Sneak Peek: Cheap

“A phony, a copycat and a thief is still a phony, a copycat and a thief asleep, awake or in their dreams. 

You can steal words, hearts and dreams but that won't make you anymore real or in love. 

You are inauthentic like the cheap lipstick you claim is expensive and the pills you're addicted to claiming they're for your health. 

It's all for vanity you cheap cigarette smoking girl child. 

The pills, the lipstick, and the lies you're telling him so you can break his heart. 

Grow up into the mature woman you need to be. 

Being inauthentic isn't something you can wash off like red painted-on lipstick. But you can wear it well and keep pretending you enjoy being a cliché.” 

Grayson Cane - The Inauthentic Life 

Quality Time

This doll's favorite time spent is with her favorite Ken but now and again she does love to get some time in alone and encourages Ken to do the same! How about you dolls and kens? Ever spend some quality time with the most important person in your life? Who? YOU! Well, do you constantly surround yourself with people or spend some time alone with yourself? Being alone is never a bad thing. It's not the solitude that is frightening you. Perhaps it is the loneliness? You never know unless you try it! The basic premise of being alone: Learn to Love and Appreciate yourself for all the little quirks and wonderful things and you’ll have company forever. In order to give this immense treasure of love and compassion to others you have to appreciate where it comes from and make great efforts to replenish it. As humans we aren't meant to keep our love in or give it all outward. There is no need to fear the absence of affection. Love is an infinite thing that lives within you. You can only suffer without by your own choosing. Be kind, be generous and your love will go far. 

This excerpt is from The Inauthentic Life/The Persepectives. I'm currently in the middle of writing on it again and hopefully will be ready to publish someday. 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m. 

Alone Time

(8-13-2010)

The world is alone.

I wonder if they know they are alone.

Even driving through the night feels alone.

The reds make me come and go.

The people come and go.

A new one every night.

The air tonight is very warm.

Even with the convertible down the heat is considerable.

I wonder if he knows that this is my only trick.

My only piece de resistance.

Magic is nothing more than a slight of hand.

Behind the ear. In the hand.

In my mouth. Actually I’m in his.

There’s nothing like night driving down the highway with the top down and…

“What happens after tomorrow,” this is what she asks while playing with her hair.

“I don’t know. Adrian will probably be here.”

“Adrian? Why the fuck is he coming here?”

“Because I left him in New York yesterday, at 4am in front of Tiffany’s for breakfast.”

“You didn’t!” she giggles and rolls over in the bed.

“I did. Do me a favor?” I play the coy smile game with her.

“Anything.”

“Don’t tell him you saw me.”

“What makes you think he’ll stop by? He left a gram six months ago and hasn’t been back since.”

She gets up, walks across the room naked and dances her way into the bathroom. She emerges and produces a tiny object. I smile and tell her that he’s ridiculous. She agrees and gets back in bed. It’s just like old times and I’m with Adrian’s girl.

Sometimes when there’s trouble I wonder what Adrian’s doing. I can’t imagine him not being in trouble. But this isn’t about him. It’s only about trouble even though I can’t stop thinking about him.

Carlos has a handbag full of MAC cosmetics in the backseat. The wind from the drive keeps whipping the bag around. It seems to be alive in the backseat. The radio has a quiet somber song on it that reminds me of Pink Orange Red by the Cocteau Twins. There’s not really any other noise in the car. I’m completely alone. It’s only when he moves more than slightly that I’m reminded differently. A feeling I don’t want to stop and can only encourage it by a sound or touch.

Jemma James. This is her stage name. I tell her I hate it and how it reminds me of that porn star and… “HONEY!” It’s the first thing I said when she met me at LAX. When she was standing there with her long dark hair. Before taking off her sunglasses. Before running and screaming at me. I miss Jemma. It’s been too long.

The drive back to her place is longer than I thought it would be. I can’t get over the way she looks. I tuck her dark hair behind her ear and she turns her smiling face to look at me. But I can’t see it because her sunglasses eat up her little face. Jackie O and Audrey should’ve been shot for wearing those things.

“You look good.” I tell her and touch her cheek.

“So do you… how’s living alone?”

“I’m adjusting. It’s not the same without you and our midnight manicures.”

“Oh honey, I miss you too. But you know… and this is what I want. Tonight we’ll have some fun together.”

“Speaking of what you want, how’s the J-O-B thing going?”

“I’m working, because I’m fabulous of course. There’s a couple of TV things and then there’s…”
“TV! Really, I’m sorry I don’t watch.”

“Alex, listen there’s a thing I have to do in two days, so you can’t… I can only put you up tonight.”

“Not a problem.”
She keeps driving like a maniac. There’s so much traffic that I forget how I’m still touching her face until she touches my hand and moves it away with a smile.

