The Last Train to Hell




Salton Greystone was on his deathbed. At the age of ninety three he had survived an attempted takeover of his corporation, four divorces and a fire that burned 30 percent of his body when he was 50 years old. The doctors were amazed that he survived the fire, but his family took it as par for the course. There wasn’t enough fire in all of hell to burn Salton down.

Salton sat in bed eating the greasy bacon and egg breakfast. He gulped his coffee and thumbed through Variety where he read an unflattering article about himself and his feud with his good for nothing son.

Salton had grown to hate both of his children. At first he hadn’t known what to make of them; slimy little alien looking things that had been presented to him after exiting his wife’s naughty. He was grateful that they had been born before all this nonsense about the father being present during the birth. He was perfectly happy not to see the vile creatures emerging from what had once been much sought after territory.

He had liked them for a little while. From the time they were six to ten they had been pleasant little distractions to play with and talk to a couple times a week. The girl was smart and had a sharp curiosity about daddy’s business. The boy was slow and plump and could be entertained for hours by the simplest of toys. Salton never imagined that they would grow into the greedy monsters that they were today.

He put down the magazine in disgust. He flipped on the television to find news of the election. He thought he heard the flip flop of unwelcomed high heels in the hallway.


Abigail Greystone began the morning on a bad note. She had fallen asleep in her office and awaken to the sound of the maid vacuuming in the hall. She showered and changed there without even going home. She had breakfasted at a random greasy spoon on the way to the hospital where the aspiring actor waiter had pretended he didn’t know who she was and flirted with her. People had been trying to play her with that kind of nonsense all of her life and she found it tiresome and insulting. Her driver arrived late and they had been stuck in traffic for over twenty minutes.

She sighed and tried to toughen up as she approached her father’s hospital room. She wondered if she would hear from Bubbles later that afternoon. Bubbles was the topless waitress for whom her father had left her mother. She had made a clumsy attempt at gaining control of the Greystone empire before the aging patriarch had caught wise and filed for divorce. Bubbles now called Abigail quite often, demanding the money to which she felt entitled. Abigail was in the process of attempting to get a restraining order against the psychotic bimbo.


Barb Platt sat on the end of her bed completely exhausted. She dreaded the prospect of working yet another double shift at the hospital. She realized she had no choice, she owed thousands of dollars in student loans to McKinley College and she only made thirteen dollars an hour.

Barb looked out the window of her tiny room at the Rosslyn Hotel. There was a bum ranting about Jesus in the cold morning rain. Barb sighed and headed down the hall to take a quick shower.


Walter Greystone left his hotel suite to breakfast at Circa 55. He ordered a fruit salad as was his custom when visiting Los Angeles. He came once a month to visit his father in hopes of a reconciliation, but the chances of this happening before the old man caught the last train to Hell were waning.

Just as he was about to take his first sip of coffee, Trisha walked into the room. He rose slightly to greet her. She gave him a peck on each cheek and told him he looked great. She looked great as well. Long dark hair framed her symmetrical face and cascaded down towards her soft curves. She sat down across from him and ordered a cup of coffee.

Although she was seven years his junior, Trisha was Walter’s ex stepmother; he had always adored her. He hated when his sister referred to her as Bubbles. She had been a waitress in a strip club briefly, in her early twenties, but she had gone on to a career as a set tutor for child actors. Walter had always found her quiet warm and enchanting.

The two chatted about this and that as they nibbled on their fruit plates. After a while the conversation turned to unpleasant matters.

“Have you talked to him on the phone recently,” she asked.

“Last week,” he said. “Half the time he says hello, ask me how I am and proceeds to tell me what a piece of shit I am. The other half of the time he’s so looped out on drugs or demntia he doesn’t know who I am, or thinks I’m still five years old.”

“It’s too bad you can’t just talk to him just when he’s in that demented state, he’d be more agreeable.”

“Right, maybe I should try to find out exactly what he’s on from his doctor and slip extras into his Frango mints.”


“Will he talk to you?”

“Only if Abigail doesn’t find out about it.”

“Good old Abby. She certainly does have him snowed.

“She got a restraining order against me. An actual restraining order.”

“Does that surprise you? Really? She’s awfully jealous of you. I mean you’re younger and prettier than her and you don’t have to work as hard for my father’s attention. I mean she was a straight A student, she was class president at Georgetown and an Editor of the Law Review and even with all that you were his main girl. Not that I can blame him….” He said with a sly smile.

She smiled back. The two of them decided to do some shopping before heading over to the hospital to see Salton.


Abigail entered her father’s hospital room to find her father angrily flipping from station to station.

“Hi, Dad”


“Watchya watching.”

“All the shows that aren’t mine, thanks to you.”

“I’m trying my very best, dad. I’m fine and how are you?”
“I’m 92 and about to die.”

“Look I wanted to talk to you about selling Pensky. Trimens is offering us 140 million.” I brought the proposal,” she said handing him the papers.

“Why,” he asked.

“Why do I want to talk to you about it or why are they offering us 140 million?”

“The latter, of course.”

“Well, they feel that the company would be an asset to them and it has become something of a liability to us.”

“I don’t feel like talking about that right now,” he snapped.

“Well, I’m afraid we have to talk about it really soon.”

“Why is someone else going to sell it to them?”

“No I just mean that…”

“That what? That I might die and you won’t be able to profit as much?”


“Look, Abigail, you might as well know about this now. I’m putting Sunbees in charge for a bit.

“Sunbees!? What the fuck? How can you do this to me I’ve worked my ass off for this company and I….”


Their conversation was interrupted by the clanking of clumsily driven cart. Barb Platt, Salton’s least favorite PCA was there to give him his pills and his bath.
“We’ll talk about this later,” Abigail whispered hotly. She left the room as Barb got to work.

“How are you doing Mr. Greystone?”

“Alright,” he grumped, He set the papers his daughter had given him down and picked up the enormous cup full pills presented to him by the fat yutz  in the dull blue uniform.

Barb observed him as he took his pills. His chart said he sometimes tried to hide them as he didn’t like the pain pills. She wished he would offer her some of the OxyContin. She was sure that if she could just get a good night’s sleep she would feel more lucid when she had to work these double shifts.

After he silently swallowed the pills she removed his pajamas and began to bath him.

“Don’t get any Ideas. I like em a little thinner than you,” he slurred.

“Okay,” she chuckled.

“”You should try Jenny Craig or something.”

“I can’t afford it, Mr. Greystone.”

“Maybe just cut what you eat in half,” he said.


She finished up and headed off towards to the lounge for her coffee break. As she was putting the cart away, she noticed that Mr. Redstone seemed to have left some paperwork sitting on it. She picked up the document with the intention of returning it to him.

She glanced it over. It looked important. She thought that loosing something like this would not bode well in his mental competency hearing. She walked into the breakroom and threw it into the garbage can, just before the trash was about to be taken out.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and smiled wearily as she looked out at the rain.

Time (part 10)





I stopped a man walking in front of me.

“Excuse me, Sir I was wondering if I could borrow your GPS,” I said wondering exactly what information I was going to ask him to put in it.

“What happened to yours,” he said eying me suspiciously.

“I..I don’t have one.”

“Well, okay, but you should really go get yours, you only have four months ya, know…less really.”

“Right, sorry.”

“So what are we looking for?”

“Well, I’m visiting my sister and well, it’s a surprise visit. I went to her house and she wasn’t there. I need to find her. She’s my twin sister,” I said wondering if this information would help.

