Intercept

Caught. In the act? Ha! Stealing or taking because you can? Yes. Or is it that you can't identify internally... Or still trying to figure out what you want... Who or what to do or simply what to say? Or perhaps you're a bit jealous and wanting to see someone not getting anywhere? I don't know about people and their jealously sometimes... Ha!

Anyhoo, I will steal from you without apology and honestly I'll tell you "I'm taking that" in regards to a story, a phrase or just something you did and I'll say it to your face. But I will tell you. I never hold back in writing or photography.

Another writer asked me which character was most 'me' yesterday... And I'll defer back that all of them are truly moi, but when I wrote the "book" Alton was closest to me as a model and she's at times nothing like me at all... 

Here's an excerpt from the book about stealing... 

Have you ever interfered or intercepted something from someone out of fear? Would you? Hmm... Says more about you than them dolls & kens.

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

caught stealing.

(9-15-2010)

and stealing is the last thing on earth that some would want to be known for even when they’re standing in between heaven and skid row. stealing. some might get a feeling of sick from such a word. not me as I can’t help taking what’s not mine and using it cause everything in this fine world takes a bite of something else and then gets by using it.

At the 711 looking for some beer with Clay and Alton shows up with Jane. Jane says she wants to go. I tell her there’s no way we’re going without grabbing something first. The clerk is watching us watch him instead of the door. There’s a man with a poodle outside the door. The clerk shifts his eyes when the dog yelps because some random guy with sunglasses scares him by screaming as he leaves the store.  It’s then I stick a six pack into Jane’s bag and Alton throws another under her Tom Ford exclusively one of kind coat. Clay keeps looking like he’s wasted and hands me a bag of sunflower seeds. I put them in my already full pocket and we leave while Clay stops to buy a pack of gum and takes a lighter from the display.

Sometimes I think, I don’t know why Clay does it. It’s not out of necessity. It’s not. He’s born and raised nearly straight off the country club with his day-to-day set of perfect clothes. Nothing like me or Jane with our luck that gets us by day-to-day with something.

Clay is the personification of a character that fell out of an Aberzombie and Fitch catalog one day and decided to try acid while base-jumping listening to Lou Reed off a four-story apartment building in East LA. More often than not he likes to take things that he doesn’t need. Need is palpable. And his is not as he slices open the contents of $4 DVD from Target then takes it home as a souvenir for the wall. The back wall of his living room in the 10.5 million dollar house that Ken-doll modeling didn't help buy, is covered with $4 dollar treasures from Target. He calls them his target practice and typically they’re not even movies he wants or likes. Somewhere in the sprawling mess he’s started a game room. Only the high dollar items and scene girls that like to star fuck are allowed in there. Alton once offered him a hand job if he would pretend she was Mick Jagger in the attempt to take a look. Lights out. 15 minutes. Neither got what they wanted in the end.

Alton is missing a chip up in her head. A screw loose or something like that. Therapist after therapist tells her that she’s got the noggin of a sociopath. But that doesn’t matter to her. In fact there is very little that Alton cares about except for stealing.

Alton looks like a model and talks like a sailor, carries around a plethora of sensor removing devices in her Gucci bag while smoking Marlboro reds in-between talking too much to anyone about how she’d like to fuck David Bowie. She once told an agent about this want and he told her that he could make it happen for a price. She says David’s not a whore and everyone she tells the story to that she’d never pay to make it happen. She makes her way in and out of the fine clothing establishments with anywhere between $3000-$5000 in clothing every day. Grand Theft Fashion. This is Alton’s full-time agenda apart from pick-pocketing men on the LA subway, especially the ones she picks up with the line, “Wanna ride me on the underground?” These men always answer a question with a question, “There’s an underground in LA?” but no one ever says ‘no’ to Alton. Not when she looks like that and talks as ridiculous as that.

Been caught stealing. Red-handed. Hand in the cookie jar. This time I’ve got a watch somewhere on my person and they’ll never find it. Cuffed and being carried through the open court of the mall. All the pretty little people doing pretty little shopping at the indoor venue for purchasing a whole lot of nothing and now they’re watching me, the awful criminal man being dragged through their day.

I think at the least the worst is over as the rent a cop mall security finishes frisking me for the watch I stole from the hand of the sales clerk. The truth is… he’ll never find it. Not where he’s looking anyway. It won’t be long before he gives up and throws me to the curb. They can’t hold you if you’ve done nothing wrong.

Watching Jane do it is like entertainment. She’s the girl next door with a ponytail and wholesome smile, walking in and out with her fast hands that react and don’t care where she’s at. In the store. In the park. In your house. In the middle of a crowd.  My girl’s like me she don’t need a reason.

Jane’s like a magician with her hands right out in the open. Handling business with me on the front side and reaching into the jacket of someone behind her faster than I can notice. It’s happening out where people don’t want to notice the obvious actions. As she’s walking up to a stranger’s bag rifling through it in the line at the store. Tells them she is looking for something if they catch her. They smile with patronization to the crazy girl and tell her that it’s not in there when she’s already taken their money and a royal red lipstick or appointment book and prescription of valium. She’ll bump into a man grab more than his waistline and while he’s busy enjoying the unnecessary action she’s taken his wallet, his keys and even his belt if he’s not careful. Hands are faster than the eyes.