“Relax we’re almost there…”

The light is red when we approach the intersection. I move him away and start to negotiate the final direction to the house. Wayne has made the arrangements for tonight. Tonight feels like home. Even pulling into the gates of this house that isn’t mine feels right at home.

Wayne makes things happen. I let them happen. Adrian happens.

But this is me getting ahead of myself. Before the facts, the fiction and whatever in between. Before you can go back home you have to have been somewhere else.

The night started with a drive and destination. It started with a phone call for nothing that I made after the one I made to Wayne because he makes things happen. Calling for nothing but trouble is when I met up with Carlos which is what happened before I ended up with a place that feels like home. It’s a place where your best friend isn’t an actress with a porn star name, a script to read and “alone time” for character building.

Alone time. I swear she says this is what it’s called. And she swears “I’m not making this up” then smiles with her teeth showing.  Jemma tells me as we are going 75 miles down the freeway that she needs “alone time” to get into her character. This is why I can’t stay for more than one night. I remember when “alone time” meant you needed to masturbate.

“Does it work that way for women?” She turns red when I posture the question.

“I suppose getting into character is like self pleasure.”

“Explain. I have to know how rubbing one out compares to getting into character.”

“You have to be able to feel good about playing with this person’s head before you get into it.”

Interrupting our discussion about masturbation for the mind…There it is. Waving blue and red colors. Sounds like an anthem, blaring like an alarm. A public alarm that makes sure everyone around knows you’re getting publicly flogged. It happens as my mind drifts to visualize one of my oldest friends spending “alone time” with herself and I’m shockingly enjoying it. Maybe it was the porn star name that has my mind in the gutter or it’s the thought of what I might be doing when I am alone that triggers it? Anyway it just happens and then the sound interrupts my thought although it doesn’t interrupt her driving. I feel as though I’ve been caught with my pants down and my hand in the goods. But she keeps going until I tell her to stop.

“Do you know how fast you were going?” This is what the officer says. 70 miles is what Jemma says instead of 75. He has a face like a man from a porno about cops I once watched. I wonder if it’s him. They say: “Everybody is somebody in L.A.” Maybe he will look the other way like the man in the movie did after a few minutes in the backseat. But the officer isn’t very friendly about it. Even though he doesn’t sound or look like a real officer he is. This isn’t a porno and he won’t let you tell him about it in the backseat. He tells her 65 is what is posted and that anything else above that is breaking the law. Jemma says she’s never been stopped as he walks away with her license. She looks like she wants to cry. I smile and tell her about the porno cop so it’s ok. But it isn’t. Even though the thought of it is ridiculous he will give her a ticket for speeding that she will have to pay. And seventy doesn’t sound like or look like a real word even when you say it out loud or think about it.

Carlos is a friend of a friend whose name escapes me but we met at a party in Beverly Hills last year. He said he was 21 and I’m pretty sure his fake ID agreed but he was 18 with a bad lisp and amazing teeth. At the party he managed to go home with my nameless friend but not before telling me to “Call when you come back to town.” So I did and it’s instantly trouble but at least I have a car to drive. A tacky Lebaron convertible. He says he will blow me if I drive with him to Venice to pick up some Weed. I don’t care for Venice, Weed or Carlos but Jemma says that I should stay but not with her and I have time to waste.

When we get back to Jemma’s I’m convinced that she’s not living here. There’s hardly any furniture in her Spanish bungalow. It seems a bit ostentatious as she heads into the bedroom. She tells me about random celebrity sightings and that the Chateau is down the street. I don’t know what it means when people talk about celebrities but I do know about that place and it isn’t where I want to be tonight. This place isn’t her. I wish she’d take it off. Maybe later she’ll will.

“Jem, darling how can you afford this?”

“Alex. My agent. Don’t worry about it.”

“Is this where you lived with…?”

“Yes, it is. How is he?”

“A mess.”

“Lovely. Just lovely. Do you want dinner in or out?”

“Out. Then in for the night, please.”

“Oh honey! You’ve missed me.”

“Yes, and I want you all to myself.”

By the time I’ve finished saying it she’s already stark naked and wandering the place. I’m making the face of shock when it should not be.

“Oh honey, you forgot about naked Tuesdays.”

“So I did. Should I participate?”

“Jump in.”

Venice is trouble the way you find out the person you’re with is shoplifting. It’s too late to stop it, but you don’t want anyone to find out what just happened. Venice involves a tiny little house and a thirty minute wait. It’s already dark when Carlos runs out screaming, “DRIVE!” so I do. After we’ve cleared the corner, the street and thirteen more blocks he tells me he just stole this guy’s stash. Then there’s so much more I don’t want to know or be involved with on the news. Selling buying trading where he’s a commodity and it doesn’t matter who. He didn’t know that man in Venice. That man with a gun in Venice. That man with a gun whose stash he just stole in Venice after deciding not to uphold his end of the arrangement. I pull over because I need a hit then I tell him we need a new car now.