“Oh, okay, let’s have your finger.

I stuck out my hand thinking that he was going to take my fingerprint or something. He held it too the screen on his wrists. I felt a needle prick me. Followed by a spray. I looked over his shoulder. There was a picture of blood pouring into a test tube, followed by a clock Icon after a moment there was a picture of me wearing a red blouse and a black pants that looked vaguely familiar.

A picture of The New Beverly Cinema came up. A picture of a woman in a short skirt came up followed by a photograph of Beverly Hills. Followed by a clock that said 11:30.

“She’s at the New Beverly, she bought tickets to the 11:30 show of Boxes of Beverly Hills.

I thanked the man and caught a bus headed for Beverly Boulevard. I showed my ticket to the driver his eyes lit up and registered the ticket. My heart jumped; he was a robot, he looked like a man aside from those eyes.

The bus was almost empty save for myself and a couple of homeless people. I sat down on one of the rickety seats and one of the homeless people stood up.

“I may be down now but I will get back up. For it says in The Secret that, there is no such thing as a hopeless situation. Every single circumstances of your life can change! For I can have all that I really really want. For I shall pray to this universe to show on me all of it’s plenty for that I shall have a home with servants for that in all of its glorious bounty this universe shall bestow upon me a wide screen television,” he screamed.

I rode for about fifteen minutes and got off across the street from the cinema just in time to see myself going in. I attempted to buy a ticket, but I was told they were all sold out. I thought it very odd that an 11:30 a.m. show would be sold out anywhere.

I saw a Subway and went in for a sandwich I asked for a Vegie Max, but the girl didn’t know what I was talking about. There were no vegies behind the counter, only meat cheese and candy. I ordered a cheese and M&M sandwich and ate it quickly. I looked at my receipt and It only said, 14 purchase points.”

I left the shop and went looking for a library, I remembered there was one on the next block. I found it and entered. I asked the librarian where the encyclopedias where and she pointed to a small room which contained a computer, a desk and a chair. I hit the encyclopedia icon and a video of a man dressed in a suit and bow tie came on.

“Who is the President,” I asked.

“The President of the world is Apple Paltrow.

“Oh my God,” I exclaimed.

“God is good, God gave us money to help others aspire to have it.”

“What kind of economy do we have?”

“Economy is a jazz rap artist.”

I sighed. I walked back out into the street and towards the theater. A very long line of people was standing outside the theater. I looked at a digital list of movies that was on large sign outside the theater. There were at least ten movies listed and each of them had many showings. The run time was only fifteen minutes each.

I panicked, perhaps I had missed myself. I looked about to see if I could borrow a GPS. Suddenly I froze, there I was standing in the ticket line. I stood in line about five people behind myself and heard myself order a ticket to a movie called Tina Buys Lamps. I saw myself standing in the popcorn line and timidly approached myself.

Time (part 6)




The first thing I saw when I came to was Tom concerned face bent over me, he handed me a glass of water and sat me up.

“Where am I, “I asked.”

“You’re in the other room watching TV.”

“Oh, did I say anything about what year I was from?

“She…I mean you said she came from 2012, Then 2015 and now she’s here. Do you want to go in and talk to her?”

We walked into the spare room where I was quietly sitting on the bed and drinking a glass of water.

“Hi I said to myself.”

My other self got up and started to come towards me with her hand extended.

I cautiously took it, wondering if something bad could happen if we touched.

“I don’t even know what I should ask first,” I began. “How did you first discover the time machine?”

“I went to bed one night, in my….our apartment on June fourteenth of 2012.”

“The one in Beverly Hills,” I asked wondering just how much my little trip had screwed everything up.

“Yes. I went to bed and when I woke up I was here in this apartment and the year was 2015.”

“Did you freak out, I mean I think I would have.” Tom said.

“At first I just thought I was having a strange dream. Then I realized I had to go to the bathroom and that struck me as odd because I’ve never had to do that in a dream before. Then I crept back to bed and took a good look at you expecting to find someone I had a crush on. But, well even though I thought you were cute and everything. I realized I had never seen you before. I thought that was weird because it was unlike me to dream about being with a stranger.”

“”You mean we were…I mean you were…I mean um.” I said pointing at Tom, than to me than to her.

“Oh. My God are you guys ..I mean, you’re not together yet?”
“We’re roommates, sort of. I mean we were roommates, Tom let me use the time machine I went back five years and screwed everything up.

“So anyway, go one with your story,” Tom said clearly wanting to ignore what he just heard.

“So I nudged you and you woke up. You kissed me and you asked me if I was going to work. I slowly began to realize I wasn’t dreaming. I asked you who you were and you told me you were Tom, my boyfriend…”

Tom and I gave each other and embarrassed sidelong glance.

“You didn’t seem the least bit shocked that I didn’t know you and seemed disoriented. You told me about the time machine and I didn’t believe you. You showed me where it was I got in it and before you could stop me I got in it and set the dials. The next thing I knew I was here.”

Tom and I both just stared at my other self for a moment, uncertain of what to do.

“You said you came from 2012,” I said.

“Yes, that’s right. That’s where I started anyway.

“How was the business doing?”

“Okay, a little slow, but not bad.”

I fought a smile.

“Did you, I mean did I have a boyfriend?”

“Np, not a recent one.”

“Do you remember a boyfriend named Steve? He was a mechanic.”

“No, I never dated a Steve.”

My smile broadened and then I remembered that I still didn’t know how I had ceased to exist.

Pretty on the Outside




A recent article in the Huffington Post reported that legendary basket-case and everything addict and anti-mupit Courtney Love had reveled that her late husband Kurt Cobain had wanted, very much to be a famous rock star. He was not at all averse to notoriety as he had suggested repeatedly whenever he talked to the press.

At first I laughed, Love being such a  fame whore herself, but the truth is, I don’t doubt it. Nobody becomes famous by accident, not even a “tortured” young artist like Cobain. Given all the people in the world who want fame you have to work really hard for it and Cobain was no exception. He and his publicity team, did an extremely good job of using smoke and mirrors to create a mythic man in his life and on the occasion of his death.

Now, I never knew Kurt Cobain nor do I entertain fantasies of knowing him. I am only familiar with the myth and the product and unless you, reader personally knew him, all you are familiar with is the myth and the product as well. I like some of Nirvana’s songs, but I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself a fan. I liked his lyrics, but I wasn’t mad for grunge. For whatever its worth, they created a new sound. I never saw the point of writing such great lyrics if your going to sing them in a way that made them hard to understand. I liked Hole’s Doll Parts lyrics as well and I could relate, I too wanted  to be the girl with the most cake. Although they both wrote good lyrics, I think Kurt was  overrated. Bob Dylan, Bob Marley and Cole Porter were the really great lyricist.  I never thought either Kurt or Courtney had the greatest voices. I always thought they were pretty equal in the talent department. They were both pretty good lyricist, neither was a great singer.

They were both drug  addicts who were jointly and separately responsible for the welfare of an infant. Each of them took heroin, not just Courtney, and not just Kurt. In spite of the decision he made to bring someone into this world Kurt decided to take himself out of it, leaving Courtney to be the soul parent of little Frances Bean. He knew more about his wife than anyone of us ever will and he still trusted her to raise their daughter. In spite of all this Kurt Cobain is considered to be a deep and insightful good guy and Courtney is considered a hot mess, why? I think it’s simple; he was prettier than she was.

