We were barely home and unpacking our groceries when Lara burst through the front door and flung herself so hard at Emily that the pair of them scooted halfway across the room. ‘You the maaaaaan!’ she cried. ‘I’m so happy about the pitch!’
Apparently she was in the neighbourhood because she’d been to her yogilates (whatever that was) class. She offloaded flowers and an affirmation card and a Native American something on to Emily to celebrate the good news.
Then she turned, saw me and exclaimed, ‘Go girl! You look so tan. Hanging out at the beach?’
‘Yeah,’ I said shyly, flattered by her admiration. It was good, coming from her, a walking ray of light.
Lara stepped closer and said thoughtfully, ‘You know what? Your hair is so great.’
Already I’d started to pick up on LA intonation. Telling someone that something is ‘so great’ is actually a criticism. ‘Your script is so great,’ – but we’re not buying it. ‘Your friend that I went on the blind date with is so great,’ – but she bored me to death and I hope I never see her again.
So when Lara told me that my hair was so great, I was pleased for a second, then I wasn’t. ‘So great,’ she repeated. ‘But your bangs’ (she meant my fringe) ‘are too long. Hello,’ she laughed softly, parting my fringe with her long nails, moving hair out of my eyes. ‘Are you in there? Hey, there she is!’
‘Hi.’ I was close enough to see her contact lenses.
‘You know what?’ Consideringly, she weighed the end of my hair, curling it under with her palm. ‘We’ve gotta get you to my hairdresser. Dino, he is like, the best. I’ll call him now.’
Already she was halfway across the room, fishing in her handbag, and I breathed out. She’d been standing too close but I’d been afraid to move, what with her being a lezzer. If it had been anyone else I could have stepped back, no bother, but I didn’t want her to think that I was uncomfortable around her and her lezzerness. Political correctness is a minefield. The palm pilot was out, she was tapping on her little cellphone, then talking. No waiting around. They do everything so fast here.
‘Dino? Kiss, kiss, baby. I want to schedule in my girlfriend with you. She has the best face and she needs a great cut. Tuesday?’ She looked up at me with her aquamarine eyes. ‘Maggie, Tuesday, six-thirty?’
I felt overrun, taken over. I quite liked it. ‘Sure.’ Why the hell not? ‘Tuesday is good.’
‘I got reason to celebrate too,’ Lara said, clenching a fist in the air. ‘Two Dead Men has finally dropped out of the top ten!’
‘Rock on!’ Emily exclaimed, and a general air of celebration prevailed.
Two Dead Men was a spoof gangster comedy film. What had it ever done to Lara?
‘Tell Maggie the story,’ Emily urged.
‘You want to hear it?’
‘Course!’
‘OK! As you know, I work in a production company, and one of my many, many duties is to do script reports. Like, read them, say what the chances of making a good movie are. Anyhoo, two years ago I get this script on my desk, it sucked and I totally trashed it. And the name of this piece of crap? Two Dead Men. Only one of the biggest comedy movies of the year!’ Her high spirits were infectious. ‘The day I read in Variety that Fox were going into production on it was one of the worst days of my life. I have prayed so HARD for it to bomb. I have SWEATED when I’ve seen the weekend grosses. And I came this close –’ she held up her thumb and first finger, leaving a tiny space between them,’– to losing my job.’
‘But you’re entitled to your opinion,’ I said.
‘Nuh-uh.’ She shook her head. ‘Not in Lala land. One strike and you’re out.’
‘I saw the original script too,’ Emily said. ‘And Lara was right, it was crap. I don’t think the writer meant it to be a comedy, but because it was so bad everyone assumed he had to be joking.’
‘But it’s all OK now,’ Lara beamed.
All of a sudden a low, rumbling vibration began. I felt it before I heard it and it built with alarming intensity. For a minute I thought it was an earthquake and that my mother had been right. How very annoying.
‘Gaaaagghh,’ Emily groaned. ‘They’re at it again. Drumming to the Rhythm of Life. Gobshites!’