Its perfect timing when we pull up to this Enterprise rental slash dealership because Wayne calls me. Tells me to call up his housekeeper in the hills. She has the code to his place and will give me directions. I nod and smile even though he can’t see it. I tell him I need a car, he says go to the house. I tell him thank you like he’s granted me salvation. I want to cry. Maybe he can hear it in my voice because he tells me “I’ll see you in a few days” before hanging up. This is going home. I’m almost home. Carlos feels bad when we get back in the car. I take out some reds. I need to check out. I don’t care if he feels bad. I tell him this is my “alone time” and he can figure out how to make it up.

It is late afternoon. In the middle of the room I’m lying awake by my sleeping soundly best friend when Spandau Ballet comes out of the clock. It’s same old Jemma and her lovely sad music. I can’t help wanting a line before she rolls over. But I don’t. This is nice and I really shouldn’t. She smiles when rolling over into my arms and I kiss her forehead.

“Good morning honey.” She moons like I’m her lover instead of her faggot friend.

“Hey stranger it’s afternoon.”

“Still bothered?”

“Hmm…”

“Remember I know you silly.”

“I’m ok. Would you get mad if… Nevermind.” I really want a line but I won’t.

“Tell me why you would leave Adrian in New York.”

“He’s fine. It’s not like that. He’s not alone. He’s with my… my…”

“Honey. Who?”

“Andy. He’s… someone to me. It’s new? He’s watching Adrian. Look, I don’t know what it all means yet.”

She smiles, plays with her hair and leaves things alone before getting up and into the shower.

Somewhere before I turn onto the highway I tell Carlos he’s coming with me to the house. I’m not stopping again tonight. It’s the only thing I said before he decides he’s going to make it up to me. At first I was mad and ignored his efforts by turning up the radio. Then the reds kick in and nothing matters anymore. The night is warm. The world is alone. And I’m almost home.

“Lunch in L.A. is how you get seen.” This is according to Jemma according back to someone famous who once said it. I can’t say I agree with her, but she’s a lot of fun to listen to sometimes. Even when she isn’t being herself and saying things like this. At this point we are dining in the midst of it all. I really don’t know what or why but apparently the waiter is sleeping with some director who just made 10 million opening day at the box office which isn’t very good or is it in the end. I can’t keep up with the jargon or words of this scene when she orders a chopped salad and a bottle of white wine. When I say “for lunch?” she makes a sad face and says “seen” with finger quotes. Then I realize my god that’s what Adrian does. It’s then I head to the bathroom for some “alone time” and do the line because lunch at a place named after a plant can’t possibly get you a part in a film. Can it? It’s only 45 minutes after we say our goodbyes that I wonder if we’re really going to see each other again before Friday.

At JFK there’s a man in the terminal taking numbers. I can’t imagine why he keeps taking numbers. I should ask someone but I don’t. It’s sometime between lunch and dinner that I finally get a flight to L.A. Andy’s friend has a connection, but I still can’t reach Alex. I need a hit. There’s a man in a uniform watching me try to take a hit and miss. I don’t care and stare at the man taking numbers again. He doesn’t look like a cop. But he could be. Wayne is back in town and I’m thinking of calling Alex again, but Andy’s friend comes back and she has my ticket. I can’t remember her name but she’s beautiful. I love talking to her about art and Van Gogh. She works at the Met and has a place in Brooklyn. I never met a girl that looked this and talked like this. She tells me I don’t need the candy or Alex. Smiles and tells me to stay in New York. I want to stay but my flight leaves in 45 minutes. She touches my hand and says we have time for other things and that there’s always a later flight. I don’t care about Alex anymore and I forgot about wherever you went two days ago.

Perspectives: TIL NOVEL

Coming soon... 

To Buy! Preorder someone else's book and wait. Honey's, I won't make you waste your time or money waiting on mine. Kisses! This isn't the final cover of the book. I am going to make you wait for that but I have been working on making it happen for myself. Yes, ms. m has been busy living, loving, breathing, creating and healing. 

The book took me less than ten days to write the bulk of it and has taken me a few years to edit to a final product and possibly there will be more. I don't know yet. Here one of the first excerpts. Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Things Happen. [Pt. I]

(12-07-2010)

It’s all happening. Happening whether you want it to or not. You can go along with it and make something of it or you can do nothing. You choose because it’s a choice. Most people can’t decide. I’m not most people. The difference between me and most people is that they will decide to do nothing.

You can follow along and you do nothing. Waiting. Waiting for nothing won’t make something happen. And it’s amazing how long people will wait for something to happen before making something happen.

That’s the thing with making things happen. It’s not like you wait and think ahead. It’s like you know ahead. There are no plans, just details. The kind you make when the timer is about to run out on the bomb. Tick. Tick. Tick. 5-4-3-2-1. Too late. You should already know before the time runs out.