The beautiful, misunderstood artist is some thing we have seen mythologized  over and over again in the media. Jack Kerouac is more famous for his lifestyle and method of writing than his actual writing. He was good at describing a scene, but when it came to describing people he took everyone  he met at face value. He never really questioned the philosophies of the beatniks he wrote about. Can you imagine how Allen Ginsberg and all of his whaling would have fared under the tart and acerbic pen of Ms. Dorothy Parker or the no nonsense eye of Mr. Ernest Hemingway?

Kerouac made sure everyone knew he wrote everything on a scroll with out editing anything.  ( I do the same one Elizashead,  so do most bloggers.)  Truman Capote said, “that’s not writing that’s typing”. I have to agree to some extent. Yet I would have to guess that Jack is considerable more famous than Truman or Dorothy and sadly as famous as Papa, because he looked at a movie star. We don’t really expect someone who looks like that to be a writer at all. When someone is that beautiful we are impressed if they care about anybody enough to write about them.

Now I know some people will say I’m wrong. Well, I mean if anyone ever read Elizashead they would say that. They would tell me it’s all in my head and that inner beauty is what counts. No inner beauty is what  SHOULD count; outer beauty is what DOES count. I will give another example, because I can.

Johnny Depp is considered a rebel who stood up against Hollywood stupidity by getting drunk and tearing up hotel rooms when he was on 21 Jump St. The tall, dark, perfectly symmetrical actor denounced the show while he was on it, saying it was fluff. This was a stroke of genius. He looked smart, fearless and rebellious. In spite of his objections to the show he signed a new contract and continued being paid. He took to playing quirky characters in independent films and getting mad whenever the paparazzi took his picture and getting mad at them made him even more famous. This stunt worked wonders for his dark haired, dark eyed sensitive artist product. He always maintained that he hated publicity and Hollywood. He went on to star in the Pirates of the Caribbean series.

Johnny Depp is a fantastic actor. I didn’t really know what he looked like for the longest time because he looked different in every movie I saw him in.  I saw them all and thought  he was a complete chameleon. I’d never actually seen 21 Jump st as it was aimed at kids and aired after I was a kid. When I did see an episode I noticed how pretty he was and was sadly reminded of how important good looks are yet again. People watched THAT show to see him. THAT show! they could have been reading or watching a movie or staring at a wall or slitting their wrists, but instead they choice to watch THAT show because of him. He did turn out to be a great actor, but you never would have guessed it from THAT show.

If a woman or an ugly guy of equal talent to Mr.Depp tore up a hotel room and denounced a show that they were on and got rich being on, they would be considered an enormous asshole. But the beautiful Mr. Depp got away with it, because we are all so impressed when a beautiful looking person has a talent and a soul.

If any of these wealthy white men really hated being famous they could have simply quit and  walked away with enough dough to last several life times. You can always make music in small clubs, write in your room and act on stage.  Lot’s of people want fame. I named two blogs after myself for a reason. If it’s fame you want, just admit it. Theres no need to insult our intelligence. Apparently, we will put up with anything if you’re pretty on the outside.







Tarot Cards, Garrett Morris and One Broke Girl


It took two weeks and a series of intense interviews to get a part-time job setting appointments for a janitorial company. One night, Chris and I had stumbled across a Manpower office on Fifth Street, downtown. The representative there had taken our resumes and had us fill out a couple of applications. he’d seemed very impressed by all of Chris’s experience in film. He didn’t seem terribly interested in me at all.

He sent us some office skills tests to take at home. They were basic computer and simple vocabulary and math tests. I took them right away and was called in the next day for an interview. I was told they had a part time job as an appointment setter in a janitorial company in Koreatown. It would be an hour and a half bus ride for a $10 an hour job, but I was so desperate I agreed to an interview.

In the meantime, Chris took his tests and apparently failed them. They wouldn’t send him out for anything until he retook the tests which he refused to do. I couldn’t figure out if he intentionally threw them so he could stay on unemployment or if he really was an idiot; I suspected the latter. He might have just been nuts. One day he lost a piece of paper with an important number on it and threw a fit, tearing apart his apartment and throwing a glass at a wall. I barely escaped the flying shards. I was still afraid to leave. if it hadn’t have been for him I never would have gotten paid by the petition company and I would be even closer to homelessness than I was.

I had an hour-long telephone interview with the janitorial company. The two men who owned the company Joe and Ted, grilled me about every single job I ‘d ever had. I felt like I was up for partner in a law firm and not for a crummy part time job a parrot could do.
After the telephone interview, I was invited to come in for a personal interview and tour. This time, it was just me and Ted. He was about five feet tall, maybe a hundred pounds, he had sharply handsome features that were hidden underneath a full beard and moustache. He just firmed up a few of the things he’d said on the phone. He handed me a training packet and told me to come back in a week.

As I walked back to the train I wondered what I was going to do for a week. I had less than no money and audience work was completely over for the year. I would only be able to sell my plasma twice in that time and then it would be at least three weeks before I got paid.

Chris had decided to abandon his job search as he was going on an all expense paid trip to New York, courtesy of his wealthy daddy. I still hadn’t paid rent . I wondered what I would do if I got evicted before I got paid. Chris told me he’d told the guys at the front desk of the Rosslyn to let me stay in his room if I needed to. Every night I would lie in bed wondering if there would be a cop knocking on my door wanting to throw me out.

The cops in Los Angeles were brutal. I had seen them screaming at an old Asian lady to whom they were giving a Jay walking ticket. I don’t think she spoke any English and she was scared to death. I had seen ten of them surround a drunk bum who had taken his pants of on Hope Street and stand over him with Billy clubs drawn.

One time I was on a bus going from San Pedro to the Rosslyn. The bus was packed with people on their way downtown for the night. The busses emergency sign was stuck and it had a message across the front saying “Call 911″ or something. We were pulled over by two squad cars. The bus driver told them the sign was just stuck, but they evacuated the bus anyway. they made everyone on the bus stand facing a fence while two officers stood with their guns trained on us. several more squad cars arrived and surrounded the bus. I looked back to see what was going on and one of the officers cocked her weapon. They searched the bus and fond that nothing was going on.

When we all got back on the bus I said I couldn’t believe how reactionary the cops were in LA.
A fellow passenger said, ” It was just a mistake”.

He had no idea that we could have sued for what happened to us. He had grown up in the slums of Los Angeles and knew to avoid confrontations with the cops. I wanted to tell him that if disenfranchised people would just stand together the cops wouldn’t stand a chance, but what was the point? I was beginning to realize the one thing I had no power against was the mass acceptance of powerlessness in LA.

I called Vito and told him I got a new job and would pay him in three weeks. He said okay, he was too busy with the holidays to deal with this. I felt almost grateful to at least have the roof of my horrid dump over my head. My good feelings quickly dissipated when I was stuck inside my apartment listening to my neighbors children stand outside my door and scream.
One of them showed me his new skateboard and told me it coast $100. I was living off of ramen and Fritos at the time. He also told me he’d gotten a WEI for Christmas.