Watching Jane in the 711 is like watching a master go to work. Not only is she packing the beer, but she’s managed to grab everything that no one is watching. Lighter fluid up her skirt, toothbrushes down her shirt, and if you’re lucky you’ll catch the lines of a cherry chapstick and a ball point pin in her hair. Then they sell these exclusive to 711 things on a shelf. No one wants anything exclusive that might make your insides your outsides. Jane takes them anyway and tosses one to the scared poodle on the way out.

I’m outside of the security booth at the mall when Jane phones me. I can’t remember picking up a phone today but its Jane so it must be mine. She tells me that she’s meeting Alton at 4, but right now she’s sitting with Sergio in a bookstore and waiting for his drug test watching people try to look important pretending they have better things to do. When I ask her where she’s going next she tells me that I’m supposed to meet in Clay outside of the electronics department at sears cause he has a surprise. Never telling me where she’ll be next.

Stealing watches right off someone’s wrist is like performing an act of magical community service. This is what I tell Clay when I meet him outside of Sears where he’s been waiting with a boombox secured neatly under his arm. I question him that’s the surprise and he tells me, no follow and watch. We reenter the store, return the boombox and leave with some large Craftsmen tools that are for opening things. I think this is a nifty trick and he tells me it’s not so handy before telling me about the Zoo.

We’re at the zoo watching the monkeys. No one is watching the monkeys at the zoo we just walked into thirty minutes ago after not paying and no intention of paying for where I swooped us three lemonade from a stand while a pimply faced girl made time with a boy wearing braces that looked like a child version of Clay. They didn’t even notice I was there. I walked up and walked away. One. Two. Three. After I finished the first lemonade Clay took the other two and tossed them into the monkey cage. Jane calls with Alton and wants to know what next, I tell her that I don’t know but we’re busy and after this I want some beer. Clay takes the phone and tells her 711. I tell him to fuck off. He tosses my phone. It shatters. He tells me that he’ll get me another but I tell him all I want is a beer. Clay starts cutting and hands me the other tool as he tells me that we’re going to when we’re done here. I tell him no one wants what’s inside of there to come out, and he tells me this is what he wants.

Outside of the 711 there’s a woman screaming about the monkey in backseat of Clay’s Porsche while the scared poodle isn’t yapping, the monkey is spitting on the windows of her car through the bars of its cage in the back of his car. Alton is busy with the man and his scared poodle who isn’t yapping, while Clay hands the screaming woman a wad of money, Jane smiles at me and takes the woman’s pocketbook. I tell her nothing and show her my new watch. She tells me she got me a shirt today and I tell her that’s just fine I needed another one before we…

Another...

Another day, another cry! Tears of pain? Fuck crying & feeling sorry for yourself dolls! Live a little! Try tears of joy through living! 

Well it's another day in... Las Vegas for moi. And for you? Well as always I'll tell you it's about where you are mentally and a lot less about location. It's the journey not the destination, but you can not make the journey til you decide what you want.  

Anyhoo, I've got a few of the D-Women I will be dropping shortly. In addition to a new ebook comprising of all 26 women shortly to follow. One is a cryer, but she's... I'll let you find out! 

Have you ever worked on a series? Do you give sneak peaks? 

Here's part of the perspectives... Are you excited to read the whole novel?! 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Another Day in L.A.

(1-10-2011)

Everyone is high and it’s a quarter to three. We’re at this house on Mulholland. It belongs to an agent of a someone who has a friend who has a house. It’s not the scene I want to make but Alex is still M.I.A. I can’t remember what I told the driver to do. This is fabulous L.A. and you hate L.A. Maybe this is why I came here because I knew you’d never follow. That’s a lie though. I need a hit. There’s music here but it sounds more like a Christmas station than a party. Jemma introduces me to this model. She poses for sunglasses and has something I might be interested in. I don’t know what she’s selling but the conversation is so much more interesting than the party already.

“So you model sunglasses?”

“Yeah. What do you do?”

“You’re looking at it. How’s that working out for you?”

“I don’t know. I sort of fell into it.”
That’s what they all say… fall into it here. Fall into what exactly. She keeps talking about herself and ends up telling me that this gig has nothing to do with clothes. Tells me that the photogs make her stand around naked wearing these oversized glasses for GUCCI or Tommy or Calvin. Whatever shots they don’t use for the print are considered art. Art. That’s what pornography goes for around here. I wish you were here, but I’m not wet enough yet. In fact, the daylight is drying me up more and more. Jemma has a drink and is stepping into the water. It’s ok to take a pill but not the candy. She smiles and mouths the words ‘let’s go’. I nod and tell the naked model it was a pleasure. She grabs my hands writes down her number. I’ll never call it. We’re leaving.

It’s 4:30. There’s a feeling of recognition as we pass this Taco stand. I remember you like that kind of place. I call the driver. Tell him to please stop in a whisper. He slams on the brakes in the middle of traffic and maneuvers into the opposing lane and reverses quickly. Jemma is still out. Too much booze and pills. She didn’t need to relax that way. I don’t care. I’m hungry.