And I’m the type of guy that already knows. Knows exactly what you want and how to get it. This is how I run things. Things that are already happening. Happenings set into motion.

It’s 9:15 am.

Sunday Morning.

And all of it is happening. All the strings that I pull. All that I already know will happen.

Adrian’s called at least fifty times. All fifty of which I’m not returning immediately because he knows I’m in the Islands. Gina isn’t coming back from the complimentary Yoga-Ballet-Pilates class anytime soon as I continue to skim my voice messages.  Alex rings that he’s been staying in New York with Andy and somehow Adrian is involved. The voice on the line says “we’re flying out to LA later” but the tone in the voice indicates more. Alex wants something. I decide after listening to this message I want to I call Alex. I need someone to check on the progress of events. He isn’t answering when I hang up because Gina is calling me on the other line. She wants to have breakfast on the beach at 10am. She says that she feels like it will be a nice change of atmosphere for us and I agree before hanging up. I put away my palm after I text the replacement Gina at the office to handle a few more things. It’s business as usual but I can’t stop to wonder about it right now because breakfast is waiting and I need a shower.

After getting out of the shower the phone rings. Gina’s on the line and I already know how I’m dealing with her before she ever starts talking. I know she’s been going through my messages and I’m right when she tells me a little more about the trouble with Adrian. I remind her that Adrian isn’t really a problem because he’s spent. And I know that Adrian sober isn’t the same as Adrian spent. Gina continues to tell me about all these crazy calls from Adrian that her replacement has been taking before telling me about Alex. Alex is still a phone call away that I need to make after I hang up with Gina. I tell her this and she hangs up after telling me to be on time for breakfast. I tell her of course and listen as she breathes into the line before hanging up.

The line rings and I know that Alex owes me because he always owes me a favor before ever picking up the line. Alex answers the line with a question or two but in the end he’ll say yes instead of no. I ask Alex about New York before mentioning a favor. I make sure he understands this is a favor requiring his full attention and that Adrian can not be involved. After it’s become clear that keeping Adrian busy isn’t optional Alex says he needs money so I say of course before giving him further instructions regarding the situation. My last words to Alex are “make sure he’s not on the plane” instead of goodbye. I’m looking at my watch after I hang up with Alex. It’s 9:58 am. Time for breakfast.

These are all the things I know as they happen before my 12 pm meeting. A meeting that has to happen even though I’m on vacation.

Along the edge of the East Bound I-580 between Oakland and San Leandro there’s a car parked with three men waiting for my approval. There’s a chance that two of the men will have to take care of the third man, but not before I make that call. A call that calls Gina back to Okay the order because that is what I do. I call the shots, plan the plans and decide the destinies of others with a choice. Most people decide they can’t when all I can see it what is possible to achieve. Right now as I’m dialing up Gina’s line I decide that I’m personally going to take care of this man. I’ve decided that this is what is possible to accomplish before catching my flight out to LA.

Somewhere between the third and fourth exits until last one before the bridge Adrian’s agent calls me again looking for the next big album from his favorite big artist of the last fifteen months and instead of handling this business that has nothing to do with me, I tell him to get a hold of Adrian’s artistic management for things of that nature. This isn’t my scene and I remind this misinformed fellow that I personally handle Adrian’s situations as a friend. Before I hang up the line I state to him again “Adrian is not my professional responsibility” and suggest he find himself more informed in the future. Handling Adrian’s situations, financial or otherwise, is something I’ve been doing since I met him five years ago. Just a dumb kid my sister got mixed up with a long time back. Long before the snakes got their fangs into him and turned simple musical genius into a complicated gimmick.

It’s after talking with the man on eastbound I-580 that I’ve grown a conscience and decided he has fifty-two hours to figure out how to correct this situation he’s presented me with. Before I turn him loose I tell him that he can thank Gina for suggesting the small act of clemency and not to disappoint. As we leave him on the side of the road and head back to the city to catch a plane I wonder where that Bird is. I think back to Gina when she tells me to be on time for the flight and realize there’s no room to wait. Somehow I already know that Damn Bird will be late because she always is.

“Wayne baby,” Alton says loudly as she makes her way over across the middle aisle of the plane. The man sitting two aisle seats over from me winks as Alton shifts her breasts when passing him on the plane. Her cleavage is right in his face when she makes her way to my seat. He looks like he’s hit the jackpot when she presses her breasts against face until her knee lands in his crotch.

“Alton, so good of you to show up.” I ignore the man with the red face that’s erupted in tears as he nurses his manhood.

“I heard you wanted something.” She says while reaching into her blouse and pulling up her bra as she takes her seat.

“I wanted a little more than that but…”

“Sir, would you like a drink?” the stewardess interrupts.

“Scotch, rocks. And you Bird?”