His mother was a welfare recipient who had four children from four different men. She weighed about 250 pounds and often had to use a wheelchair because her knees had become so weak underneath all of her fat. She had a son who was living with her after having gotten out of prison. He had a good job in a refinery. The probation office in los Angeles has a program with the refineries where many of the jobs go to ex-convicts. He made at least $17.00 an hour. The apartment they were in was a section 8 unit which meant rent was about $500 a month for a nice three bedroom apartment. two of the dads paid child support and she got SSI and the kids got food stamps. All in all she had a pretty good deal. The amount of money to be made from practicing unprotected sex and having kids you can’t afford never ceases to amaze me. Why do we reward people for screwing up? Don’t get me wrong I’m all for all forms of publicly funded birth control, I can even understand having a kid and needing help for a couple of years. But, being a baby mama should not be a career.

I sold plasma while I waited from my crummy part-time job to start. One night I got all the way to the plasma center in the valley only to realize I was there ten minutes after closing, they wouldn’t take me. I walked back to the train wondering what I was gonna do. I rode the train downtown without paying for it. I ‘d done that many times in LA; a lot of people do. Why they don’t simply invest in turnstiles we’ll never know. I sat on the train and considered pan handling or stealing someone’s wallet. There was a creepy old man staring at me. I thought about making him think I was a prostitute getting him to take his pants off and running off with the loot.

I figured I would get caught. I would try borrowing the money from Chris. I only hoped he was home.
“You look terrible”, he said when he opened the door.
I explained the situation and asked if I might borrow ten bucks. We walked to the nearest ATM that was located on Skid Row. We walked hand in hand through the legions of street derelicts that called the area their home. At night skid row was surrounded by cops so no one could get out, it was like a giant open air mental hospital. How it was legal for the cops to keep vagrants in a certain area is something I still don’t understand. A naked man wearing nothing but a see through plastic bag ran past us screaming the words to Dear Prudence”. An old woman stared at us with rage as she defecated on the street. A young toothless man walked past us gossiping with himself about someone he didn’t like.

I looked at them and wondered if I would be next. I could see how Los Angeles could drive a person crazy. Either you faced the truth went with the system and anesthetize yourself with anti depressants so you could pretend like everything was fine or you invented your own world and shut reality out completely. I understood the people walking around us more than I would have liked to admit. When other people reject you and crap on you enough you sort of had to laugh at it a little. It forced you to step back and observe how ridiculous this hierarchy of human life is. What happened if you just couldn’t stop laughing? Sometimes I would look at the people who were successful and considered “smart” and I felt like I was from another planet. What would it be like to just let go?
We got money and walked back down town. Chris Took me to Denny’s where I ravenously devoured a veggie omelet.. It was the first actual meal I ‘d had in a week.

I started at Janitors Inc the next day. Ted looked down at is feet as he handed me a list of numbers to call and a script. My desk was in a small office that I shared with young man named Armando, who was the inspector for the company. He would go around to the buildings and make sure they were all clean. He wasn’t around very much. I met the other boss, Joe.
Joe was a man about my age who was six feet tall and about 200 pounds. He seemed very interested in the fact that I had put screen writing down as a hobby on my application for the job. He told me that he had worked for a film distribution company before starting the janitorial business with Ted. Armando told me he didn’t like Joe. He said Joe would often come with him to inspect buildings Joe would smoke in the car with the windows rolled up and order him around. He told me the company was being sued for sexual harassment because of Joe. I started the week before Christmas and worked a total of six days before the new year ended.

I also worked a security job at a Roy Orbison concert at the Hollywood Bowl. There were all kinds of celebrities there including Julia Roberts. At first I thought she was just a Roy Orbison fan, then I realized that Roy sang “Pretty Woman”. There is always an element of self promotion in everything a celebrity does or anywhere they go. The security company was supposed to pay me the next week. Someone accidentally entered my name wrong and my check went to the wrong address. instead of just cutting me another check they told me I would be paid with the next check cut in two weeks.

Ted nervously gave me a $50 Christmas bonus and I finally got paid by the security company. They also booked me for a security job at a Jesus freak festival for New Year’s Eve.

I spent the holidays watching Dead Like Me videos, eating Rite Aide treats and taking the dog for long walks. One night, on a lark I put an ad on Craigslist offering my services as a tarot card reader. Much to my surprise I got a call from a man wanting to hire me for his New Years Eve party at a new bar called The Must downtown. It turned out to be a block away from the Rosslyn and Chris was getting back on New Years Eve. I called him to tell him my news. He was drunk as usual, but happy. He told me he was going to make me home made business cards. He told me he loved me at least five times. I wondered if he would wake up in time to catch his plane.

I studied my tarot book on the way downtown. I had to learn how to read the cards by the time the party started. While I was reading I got a call from the security company asking where the hell I was. I told them I would be there in two weeks.

I got to Chris’s at 8:00 and he had not made any business cards. He wanted to do other things, but I had no time. I had to practice. I read his cards ten times while he threw together some business cards on his computer.

I arrived at The Must at 9:00 where I met Yoshi, the man who hired me. He said how excited he was to have a real tarot card reader at his party. I felt bad; he thought I was a real tarot card reader. I didn’t feel bad enough to tell the truth; a girls gotta eat. Looking back on it, I realize that was the moment I became a real Angelino.
I was led to a small table in the back of the bar. I was handed a glass of wine which I gulped down. A woman sat at my table and I laid out her cards.

” My parents used to read tarot cards all the time.” she said. I” I consider myself something of an expert.”

‘fuuuuuuck’, I thought.
I began to read her cards. I had chosen the horseshoe spread. I fumbled my way through it making meanings for the card up as I went along. I think I may have accidentally said the same thing twice a couple of times.
When I was done she eyed me suspiciously and said,
“Thanks, I’m gonna leave you a tip.”
She walked over to her table and said something to her companion, he just looked at me. She came over and stuck a dollar in my jar and smiled sarcastically.
‘Busted,’ I thought.

After about fifteen minutes of just awkwardly sitting there. A man approached me and sat down. I was determined to sound smother this time. Most if the guests at the party were Japanese; I decided to use racial profiling
The horseshoe throw starts with the subject asking a question. This gentleman wanted to know if he should pursue a career in art. I told him that the first card represented his past. I said that he had a very strict upbringing where he was taught to be very logical and unemotional.

“That’s true”, he said.

I told him that he should pursue his dream and if he did he would struggle at first, but eventually become very successful.
The next person sat down and they wanted to know if they should go back to school; I gave them a similar spiel.

A middle-aged, Jewish man with feathered hair and a fake tan sat down and said he wanted to know if he should go forward with a certain project he was working on. I stereotyped him as a producer. I told him that the first card represented a past in the arts and the second card represented A present in finance. I told him that the third card showed me that these to things were currently in conflict.
“Yes, that’s it “, “ he said. “That’s it exactly!”
I was beginning to feel pretty confident about this.
I told him he should be brave and go with the project and that he would be awarded in the highest possible way if he did. It helped a little that the picture on the last card was of a man holding a sword, just like a certain statute. Some where out there there is an independent screen writer who owes me big time. He bought a reading for some chick he was hitting on as well.

One of the owners of the bar came over to me and had her cards read. She told me the guest loved me and that I should come back anytime. This was fun! Maybe LA wasn’t so bad after all. At 1:00 am I went to Chris’s and we counted the loot between the hundred dollars Yoshi gave me and the tip money I had made two hundred bucks.

We spent the weekend greedily planning our next move. I would work at the janitorial company for a few mouths and work one night a week at The Must for tips. Chris would work during the day to book me tarot reading gigs around the city. We went out to dinner in Long Beach to celebrate. Then we took a long ride down the coast.

