The first time I moved to New York City, it was under pretty dire circumstances.
I had just finished spending the craziest summer of my life with my biological mother and her crazy husband and their crazy ass cult in Lockhart, Texas.
By the end of the summer - early September - things were so out of control with them, I ended up staying with David AND his room-mate in their dorm room at U.T.
I had made a little money that summer modeling and doing some little acting jobs, and I sure as hell couldn't stay in their tiny dorm room, squished into David's single bed with him for too long....also - because of my crazy bio-mom - i was convinced that my real family hated me and never wanted to see me again. So I made the decision to move to the big apple and become an actress, or die trying.
I barely had ANY clothes (one of the ONLY times in my life THAT statement can be made) because they had all been left behind at the "ranch" in Lockhart.In fact, I remember having nothing to wear for 2 weeks except a pair of overalls and David's t-shirts....AND his underwear. The poor guy only HAD about 4 t-shirts. He was and is the most minimal human I've ever known. Years later, when I hung out with him in Los Angeles, his apartment was empty except for a beautiful grand piano that I would spend hours lying under while he practiced.
But I digress.I finally got my little paycheck from the J.C. Pennies newspaper shoot that I'd done, and good old Mr. Lambert at the Nau's pharmacy in Austin cashed what would be the first of many checks for me...just because he knew and loved my family, and I bought a Greyhound bus ticket for New York City.
Ahhh....the Dog! The good old Dog. That ticket probably cost me all of $69.00! My kids are all so spoiled they will probably never know the experience of riding cross-country on the Dog. But Uncle B and anyone else who's done it - they know what I'm talking about. The sights, the smells, the broken seats, the crazy people, the people you suspect are LIVING on the Dog - imagining them riding back and forth across the country with no-where to go, taking the occasional whore's bath in the swaying, stinky lavoratory....Nope. There's nothing like the Dog. And this was my third cross- country trip of the summer on that old beast.
The first trip had taken me from Lockhart to Malibu, Jeff Forrester, and magical happiness. The second trip had ripped me away from all of that - out of Oz - and back to a Goddamned horror show in the middle of Texas. I was crossing my fingers and toes and tossing up prayers that this trip on the Dog would take me somewhere wonderful.
I was very, very young. My previous experience with NYC had been going there with my Grandmother, Mary Nash. She took me with her to New York on a buying trip when I was 14 years old. I remember sitting in the cab from La Guardia and getting my first glimpse of the city. I felt like an Alien returning to her home planet!! Angels sang broadway tunes as the clouds parted and golden-silver light burst from the beautiful tall buildings to greet me.
We were driven straight to the Plaza Hotel by a New York cabby with a heavy Italian accent - as if he were cast just for my movie. The uniformed door-man at the plaza opened the big heavy door for my Grandmother and I saying "Welcome to the Plaza,Miss, Madam." and I breezed in wearing the adorable outfit I bought half price from my grandmother's dress store (where I had already been working for a couple of years) and gazed in awe at the Palm Court while Mary checked us in, looking glamorous and fresh in her Chanel suit and white gloves - even after a long plane trip.
That first trip - and every trip with my grandmother - was magical, magical HEAVEN for me. I fell deeply, deeply in love with the Plaza Hotel and the Palm court. I discovered what are still to this DAY my favorite chocolates in the world - at the chocolate shop in the lobby of the Plaza (tiny, delicate champaigne truffles that burst in your mouth like a little, tiny New Year's Eve party), we went to the very best Broadway shows - 'Dreamgirls' (4th row center),'Evita'(3rd row, center), 'the Fantastics'(first row, center), SO many! ...We met Jessica Tandy and Hume Cronan and hung OUT with them backstage - my FIRST TIME in NEW YORK CITY - and my beautiful Grandmother gets us backstage with the greatest American stage actors - and we're all chatting and laughing in their DRESSING ROOM!!!!
Then, my Grandmother does things like take me to the Dorset hotel for late night sandwiches and Brandy Alexanders in a black patent leather booth, surrounded by French business men...OF COURSE I loved New York!!!!
BUT....even at that young, stupid age....I knew that NYC wasn't going to be the same without Mary. I was smart enough to be scared. It had been a terrible summer, and on that long, stinky ride - I was terrified.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
the thing about trying to kill your heart....