Eating. But where are you? You know you want some. Of course you do. Oh there you are. Alex rings as we are eating. Chaz is happy because I bought him something and he’s talking to this Israeli voice on speakerphone. The whole parking lot can hear it. So far I’ve learned he is fluent in thirteen languages. All of which are not English. All of this I’ve learned while we’ve talked on the phone. I’ve also learned that Alex is in the valley somewhere. Then I remember why you hate LA but it’s too late you‘ve already disappeared again.

The people here keep staring. One guy finally gets the nerve to walk over. He’s wearing a torn AC/DC shirt and carrying a pair of jeans over his shoulder. His boxer’s have Tweety birds on them. I can’t wait for what he has to say. Chaz keeps talking to someone from Israel. The pant-less man asks me about the dead girl with her face in my crotch. I tell him she isn’t dead and this is where she likes to put her face when sleeping. He nods and asks to shake my hand. I smile and ask about a cigarette. He hands me his pack of Reds. Jemma isn’t around to care. She may as well be some dead girl with her face in some guy’s crotch. I couldn’t leave her in the car alone. It would have been like leaving a Chihuahua in a hot car. Sleeping beauty yawns then sneezes in my crotch. I can’t help but laugh. You’re missing all the fun. Stop hating it here. It’s fabulous.

Chaz calls me for instructions while standing three feet away. I tell him this address that Alex gave me. He nods and says he can get us there. Alex better be there. AC/DC shoots me a “thumbs up” as I carry my lifeless doll to the car. He thinks I’m a rapist. Lucky me.

Somewhere on the freeway in the middle of five o’clock traffic at six-thirty, Chaz phones to say we’re lost. Jemma looks alive again and asks where we are. When I tell her she says to get off on the next exit. She doesn’t know about Alex. I’m almost dry again. We need to find Alex.

Alex phones to tell me he’s standing at The Grove beneath a tree. He says, “One of those fake trees that never needs water” and that he has a giant plastic sword in his left hand. I can only imagine what that means. Jemma hears about Alex and wants to go home. I let her have the car and get out to find Alex who is waiting next to a fake tree where he said he would be.

“Wanna hit?” I posture.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“What are we doing here?”

“This guy Carlos is making the scene with some guy that works at the MAC counter.”

“There’s a MAC counter here? Who’s Carlos?”

“Oh he’s staying with me. Hey you look good. Did you get some sun or something?”

“Or something. Where are you staying?”

“Wayne.”

I get quiet because Wayne isn’t calling me he’s calling Alex to make arrangements for places to stay in L.A. and instead of getting upset I take a hit under the fake plastic tree.

All around us the world has vomited MTV colored people and killed the chance of individuality. There are three girls that fell out of the television walking by us. Shirts for dresses and leggings instead of pants. It doesn’t matter. One of them smiles and I talk to her. She wants to know where I got my pants. Tells me that she’s hungry. I smile and tell her another time. She grabs my hand and kisses me. Friendly place and you’re not around. Alex asks about the pool again. I want to know about Wayne.

The car is moving slower than it feels down the avenue. My head is spinning when I close my eyes. The hot air of the evening is hitting my face with full force. I want to be sick and say pull over. Alex says not to close my eyes. It’s hard not to. Carlos wants to get out on some random corner at a red light. It’s a scene and Alex wants to fight. We pull over. Out they go.

“Get back in.” Alex yells.

“I’m not following that crowd. I don’t care.”

“I’m not kidding around, you’re out you’re out.”

“I guess I’m out then.” Carlos shrugs his shoulders and walks away.

Alex chases him and plants a long kiss on his face. Carlos leaves anyway. I’m not amused by these games. I just want to know about Wayne. Why won’t anyone tell me about Wayne? You shouldn’t come out. This is the type of party you might drown at.

It’s 8 pm we’re heading up to the floor beneath the floor at the top of a downtown skyscraper. I can’t tell what day it is even though it is still the same one. I think three have passed but it only been one. It’s too bad you hate L.A. This has been interesting. Alex says this guy can get us wet. I’m glad. There’s no where to go and I forgot to call Chaz back for the car. I’m not worried about you right now. There’s a party on the floor below the one at the top. This is a private residence and there’s a lock on the elevator.

At the party Jemma is here, standing in the corner with that naked model from earlier as we exit the elevator I wonder “Who the fuck lives here?” out loud. Alex reaches over and tells me to stop talking to myself. I tell him that this isn’t possible and take a hit. It’s my last one. Jemma comes over and introduces me to her naked model friend again. I ask them about candy. They tell me to ask this guy named Frankie over by the bar. I try to keep walking. Alex gets in my way with another character that I don’t know.

“This is Wayne’s associate, Paul. It’s his place.”

“Hey Paul.”

“How are you liking the town? I heard you aren’t a fan of the city.”

“It’s cool. We haven’t been around much yet.”

Alex looks at me to say chill out. I can’t help it when I’m out in the middle of no where and dry.