We went to The Must for a drink on Sunday night and chatted with the bartender. He was very friendly and chatty, he told us he was an actor. We also met the other owner. I ‘d seen her walking around the night of the party. She said hello and gave me a stiff smile accompanied by a cold eyed glare. She didn’t speak to Chris at all. At one point I saw her go up to the bartender and whisper something while glaring at me. I decided that this was not the best time to ask when I could come back.

I was awake all night that night. What had that glare been about. Was she on to me? Did she figure out my racial profiling thing? Was it Chris she didn’t like?
I continued working at The Janitorial company. Although I set a couple of appointments every day, Joe had only made two sales. Ted decided to hire another salesman. A parade of salespeople came in for interviews. Eventually, they decided on a woman who had worked in the OC office named Mary Jo.

Mary Jo was fifty six years old and was impressively thin and athletic. She was about six feet tall and had long auburn hair that she apparently used a crimping iron on daily. She always wore tons of make-up including some unfortunate blue eye shadow. She had the most interesting work wardrobe I have ever seen. There was a leather mini skirt with thigh high boots and a halter top and jacket. There was the sleeveless mini dress with fishnet stockings and six inch heels. I think my favorite had to be the pink mini dress with knee socks. She would actually go out on sales calls like that. She lived in Sana Ana with her fourteen year old daughter and their maid. She had been a trophy wife for ten years until her husband traded her in for a newer model. Sometimes Hollywood stereotypes are accurate. She shared the tiny office with Armando and me. It kind of pissed me off that Mary Jo had ten times more than I did even though she and I worked in the same place and had the same level of education. The only reason for this was that she had been hot once.

I went to Chris’s about three times a week and walked past The Must just as often. At fist the employees said hello politely , then they just nodded eventually they did not speak to me at all and acted as if The didn’t know who I was. I never found out what I had done.

Chris continued to collect unemployment and lie around the Rosslyn smoking pot. He claimed to have sent out many resumes. One day he left his e mail open when I could see it and I noticed there was nothing in his out box. When ever I suggested we go out (Dutch treat of course) he would say he was broke. I noticed he could always keep himself in booze and pot.

One night We noticed there was a new comedy club opening up in the Rosslyn building. Garrett Morris form the old Saturday Night Live show was there. I always loved him. For those too young to remember, the show used to be funny and Garrett Morris used to do a great Idi Amin and he would sing opera as well. The doorman said he would let us in free. We went back upstairs and waited for the show to start. Chris got drunk and passed out and we missed it. I would have gone alone, but I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to get back in as I didn’t have a key and I didn’t want to take his.

The next night Chris called me at home. He was drunk and crawling around on the fire escapes of the Rosslyn. I realized he was suicidal. I sat on the edge of my bed with the phone to my ear and listened emotionlessly for a plop.

Porn Stars, Pot Smoke and the Million Dollar Hotel Rosslyn


As time wore on, the hours at Nielsen began to dwindle. We were sent home early often. A lot of times we would just skip taking a break and work straight through so they could get the most work out of us for the least amount of money. Pam got meaner and meaner, she found some sort of flaw in my work every day. Mark began to date a co-worker who was apparently the niece of one Miss Annette Funicello. I began to write a play in my spare time about a mousey woman working in a phone room where they sell toner, who gets revenge on the people in her life who berate her. It was great therapy.
Chris was beginning to have problems with his landlord. He has moved into a converted garage. He had agreed to do all the carpentry work on the apartment for free for a reduced rate in rent. Right after he finished the carpentry there was no more hot water in the house. It turned out his landlord had not paid the water bill. A bit of further investigation reveled that he had not paid the mortgage in several months and was about to be foreclosed upon.
Meanwhile, the housing inspector came to our building and Macbeth and I had to get lost for six hours while Vito shoved a dumpster in front of my door in an effort to pretended there was not an apartment there. Macbeth and I went for a long, long walk. We sat and watched the boats leaving the harbor. I longed to be on the water. I thought how nice it would be to sail away somewhere, just the two of us. I’d always wanted to work on a cruise ship, but I never could, because I’d always had dogs. There was a lot of traveling I never got to do for this reason. That’s the trouble with love; it ruins everything – all your plans for the future. If it hadn’t been for Macbeth there were a lot of other places I could live and I could have worked more as I wouldn’t have had to go running home to him so often. I wouldn’t have given him up for anything, of course, but sometimes I wish he could cook and use the toilet. We returned home to find Vito still there, he said the housing inspector had only been there for a few minutes and didn’t even bother to look in the back of the building.
Several people had told me that I could turn Vito into the housing authority and get up to $7000 because he was renting an illegal apartment. I found out later that I would have to call the inspectors office. They would let him know I called . They would come over there and inspect it with Vito present and then they would have to give him a certain amount of time to fix it. I figured he would kill me if that happened so I decided not to turn him in.
I continued to do audience work. I swallowed my pride and cheered for Dr. Phil, The Doctors, Family Feud and a host of other crap. I saw Stephanie at almost every one of them. She told me that she told her boyfriend she was going back to school. She said she didn’t know what she was going to do when he came home and found out everything she told him was a lie. I ran into Jessica as well. I told her how broke I was.
“I can get you $300 for a blow job tomorrow.” She said.
I stared at her. I giggled a bit uncomfortably.
“My boyfriend produces porn movies. Were always looking for people.”
I tried to hide my shock. As a pasty-faced, slightly chubby forty two-year-old, I didn’t get offered a lot of porn. Furthermore, if she was doing this herself why did she have to do audience work? For a brief fleeting moment I considered this. I realized they probably wouldn’t take me anyway and she was probably just telling me about it because she needed someone to talk to, but desperation can make you think some crazy things.
“Do you use a stage name?” I asked, horrified and fascinated.
“Yeah,” she said without telling me what it was.
“Have any of the movies come out yet?
“No”, she said without telling me the names of them.”
“Do your parents know?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said , without telling me what they though.
After this we went in to watch a for a game show called Catch 21, she fell asleep again – I think she was on drugs.
Stephanie later told me that Jessica had tried to recruit her as well. She said she had gone so far as to go over to Jessica’s apartment to talked to her. She said she decided not to do it because the guys she would have to have sex with were black. (Really, that’s why you don’t want to do the most private thing ever in front of a camera, your parents and anyone who happens across the video?)
In my career as a clapper I would meet a German woman resembling Janis Joplin, who told me she had inherited two million dollars and frittered it all away on fancy hotels. I met a woman who said the Jews were trying to control us by tainting our pap smears. I saw a fist fight break out between a male audience member and a female audience member when she accused him of taking her picture, charging her for it and then never giving it to her.
I did most of my audience work for a man named Dominick. A short chubby man who’d been in the audience business for many years. He was a good guy compared to most audience coordinators. He always answered his phone, booked you even if you were plain-looking and paid quickly, in the right amount and in cash. He didn’t bother with tax records either. I understand why most audience members wouldn’t want to pay taxes, I can even understand why coordinators wouldn’t want to pay them, but these audience companies were working for some major corporations. They must have been getting paid by all of the major networks and none of them ever seemed to make sure the audience companies were legit.
I had better bladder control than a Catholic school boy as we often went five hours in an audience without a toilet break. To this day I can’t get over the fact that they were perfectly willing to sacrifice a room full of people’s kidneys for some junkie game or talk show. I lied about my age a million times, so did a lot of people.. Most of the calls were for people between 18 and 35. I was grateful to have a baby face. Why it would mater how old you were to sit in the dark and clap is beyond me, but Hollywood loves to discriminate, even when she stands to gain nothing.
The anxiety experiment ended and Dr. M send me off with a months worth of free drugs and  several Ambien. I managed to accidentally throw the Ambien away in to a dumpster. Somewhere, in San Pedro there was a very happy bum. Eventually I abandon the anxiety drugs as they had a most unappealing and unladylike side effect. I began smoking pot regularly along with Chris. Did I mention he was also the school stoner? I needed something to deal with the fact that I was working every single day, spending as much time on the bus as I did working and often coming home having earned less than forty dollars.

