you’d never believe what’s she’s doing cause I can’t believe that she’s doing a line and walking toward me. I ask her to go up and tell her I want to go down. She says yes and I motion her into the elevator. Somewhere around floor three I tell her to give me a hit. By the eighth floor we’ve parked. I’ve taken three dives with her into the pool before going all the way down. She loves it and I’m lost in the folds of her purple dress. We’re going towards it. Her hands pull at my hair and my arms wrap around her legs. I can feel the release coming as her back arches and her hands grip. It’s almost time for her to come up for air when she tells me this is where she gets out. I want to finish but her electric blue eyes stare through me. I can feel her need to go. It’s not that she wants to she has to get out. Desperation. I know that look and wear it well. Another hand between her legs makes her kiss me before releasing the elevator. We stay locked in place until she gets out on the thirteenth floor and I wonder where you went.