Yea, yea ,yea. I know what you want. I know who you are, and i know what you want. And you know who you are, too. Don't even play with me, son.
But you will not get it. Not tonight. Perhaps not any time soon.
I'll tell you why. Because it hurts too much to go there.
I can't do it right now. I have an eye infection - and that hurts - and my ego is fragile and confused enough as it is. I feel like a MAN.
You see, I went to the doctor's for the eye infection, and for the not sleeping.So, on the one hand - I had to step on a scale - which is just like jumping into boiling oil, lately - and on the other hand - I went to the doctor's for the eye infection and the not sleeping.
I shall attempt to explain.Going to the doc's and having to face the reality of that scale is pretty horrible right now - let alone the REASON that the scale is so wonky...
Then, I have to TELL a med student that I've never met ....well, basically EVERYTHING! WHY I'm there - he looks at (yes, of course it's a cute, young guy - who's down at USC where the brother and mother of the guy I was just writing about are!)...and - ok - more truth here - I'm also going in for birth control pills.
Anyway, he looks at my swollen eye - I am wearing no makeup - and asks me about the eye, my sleep (or lack of), my sexual history, WHY am I not sleeping....all that stuff....seems to repeat my age like a hundred times, and I'm sitting on the edge of the thing thinking "this must be weird for such a young guy to ask a woman his mother's age about her sexual health and activity and all that stuff"...then he asks me about drugs.
"Do you drink? And if so, how often, how many?"
"Yes. I drink. A bit too much this last month. Maybe 3 or 4 times a week - 3or 4 cocktails or glasses of wine in an evening...I know. It's very bad.I think it will help me sleep, but it doesn't."
"And drugs...cocaine.." (what do I LOOK like??)
"No, no,no..nothing like that."
"What about marijuana?"
I must have looked a little guilty as I said "No. Nope.", because he looked at me the way a parent looks at a kid who is lying and they are bound to get the truth out of them.
I wasn't about to tell that cute 24 yr old that this woman his mother's age was having sex AND smoking the MJ......anyway - I haven't been doing that - hardly at all. It's just been making me think too much - and THAT is exactly what I'm trying to get away from!
Ahhh....the old days of mellow pot, that just made you hungry and horny and then put you to sleep! This new Cali shit is (MEDICAL, BTW) ..is just WAY too strong@!!!
I feel like one of 'The Doors' on this crazy shit. I was at the Doc's to get my hands on some xanax, for crying out loud! My modus has been to shut the old brain and heart down. Down and OUT. Frying pan right on the noggin. That's what i figure i need. LESS thinking, LESS feeling.
And the MJ just does the opposite.So....xanax for me.
This kid was pretty confusing, though. I could swear he was sort of flirting with me. But that was and is so unbelievable - I wrote it off as discomfort.
My doc, however - I always feel like he's flirting. WHY???? They don't get tips, or anything!!!??
My doc is this beautiful Indian man - who is married - I know because he wears a ring - who is probably a Saint. He always looks into my eyes, finds reasons to hold my hand or touch me, even if the visit doesn't require it...and he always asks me about my life when there is a waiting room full of people (which is always), and patiently listens to me blather on...
I don't know....maybe I'm imagining things - but he seems very warm and flirtatious. And this is SO flattering when you go in with a bunk eye and always looking your worst - and of course realizing that this guy sees EVERYTHING!
Why am I even writing about this?? Because I am trying to kill my heart. Not all of it. Just the part that gets suckered into buying men cars or taking them to France or believing they will leave their wife, or trusting that they will get off drugs or whatever. You know. That part.Miles and YEARS and miles away from Jeff in Malibu.
So. I went to get some xanax. Mission accomplished. I know exactly what to say. I learned it from my father. He has real panic attacks. Just specifically about bridges. He takes xanax about 30 minutes before he has to drive over a bridge - otherwise he has to stop, pull over and freak out for a while.
The thing about trying to kill your heart, is that just when you least suspect it, it will rise up, do it's job and fall for some sweet musician.
Gosh, I can't even tell you how hard I've been trying to kill this piece of my heart. I've been drinking, and following my sister's advice - which is basically - get super chunky and then men won't be interested and visa versa...
and it seemed to work for a while....