One day I called Dominick for audience work and he didn’t answer. No one could get in touch with him. It turned out he had disappeared abandoning his apartment and all of his clients. Rumor had it he owed money to the mob.
I began selling plasma in a horrible place located in a filthy basement in Van Nuys. Plasma is used as an ingredient in various medicines and people can sell their plasma as much as twice a week. I had sold plasma once before in Denver and although it wasn’t fun, the facility was clean, it took about two hours and paid $35.00 a pop. In LA it took three hours to get to the nearest plasma center, once you were there it normally took five hours to donate and it paid $30. The fee would later go down as the economy worsened. The place was disgusting. There was piss on the seat of toilet in the tolietpaperless bathroom., There were used tissues scattered all over the waiting room and there was often gum in the drinking fountain. The staff was cold and rude and would get mad if you asked a question. They knew we were all desperate for money and they used the opportunity to take all of their hostilities out on us. There was nothing we could do about it; we needed the money.
The whole thing made me think about the grim reality of human nature. The staff could have chosen to be nasty or nice, but they chose nasty because it was more fun. Plasma centers make around $1500 for a case of plasma; $30 a bag is just a small percentage of that. The operators of these centers say that they care about people, but when the economy got bad and more donors started coming in they used the opportunity to pay less. Giving the miserable experience that it was and given the demand for plasma one can only imagine what the consequences would be if the economy every got so good that no one had to sell their plasma. No one in their right mind would ever donate plasma without any pay on a regular basis. If it weren’t for people being poor and desperate enough to sell plasma the pharmaceutical companies would not be able to make anywhere near as much medicine as they do and some people would die. If it weren’t for sickness and the need for medicine we donors would have one less means of income. So the pharmaceutical companies and sick people relied on us to be poor and we relied on them to be sick. I got to thinking about how many people who work in hospitals, collection agencies and rehab center would be unemployed if it weren’t for desperation and disease, metal illness and debt. I wondered how dependent our economy was human suffering. And I though to myself what a wonderful world.
In September I got more and more depressed and smoked more and more pot. Eventually I quit Nielsen as the hours had dwindled so much, I could make more money doing audience work. I got a part-time job fund-raising for the Obama campaign and was fired after one month.
Chris had an occasional security guard job at the Shrine Auditorium. One night he work at a Scientology convention. He texted me saying there was a n enormous spread of food that he was invited to eat on his break. I talked to him when he got home.
“How was the food? Did you see any celebrities?” I asked.
“Those people are crazy” He replied sounding a bit scared. “You know that girl who was in Natural Born Killers?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Well, she was there and she started talking to me and at first I was really excited that this famous person was talking to me, but she’s nuts. Her eyes were as big as saucers. She looked and seemed like she was on drugs, but I’m pretty sure she wasn’t”
“How was the food?”
“I couldn’t get anywhere near it. They were all trying to recruit me.”
Chris was a fairly tough character. He’d lived in some of New York’s roughest SRO’s and he’d worked in a porn bookstore in NYC for a year. He’d live in Jersey City for seven years and had spent his time in LA residing in Watts. I had never seen or heard of him being afraid of anything until he met the Scientologists.
Chris was beginning to revel himself as not only a pot head, but a pretty hardcore alcoholic. Whenever any minor little thing would upset him he got drunk. I was over at his house one night after he’d gotten an especially bad haircut, He was freaking out about it. I fell asleep while watching the movie Jaws 3 (it was the only thing we could get on his TV). I woke up at the end of the movie and was surrounded by six empty 40’s of cheap beer. Chris had moved to Los Angeles from New York to work as a set carpenter. I wondered if the pressure of being away from the town he grew up in and his family wasn’t to much for him.
A few days later all the lights went out in Chris’s apartment. His landlord had failed to pay the bill. He asked if he could come over and stay with me until he found a new place to live. I said sure . He came over with a copy of Cool Hand Luke and a bad attitude. He told me he was going to sue his landlord. I advised him not to sue the poor. I woke up the next morning to find him gone. A few minutes later there was a knock at my door. He said he slept in his car because all of Macbeth’s scratching had kept him awake. He was tired and crabby. He grabbed all of his stuff and stormed out. The next day he called me up, drunk off his ass and yelled at me for an hour about how I should control my dog (apparently in my sleep). He complained about what an awful apartment I had. He said he would hang up before he said something he would regret.
I hung up, I felt like I should be upset or shocked or something, but the truth is I wasn’t. I don’t expect much from men and this seemed about right. He called the next night and apologized all over the place. He said he’d found a new apartment at the Hotel Rosslyn in downtown LA, it was only $300 a month. I wanted to break up with him, but I didn’t. He was my only friend in town and I didn’t have enough money to pay the rent that month. I thought I might have to go stay with him and put MacBeth in a kennel. One week later Chris got fired from Nielsen and went on unemployment.
The Hotel Rosslyn was once a very fancy place occupied by movie stars and other glamorous types in the 20’s. In the seventy’s and 80’s it was occupied by drug addicts, gangs and other transient types I have heard rumors of people being thrown off the roof in gang related killings. In 2006 the hotel got a renovation as part of a government program. It housed everything from former homeless folks to a multitude of aspiring artist. Chris’s room was tiny and the bathroom was down the hall. In spite of being the son of a successful New York television producer , having a college degree and growing up in a mini mansion, Chris thought this was a great apartment.
I continued to try to get background extra work, but I was rejected for my looks more of the than not. When I did work it was on shows that had enormous cattle calls with huge crowd scenes. May of these shoots were indoors in small arenas they were breeding grounds for horrible diseases and I got sick most times I worked. I thought things were picking up a bit when I heard about another petitioning job starting in Beverlywood. We were to go door to door asking for registered voters to sign to get a candidate on the ballot. Our petition boss Ron was a nervous elderly man who lived in Westwood and drove a nice Mercedes. We arrived for work early on a Saturday morning to find that Beverlywood was an orthodox Jewish neighborhood where they cannot answer the door, or sign anything on the Saturday Sabbath. I’m pretty sure our petition boss was Jewish and had lived in LA all his life and should have known about the neighborhood. We got all of twenty signatures. We did a little bit better the rest of the week. On Thursday we gathered at our usual meeting place expecting to get our checks and Ron acting as though he didn’t know what we were talking about. He said we weren’t supposed to get paid till the following Thursday. I told him I knew that wasn’t what he said and that I wouldn’t be doing anymore work until I was paid. I expected the other petition circulator to go along with me. Instead they all told me that they were sure we would be paid eventually and that I shouldn’t complain. One older lady told me that you just have to roll with the punches. I went home again shocked at the ridiculous complacency of the poor in Los Angeles.
I called Central Casting and heard a call for “funky looking people to be on The Mentalist in a scene set in a bar in the desert. I called and was booked right away. I was told to bring a bunch of different character costumes to the set which was located in Temecula. I was excited . I was finally getting an opportunity because of the way I looked. I wondered how I was going to get to Temecula. I called Chris, but he couldn’t drive me as he had a temp job for the day. I checked into taking the Greyhound, but the schedule was all wrong. The metro would have gotten me there, but I couldn’t afford it. I ended up having to call them and tell them I couldn’t make it . I entertained a common Hollywood fantasy; if I had shown up – where might it have led? What if someone had thought I was entertainingly goofy enough to give me a line in the show. It’s silly I know, but they were looking for my type. A line can pay up to $1000. I was beginning to understand where the fantasy came from.
On the first of November Chris and I bought a gigantic cheap bottle of Vodka and got drunk every night. During the day I stayed in my apartment while my neighbors birth control accidents screamed outside the door. On Thursday we drove to West Hollywood to meet up with Ron The petition guy. I began crying as we drove I had no money and rent wasn’t paid was sure he wasn’t gonna pay me. Chris said he would make him pay me. The Roxy, The Viper room and Whiskey a- Go Go flew past us in a nightmarish blur. I had a vodka induced vision of myself begging on the street. When we got there we found that Ron didn’t have the checks. He said he would give them to us on Saturday. Chris stood over him with a menacing look while he said this. Ron looked terrified and his hands shook. I just glared at him with giant angry pot eyes . I didn’t say anything , the booze was making the room spin around at this point.
On Saturday I went to his office and he finally paid me. he tried paying me half of what he owed me at first, but I refused to leave his office until I got the whole thing. It took three trips to Beverly Hills and six hours to get a check for $300. Vito called on the 20th of November and asked where rent was. I told him I would have it in two weeks. MacBeth managed to get a horrible case of fleas. It coast $100 to get rid of them. I ran into one of the petition circulators who worked for Ron. Ron had never paid him and he was living in a tent in the park.
A week later I got a part time temp job as an appointment setter in a janitorial office I wondered what the net year would bring. I didn’t know it, but I was about to meet the Queen Of Hearts.