‘Who?’
‘Next door. Mike and Charmaine and a load of professional adults who should know better. Banging Native American drums and hoping to find happiness. They do it on purpose to annoy me.’
‘You should never have stolen their “Armed Response” sign,’ Lara said.
‘Don’t I know it! Well, I’m left with no choice but to go shopping and buy something to wear to The Pitch. Any takers?’
Shopping! Apart from a sun-product splurgette in the duty-free, I hadn’t bought anything for ages – not since my life had gone belly-up. I experienced a little rush, feeling alert and almost normal, which intensified when it transpired that they both wanted to go to Rodeo Drive. Going to Rodeo Drive was what I should be doing, what anyone who came to LA would do, instead of sitting like a lost soul on a lonely beach. OK, so maybe it was a little out of my price range, but a girl could always dream. And use her credit card.
As we left the house, the Goatee Boys were also going out.
‘Hey, Lara!’ The one with the shaved head exploded in admiration. ‘You are the bomb, man, toadally the bomb!’
‘Thank you, Curtis.’
‘No, I’m Ethan. That’s Curtis.’
‘Hey.’ Curtis shyly raised a plumpish hand.
‘And I’m Luis.’ A pretty, Latino boy, with Bambi eyelashes and a neat little beard, also waved. ‘And you are the bomb.’
‘I was really hoping,’ Emily said wistfully, ‘that when term ended they’d pack up and leave and we’d get some proper neighbours in. But it looks like we’re stuck with them for the summer.’
The Goatee Boys were going out in their orange wreck. Luis placed his hand on the car roof, vaulted daintily through the open car window and arrived neatly in the driving side. Then Ethan placed his meaty hand on the roof on the other side and also swung in, feet first. But things weren’t so easy for plump Curtis, who got stuck Winnie-the-Pooh-like in the window space.
After we’d helped shove him in, we got into Lara’s car (a shiny silver pick-up truck about a mile long). The sky was blue, the silvery palm trees were swaying in the gentle breeze and I had a bit of a tan – all in all, things weren’t so bad.
Apparently she was in the neighbourhood because she’d been to her yogilates (whatever that was) class. She offloaded flowers and an affirmation card and a Native American something on to Emily to celebrate the good news.
Then she turned, saw me and exclaimed, ‘Go girl! You look so tan. Hanging out at the beach?’
‘Yeah,’ I said shyly, flattered by her admiration. It was good, coming from her, a walking ray of light.
Lara stepped closer and said thoughtfully, ‘You know what? Your hair is so great.’
Already I’d started to pick up on LA intonation. Telling someone that something is ‘so great’ is actually a criticism. ‘Your script is so great,’ – but we’re not buying it. ‘Your friend that I went on the blind date with is so great,’ – but she bored me to death and I hope I never see her again.
So when Lara told me that my hair was so great, I was pleased for a second, then I wasn’t. ‘So great,’ she repeated. ‘But your bangs’ (she meant my fringe) ‘are too long. Hello,’ she laughed softly, parting my fringe with her long nails, moving hair out of my eyes. ‘Are you in there? Hey, there she is!’
‘Hi.’ I was close enough to see her contact lenses.
‘You know what?’ Consideringly, she weighed the end of my hair, curling it under with her palm. ‘We’ve gotta get you to my hairdresser. Dino, he is like, the best. I’ll call him now.’
Already she was halfway across the room, fishing in her handbag, and I breathed out. She’d been standing too close but I’d been afraid to move, what with her being a lezzer. If it had been anyone else I could have stepped back, no bother, but I didn’t want her to think that I was uncomfortable around her and her lezzerness. Political correctness is a minefield. The palm pilot was out, she was tapping on her little cellphone, then talking. No waiting around. They do everything so fast here.
‘Dino? Kiss, kiss, baby. I want to schedule in my girlfriend with you. She has the best face and she needs a great cut. Tuesday?’ She looked up at me with her aquamarine eyes. ‘Maggie, Tuesday, six-thirty?’