Then I went to Europe.
But you will not get it. Not tonight. Perhaps not any time soon.
I'll tell you why. Because it hurts too much to go there.
I can't do it right now. I have an eye infection - and that hurts - and my ego is fragile and confused enough as it is. I feel like a MAN.
You see, I went to the doctor's for the eye infection, and for the not sleeping.So, on the one hand - I had to step on a scale - which is just like jumping into boiling oil, lately - and on the other hand - I went to the doctor's for the eye infection and the not sleeping.
I shall attempt to explain.Going to the doc's and having to face the reality of that scale is pretty horrible right now - let alone the REASON that the scale is so wonky...
Then, I have to TELL a med student that I've never met ....well, basically EVERYTHING! WHY I'm there - he looks at (yes, of course it's a cute, young guy - who's down at USC where the brother and mother of the guy I was just writing about are!)...and - ok - more truth here - I'm also going in for birth control pills.
Anyway, he looks at my swollen eye - I am wearing no makeup - and asks me about the eye, my sleep (or lack of), my sexual history, WHY am I not sleeping....all that stuff....seems to repeat my age like a hundred times, and I'm sitting on the edge of the thing thinking "this must be weird for such a young guy to ask a woman his mother's age about her sexual health and activity and all that stuff"...then he asks me about drugs.
"Do you drink? And if so, how often, how many?"
"Yes. I drink. A bit too much this last month. Maybe 3 or 4 times a week - 3or 4 cocktails or glasses of wine in an evening...I know. It's very bad.I think it will help me sleep, but it doesn't."
"And drugs...cocaine.." (what do I LOOK like??)
"No, no,no..nothing like that."
"What about marijuana?"
I must have looked a little guilty as I said "No. Nope.", because he looked at me the way a parent looks at a kid who is lying and they are bound to get the truth out of them.
I wasn't about to tell that cute 24 yr old that this woman his mother's age was having sex AND smoking the MJ......anyway - I haven't been doing that - hardly at all. It's just been making me think too much - and THAT is exactly what I'm trying to get away from!
Ahhh....the old days of mellow pot, that just made you hungry and horny and then put you to sleep! This new Cali shit is (MEDICAL, BTW) ..is just WAY too strong@!!!
I feel like one of 'The Doors' on this crazy shit. I was at the Doc's to get my hands on some xanax, for crying out loud! My modus has been to shut the old brain and heart down. Down and OUT. Frying pan right on the noggin. That's what i figure i need. LESS thinking, LESS feeling.
And the MJ just does the opposite.So....xanax for me.
This kid was pretty confusing, though. I could swear he was sort of flirting with me. But that was and is so unbelievable - I wrote it off as discomfort.
My doc, however - I always feel like he's flirting. WHY???? They don't get tips, or anything!!!??
My doc is this beautiful Indian man - who is married - I know because he wears a ring - who is probably a Saint. He always looks into my eyes, finds reasons to hold my hand or touch me, even if the visit doesn't require it...and he always asks me about my life when there is a waiting room full of people (which is always), and patiently listens to me blather on...
I don't know....maybe I'm imagining things - but he seems very warm and flirtatious. And this is SO flattering when you go in with a bunk eye and always looking your worst - and of course realizing that this guy sees EVERYTHING!
Why am I even writing about this?? Because I am trying to kill my heart. Not all of it. Just the part that gets suckered into buying men cars or taking them to France or believing they will leave their wife, or trusting that they will get off drugs or whatever. You know. That part.Miles and YEARS and miles away from Jeff in Malibu.
So. I went to get some xanax. Mission accomplished. I know exactly what to say. I learned it from my father. He has real panic attacks. Just specifically about bridges. He takes xanax about 30 minutes before he has to drive over a bridge - otherwise he has to stop, pull over and freak out for a while.
The thing about trying to kill your heart, is that just when you least suspect it, it will rise up, do it's job and fall for some sweet musician.
Gosh, I can't even tell you how hard I've been trying to kill this piece of my heart. I've been drinking, and following my sister's advice - which is basically - get super chunky and then men won't be interested and visa versa...
and it seemed to work for a while....
Then I went to Europe.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
losing the guy i lost it to
After Jeff and I lay in his bed for a while, listening to Steve play the guitar - and me feeling spacey, euphoric and thinking I felt grown up all at the same time - we got dressed and snuck his sheets into the laundry downstairs.