“Paul, tell Adrian about the penthouse.”Alex keeps trying to make us friends. I want to talk to Wayne.

I smile and the awkward moment passes.

The man with the candy at the bar is amazing. Frankie is now my new friend that takes pictures of the naked model for Complex. The naked model says that he’s really a she, and that I should stop saying “him.” I tell her  “tomaytoes tomahtoes”  and my new friend laughs hard and slaps me on the arm before telling me about his place upstairs. I tell him that I think he has a better view because his place is on the top floor. He says to stop by anytime. This means later tonight. I call Alex. He is in the bathroom with Paul. I tell him we’re going to this place later. He doesn’t care and hangs up. Jemma is standing next to this guy that’s on TV. I’ve never seen him, but the naked model keeps saying his full name and touching me when she talks about his show. I don’t want to hear about it. His show is unimportant and probably going to get cancelled, but I want her to keep touching me, so I listen. My new friend laughs some more and passes me another handful of candy. We’re almost done here.

The color of the top floor is aquamarine when we exit the elevator. There are lights everywhere and custom blown glass windows circling the place. I can’t imagine anything more beautiful at the moment. Even the naked model is a pale shade of ugly in comparison. In the middle of the place rests an oversized fountain with matching lights that blink intermittently to the music that’s playing. The guy takes out his camera and naked model gets naked. It’s all very day in and day out to them. She looks like this is what she does. I can feel myself already bored with her nudity and wanting to find Alex and Paul. The man behind the lens stops taking photos and starts making out with naked model. Everyone here is bored and ignoring it. Even they get bored of each other and stop kissing. As I’m heading toward the elevator, the music changes and the entire place turns magenta. I’m watching the skyline pop colors outside when I realize this view rotates. Then entire floor is encased in an Ovular bubble that spins slowly. How appropriate.

Alex is already waiting downstairs in the car. I can’t remember where he got the car or what happened to Carlos. We’re heading back to the hills where I can see the view of the valley but not be a part of it. Jemma went home with that TV guy. I don’t care. We aren’t sleeping together again.

It’s 1 at night when we find the place in the hills. It’s the same color as the place we went to earlier. The gate has a coded entry. Alex reaches over and enters the wrong number. He does this three more times before giving up. It’s time to go back down the hill and find another party instead. I take out something for the ride. Alex turns up the radio and we drive off into the warm night.

It’s 7am on the corner of Hollywood and Vine. I don’t understand how so much can happen in three days. But it has. Alex is buying a star map from a man that looks like Sylvester Stallone’s cloned midget with a bad Rambo haircut and accent. We aren’t anywhere near the place where Carlos told as to meet him an hour ago. I think it’s on Sunset but Alex disagrees. There’s a boot on the car and it’s parked in front of a hydrant ten blocks away. There’s a lot of people walking around. Everywhere. I keep talking to the people who are waiting to cross the street. I’m drying up but loving every minute of it. Do you remember last night? I can remember making time with a white-haired girl in go-go boots for money and that it wasn’t something I wanted to do. Were you around when I wasn’t looking? Sneaky. So much for hating this place. 

Interesting

He tells me “I'm allergic to polyester,” after making small talk in the pharmacy about my allergy medicine costing “too much” and giving me a website to buy it from. 

All in all the exchange is nice. Who is he? His name is Paul & I got the chance to chat with him for 10 minutes while waiting Friday night on my way home from the gym. It wasn't a meet-cute. It wasn't cute. But we met. My allergy pills were projectile launched at him. So he made my disaster that was uncomfortable comfortable by mentioning the expense versus the offense. Then we traded allergy afflictions like they were body scars. It was very charming.

Now I won't see Paul again... ever. He's not a model or someone you'd find on TV. Looked like an average height and build man in his late 20s early 30s. He was a warm compassionate man who made a regular convo about staying Modesto and trading allergies stories fascinating. And when he left he shook my hand. 

What am I rambling about and why? I met the most interesting person all day because he wasn't afraid to be uncomfortable with a stranger or show me the boring version of himself. I think most people worry about being “oh so” interesting all the time, when all they have to do is be themselves. I used to be the same. I needed a label, a persona and look rather than let others see the boring old me. 

And I never talked to strangers or men I didn't know because I worried that every person wanted something from me and I dreaded rejecting others. Paul wanted a chat, and I don't think he even wanted that. He just was waiting in line, like me and we got to talking. It was nice. No pressure. And I enjoyed it.  Single-serving friend. I still love the main courses and sometimes these single doses become one, but all in it's a great place to start being the boring version of yourself. 

You know what? I've come to find that I really enjoy the boring versions of people. It's my favorite part, I like the flaws, the cracks, the mistakes and fuck the awkwardness is the best. They make people seem real. It's what makes them interesting. That war-torn damage from life and the journey is what carries us forward. So why don't we put that forward too? No clue.

My favorite people do put it forward. And they don't worry about giving or taking too much from any situation but themselves. 

You can't be afraid to put your best forward. You can talk the talk to others insisting they tell their story & reveal themselves fully but unless you can walk the walk by revealing your regular boring self without fear of rejection or not being fascinating enough without an episode or dramatic scene, you are not being authentically you. 