I felt overrun, taken over. I quite liked it. ‘Sure.’ Why the hell not? ‘Tuesday is good.’
‘I got reason to celebrate too,’ Lara said, clenching a fist in the air. ‘Two Dead Men has finally dropped out of the top ten!’
‘Rock on!’ Emily exclaimed, and a general air of celebration prevailed.
Two Dead Men was a spoof gangster comedy film. What had it ever done to Lara?
‘Tell Maggie the story,’ Emily urged.
‘You want to hear it?’
‘Course!’
‘OK! As you know, I work in a production company, and one of my many, many duties is to do script reports. Like, read them, say what the chances of making a good movie are. Anyhoo, two years ago I get this script on my desk, it sucked and I totally trashed it. And the name of this piece of crap? Two Dead Men. Only one of the biggest comedy movies of the year!’ Her high spirits were infectious. ‘The day I read in Variety that Fox were going into production on it was one of the worst days of my life. I have prayed so HARD for it to bomb. I have SWEATED when I’ve seen the weekend grosses. And I came this close –’ she held up her thumb and first finger, leaving a tiny space between them,’– to losing my job.’
‘But you’re entitled to your opinion,’ I said.
‘Nuh-uh.’ She shook her head. ‘Not in Lala land. One strike and you’re out.’
‘I saw the original script too,’ Emily said. ‘And Lara was right, it was crap. I don’t think the writer meant it to be a comedy, but because it was so bad everyone assumed he had to be joking.’
‘But it’s all OK now,’ Lara beamed.
All of a sudden a low, rumbling vibration began. I felt it before I heard it and it built with alarming intensity. For a minute I thought it was an earthquake and that my mother had been right. How very annoying.
‘Gaaaagghh,’ Emily groaned. ‘They’re at it again. Drumming to the Rhythm of Life. Gobshites!’
‘Who?’
‘Next door. Mike and Charmaine and a load of professional adults who should know better. Banging Native American drums and hoping to find happiness. They do it on purpose to annoy me.’
‘You should never have stolen their “Armed Response” sign,’ Lara said.
‘Don’t I know it! Well, I’m left with no choice but to go shopping and buy something to wear to The Pitch. Any takers?’
Shopping! Apart from a sun-product splurgette in the duty-free, I hadn’t bought anything for ages – not since my life had gone belly-up. I experienced a little rush, feeling alert and almost normal, which intensified when it transpired that they both wanted to go to Rodeo Drive. Going to Rodeo Drive was what I should be doing, what anyone who came to LA would do, instead of sitting like a lost soul on a lonely beach. OK, so maybe it was a little out of my price range, but a girl could always dream. And use her credit card.
As we left the house, the Goatee Boys were also going out.
‘Hey, Lara!’ The one with the shaved head exploded in admiration. ‘You are the bomb, man, toadally the bomb!’
‘Thank you, Curtis.’
‘No, I’m Ethan. That’s Curtis.’
‘Hey.’ Curtis shyly raised a plumpish hand.
‘And I’m Luis.’ A pretty, Latino boy, with Bambi eyelashes and a neat little beard, also waved. ‘And you are the bomb.’
‘I was really hoping,’ Emily said wistfully, ‘that when term ended they’d pack up and leave and we’d get some proper neighbours in. But it looks like we’re stuck with them for the summer.’
The Goatee Boys were going out in their orange wreck. Luis placed his hand on the car roof, vaulted daintily through the open car window and arrived neatly in the driving side. Then Ethan placed his meaty hand on the roof on the other side and also swung in, feet first. But things weren’t so easy for plump Curtis, who got stuck Winnie-the-Pooh-like in the window space.
After we’d helped shove him in, we got into Lara’s car (a shiny silver pick-up truck about a mile long). The sky was blue, the silvery palm trees were swaying in the gentle breeze and I had a bit of a tan – all in all, things weren’t so bad.