Jennifer Love Hewitt and Designer Drugs


I began to think that every thing would be okay. I had two part time jobs and the anxiety drug experiment. For two weeks my life consisted of getting up at 8:00 am taking the dog for a two hour walk, by the marina  and rushing back to my horrid apartment where I would shower, dress and run off for the two hour bus ride to Nielsen where I would knock out seven hours of desperate dialing only to return to the horrid apartment to talk to the creepiest sounding men in the world about their absolutely disgusting sexual fantasies. Ladies, if you ever want to be celibate just take a phone sex job.

The phone sex company insisted that the girls took all calls on a land line and that we only took brief bathroom breaks on any given shift. The calls were back to back and you were not allowed to end a call even if it was the end of the shift. If a guy flipped to fast a supervisor would come on the phone and tell the girl what she did wrong as they monitored every single call.  The Boulevard Entertainment dominates the phone sex industry in Los Angeles. They own many a 1-800 number. If you  Google them you can find the legal documents detailing their attempts to register the name 1-800-Jack-Off with the US Patent office. It is funnier than any comedy I have ever seen Hollywood produce.

One of my weirdest calls included a man who asked over and over again if he should send a picture of his penis to his girlfriend. He went on and on for four hours about the socio- political ramifications of this decision. He talked a little about his job and his mother then he went back to the picture of his penis thing.

There was a man who had very labored speech and told me that he was in a wheel chair. He told me that he’d never had sex; just phone sex. He wanted me to walk him though the process. I have never been so uncomfortable.

My job at Nielsen wasn’t much better. In spite of making hundreds of calls a day it wasn’t uncommon to leave with no completed surveys. This was because we only wanted to talk to people who liked crap. The majority of people we called said they didn’t go to the theater very much and that they had no intention of seeing any of the garbage we were peddling. The film companies didn’t care what most people thought they just wanted  to advertise their films in the form of a survey and see how they could get even more money out of the people who were dumb enough to go see mall movies in the first place.

I was doing pretty well that first week I had several completed surveys a day and my boss Pam really seemed to like me. The office was sort of like the high-school experience I never had. I was kind of accepted there. There were all kinds of aspiring whatevers there. There was a man who resembled George Costanza  who was the star of many an indie horror film. There was a woman there, who had come to Los Angeles at the age of 34 to become an actress. She was one of the sweetest people I had ever met. We had an awful lot in common, a hatred of work an obsession with the Mary Tyler Moore Show. She wanted to be an actress since she was little. Unlike me; she was normal looking. When she told people she wanted to be an actress they accepted it, if I had said it they would have laughed. She had lots of friends there and was nice and friendly to me right away. The popular kids  never were nice in high school. There was Dante,  the  boy who was so handsome that I felt nervous every time he talked to me and he talked to me often. There was Greg, an ex- Texan who was older than me who had come to LA to pursue acting and writing . His favorite director was Ed Wood and he had a series of films that he made with his girlfriend about a very sexist detective. He was very shy about showing it to anyone. I felt honored that He would show them to me. He told me never to tell anyone about it. I knew how he felt, there were certain places that I would never show my work.

This is more common then you might imagine. People come to Los Angeles and they are afraid to show people their reels or scripts or CD’s. They will use the excuse that they don’t feel they have enough material yet, or it’s just a first draft or the quality of the recording isn’t good; but that’s not the real reason. We didn’t want the fantasy shattered, We didn’t want anyone to tell them that it wasn’t going to happen for us because if they did; what would be left? We would just be   a bunch of middle-aged losers doing telephone surveys for a living. It was better to let the fantasy live than to kill it with what we all knew the real outcome would be. If we didn’t try we could tell ourselves that it might come true, just like in the movies. But deep down, we knew what we were.

Leonard Cohen said it best, “Everybody knows that the dice are loaded everybody rolls with their fingers crossed”.

There was also a rather geeky kid named Mark who fancied himself a singer and an actor. He was a rather odd looking character, pear shaped and balding with plain features and a pot belly. He constantly spoke in a high squeaky voice. At first I thought it was his real voice, but it turned out he was imitating a coworker of ours. He was given to bursting out into song and constantly kept tabs on how many surveys everyone in the office had. I felt sorry for him at first, he clearly just wanted attention.

It was at Nielsen that I was to meet Chris, the class clown. Chris was about my age with blond hair and pretty blue eyes. He was tall and skinny and had a yellowing Cheshire smile. He was sitting next to me one day in the break room when a basketball game was on TV.  The crowed went wild when someone made a shot.

“God, a man threw a ball through a hoop you would think it was VJ day”. He said and I laughed.

I’ve always liked men who were funny and hated sports, it makes me think they can think for themselves. I can be quite foolish sometimes.

He gave me a ride home that night. We had a lot in common we both loved the Simpsons and sail boats. We both were desperately miserably poor and working at Nielsen.

Back at home I got one of about ninety calls in the barely legal category. I braced my self and said hello.

“Hi, this is Frank who’s this ?”

This is Tracy.” I said trying to sound young.

“What are you doing, Tracy.”

“Homework,” I said. “”What are you doing?”

“I’m just sitting around thinking about my daughter.”

I couldn’t speak. I felt like I was gonna throw up. I didn’t say anything and he hung up. I expected someone to come on the phone and chastised me, but no one did.