Be you. It's be-you-ti-ful. 

Below is an excerpt about a woman who is always someone else. She's so tired of trying to pretend to be someone else. And she's found that it's become quite boring. It's a bit from the novel... which again I have fallen back into character writing comfortably and been working on another chapter happily from a new place.  

I still have yet to thank one of the bravest and most amazing people in my life for helping me find my own courage & balance to write in character again. His continued courage to move forward and bringing me a writing project really helped me get going when I'd given up on pursuing new writing things.  He helped motivate me as a writer and for that I am grateful for his push in a new direction. It was exactly what I needed when I didn't know what I needed. :) 

It was on and off character writing for a minute, but I think I'm okay now. To another unique person {friend? no? yes? ha. }... Yes I do need to stop listening to others and what they think of my work. You are truly amazing and after all these years... I can't believe I didn't see what you wanted me to before. It's really not green. And some of what I wrote was awful but I needed to improve. 

So... Maybe the love affair is out there, maybe it isn't? Maybe it's okay people have types and I'm not it? I've been lucky to have the most amazing men in my life. I just enjoy the moments I get to spend with the people I adore when I am able to. Maybe it's one of them? Maybe it's not? That's ok either way. It took some time to realize it would be okay, if things in my life didn't happen the way I planned or if I didn't fit a type or mold. It's been far better than interesting to say the least. 

Enjoy the excerpt! Hopefully I can give a sneak peak of something new again soon. I'm really excited to...

Kisses, m.

lust - tylershields.com

5am.
(9-2-2010)

My bare skin is cold. It’s 5am when I wake up. I look over at this interesting naked man in the bed who is only wearing smeared lipstick and too much eye make-up. He looks more like a member of The Killers circa 2005 than just some guy. I roll over and start pulling the newspaper off of my arms, my face and out of my mouth. He kept trying to put this tissue paper in my mouth last night. Something about eating my words that I can’t remember. It’s not more than two feet away I see the blunt force object that he wanted me to hit him with. Flashbacks of screams pokes and paper being shoved in my mouth are at the front of my headache. He rolls over to reveal that he’s still hard. I just want him to leave already and let this be over.

I keep thinking how the mornings after the interesting nights are always the hardest to clean up. Comings and goings at all hours. Mornings though are usually spent with men in this fashion. The interesting ones, who aren’t at all concerned with why I’m spending time with them, where it’s leading, and this one is the worst kind. He doesn’t know. He thinks we are connecting. Bet he even thinks this is my place. Damn. He’s awake. Wanting more. They always want more. Maybe he’ll roll over and fall asleep again afterwards.

It’s almost always 5am. When it happens. When I wake up. I could complain like other women about being alone, but typically I’m not. I could complain that it’s another man and another bed, but I won’t. Even while this one is wanting, giving more and screaming out her name, it’s all ok. Although I want him to leave so I can be alone, I let him stay because he doesn’t know.

Its evening, another night, and another place. Its 5am somewhere else I suppose. Eight hours from now in the future that has happened yet. The bed is completely saturated in a thick sticky wetness and I’m still wearing a very large strap-on. Rolling over there’s an older man in the bed with his hands bound by leather cuffs. Next to him there’s a young boy face down with fresh contusions running up his bare back. Between his legs there’s a cord and a stop. I can feel the stickiness in my hair as I pull it forward. Pieces of my blonde look black from this wetness. I wipe the stickiness from my face and remove the brace from my mouth while getting out of bed to step out of the leather garter belt. I need a shower and a cigarette.

There’s a man standing in the bedroom doorway when I come out of the shower. He’s waiting while another man removes the boy from the room. The older man is looking out the window at the brightly lit view of Paris and masturbating. He yells in Mandarin that the view is beautiful, his favorite. The man at the door is speaking Mandarin. He is doing this for that man’s benefit. I ask him in English “what do you want me to do?” and he yells in Mandarin for me to come see the view. I go and see the view. The man at the door keeps watching. He touches my hair before telling me in Mandarin to spread my legs and lean up against the window. I do. While he comes close to finishing up, the man watching steps in and closes the door. It’s at this moment I’m pretty sure I don’t get paid enough.

It’s 8am. Adrian’s awake again. This time he wants me to sit on his lap while we eat breakfast. Tells me something about being able to connect. I don’t want to eat after he says this. I don’t want to eat while doing this, but I do. I ask him about her, the one he screams about while we’re eating breakfast. While I’m sitting on his lap, connecting I ask because he doesn’t know. It’s ok to ask because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t’ want to talk about it and finds another way to ruin breakfast for me.

After I’ve showered again and removed the pieces of cereal from my hair I call the airport for his flight change while he rinses the pieces of toast and eggs off. My instructions were explicit that he leaves town today between three and eight. The airline rebooked his flight for 3:15 and I’m trying to find his passport when I find something interesting in another pocket of his jacket. The other interesting thing peaks my interest as I read the name from his passport to the woman on the line. I flip it over and try to figure out why he’s holding it in his pocket. The woman confirms the flight and he comes out of the bathroom as I hang up the line. I ask him about her again, Felicia. He drops his towel and asks me if I want another shower. I think why the hell not. If we’re going to go another round it may as well be in the shower.