Then Jeff had to go to his weekly karate class - or it may have been some other form of martial arts - but, we'll say karate for now.
His step-father drove, and of course i wanted to go with. At that moment i would have been happy to be super-glued to Jeff forever.
As we drove down the Pacific Coast highway (the famous #1), my body seemed to be be melting into the warm back seat of the car. The Ocean was sparkling like diamonds. The sea air smelled a little like Jeff's skin had - salty. Just a little bit. I leaned my head back and let my eyes close.
Then I couldn't help thinking about the week before - on that same drive.
The previous week, Jeff had found some other ride down to Santa Monica for his class, and I popped into the car with his step father to come pick him up.We were having a lovely conversation in the car, chit chatting about whatever it was, when, out of the blue - we were suddenly slowed to a stop by the traffic. A full stop.
"Bloody hell...what in the world?" Jeff's father remarked as we noticed people getting out of their vehicles and walking south on the narrow freeway. "Let me see what's going on", he said. "you stay in the car. I'll leave the keys just in case." and with that, he walked off in the same direction.
He returned shortly, shaking his head and laughing in disbelief. "You will never believe it.", he said. "It's the damndest thing!"
He got back into the car.."Look, if we don't start moving in less than 5 minutes or so - I'll send you up to have a look for yourself..."
And then, no sooner than he finished saying that than we saw people rushing back to their parked cars and getting in them.
The traffic started to move forward VERY slowly. Soon enough, I was able to see for myself what the trouble was. A HOUSE had slid down the hill from the Pacific Palisades and landed right on the south bound lane of the PCH.
I watched in awe and disbelief as we were directed passed the house in the one lane that had been cleared. There were firetrucks, flares, cones, bulldozers and loads of people at the scene - and the house was mostly in tact! It was AMAZING. Once again - I was NOT in Kansas any more!
Well, that had been the week before. The week that I was still a virgin. This week was amazing in a different way.
I waited in the little park outside the karate place for Jeff. It was just a little green square on a hill. I lay down on the grass, ignoring the crazy homeless man that moved to a spot a few feet away from me.I took inventory of how i felt. Physically, mentally, emotionally. I was stupid with happiness.
When Jeff got out off class, I was just waking up from a little doze. I blinked my eyes until he was in focus in his white uniform at the bottom of the hill. He was so cute.
I ran down the hill and threw my arms around his neck, and started kissing him all over. I kissed his cheeks, his eyes, his nose, his neck - I wanted to kiss every freckle on his whole body. I kissed his lips and his forehead.My heart was screaming "Thank you!" ...Thank you, thank you. thank you!
He had given me so much. He, and his family. This beautiful time. This amazing trip. This story that I would never lose. And I had nothing to give him back. Nothing. Nothing except kisses.
I looked right into his pretty eyes - that were so often turned away - and said it to him. "Thank you."
He ran his long hand over my hair. He looked at me with eyes that held a whole forest.He looked over my whole face - as if to remember it - then he kissed me,and held me close.
We made love a few more times over the next couple of days.Each time it hurt less. But we didn't have much time.
Jeff was getting on a plane for India. He was going to become a monk. Yep. That's right. About 3 days after I lost my virginity, my boyfriend had to go to India to become a celibate monk.
Jeff and his mother drove me to the Greyhound station the night before he had to leave.Packed me back off to Texas.
I felt like an emotional dam. I was trying so hard to be brave, but I am sure that all kinds of hurt was showing on my face - because I saw it reflected back at me in Jeff's mother's face. She looked so...empathetic, concerned - maybe just out right sorry for me.
It was horrible to look at her. To say goodbye. She was so pretty, and amazing. I was sure I would never meet anyone like her again.
Jeff's face, on the other hand, was stoic. His face read like - it was the end of a chapter. He was zenning out on me. He was already half way to India, I think.
I got on the bus without the floodgates bursting. It was not a goodbye without tears, but the hard knot in my throat that was getting harder by the second, seemed to be holding things back for the most part as I climbed into my seat and waved goodbye to them both out the window. I tried SO hard to hold it in until they couldn't see me.
