"What did you say to me?"
"Man, I'm Bryan—"
"I know who you are," Roger cuts me off. "You're the same awful asshole who beat up three girls on the last tour, threatened one with a carving knife. These are girls we are still paying off. Do you remember that bitch from Missouri?"
"Missouri?" I giggle.
"The one you almost killed?" Roger says. "Does that refresh your memory?"
"No."
"We are still paying her and some scumbag lawyer off—"
"You're getting heavy, man, and when you're getting heavy . . . you must, um, leave me alone."
"Do you remember how you fucked that one up?"
"Don't dwell on the past, dude."
"Do you know how much we still have to pay that bitch off every fucking month?"
"Leave me alone," I whisper.
"She was in a wheelchair for a year."
"I have something to tell you."
"So don't give me that oh-man-l-know-it shit. You don't know," Roger says. "You don't know shit."
"I have something to tell you."
"What? You're announcing your retirement?" Roger hisses. "Let me guess—you're going to sell out big-time?"
"I hate Japan," I say.
"You hate everywhere," Roger groans. "You loathsome fuck."
"Japan's so . . . different," I say, finally.
"That's a joke. You say every place is different." Roger sighs. "Focus, focus, focus, for Christ sakes, focus."
I stare back into the mirror, hear screaming coming from the arena.
"Adjust my dreams for me, Roger," I whisper. "Adjust my dreams for me."
On the plane leaving Tokyo I'm sitting alone in back twisting the knobs on an Etch-A-Sketch and Roger is next to me singing "Over the Rainbow" straight into my ear, things changing, failing apart, fading, another year, a few more moves, a hard person who doesn't give a fuck, a boredom so monumental it humbles, arrangements so fleeting made by people you don't even know that it requires you to lose any sense of reality you might have once acquired, expectations so unreasonable you become superstitious about ever matching them. Roger offers me a joint and I take a drag and stare out the window and I relax for a moment when the lights of Tokyo, which I never realized is an island, vanish from view but this feeling only lasts a moment because Roger is telling me that other lights in other cities, in other countries, on other planets, are coming into view soon.
8
LETTERS FROM L.A.
Sept 4 1983
Dear Sean,
Guess you didn't expect to hear from me. Talk about getting away from it all! Here I am-all away across the country in California, sitting on my bed, drinking diet Coke and listening to Bowie. Pretty weird, isn't it? I've been in L.A. a week and I still can't quite believe it. All this summer I knew that I'd be coming out here but somehow the idea wasn't quite real. It's just as well that I didn't spend too much time thinking about it because nothing would have prepared me. L.A. is something else.
I got into LAX last Tuesday afternoon, half-crazy from lack of sleep and wondering what the hell I was doing here. It was like walking into another world. too degrees out and all these beautiful blond tan people (specimens!) staring into outer space, walking around me and toward their cars. I felt so pale-kind of like what it would feel being the only blond girl in Egypt or something. And I got this awful feeling that all of them were looking at me: no tan, not blond, not beautiful, let's ignore her! All I did those first few days was chainsmoke Export A's and took at the pavement and wish I was back at Camden. I'm not sure how one fits in here. Get a tan? Dye my hair blond? I know it sounds paranoid but I really feel this hostility toward me. I'm getting used to it but still.
My grandparents were overjoyed when they saw me. They aren't very emotional people but I've always been their favorite granddaughter and they were positively bubbling over with excitement. On the way back to their house my grandfather, who looked so tan and healthy it was positively eerie, patted my hand and said, "From now on we're going to take care of you—you won't lack for anything," and he didn't seem to be joking.