It’s 10am and not long after another shower when I surprisingly feel more connected to this man. It’s after a moment of raw emotion that he shared instead of using me. A moment when he trusted me and confided in me some of his war-torn damage experienced at the hand of a woman he loved.

“You want to know about her?” he says between biting and pulling at my bottom lip.

“Uh-hmmm,” I moan while water pulsates against my back in a circular pattern.

“6 months.” His tone changes along with his hand movements.

“And…”

“I thought that was...” He gets a little rougher.

“Don’t.” I hold his face to stop him from pushing. “Just tell me.”

“There was always… always another.”  He stops and I understand there’s pain.

There’s nothing left to say when this man breaks. No words to help with this release. I just wrap myself tighter around his body and hold him, letting him fall through the cracks.

We’re lying on the floor and he’s playing with my waist. Telling me about the imaginary lines that come out of my abdomen and lead me around in the world. Leading me to him. Then him to me to another shower.  There’s laughter instead of tears when he’s telling me this. And I’m glad he doesn’t know.

Somewhere it’s 5am when I’m naked, standing on the edge of a balcony in the middle of LA. Its 80 degrees and a man behind me is whispering in my ear and pressing himself against me. Telling me that he’s only happy when it rains while he leans in then wraps his hands tighter around my waist. Another man is spraying us with a large water hose while he leans in further. I try to shift my weight while his happiness interferes with my balance. The water feels good on my warm skin while the man’s laughter hurts my head. But he’s so happy. And this is what that feels like.

The happy man isn’t happy for long and decides that Vicodin chased by a hand job from a Korean Masseuse is a better idea instead of me, the blonde from behind on the balcony while he pretends its raining. The masseuse arrives and he decides that I can’t watch but the man with the large water hose can. I’m in the hall calling back the woman who arranges these things. I’m on the seventh ring when the happy man is on all fours getting spanked by the large water hose man while the Korean girl is trying to do her job. I turn away to handle my business.

“Annie, it’s me.” I whisper in the line.

“I’m glad you called. I’ve got another one that’s interesting.”

“I’m tired of interesting.”

“You’ll like this one. It’s in France.”

“Why France?”

“This one travels. Business.”

“Why me?”

“He has some specifics that… you’re the only one of my girls that doesn’t have restrictions. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Has anything changed? No. I’m just tired of interesting. When do I leave?”

As I hang up the Water hose man and the Korean girl are the outside of the happy man’s sandwich. This is what happy feels like now.

Lunch is in a tiny sandwich place around the corner from the brownstone in Brooklyn I’m supposed to live in. Adrian seems happier today than yesterday. Much more like a person. I think this is the first time I’ve called anyone by their name afterwards. Or had lunch with them. He smiles a lot and I think it’s charming. He tells me about his friend Alex and mentions a girl Jemma he used to date but is friends with. Tells me about going to LA. Then he talks to me about Andy and asks how I know him. I tell him the truth. That we’re associated by some business. He keeps smiling and so I tell him about Rembrandt instead of Van Gogh to change the subject. He loves discussing art and I’m not ready to ask about the interesting thing I found in his pocket this morning.

We’re walking around the park talking about the Met, my work and then he somewhere between two trees he kisses me. I don’t know what he’s thinking but it’s nice. I decide that its time I asked him about the interesting something from this morning. That tiny piece of paper that rested so neatly between the two folds of his pocket has a story to tell and there’s no way it could go unnoticed.

On the flight back from Paris I realize that it’s actually 5am somewhere I used to be. I keep thinking about the colors in the morning when dawn breaks across the horizon as I check my email from Annie. She has another interesting job that I might be able to help her with. I respond that I need more money for that last job. I’m ordering a Vodka Martini from the steward when her response back tells me it’s already in the account and that I need to make verbal contact with the client before taking the next job. She says it is interesting and sends her apologies. I phone the client who isn’t shy about the details. He says his name is Andrew W. and that I must call him Andy because everyone does. Then he tells me that I’m for a friend of his, but he can’t know about it. He needs me for about two days and that there are specifics I must be aware of. I tell him I’m in because specifics are what I do.

It’s a little before 5am when a man picks me up at the airport. He brings a bag of clothes and tells me to change. I do. Then I ask for Andy. He says when we get there you’ll meet him. He tells me that I’m going to be pretending to be a friend of Andy’s and that I’ll be staying at a place in Brooklyn before telling me I work at the Met for the next two days. He hands me a Louis Vuitton bag full of cards, incidental money and keys with an address for the place in Brooklyn. A place where I’m supposed to do whatever is wanted and things will get interesting. I pull on the remaining pieces of the ensemble when he wants to know more.

“What’s your name honey?”

“Is that important?”

“It is if you want to get paid? Full service. Full name.”

“Can’t I just use a fake with your friend? It isn’t like he’ll know.”

“Look, honey. Quit playing games. Just tell me your name...”