The moment I thought they couldn't - the dam just broke. I sobbed my heart out.I cried so hard I probably looked like i was convulsing. I had no awareness of anyone around me for many, many miles. I couldn't stop crying. My throat wouldn't stop hurting.
Finally, when my violent sobs ebbed, I leaned my face against the cold glass of the bus window. Tears still streaming down from my swollen eyes as I plummeted into the blackness.
I wanted to stay in OZ. I never missed the gray, hot world I had come from. I didn't have an Auntie Em to worry about or be worried about me.
I didn't know then just how bad things would get that summer - or how crazy. But I did know enough to realize that I hadn't just lost my virginity.When I got on the bus to leave - I lost a way of being and feeling happy that I would never, ever be able to regain. Not completely. Because I was so innocent. Because I had never been hurt by a man yet.Because my trusting this family that I didn't know at all was so richly rewarded. Because these beautiful people, in this beautiful place took me into their world with no weirdness, no strings attached, no - well - with nothing but love and warmth and trust and humor.
I saw what things COULD be like. I lived it. And with Jeff.
There would never be another first time. Another Jeff. And it felt like I would never see any of them again.
Then Jeff had to go to his weekly karate class - or it may have been some other form of martial arts - but, we'll say karate for now.
His step-father drove, and of course i wanted to go with. At that moment i would have been happy to be super-glued to Jeff forever.
As we drove down the Pacific Coast highway (the famous #1), my body seemed to be be melting into the warm back seat of the car. The Ocean was sparkling like diamonds. The sea air smelled a little like Jeff's skin had - salty. Just a little bit. I leaned my head back and let my eyes close.
Then I couldn't help thinking about the week before - on that same drive.
The previous week, Jeff had found some other ride down to Santa Monica for his class, and I popped into the car with his step father to come pick him up.We were having a lovely conversation in the car, chit chatting about whatever it was, when, out of the blue - we were suddenly slowed to a stop by the traffic. A full stop.
"Bloody hell...what in the world?" Jeff's father remarked as we noticed people getting out of their vehicles and walking south on the narrow freeway. "Let me see what's going on", he said. "you stay in the car. I'll leave the keys just in case." and with that, he walked off in the same direction.
He returned shortly, shaking his head and laughing in disbelief. "You will never believe it.", he said. "It's the damndest thing!"
He got back into the car.."Look, if we don't start moving in less than 5 minutes or so - I'll send you up to have a look for yourself..."
And then, no sooner than he finished saying that than we saw people rushing back to their parked cars and getting in them.
The traffic started to move forward VERY slowly. Soon enough, I was able to see for myself what the trouble was. A HOUSE had slid down the hill from the Pacific Palisades and landed right on the south bound lane of the PCH.
I watched in awe and disbelief as we were directed passed the house in the one lane that had been cleared. There were firetrucks, flares, cones, bulldozers and loads of people at the scene - and the house was mostly in tact! It was AMAZING. Once again - I was NOT in Kansas any more!
Well, that had been the week before. The week that I was still a virgin. This week was amazing in a different way.
I waited in the little park outside the karate place for Jeff. It was just a little green square on a hill. I lay down on the grass, ignoring the crazy homeless man that moved to a spot a few feet away from me.I took inventory of how i felt. Physically, mentally, emotionally. I was stupid with happiness.
When Jeff got out off class, I was just waking up from a little doze. I blinked my eyes until he was in focus in his white uniform at the bottom of the hill. He was so cute.
I ran down the hill and threw my arms around his neck, and started kissing him all over. I kissed his cheeks, his eyes, his nose, his neck - I wanted to kiss every freckle on his whole body. I kissed his lips and his forehead.My heart was screaming "Thank you!" ...Thank you, thank you. thank you!
He had given me so much. He, and his family. This beautiful time. This amazing trip. This story that I would never lose. And I had nothing to give him back. Nothing. Nothing except kisses.
I looked right into his pretty eyes - that were so often turned away - and said it to him. "Thank you."
He ran his long hand over my hair. He looked at me with eyes that held a whole forest.He looked over my whole face - as if to remember it - then he kissed me,and held me close.
We made love a few more times over the next couple of days.Each time it hurt less. But we didn't have much time.
Jeff was getting on a plane for India. He was going to become a monk. Yep. That's right. About 3 days after I lost my virginity, my boyfriend had to go to India to become a celibate monk.