“Vodka rocks. Twisted. And a separate cup of ice.” Alton unbuttons her blouse and plays with the peek-a-boo pink lace of her bra while talking to the stewardess. She’s practically coming onto the girl when I interrupt.

“Honey be a lamb and hurry it up. Thanks.”

“You’re no fun,” she interjects. “What do you care anyhow?”

“Please try to remember that I’m paying for this meeting. You always did like to play with your food before eating it. And you don’t really want that do you?”

“No I don’t recall how you paid for it when I slipped past security and got on this flight. Tell me how does that work? And how do you know what I want? I remember when you liked me playing with you first. ” she says while curling her fingers around my arm.

“You wouldn’t have had to slip onto any plane if you were on time. You’re late. And on my time. My money.” I shake myself free.

“What is it Wayne? Baby?”

“Bird. I need a favor and its right up your alley.”

“Lay it on me, Wayne. Baby, I’m all ears.”

And she is. All ears until the stewardess comes back with our drinks and she starts playing with her bra again. This time the stewardess has a name and she says it’s Sheila but people call her Shelly and as she leans in that Damn Bird starts whispering something into her ear. After Sheila called Shelly leaves with a smile Alton is still playing with her bra. But now she’s looking at me with an appetite and leaning over me without her full attention. She’s opening her mouth and chewing on a piece of ice two inches from my face before leaning away and reaching backwards across two seats to  hand the cup of ice over to the red faced man still nursing his bruised ego. I can see what game she’s playing and all I can think about is how much I need to…

“FOCUS!” This is what Leo tells me from across the table. While I’m in the middle of lunch I miss the point of it all, and start to think of crazy Adrian with the phone calls and talking too much to himself. We’ve met three new clients all during lunch and signed off on the final draft of the operations manual for next years plans. If all goes accordingly I won’t need to worry about next years plans. Yet my mind wanders before the next order of business falls. This is when I check my palm and realize I’ve missed thirteen calls.

I’m rearranging my luggage when it happens. The phone rings. It’s not that it’s an important call but it’s a call that I will take because I’m expecting a return. I cross the room and take another drink of my rum and coke before picking up the line. It’s Alex with a question about the never ending enigma of what happens next. I tell him I’m working on it and not to worry about going to LA cause I’m in the middle of the arrangements. Before he can ask I reassure him that his new friend Andy is a character that doesn’t come up on any of my radars so business shouldn’t be a problem only that Adrian will be. Alex says with confidence that Adrian is going to be “taken care of” and that I shouldn’t worry about. I tell him I haven’t been and I already know that Adrian is being handled from afar. I’m still on the phone when Gina comes in. I know she’s not happy when I make business a priority over our quality time, but I finish up with Alex before hanging up.

“Have you been to New York lately?” Alton asks as the captain talks about descent on the overhead speaker. “Cause I’ve heard that there’s a shortage on the…”

“Have you?” I return the question with another question instead of answering.

“Actually I haven’t. I’ve been slumming in LA with the vultures below Sunset.”

“Then what does it matter what you’ve been hearing?”

“I was simply making chit-chat. But that’s a nice attitude, Wayne Baby. Just so long as it doesn’t interfere with my getting paid.”

“I don’t need to chit-chat with you. And I paid to meet with you. Get the job done and we’ll have something to talk about.”

“Honestly it isn’t about the money.”

 “I know.”

 “And it shouldn’t be a problem. There’s nothing I can’t get my hands on...” she stops mid-sentence to wink at me when Shelly drops a note in her lap.

“This is where you leave. Fly Bird, fly.”

Before I finish saying it she’s already up and over two seats without buttoning up. Pink-lace shoots out from the front of her blouse but the man with the red face looks down to avoid eye contact. It’s a shame but she isn’t interested anymore. There’s an opportunity with Sheila called Shelly and a flight to catch after.

Alex rings me up on the fifth hour to let me know about the job. I tell him “it’s already handled” and the Bird has flown the coop. After I tell him she’s not in New York anymore I remind him to watch his back on the coast. It’s then I assure him I can handle the rest of this when I get back into town but he’ll need to make his flight.

“Don’t miss your flight.” I say quickly as Gina looks me over before undressing for the bath.

“I wasn’t planning on it. But is there any way that…

“No.”

“But I need to see Andy before…”

“Don’t fuck off. Get on the plane!” Gina slams the bathroom door as I raise my voice.

“Get me a later flight.”

“Make the plane or you get yourself a later flight back.”

“I don’t understand. You can ask me a favor but you can’t do one back.”

“Are you gonna start this? First of all you didn’t do what I asked. Secondly, you still owe me. And you know I don’t keep count. Alex. Just get on the fucking plane.”

“I’m getting on the plane.”

“Jemma will be waiting at LAX. Only call me if you NEED anything. I have to go.”

