Part 2

(continued from Part 1)

 Near LA the rain stops and the sun breaks out and I take it as an omen. My bright mood is short-lived because the closer I get to the city the thicker the traffic. I’m not used to six lanes on each side or the diagonal driving which seems the norm and although my poor Pinto is going as fast as it can it’s still the target of raging motorists who lay on their horns and shout taunts out their windows like, Get that fucking piece of crap off the road!

The dirty haze stings my eyes and I take the Sunset Boulevard exit not out of practicality but out of nostalgia for the movie and the memory of poor Norma Desmond. Billboards boast the bronzed bodies of disgustingly flawless young men and women and everywhere along The Strip is the implicit message that sex sells as if the whole city is love-starved. There are the homeless lying on benches or sidewalks as if in a rehearsal of their death, and further east painted prostitutes are openly practicing their ancient art. In short shorts and stiletto heels they cavort like animated road signs – Dangerous Curves Ahead!. Potential clients are lured aside and terms are exchanged quickly. Time is money.

White-domed Cinerama beckons. I dream that someday I’ll be able to afford to see a movie there with a model or actress who will snuggle into my shoulder and make me wonder which is better, the magic up on the screen or my own real life. On Hollywood Boulevard there’s Grauman’s Chinese Theater, a pseudo-oriental edifice of escape where stars like Bogart and Bacall have left immortal imprints in concrete. My car suddenly backfires startling the flash-popping tourists. Ascending the hill leading toward the towering Hollywood sign it slowly dawns that my new home is the world’s Mecca of Magic. Anything seems possible!

My lodging is The Stardust, a flimsy motel along Sunset, its neon shooting star blinking like a beacon promising miracles. The claustrophobic room is dingy and dusty and reeking of mildew. It’s only temporary, I tell myself. A few days and I’ll have my own apartment. Exhausted, I plod into the bathroom to wash up and call it a night. I stand frozen at the sight of a cockroach perched atop the bristles of my toothbrush. For its size it must be a mutation from atomic testing and for its disrespect I scoop it into a plastic cup, hurl it into the toilet, and flush it away. No doubt as one of nature’s sturdiest creatures it will return to torment other unsuspecting guests of The Stardust. When I turn in I tell myself that I shouldn’t let a little thing like a big cockroach with no respect for people’s toothbrushes dampen my spirits. It must be part of life in the big city. For fear of picking up a dozen diseases from the tattered and soiled sheets I sleep in my clothes.

My eyelids are heavy and I start to drift off. It’s still hard to believe that I’m in Hollywood. A dream slips in behind my eyes. I’m a big-shot Hollywood photographer. Armani suits, a red Ferrari. Lori shows up at my plush condo begging me to come back. She says she’s seen the error of her ways and that it was a terrible mistake letting me go. She wraps her arms around me. Please try and forgive me, Frank. Take me back and I’ll never let you go again. Never, never, never....

(to be continued every Tuesday)