This last week I spent doing mostly touristy stuff and going to parties and trying to catch up on my sleep. We spent a day at Disneyland, which was a real trip. I've seen pictures of the place but let me tell you, Sean, seeing this place in reality was altogether something else. My grandfather's assistant took something like twenty roles of pictures: me standing with Mickey Mouse (feeling utterly foolish), me in front of the Matterhorn, me staring pensively at Space Mountain, some pervert dressed up as Pluto coming on to me (disgusting), me with the Haunted Mansion in the background, etc. etc. etc. I got lost at Disneyland, which was most embarrassing. The place is a little smaller than I anticipated but it's wonderful looking. We also went to four wax museums and then went driving up and down Sunset Boulevard (L.A. by night is so pretty). Actually the nightlife is pretty hot. On Friday night I went out with this couple, Mr. and Mrs. Fang (she's an executive at Universal and he's a record producer) to some exclusive club and danced and got drunk and had great fun. And I had thought I wouldn't have much of a social life! This couple and I became great friends and he promised to introduce me to his sister who is about my age and at Pepperdine next time I'm down in Malibu with them and all their friends. They're even going to give me the key to their (well, actually his) penthouse in Century City so that whenever I want to get away from my grandparents I can go and stay there. They also want me to go with them next time they go to the Springs (which is what everyone calls Palm Springs).
The city is so quiet though. Especially compared to New York. And everything seems so clean and to move so much more slowly in a very relaxed way. But yet I don't feel too safe here yet. I feel vulnerable-like I'm in this big open environment. But my grandparents assure me that it's pretty safe and they live in supposedly the best part of Bet Air so I don't need to worry. just the same I'm so used to my padded little Manhattan-Camden existence that being here seems like a real shock. I look at all these people roaming around: the beautiful, healthy, tan men and the elegant women and everyone drives a Mercedes and it's just so hard to describe it.
All in all I feel happier and more free than I have in a long, long time. And I am so glad that I came. I think it's an incredibly healthy move. I think it's a good thing that I took a term off and came out here.
"I'm just a million miles away," the Plimsouls are singing on KROQ and I have to think that songs sometimes are uncannily appropriate. I really am so far away from everything. But it's a good feeling. I'm going to be out here until February, which means I'll be back at school in March. I'm going to be helping my grandfather at the studio a lot and reading scripts and stuff like that (I'm pretty excited) and I guess I'll be going down to Malibu and hanging around Palm Springs (I'm glad that there are a couple of places I can get away to if I ever tire of L.A. which I can't possibly imagine). Well, I'll hope you write me back. I really would love to hear from you. I'd appreciate it a lot.
Love,
Anne
Sept 9 1983
Dear Sean,
Hello! I thought of you at Camden today. Hanging out at the Café, chain-smoking, getting your classes together. Is it going all right for you there or is "grace under pressure" still an apt phrase? I worry about you which is pretty silly of me but then again I worry about a lot of things so it's not necessarily out of context. So-how are you? How is it back at school? Who are you hanging out with? What classes are you taking? Have you been forced to wear your Wayfarers a lot? (God knows, I have!) Has anything changed? Are you okay? As you can tell, I'm full of questions, Sean. I really, really hope you write me. I'm dreadfully sorry if my little infatuation bothered you. I get so caught up in things that I simply lose all perspective. But even before I got all infatuated with you I was still fond of you, and I would hate to lose your friendship because of . . . whatever. I know we really don't know each other that well and because of how busy we were at Camden we couldn't talk a whole lot. I s
till hope you and I can become better acquainted (sp?). What I guess I mean is that there are things I want to know about you. I don't know. I wish you'd write.
I'm still having a great time. At least I think I am. I feel so relaxed that it's hard to say for sure. I'm sitting out by the pool now. I have the beginnings of a tan-and believe it or not I've cut down on my smoking! I'm getting healthy. Can you totally, like, believe it? (That's L.A. lingo for you.)
Love,
Anne
P.S. Did you get my last letter? Please do write.
