6am on a Tuesday morning. Crisp air and blue skies, a girl locks her car door in an empty Hollywood parking lot. She checks her phone to make sure she has the right place. A bag full of 'club attire,' hair blown straight, she tries to carry herself with some element of class and swagger. Are those two things opposite?
For a second, she struts and wants to be a shiny diamond in the 'background' rough, and then she relaxes and remembers they are all just regarded as a joke to everyone who is really 'part of the production'. 'Background' meaning 'extras'. You know, 'movie extras'?
A white van pulls up. She pretends to know what she's doing. She hates being the newcomer. It's always so obvious to everyone else. She's clumsy. She has way too much stuff, but at least she isn't the girl who brought the whole rolling suitcase full of possible costume options. Her long, lanky, stiff body doesn't crouch well into small spaces, like the back of a van, when she's tired. She's dreading this experience. That little voice inside tells her she should be excited. 'This is an opportunity.' That would be the grateful perspective to have, but the truth is, she really wishes she was at home. In bed.
She puts her earphones in her ears, her gangsta rap blasts, but only for a second before she feels inclined to take them out. She doesn't want to be rude to the other girl in the van, who sits in front of her and is dressed entirely in pleather, and contrastingly, either has no idea she exists or couldn't care less.
Pleather Girl is doing her morning stretches, her 5 inch patent leather stiletto pointed directly toward the ceiling as she caresses her leg. She wants to be warmed up for the club scene. The director might just spot her and be so taken with her ability to transform into the character of 'club-goer' that he feels there is no other option but to kick the leading lady off of the set and place her, Pleather Girl, exactly where she belongs, front and center.
She recognizes Pleather Girl. She saw her getting out of a brand new Emerald Green Range Rover when she circled the block at 5:45am in a beat up American car she used to be proud of before she moved to LA. She was wasting time, circling the block. The vulnerability of an awkward conversation with a fellow 'extra' at that hour of the morning was way too much for her to handle. Or at least she blamed it on the hour of the day.
She stares at Pleather Girl, in awe of her self obsession, and wonders how she afforded that car. Why would she be riding around in the back of a white van at 6am, just to be treated like mere cattle if she had money? "She must be an escort," she says to herself. The van begins to roll away to an undisclosed destination and then jerks forward quickly as it stops.
A handsome black man with diamond stud earrings, sharp features, smooth, shiny skin, and straight white teeth calmly stands at the door. He didn't even have to wave the driver down in order for the van to stop. He wears a purple velvet jacket, indigo jeans, light leather pointy dress shoes, and he carries a beat up paperback book. He climbs into the back of the van and takes a seat next to her. He doesn't acknowledge her either. But, his presence is strong enough to distract Pleather Girl from herself. He looks past her too. The 1,000 yard stare, he has.
The way he enters the van without a question or a need to explain anything... She knows he's done this before. She gets the feeling he's done everything before. He's not an outsider. He's a citizen of the world. She wants to know his story. She can't stop thinking about him on the ride. She doesn't know where they are going.
She relates to his guard and wonders if his shield protects the same thing that her's does. All of a sudden her fear disappears and the thought of becoming vulnerable excites her. He possesses something she doesn't. Not something physical. Something intangible. Like a piece of knowledge or a life experience. And maybe she possesses the same for him... A question only an attempted connection will resolve.
The van stops. It pulls into another parking lot full of white trailers and huge semi- trucks. The three strangers disperse. The smell of ignited grills and engine exhaust fills the air. As Pleather Girl leads the way bursting out of the van and finding herself immediately at home amongst a family of implanted, suctioned and extension-ed women, the man walks with authority somewhere. The girl trails behind him, calmly but secretly desperate to find her niche at this base camp of sorts.
There is a freedom in this moment of feeling lost and not yet found. It is a moment when one can be whomever they choose. Anything is possible. She wonders if this is the closest to flying a human gets. Ah, the moment of desire. The unknown.
To be continued...
ooh, tell me more!
ReplyDelete