Jeff and his mother drove me to the Greyhound station the night before he had to leave.Packed me back off to Texas.
I felt like an emotional dam. I was trying so hard to be brave, but I am sure that all kinds of hurt was showing on my face - because I saw it reflected back at me in Jeff's mother's face. She looked so...empathetic, concerned - maybe just out right sorry for me.
It was horrible to look at her. To say goodbye. She was so pretty, and amazing. I was sure I would never meet anyone like her again.
Jeff's face, on the other hand, was stoic. His face read like - it was the end of a chapter. He was zenning out on me. He was already half way to India, I think.
I got on the bus without the floodgates bursting. It was not a goodbye without tears, but the hard knot in my throat that was getting harder by the second, seemed to be holding things back for the most part as I climbed into my seat and waved goodbye to them both out the window. I tried SO hard to hold it in until they couldn't see me.
The moment I thought they couldn't - the dam just broke. I sobbed my heart out.I cried so hard I probably looked like i was convulsing. I had no awareness of anyone around me for many, many miles. I couldn't stop crying. My throat wouldn't stop hurting.
Finally, when my violent sobs ebbed, I leaned my face against the cold glass of the bus window. Tears still streaming down from my swollen eyes as I plummeted into the blackness.
I wanted to stay in OZ. I never missed the gray, hot world I had come from. I didn't have an Auntie Em to worry about or be worried about me.
I didn't know then just how bad things would get that summer - or how crazy. But I did know enough to realize that I hadn't just lost my virginity.When I got on the bus to leave - I lost a way of being and feeling happy that I would never, ever be able to regain. Not completely. Because I was so innocent. Because I had never been hurt by a man yet.Because my trusting this family that I didn't know at all was so richly rewarded. Because these beautiful people, in this beautiful place took me into their world with no weirdness, no strings attached, no - well - with nothing but love and warmth and trust and humor.
I saw what things COULD be like. I lived it. And with Jeff.
There would never be another first time. Another Jeff. And it felt like I would never see any of them again.
Monday, July 12, 2010
lost.
There was another component to my visit with Jeff.
There was his father's house.
I don't know exactly when we went over there, but it must have been at least a few days in. After I had become relaxed and comfy at his mom's.
I knew before we even got there - from Jeff's demeanor - that his father's house would be very different. And it was.
Not far away, but a whole world away in some respects. Where his mother's house was sunny, his father's was shady and dark.Where his mother's house smelled like flowers, and herbs and the sea, his fathers house smelled like Pinesol and moth balls.Where dinner at his mother's house was friendly and relaxed, full of laughter from the very start, his father's dinner table was stiff.
Not unkind, mind you. I found myself at a formal feeling dinner with Jeff, his Father, his father's wife, and their 6 or 7 yr old little boy. On a Tuesday. In the summer. I remember Jeff's father clearing his throat quite a bit, a lot of akward silences, and both parents looking at me like they had NO idea what to say to me or what to make of me.
I found myself looking my own outfit over to see if I had inadvertently worn some 'Madonna'- esque piece that would offend these upright Brain surgeons...Nope. Not even one of my signature cut- to- shreds tee shirts. I probably wasn't wearing a bra. I never did. But I'm only realizing that that might have ruffled them now, while writing this.
I thought it was certainly all about me - this discomfort and ...I didn't even know what....and THEN...something revealed itself.
I started to observe as dinner went on, that these grown ups were even more akward with their own sons. The 6 year old in particular.
His name was Justin. And he was so cute. But, as any normal 6 year old boy would do - he was squirming in his seat, trying to make jokes, and - you know - just bored with having to sit quietly at the dinner table and eat his vegetables.
I realized that his parents were looking at him and each other as though he were an alien. They did not get him at all.He could have been speaking another language.
I, however,being the oldest of six children, was fluent in 'little boy'. So I started joking back with him, answering his questions, asking some of my own.. And the atmosphere around the table seemed to sigh a great breath of relief. I felt like the ambassador to Kidland.
Justin and I shortly excused ourselves from the table (It was clear Jeff's father wanted to do some real catching up with him), and made our way to his bedroom where we told some more jokes, he showed me his toys, and i got him into his PJ's and started to read him a story. At the end of the story, Justin's mom came in and sat at the edge of the bed with a lovely smile on her face. She looked about a million times more relaxed than she had at the dinner table.