Chelsea Raye Grant. That’s what my mother used to yell at me when she wanted me. Sometimes it was when I would be out by the pool working on my tan instead of going to school. I don’t know why but when he asks for my full name I’m thinking about that last time she got mad at me. It’s been years since I’ve seen her but that feeling of nostalgia creeps into my mind for a moment and I’m remembering her face. The way her mouth curled up and her teeth showed. Recalling those final words between us is like opening an old box of photos. It’s not how you remembered but it must be the truth. The sting of her slap when I told her I wanted to go to New York and be a dancer. How much I wanted to study art and live in SOHO instead of going to Stanford for Law or Medicine like her and my father. Just like I was one of her patients, she informed me of how wrong I was that I was ruining my life. And she’d probably tell me she was right if she were here now. Maybe she was right. I don’t know.

“Honey, you ok. Sorry about that.”

“No. I’m alright. No one has used my full name in a long time.”

“See your badge. For the Met. It has your name now.”

“Oh, tell me about your friend.”

“He’s interesting.”

“I thought so.”

It’s not anywhere near 5am when we’re sitting on a park bench and watching the world around us connecting. I’m lying across his lap and he’s playing with my legs. I think we’re almost comfortable enough to talk about this interesting thing. It’s taken a while to get the courage to ask him about it but I think it’s time when he takes off my right shoe. I smile and slip my hand into his pocket.

“What’s this?” I ask him pretending not to know.

“I don’t know. Maybe you should reach a little deeper.”

“I will.” I pull out my hand and the folded paper comes with it.

“What’s it look like?” he says. I unfold it then show him.

“It’s a sonogram.”

“It’s nothing. Garbage. Throw it away.”

“If it’s nothing why do you have it?”

“Because she gave it to me.”

“Who? I don’t understand. Is it yours?”

“Felicia. Was.” He pushes my legs aside and gets up. “Throw it away. Fuck, I need a hit.”

“Come on.”I get up and touch his arm then face.

“She wanted to hurt me again. So she did.”

“I’m sorry.” I don’t have the words again so I just hold him. Further into the cracks.

The car picks up a man in front of Tiffany’s. Its 5am. I can’t believe this is what I’m doing for the next day when he stumbles in looking for someone named Alex. The man dressing me in the car introduces us. I smile and tell him good morning. He smiles and tells me I look like the Mona Lisa with blonde hair only prettier. I laugh and he keeps telling me he loves my laugh. The man in the car rubs my thigh and winks.

At Andy’s there are a handful of people that Adrian talks to but doesn’t know while doing lines. I don’t feel comfortable with the drugs, but he seems to be coherent enough. There’s a Jack, a Mina, a Michael, a Sam, a Betsy Ross Grandison from Long Island that looks like a linebacker in a pair of sole-less heels. It seems that there’s simply everyone except an Alex at this morning event. An Alex that Adrian insists on finding. Somewhere between Betsy’s shoes and Adrian’s lines, my introduction to Andy is fabulously staged. We’re simply a pair of old friends reuniting for a bit of business. Adrian stops doing lines and talks with us about his missing friend Alex. Andy pulls me aside and whispers a reminder about the details. Details about his flight being booked for LA and the overwhelming need to talk him out of it in my own interesting way. There are more details that include something about this missing Alex who hasn’t left yet and is leaving tomorrow morning instead. Andy faux kisses me before saying that he has to leave the party, but we’re welcomed to stay until Adrian’s flight later.

11am. I‘m wondering when this will get interesting as I continue to talk with Adrian about art and reinforce the lies they want me to tell him. About my connections and the arrangements I’ve made for his flight. About this place in Brooklyn. About the work at the Met. He loves the lies. Somewhere between 11:30am and Noon after leaving his friend Alex another message he tells me he’s never ridden the ferry to Staten Island. I tell him we should go and that he has plenty of time before he has to be at the airport. It’s a lie, but we can’t sit around and wait for his flight if he’s supposed to miss it.

At the airport terminal there’s a woman that takes the itinerary and then turns it into a ticket. While I’m getting the ticket I remember how the ferry ride proved to be more difficult than interesting to get through without his candy reminded of this because I can see him trying to take a hit from the counter. Shrugging his head and missing the hit. It was the same way he shrugged when I kept asking him to put it away because I didn’t feel comfortable around drugs earlier. And then I see him trying to use his phone again while a security guard watches. Even on the ferry between talking to me and looking at the view he was trying to call his friend Alex. He kept telling me about the view of the city, how it’s beautiful and he loves it before telling me I’m Mona Lisa in the middle of the ocean. The woman says it will be another five minutes to process the ticket. And I think of him telling me about Van Gogh and the whores before telling me about his ear.

The woman is finished. It’s been ten minutes instead of five. When she hands me the boarding pass I’m still thinking about him earlier and realize that it was the longest time I’ve spent on a boat since I was a child with anyone other than my father. He looks happy when I return to him with the ticket. The flight is soon but I tell him we could do other things instead of flying right now because he doesn’t need to know why he can’t get on that plane. He doesn’t know he’s being manipulated when he tells me he wants to but he can’t. Using my best my smile I tell him there are always later flights. I rub his hand gently and tell him that he doesn’t need the candy anymore. He doesn’t know so it’s okay to say it. Then I touch his face and tell him that I want to show him my place in Brooklyn. While I keep rubbing his hand and touching his face he tells me it’s okay but we’ll need to stop for some things and I know this is where it gets interesting.

