In LA, just being good looking is not enough. They're on a quest to be extremely good looking, stunning, flawless perfect!
LA is a city of beautiful sites and I don't just mean the mountains, palm trees and ocean views. I'm talking the people that live here.
I don't know, maybe I'll get use to it after a little more time or maybe it will even become annoying at some point, but right now it's hard to drive down Santa Monica Blvd. with out running into someone because I'm too busy staring at someone else (damn cross walks).
Just being “good” looking in LA is not enough though. They're on a quest to be extremely good looking, stunning, flawless perfect! And from what I've come to learn, having a good 8x10 glossy is more important than being able to put food on the table (but since the camera adds 10lbs who needs to eat anyhow.) Even the Starbucks baristas have head shots out here but we'll save that for another story.
I was meeting Jonathan for lunch the other day at The Farm of Beverly Hills (not to be confused with the one at The Grove) when I realized that a good head shot can actually be a matter of life or (a) death (sentence).
When I got to The Farm, Jonathan already had a table. We exchanged hellos, talked about how great the weather was (we did not miss Chicago winters one bit) and how his new store was doing (Jonathan Harris, a former investment banker, moved out here about a year before I did and opened a furniture store on Melrose “ Chattel.)
Once we ordered, Jonathan thankfully excused himself to use the restroom. I mean it's so much easier to ease drop when I'm not having to make conversation with someone else at the same time (not un-doable, mind you just easier.)
At the table next to us, Beverly Hills Housewife A was talking to her friend Beverly Hills Housewife B. A was telling B all about her wonderful facial peel she just had last week at Christopher Watt.
B said it sounded great, but asked, “A chemical peel” That sounds intense.”
“It was and expensive. The series of six was $1,400!”
(P.S. I went to beach last week and forgot sunscreen I’ve been peeling for days. I'm just saying it could have saved her some cash.)
“It works wonders.” she continued, “Sugar Fairchild just had it done for her 65th birthday party and her skin looks flawless!”
“Oh, honey! I'm sorry. Did I miss your birthday”“
“No. I'm doing it because I'm having some candid photos taken next week.”
“Really” Are you going to start selling real estate or something”“
“You mean work” Oh, God no, dear! It just dawned on me the other day when I was reading about oh I don't know one of those missing blond tarts who fell over the side of a boat in a drunken stupor or something that there is not one good photo of me they could put on TV if anything ever happened to me. And let's face it the media will only champion your missing persons case if they have a cute little candid shot of you to flash on screen every ten minutes. No, if they ever showed those repugnant pictures of me, Howard would get away with murder just like O.J .and I'd want that bastard to pay. Because they always go after the husband first, you know. Anyway, the photos need to make it look like we have the perfect life together so everyone will have lots of sympathy for me.”
“Well your life is perfect, isn't it?“
“Well, yes of course it is.”
As I drove home from lunch that afternoon, I kept thinking of the quest for perfection. Why do we spend all that energy trying to be perfect convincing others that we are” Who are we really tying to convince anyway them or us”
One of the things Jonathan and I discussed at lunch that afternoon was what to get Roy for his birthday (birthday patties are a big to-do out here.) His party was that weekend and we had no idea what to get someone from his era. We're still not even sure which year the party marked, as Roy does not share his age. However, given he is classic Hollywood; we put him somewhere between Clara Bow and Bea Arthur.
Roy still thinks he is a star though (hello: channeling Norma Desmond) and refused to have his home address printed on the invitation for fear that fans, stalkers and the paparazzi would crash the party. Instead we were directed to a special pick-up location where a van was waiting to shuttle us up to the hilltop estate in Benedict Canyon. (What” It's not like I told you it was 10050 Cielo Drive.)
True to his Hollywood roots, the party was grand in every sense. The circular foyer greeted guests with imposing vases of Casa Blanca lilies while servers passed appetizers and champagne. Jonathan and I were particularly excited about the party because this was a whole new dating pool for us (Roy liked to surround himself with people “younger” than himself Jonathan just squeaked in. And before you think me mean, he deserves that comment. Read on.)
Once we got drinks, we decided we wanted a look around Normal .err .I mean Roy's house. We'd never seen so much gold leaf and animal print in our lives. The guest bathroom off the foyer was completely covered with leopard skin, with a big oversized gold mirror and a black ceiling.
As we were ummm admiring the wall covering, we were caught off guard by a low, sultry, sexy voice that asked, if “you are using the bano“ We turned around to meet Sebastian. Sebastian and his full lips, his deep eyes, his square jaw and his thick hair. In a word Sebastian was perfect.
Suddenly, with the force of a strong gale wind, Jonathan through me into the bathroom and pulled the door shut, informing his prey, “Robb's feeling a little gassy and bloated right now. He was just about to see if he could pass it. I'll just wait for him here with you.” (I told you the bitch deserved it.)