All the while Adrian’s continued to phone but instead of returning his not-so- important calls I let them go. I’ll be in town soon enough to handle his problem, personally. The label wants something new, Adrian needs happy to make new, therefore I need happy from Adrian to produce new. Right now Gina needs me to make her happy and that isn’t something I can make happen without hanging up the line.

New York. Alex isn’t speaking to me when we disembark the plane. He hasn’t said a word since take off. We’re supposed to take a car to the train station for another short trip. Alex won’t tell me where or why. Only that Andy will be there when we get wherever there is. I want some candy and there’s a girl wearing pigtails, a tight t-shirt and jeans talking to me. I don’t want to talk to her but she keeps calling me Frank and asking if I’m her boyfriend. Says something about me wearing a white t-shirt and black jacket and I tell her to blow me. She gets upset and leaves. I look at Alex who keeps walking and ignoring me. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m not certain of anything only that New York is about as much fun as a lobotomy is to a crazy person. But you wouldn’t know about that would you? You haven’t been around since we left the city. I thought you were coming too. But that’s besides the point. Because this isn’t what I needed. I’m almost dry. I need a hit. And this isn’t that. It’s only something to do. It’s something without you and away from there.

Mirrors, Versions, Originals...OH MY!

Mirrors, Versions, Originals...OH MY! 

Who are you if you aren't being the best version of yourself? A friend of friend at a party at a bar in an SF club was chatting with me many years ago as a drag king belted out her best of KD Lang. While the rest of the scene slow danced like a high school prom to the ballad I mentioned my desire to direct music videos and produce. (A lifetime long past I wanted a different life than the one I've chosen... Happily chosen I might add. Being an amazing producer in school doesn't mean you'll be happy doing it in life. Ah my dear film school mentor, I always knew I disappointed you.) Well, the friend of friend told me about 'Hollywood' and his perception of the people in it. What always stuck with me was one bit of dialogue and of course I used it, "Mirroring, that's what actors do when they meet normal people." I never judge a city or the people in it by other people's words, but I always did love his bit. So which version are you the original or are you the mirror? Anywho, being EVOL is busy work, so I must get back to helping others realize that EVOL is always deep within them and waiting for them to feel it. 

This is a excerpt from THE INAUTHENTIC LIFE. Its working title was "the perspectives" for anyone who is thrown a bit off. It will be out this year. Have a read if you've never read any of it. 

ENJOY! kisses, m.

kisses c/o tylershields.com

Mirrors.

(posted 9-27-2010)

“Tell me you love me,” she says before gently grabbing my face and placing tiny little kisses on my lips. Delicate soft flits against mine. It’s 6:30 pm and I’m at a reading with the infamous Chloe St. Claire. Model turned actress turned model slash singer turned artist slash humanitarian actress. It’s the TV thing that wasn’t supposed to stay a thing for very long. My three and a half pages have become six pages and soon there will be none. We’re standing side by side with the writers, the actors, the directors, the producers and anyone else who isn’t necessary for participation at a reading. But this is different. Andrew fill-in-the-blank writer extraordinaire has called for a walkthrough reading.

She tells me “I hate how I have to be sad to play a happy character. It’s like lying and telling the truth at the same time. It’s not me.”  

Boy likes girl. Girl likes boy. While I’m here reading the pages out loud I wonder what happened to the old celluloid fairytales where love would conquer all in the end. Not like this. A girl is kissing another girl on page 15 while this man watches and then they’re all talking about it over dinner on page 16. At this moment I’m glad it’s Chloe’s turn at reading and not mine, but I keep following along with it anyway. Chloe is in true form the embodiment of the character I’m reading for but she’s already playing this other part like she’s me. I can’t help thinking that she’s better than me. Even when I lean in and kiss her while Andrew whatever-his-name-is, the writer says it’s not working I wonder if it’s my fault.

“How can I be less myself and more like you?” This is what Chloe says over the table when I first met her six months ago.  No one could mistake Chloe for me or vice versa. She’s tall naturally blond sun-kissed and I am an average height brunette without much sun. But she sat in front of me with the very serious question and I just smiled without knowing what to say. It was the first time anyone had ever wanted to be me. Even I didn’t want to be me.

“Mirroring. This is what actors do when they meet someone normal.” Alton explains this to me over lunch one day in the Sunset eight months ago. I’ve just told her I’m moving to LA to be an actress. She’s telling me this warning while wearing my Prada mules and my Chanel jacket with the same color hair and style that I have. Who are you if you aren’t your best friend?  I think that this is what people do when they meet someone new. Steal all the parts they love and copy them until you can’t tell where one begins and the other ends. It’s a bit like leaching if you ask me. But no one asks me. You take enough parts and what’s left over isn’t worth anything. If you suck the one you truly love dry in a matter of months then where will you find it next?