In a cab on the way to the airport he says he wants to tell me more about her. I didn’t ask to know. He just tells me this before he tells me he’s going to do a line. I look at the rearview mirror and the driver is watching. I tell him I’ll make it interesting if he skips the line and the story. He smiles and says “how interesting?” as he unzips his pants. The driver is still watching in the mirror and turning his head around. I tell him let’s get out and talk about it. This makes the driver upset and he goes back to looking at the road. Somewhere along the way I find myself kissing him in the back of the cab instead of doing anything interesting. He never tells me more about her and I’m still glad he doesn’t know.

We’re at the airport. He’s taking his time in the bathroom and I know why. I don’t want him to go. Go back to the drugs. Go back to his disconnect from the pain. I like the lie that we’ve become. It isn’t real but the illusion is so much better. He’s emerging from the men’s room dancing to the airport musak version of Big Pimpin. There’s a security guard that moves with him to the beat and a kid that gives him a high five mid shuffle. The whole moment is ridiculous, and I think I want him to stay more. But he’s leaving. Telling me that he’ll see me next time and I know that it won’t be true. Because even though I’m me, I’m really not. And because even though he’s him, he won’t be soon. For the moment he’s kissing me and I’m kissing him back before he goes through airport security and leaves when I want him to stay. Because it’s ok if I’m not alone.

“5am. Wake up.” Her words come off the line without a hello.

“It’s 3:45pm. I’m not asleep.” I tell her. The plane has only been in the air for thirty-five minutes and its time for the next job.

“Are you ready for the next one, 5am?”

“I guess so.”

“This last one wasn’t too specific I hope.”

“No. Not at all. I didn’t mind it so much…”

“How was it?”

“Anything but interesting.”

Interesting. This is more than interesting that I’ve been left alone. I take a hit while looking at a pair of diamond earrings that I can’t afford without cash in my hand but it doesn’t stop me from looking or thinking about buying them. Shopping without money in your hand isn't recommended but I can't get back into the car. Can I? There’s a man with a hat looking at me in the store window when I realize that it’s just you looking at me and Alex is really gone now. The car left less then fifteen minutes ago and only I got out. There must be a mistake is all I can think when it happens. But it happens and calling Alex’s line only gets me Andy. Andy tells me he will send a car, but it is going to take some time. I tell him that time is all I have. He tells me his friend is coming to get me. I need another hit while I wait on the curb. After 30 minutes a homeless man takes a hit from me while passing through. I can’t seem to remember what happened before Alex left but it wasn’t good because you're still hear in my head all silent and smug. It wasn’t something you said, was it? I keep wondering if I will catch up to Alex before he leaves to LA. I don’t want to miss the flight. But you tell me it’s too late when a car pulls up. There’s a man and a woman inside. I don’t know them but she’s beautiful and I want to get in. So do you. Let’s go. 

Happy Monday!!!

It's Monday, but you should not be Blue! Try dreaming of Paris! 

I'm not blue. I'm not dreaming of Paris. I prefer to dream about my favorite Ken who is best wherever he is. And I'm fabulous! 

If you are finding yourself a bit underwhelmed by the day try to let go. When you stop trying to grasp and own the world by controlling it you allow yourself the freedom to experience life. In Buddhism you learn to recognize that your passionate need for & attachment to people and things can lead to unhappiness.

For moi, I find this lesson hardest in my work as a writer. I hold it too close emotionally...

Someone postured to me last week, “What is character fiction?” After I dramatically announced my exit from it because she misinterpreted & personalized my writing to her own life. And before I could answer or say a how-dare-you, she said, “What is character writing like for you?”

Irritating.

Debilitating. 

Ha.

Well that's what I thought but didn't say or laugh it cause it wouldn't be true. It changes me to write in character yet it's not overwhelming. Instead of being unkind... What I did say, “It is not being myself but it's still not being you,” and I think it sums it up. 

Character fiction is both me & not me without struggle at its best/worst moments. But it's not anyone real. I've been lost in it, I was found by it and I will always love writing it the most. Yet, I continue to find myself still easing out of it briefly to be myself again. I recommend letting go to be yourself to anyone. It's rather liberating if you create things.

Here is the darkest of my characters, Inza, an excerpt taken from the novel, TIA/Perspectives. She frightens me the most to mentally embody & authentically create from yet I have & eventually will once again to finish. Her sadness is palpable, leaving her was like removing a part of me... And absolutely fucking necessary!

To move ahead, sometimes you have to let go or leave things behind. Accept the moment as it is and your new circumstances will unfold beautifully.

Give it a try... I'm still trying to. ;)

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Blue Monday.

(5-24-2011)

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?”

“No.”

“We are where we need to be.”

“Paris?”

“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.