Now I've been cock-clocked before (hell, I've even done some myself.) But I'm telling ya, my shoulder still hurts!
Anyway, I figured as long as I was in there, I mine as well make use of the facilities. As I hovered above the toiled seat (listen'if it's not mine, I don't sit besides, it's a great thigh work out) I could hear Jonathan engaging Sebastian in conversation.
“So, you asked if we were using the “bano.” You obviously speak Spanish”“
“Yes”
“Do you speak any other languages”“
“I do.
“Oh which ones”
“I also speak French, German (and here's where it really gets good kids)”Arabian and Australian.”
At this point, I was doing everything I could to not laugh out loud.
“Really”,” Jonathan said. “you speak Arabian” And Australian”"
“Yes.”
“Fascinating!”
At this point, I couldn't hold it any longer. The tone in Jonathan's voice caused me to let out a roaring laugh'which of course caused me to loose my balance from hovering and fall on to the floor while still laughing.
Suddenly the Horse Whisperer didn't seem so perfect any more.
As I opened the bathroom door I was greeted by an ice cold stare from Jonathan. I just smiled pretty and wished Sebastian “g'day” as we moved on to the rest of the party.
While in line at the bar getting us drinks, I meet Lyle. Lyle had on a black shirt which could only be described as a blouse and a pair of leopard skin pants that were so fitted I swear to God they weren't that tight on the cat.
The photographer happened to be in line right next to us, so Lyle asked if I would take a picture with him. I thought, sure .it will be nice for Roy to be able to look back at the pictures of his party and reminisce.
Lyle told me to just look at him and talk to him like we were having a conversation (the topic, it seems, was not important) and that the photographer would count to three and then call our names. At this point, we were to turn towards the camera as if some one had just called our names from across the room and caught us off guard. He assured me that this was the only way to take a good candid photo (I swear this shit really happens out here.)
I seriously couldn't believe I was going along with this (OK .fine I could. Please, I'm not the only one desperate to get at least one good photo of myself before I die.) So there I stood, in an attempt to get the perfect picture, faking a conversation with a man I just meet wearing leopard skin pants, mind you waiting to hear my name called by some complete stranger...”from across the room.”
Apparently the photographer wanted to make sure we were good and surprised, because we had enough time for me to find out just a little bit more about Lyle than I cared to know. I told Lyle that I liked his pants (come on, I just meet him, what else was I going to say.)
“Oh I know, don't you just love them!” The invitation said Attire: Sassy and since, I didn't really have anything sassy to wear well that I haven't been photographed in already I went out and bought these this afternoon at a garage sale! Can you believe it” And they were only a dollar! Really just a dollar. Can you even stand it” And look they're Versace!”
And as he raised the tails of his blouse to show me the label, I also discovered that Lyle opted not to wear any underwear that evening (I told you they were tight.)
And with that I heard” “Lyle, Robb over here” as the photographer captured a picture perfect smile on his face and what I'm sure was a complete look of horror on mine.
As the shock continued to wear off, I searched the party for Jonathan to give him his drink. I found him talking to the birthday boy.
"Hey, happy Birthday!” I said. “You look great for your age!”
“Thank you. But Jonathan already tried and you're not getting it out of me. So I saw you just meet Lyle.”
“Yes yes I did meet Lyle. We took a picture together for your birthday photo album. Great idea to have a photographer for the party, by the way.”
“Oh, he's not for the party.”
“He's not”“
“No, no. He came with Lyle.”
“What do you mean” Like his date”“
“I mean he's Lyle's personal photographer. He brings him every where he goes.”
“You're kidding”“
“No I'm not. He wants to make sure that he never misses the opportunity to capture the “perfect moment.” Besides, Karl, that's the photographer, has been with Lyle for years now and knows how to photograph him so he looks perfect in every shot.”
Later that night, I went home and looked at some old pictures from one of my “milestone” birthday parties. Thanks to one of my good friends, it was really great bash at The Four Seasons complete with live entertainment, a three-tier chocolate cake that was to die for (I LOVE chocolate) and a special guest flown in form out of town my mother. To look at those pictures, you would have thought that none of us had a care in the world that our lives were perfect (no really we looked that good!) I was young(er) then and in love for the first time in my life.
But what the perfect pictures didn't show was that my mom was still hurting from my father's passing earlier that year, that two of my friends were in big fight over who was going to pay for what at the party, or that the guy I was in love with was slipping away from me because I was too buys trying to create the “perfect” life for us instead of dealing with the one we were actually living problems and all.
Ever since all that, I don't try to be perfect anymore (well not as much give me a break old habits die hard.) I just try to be human with all the faults that come along with that. And in turn, I let my friends and others be human as well and try my best to just love them for all that they are and for all they are not. Besides, who likes a perfect person anyway”
So until next time friends and readers, when I bring you more stranger than fiction stories, remember “ here in (310), the odd are good, but the goods are definitely odd! But I'm glad to be playing them!
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