The next day I went to the psychiatrist office in Beverly Hills for my weekly check up to see how the drugs were working. When Dr. M examined me  I burst out crying. I told him about the phone sex job and the guy who was thinking about his daughter.  I asked him if there was anything we could do about it. He told me that if someone confessed a crime to him he was legally obligated to tell the authorities. I suggested that the next time he called I could get information out of him then the company would be obligated to call the police. He suggested that I didn’t do this. He told me that he was sorry that I had to work for them. He told me he’d treated many woman who worked in porn and they were all miserable.

I told him that I didn’t know what  was going to do If didn’t get another job soon.

“Look, I’ve had fantasies that I don’t act on you’ve had fantasies that you don’t act on. Look at it this way, maybe talking to you about this gets it out of his system. Maybe he talks to you and then doesn’t have to do it in real life..”

He told me that if I still had the job by the time the experiment was over he would get me some anti depressants and sleeping pills to deal with the problem.

As I walked back to the bus  with my hundred dollar check and my next two week supply of drugs I thought about what had just happened. A medical professional had just told me to tell a pedophile what he wanted to hear. He had ensured me that he would drug me up enough that I was able to do it. I popped two pills on the bus and headed back home.

That night a creepy old man with a southern accent called in wanting me to stick a variety of various household appliances up myself. Even though I was supposed to be off a 2:00 AM , I was up till 4:00 AM talking about this nonsense.

“ Do you have a can opener, not the electric kind, but the hand held kind?”  he asked.

“Yes”. I replied excitedly.

“I want you to stick it up your pussy and twist it.”

His bag of tricks included a glass bottle a plastic bottle, a hammer, the paper roll from a roll of paper towels and a screw driver to name a few. I wanted to kill him or myself by the time the call was over and I had to pee like a race horse. I never wanted to talk about anything that had to do with sex ever again.  I comforted myself with the fact that my check from the company was arriving that day. I checked the mailbox and it wasn’t there. I waited another day and then called the company. I was coldly informed that the check could sometimes take five days to arrive. When it didn’t arrive in five days I called back and they said it would be two weeks before they issued a new check. I screamed at them.

“ What are you fucking kidding me?” (this was getting to be my standard response to everything that happened in Los Angeles.)

“No”, it’s just our policy” , she said coldy and hung up.

My hands shook what was I going to do? I wasn’t going to be able to pay the rent. The supervisor at the  phone sex company called me that night and asked me why I wasn’t logged in. I told her I would log in when I got paid. She actually tried to make me feel guilty  about it.

A week later when rent was due, I called Vito and told him that I would have to post date my rent check to the tenth and just pay the late fee he said okay, when he got the check he cashed it before the tenth anyway and I was charged an overdraft fee by the bank.

Back at Nielsen Chris and I had begun dating. The goofy theater chick dating the smart ass. Pam my boss, did not like Chris and began to take it out on me. She suddenly began picking on everything I did.

The phone sex company paid me and fired me. I told them I would see them in court. I went back to doing audience work and I signed up with Central Casting.

Central Casting has a system where you wait in line for two hours and pay $25.00 to get your picture taken. Then than give you a number that you can call to find out what jobs are available for the next day. If you were not eighteen to look younger and size six or under you were disqualified from eighty percent of the jobs . If you were not attractive you were disqualified from  ninety percent of the remaining twenty percent  of jobs. If you did qualify you had the privilege of calling the casting director over and over again until you finally got through to him or her to see if they wanted to cast you on the show.

I called the following day and was booked  as a detective on Prison Break. I told them that that I had a business suit to wear on the show and I didn’t I ran off to Wal-Mart and found something claiming to be a Calvin Klein. I had to get up at 4:00 the next morning. It took two hours to get to FOX Studios on the bus. We sat at a round table all day at what was supposed to be the annual Angels and Eagles dinner for fallen cops. William Fichtner was there ( the guy who played the cop in GO!) Even though I know its stupid I felt a little intimidated upon seeing him.

The day lasted 12 hour. It was boring, but it wasn’t that bad. I called again the next day and got booked on Ghost Whisperer which was being filmed inLong Beach on the Queen Mary. I was excited it was a four day job at least 12 hours a day.  I would have to call in sick to Nielsen at least two of the days. I realized I had to do it , it meant way more hours. They were paying us $10 extra  for travel and and additional $10 for bringing our own suitcases.  Visions of sugar plums danced in my head.

Chris and I got up at five ( we got to sleep in!) he drove me over the bridge and dropped me off. There were at least a hundred other extras milling about. We began by filming a scene where we were on deck waving bye bye. We then filmed a scene where we were walking aboard the boat.

Right after the seen was filmed we took a break on our way back to holding I saw the director of the episode ‘Save Our Souls” Gloria Muzio talking on the phone to Central Casting.

“What did you send over I said upscale clothes. Half of them came in rags. I said I wanted good looking people half of them aren’t.  I might as well be in the background. Hey Artie. Can’t you see me in the background.”

Apparently Gloria is a self hating ugly chick. Instead of giving opportunities to those of us who aren’t cute she has decided to be part of the problem by only putting pretty people on TV.

She was about forty  with glasses and braces. (I’m not kidding). She kept telling us that we were supposed to be rich people on a European cruise who were all millionaires. Then she told us that this was a trip of a lifetime (if we were all millionaires why would a cruise be the trip of a life time?)

At one point a man told me to  sit in a lounge chair. I sat for a few moments then I saw the man being yelled at by Gloria. The man then came back and told me I was sitting in the wrong place as if I had decided to sit there by myself.

We were told that the job may actually only be two days for some of us. ( The ones who weren’t cute enough to be in the close up shots.)

As on the set of most shows the stars did not look at us or speak to us.  Most of the actors will just give you a polite smile and a nod. Jennifer Love Hewitt took this a step further by literally sticking her nose in the air every time she passed us. She was a producer of the show and every now and then she was asked to look through the camera. She would generally find a flaw and tell them to change the shot. I had to laugh I remembered seeming her on some show where she was being interviewed about being a producer.

She had giggled girlishly and said , “Well I am a producer but that doesn’t mean that they always do what I say.”

I I’d seen her “act” and I ‘d heard her “sing” was amazed at how someone so talentless could be so mean and pompous.

The day wore on and on Gloria wanted to shot every seen a million times. At one point a guy with a big nose and I were sitting out of a scene while everyone else worked. He complained that if he was never allowed to be in a seen he would never get a speaking part. I felt so sorry for him. After being treated the way we were why would you even want a speaking part anymore.

All of a sudden Big nose grabbed me and shoved me out of the way. A tray of glasses was flying towards my head. I got out of the way right before it landed right where I was sitting. One of the main actors asked me if I was okay. No one else did. We worked til midnight and came back the next day at noon we then stayed til 2:00 AM. Gloria got more and more demanding as the night went on. You would think she was directing a work of art and not some crummy TV show.

Half of us were informed we wouldn’t be needed for the next two days.

I felt like telling Gloria that she should have a little faith in people. That Roseanne had feature plain frumpy people and it had been one of the biggest hits on TV ever. That When given the opportunity Kathy Bate had proven herself to be an amazing actor who could bring in an audience. But, I knew she wouldn’t listen to me and I would only be burning a bridge.

I returned to Nielsen the next day where I was chastised by Pam for calling in sick.

I didn’t think it was possible, but things were about to get infinitely worse.