Sept 24 1983
Dear Sean,
Hi (?). I feel sort of awkward writing to you because I guess you're pissed at me or something. Or are you? It must have been something I said in that last letter. Maybe you think I got carried away? I can understand that, I suppose. I tend to get a little extreme in my enthusiasm. You know you could have just written to me and told me to cut it out and that would have been cool. Please, Sean, understand that this is kind of rough for me. Can you forgive me for whatever it was I did? Oh God, I just had this vision of me coming back to Camden in March and seeing you and feeling embarrassed and not knowing what to do. And maybe you won't even talk to me or something horrible like that. Could you write me and explain it all to me? Please? Please?
Anyway I'm sitting out by the pool in this great house in Palm Springs. It's late morning and I have done nothing for the last few hours but sit in the sun and stare at the palm trees. It's so tempting to go swimming and lay out by the pool and get drunk or do any of the innumerable decadent things one does in Palm Springs. But I'm just too lazy and the thought of mingling with all these obnoxious suntanned people fills me with dread. Really, the most mindless people are at the house right now: middle-aged studio execs with joints hanging from their lips and gold lighters they have for just these occassions. Dumb blond bunnies reeking of suntan oil and sex. Old rich women with gorgeous young boys (who for some reason are all gay). I checked out the bookshelves in this house and was embarrassed to find all these pornography books with titles like Stud Ranch and Gestapo Pussy Ranch. Sickening, isn't it?
About a week ago I was sitting in L.A.'s chicest nightclub with a few friends and the DJ was playing Yaz and Bowie and the videos were on and I was on my third gin and tonic and I realized that no matter where I am it's always the same. Camden, New York, L.A., Palm Springs—it really doesn't seem to matter. Maybe this should be disturbing but it's really not. I find it kind of comforting. There's a pattern out here that I've become accustomed to and I like it. Is this healthy? Is this the way it will be for the rest of my life? The rest of the time I'm in L.A.? I don't know. All I can think is that nothing is going to change overnight and the best I can do is keep trying. This might sound like I'm unhappy or depressed, which isn't true. I'm more content and relaxed than I've been in years. I've been away from New York for a month (I still kind of miss it) but it has done wonders for my psyche. I can't say that I've reverted back to the wholesome, idealistic little girl I was five years ago, but I'm a lot less depressed and I feel a lot less desperate and confused. Things are coming easier. I think you were right when you told me that night that I should "get the hell out of here and go to L.A." (do you remember that? you were very drunk). Your advice was good. Well, if I don't come back happier, I'll definitely come back healthier. I'm really into the whole health food scene out here. I'm popping vitamins like there's no tomorrow.
What can I say about life with my grandparents? They're a pretty normal couple and they're really nice to me. They buy me everything and anything I want (I must admit that I don't mind being spoiled out here). They seem to love buying me things and taking me to restaurants. The nicest thing is that they don't expect too much of me so they can't possibly be let down.
I seem to be getting more philosophical these days, especially here in the desert outside L.A. Or maybe it's just survival tactics. One thing I'm learning is not to expect too much from people. If I do I always feel let down. And there really isn't any need to feel that way. Of course, I still make a lot of mistakes but I'm learning. "Aha!" you're probably thinking, "I bet she's alluding to me." Well, you might be right. Letters are curious the way they can give a person away. Since I'm really not sure what you're thinking, all I can do is write and hope that you aren't ripping up the letters. Are you? Maybe you should stick a piece of paper in your typewriter and type out "Stop It" and send it to me (you do have my address in L.A., don't you? . . . do you even have a typewriter?). And that would do it. I'm not insensitive to out-and-out denials even though I'd be sorry to lose your friendship (we are friends, aren't we?). I seem to have this knack for making things complicated for myself. Do I make you feel like things are messy and uncomfortable between us? How awful. Can't we just simply be friends and just forget about whatever is messy and uncomfortable? Maybe I'm being foolish or simplistic to believe that things can be as easy as that, but why not?
So anyway, how are you? Are things okay up there in New Hampshire? Who do you hang out with? And how do you spend your days? What do you think about? Are you still painting? I am curious about your impressions of the place now. What do you see? What is your mood like after three terms there? Please write and tell me.