Mid lip-lock with Chloe trying to get the scene right for the third time, I’m thinking about how this moment mirrors me and her. She’s no longer blond. Still sun-kissed. My paleness is warmer now and we both have the same length and color of hair. Am I the copy or is she? Her hands move in and she presses hard. More yells this writer. She grabs my waist and holds even longer. I wonder what’s she’s thinking. This has nothing to do with the lines.

So at this moment while Chloe is groping my breasts and Andrew what’s-his-name is screaming for more intensity I realize that she’s really me and I’m pretending to be someone else now. And it doesn’t matter when I wipe her saliva away from my face and he yells, “That’s it! Can you do that with Inza tomorrow?” Because she’s done it. Become me. A better version. And I’ve become someone else. Me with my three pages left, a mere walk on cameo in this TV thing can’t compare to the other person I’ve fallen into. That’s the real version of me, instead of her. That’s mirroring 101.

 “Do you want to come over?” Chloe asks me in the bathroom while doing a line of blow off the counter. I take a tissue and wipe my lips clean before reapplying more color. I’m watching me watch her in the mirror. Every detail down to her eyebrow shape is a slightly accentuated version of mine. There’s nothing original about her. She’s taken my nervous twitch and smile. Pursing her lips that same way I do. Lifting her eyes with the same arch and curve. These little unnoticed pieces are now her. She is me. Standing next to me in the mirror she says she’s impressed with my ability to jump into character after pushing her breasts up in the vintage Gucci halter. I think she’s lying because I need to prepare to be someone else now. But I say ‘why not’ instead of excusing myself.

I think back to the last few days before I left the city and always come back to that moment I met Alton for lunch in the Sunset. She wasn’t saying or acting any differently than she normally would have. In fact I think it was the one time she was most herself. Alton and I were inseparable aside from living arrangements several months earlier. She wasn’t me and I wasn’t her, but we were more the same than different and it could have gone on like that forever. Being me was who she was. I can’t remember the last time I’ve talked with Alton since that day. I can only keep remembering how much she looked like me and talked like me in all the other memories. Stealing my words and my look with the guise of friendship. There’s no real connection without the mirror to remind that you aren’t really you.

It’s a quarter to seven when I wake up at Chloe’s. She already up in mid tree pose and not breathing or concentrating. She’s too busy staring at her picture on the back cover of Entertainment Weekly that’s lying spread out on the foot of the bed. I smile when she breaks position and asks about the freckles on her face being noticeable in the picture. I shake my head while telling her they’re unnoticeable and then try to tell her something about the black and white contrast in the photograph when she picks up the phone and starts dialing. It’s then I decide I need a shower because she’s too busy trying to be her being a better me to listen to me.

Somewhere between the infomercial versions of Price is Right and Let’s Make Deal she’s talking with her assistant about a script adaptation for Dostoevsky that her agent sent over. She keeps sending it back and tells her assistant to call her agent about this problem. I smile and the assistant hits speed dial over the speaker. The conversation isn’t great. Chloe drops three “I fucking don’t want to’s” before ending the call. She throws the oversized script at her assistant before falling into a tantrum. The rant begins and something about her face reveals that she does have freckles. The phone rings again and her agent is on speaker once again. Her assistant hands me a cup of coffee and I start to read the Harpers Bazaar that’s on the table.

It’s fifteen after nine when my phone rings and I decide to leave the scene of dysfunction. Tucking out front door with my heels in hand and phone cradled beneath my neck I whisper into the line.

“Hel-lo.” I serenade into the line while quickly stepping into my shoes.

“Jemma darling, how are things?”

“Wayne Baby! Great.” I forget my place and scream. “Look, the place you set me up with has been fabulous. Thank you again…”

“Look Honey, I need a favor. And I couldn’t just have anyone call you for this?”

“Anything Wayne, you’ve been a…”

“Alex is coming into town today. He’ll be at the airport in four hours. Can you get him?”

“Of course.  I have a fitting in an hour and a half, but I should be able to swing it.”

“Thank you doll. I’m glad you’re enjoying things. Sorry to run, but I have to...”

“Oh. Well of course.”

“Bye Jemma.”

“Kisses. Wayne.”

“Looking in the mirror is never enough.” This is the advice I get from a woman I might call mentor if she wasn’t chain smoking and eating a McDonald’s cheeseburger.  She’s telling me that the “mirror doesn’t tell the truth” while wearing something nameless you might find in a vintage shop in the Haight, although she insists it came from Versace circa 1982. And she keeps telling the wardrobe mistress she’s a 7 not an 11. I want to laugh every time I see her. But she’s right about one thing. The mirror is not your friend.