I just went to the kitchen for a Perrier and I overheard this fat old producer croon to this young man who bears a startling resemblance to Matt Dillon that he wants him and needs him. Why am I not surprised? I've been in L.A. for a long time, Sean. Nothing surprises me (!). Will you write me?
Love,
Anne
Sept 29 1983
Dear Sean,
Did you get my last letter?
My grandfather got very drunk last night and told me that everything is decaying and that we are coming to the end of something. My grandparents (who are not the most intelligent people) feel that they lived in the Golden Age and they told me that they are glad that they are going to die when they do. Last night my grandfather told me, over a huge bottle of Chardonnay, that he fears for his children and he fears for me. That was the first time I ever sensed any sincerity from him. But he truly meant it. And looking around and seeing on TV about those poor boys in Beirut or Lebanon or wherever the hell they are and hearing about these drug dealers who were all stabbed to death in the hills last night, I have to agree with him to a certain extent. I keep feeling that people are becoming less human and more animalistic. They seem to think less and feel less so that everyone is operating on a very primitive level. I wonder what you and I will see in our lifetimes. It seems so hopeless yet we must keep on trying, Sean. (I told you I was becoming more philosophical lately.) I guess we can't escape being a product of the times, can we? Write back, please? Still having fun in the sun!
Love,
Anne
Oct 11 1983
Dear Sean,
Did you get my other letters? I'm not even sure if you are getting them. I just keep writing you letters and sending them off and I feel like I might as well be stuffing them into bottles and tossing them into the Pacific off of Malibu.
I can't believe I've been here six weeks! My grandparents told me a few days ago that they very much desire for me to stay here for a year. I didn't have the heart to tell them that I'd rather be locked in the Galleria for a year! Yes, I do like being out here. I've had more adventures and know more about the world than I'd have thought possible. L.A. is an exciting place to be and my depression has left. But there is a difference between visiting here and staying, living here. I don't think I could stand being here forever. L.A. is like another planet. I mean, all these thousands of blond-haired, blue-eyed tan surfers with perfect bodies wandering the streets, driving to the beach to catch the waves in their new Porcshe's (and they are all stoned) and the beautiful older women listening to KROQ in long black Rolls-Royces, trying to find a parking space on Rodeo Drive—I don't know, it all strikes me as a bit odd. I am kind of tired of hanging out at the same clubs night after night and laying by the pool doing all this incredible coke. (Yes, I
've tried some of the white powder-everybody, simply everybody, does it out here and I must agree with them: it definitely does make the days go by faster.) I use to enjoy it and it's not that bad but I don't know how much longer I can take it! Each day seems exactly like the day before. Each day seems the same. It's weird. It's like watching yourself in the same film but with a different sound track each time you watched it. If you saw me here in L.A. at Voila's or After Hours, you'd probably tell me what you told Kenneth when he asked you (I told him to ask you! Surprise!) what you thought of me and you said "That is a very sad, affected girl." (Oh, don't be embarrassed-I don't hold it against you. I forgive you, so don't worry.) Well, that's only part of my life in L.A.
My time at the studio is much more interesting and exciting. I've met so many famous actors and actresses the past month or so. My grandfather seems to know them all. I must have been to about a million screenings. And I've looked at twice as many scripts. Also, I'm picking up a fair amount of "studio lingo" and a lot of the business aspect. It's all very exciting.
I know I should write about this place but I can't come out with a coherent story. I don't have a firm enough grasp or base to write from. There's really not a whole lot to assimilate or see. It's just that I don't have enough time, with all the parties and screenings and my job at the studio and all.... By the way, how is your painting going? Are you still painting? I know you're busy and you don't have to do this if you don't want to but I would love it if you would send me a poem or a sketch or anything you've produced lately but even more than that I hope you are as happy and as healthy and as fulfilled as I am. And if your life is not too turbulent I would be very happy to get a letter from you. Just one.
Love,
Anne
Oct 22 1983
Dear Sean,