I’m thinking about the enemies not in the mirror when the wardrobe mistress is fighting with an assistant over another actress’s size. As the wardrobe mistress verbally assaults her entourage the young woman looks uptight and it’s hard to believe she was in that BIG movie last year or on the cover of Glamour this month. I’ve never seen a person look so scared of the truth as the wardrobe mistress pulls a curtain to shut out the enemies not in the mirror.

On my end of the room the pants feel far too tight already. But I’m at a fitting to make them tighter because the physical being of the character hasn’t truly been captured by my performance. As they are fitting me for the next smaller size of pants because this is what “the character” would wear, I realize that it’s how you see things.

Perspective is a way of life, maybe the only way? We all live inside this tiny little image of ourselves. It’s not how they see us at all. That doesn’t matter. It’s only how you see yourself that matters most in the world. “But how can you ever really know who you are if the mirror lies?” it’s what I’m thinking when I must have said it out loud.

“Take a picture.” This tiny little girl with the schedule for shooting whispers and hands me the latest script revision. It’s now three less pages most of which will land me on the cutting room floor. She smiles and leans in again. “Cameras don’t lie. And it’s not the mirror that lies… it’s your mind.”

On my last day in the city I took a bus and then a walk down by the Presidio and ended up by Crissy Fields. There’s this place in the city that I like to go to. It’s past the Marina before you get to Crissy Fields close to the Wave Organ. It’s a corner of earth where nothing looks like anything else. You look at three sides of water and see something different. Along the way there are no real residences unless you live on a sailboat or a yacht. I pass this part of the Marina where Wayne has a friend with a boat. A “somebody” who owned and lived on this boat. Passing. Remembering that it was close to where I went to this party once.

These parties always happened there but this one wasn’t great, filled with people that didn’t like each other like Reggie and Ashton and important people who mattered like Wayne. Adrian was there with me. Things were ok then before we left for there and... Most of the parties weren’t great then but you don’t know that until you’ve left them. That was when the tourists would show up. When things stopped being great the scene tourists always managed to appear. The teenage girls and boy with their Ugg boots, Converse and laced up jeans matched with some dying pieces of Heatherette matched with a laced up tank from Diesel under a vintage bomber jacket produced by Levi Strauss. Elitist brats wasting time and drugs on this party in the Marina for kicks wearing their faux scene clothes trying to imitate the scenesters who were already bored and leaving.

One time at these parties a body was found dead after the tourists arrived and left. The newspaper reports were of multiple rapes and assaults among the children before this body was found drawn and quartered hanging over the side of a boat in a net. A boat that someone who was somebody owned in the Marina. It was the rawest form of survival of the fittest. Baby scenes picking away the competition that looks exactly the same. The whole mess and scandal forced the owner of the boat to sell. There’s a rumor that you can hear the cries of the rape victims and see the pieces of dead flesh floating around in the waters of the Marina. Even in the chill of the breeze the view is spectacular. When I walk alone to the edge of the water I’m almost expecting to hear the screaming voices echoing through the organ.

Everything the same in nature is different without trying. Reflections in the mirror are nothing like the things in nature. Animals don’t have mirrors to see themselves. How can they know what they look like? By looking at each other. It’s in the similarities of each other that animals know what they are. There is no need for begging and borrowing.

“You have to go. I can’t.”

“But you’re….”

“Shh. I can’t be happy for you and let go.”

“Don’t do this. I don’t want to let go.”

“Then don’t. You know I love you.”

“No, I don’t... Tell me you love me.”

Thirty seconds of jaw dropping silence follows the scene. It’s like real-life imitating art, imitating real-life. Inza’s back on set for the shooting and the intensity between her and Chloe is unmistakable as they struggle to break away from the kiss. It’s hard to believe that there’s no love between them. I can see why Chloe misses her. Maybe that’s why I went home with her. There’s just that piece missing in her that wants to be seen. To be loved. The mirror lies. The camera doesn’t.

I’m on a boat to Staten Island with this friend of Andy’s who I’ve only met five hours ago. Being on boats reminds me of Jemma and being in the Marina where those kids killed those other kids playing scene. I need a hit just thinking about killing and Jemma and looking for something in everything. I’ve been everywhere and no where trying to find something in everything. Alex hasn’t been at Andy’s since 4am and doesn’t answer his phone. Someone at Andy’s says he went to LA already. We weren’t leaving until tomorrow night. And I’m still trying to remember what happened when I was losing something somewhere this morning while taking a hit outside of Tiffany’s and what you were doing when the car disappeared. I keep thinking I need some candy to handle this memory that isn’t complete… while I’m ringing up Alex again the view is amazing. I tell this gorgeous woman about the view before she says that I’ll catch up to Alex in a little bit and not to take the candy. After she touches my hair she reminds me that she’s already booked my flight to LA to follow him and we’re just killing time. I like killing time with her it lets me like her smile. We’re talking about things that matter, when she giggles about the whores and Van Gogh instead of blushing like other girls might I know there’s more to this one than meets the eye.