I thought I knew what was going on. She and her husband had big, stressful grown-up jobs that they had to do every day. They had this little boy when they were a bit older - more set in their ways, and it didn't seem like either of them spoke the language. So Justin was confusing to them sometimes. When he thought he was being the most witty fellow in the room telling some wicked good fart joke, then screaming with laughter - they mistook it for bad behavior at the dinner table. And they were tired. Any one who's ever been around a 6 yr old boy knows that they almost ALWAYS have a LOT of energy. It's hard to deal with that much energy when you're 40 and you've been thinking about brains and important, serious things all day. ...MUCH easier for a 17yr old who still has about three quarters of that energy.
Anyway.Jeff and I listened to the James Taylor greatest hits album about a dozen times at his dad's house. And some Nat King Cole. And I fell in love with Justin.
The best day we had over there was when Jeff took us to the beach to see the seals. I was skeptical that we would really see them up close - but we did! Justin and I sat at the edge of a giant rock getting splashed over and over again by waves that sparkled in the sun. And the seals were right there, as promised.
Jeff watched us from a distance, tee-shirt wrapped around his head, hiding from the sun like a sensible red head, reading his book. He was finally seduced into joining us because we were having SO much fun.It was one of the best days of my life.
By the end of my trip, Jeff's step mother and father offered me a nanny position. I will always wonder what my life would have looked like if I'd taken it.
As the days and nights went by, and especially after my poison oak had cleared up, something began to change between Jeff and I.
It was small. So small, I thought maybe I was imagining it.I wasn't.
By the fourth of July, we were back at Jeff's mom's house. We all went to this super fabulous party on the beach. It was at a family friend's house. Their back yard was the Malibu beach. Jeff, his brother and Steve didn't seem to think it was any big deal - but I was kind of blown away. It looked like a movie to me.
I was in a great mood. But something was a little off with Jeff. So Steve and I went on a walk down the beach. Jeff ended up following us - a little petulantly at first, I think. Steve had beer. We drank it. There may have been champaigne. I decided I was a mermaid and took half my clothes off - swam out to a big rock. An 'island'. Jeff came out to drag me back when I threatened to sleep there all night, and we ended up kissing on the sand.
I remember being freezing cold - he found a blanket or a big towel that we wrapped up in together.I was warm, even in my wet panties - all snuggled up to his chest. Completely high on love. And then the fireworks came. Right over our heads.
They were so beautiful, and so close.It felt like the Universe was putting on this great show - just for me. Just for us.
I lost my purse with all my money and my ID to the tide that night - but I could care less.
When we got home and into bed, I finally had the courage to ask Jeff what was wrong.
"Nothing", he said.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course, it's nothing." he said. Then he turned his back to me and rolled further away from me.
"well, why are you way over there, then?"
" I just can't take it any more, Jennifer."
"ah", I thought.
I had suspected as much.We still hadn't had sex. It was getting hard for me, too.
But I couldn't - didn't know how to deal with that hurt, slightly mad tone in his voice that night. It hurt me to hear it. Especially after being a mermaid and kissing under the fireworks, laughing with Steve - the 3 Muskateers - all of it.
I went to sleep with a terrible lump in my throat feeling helpless and inadequate.
The next day, Jeff and I did that weird avoiding thing that people figure out how to do when they are in each other's company, and in front of other people, and don't know how to deal - or have a private moment to do it.
It was a beautiful day. AGAIN. Malibu. Sun. Steve being charming - everyone but us apparently in the best fucking mood of their whole lives.
In the afternoon, Jeff snuck away from me to go practice the Sax in his room.
That hurt. I wasn't going to let that happen. So, when I heard him playing upstairs, I shot Steve a look, and Steve seemed to give me a "go ahead" look back, and I ran up there like a little bunny rabbit and jumped on the bed.
Jeff cut his playing short and came over to sit with me. He let out this big, dramatic sigh and said, "What do you want?"
"Well, I'm not the agressive type, but I never said I didn't want to...you know. I just haven't been able to start it - and I think you're such a nice guy, such a gentleman...I mean it's just a misunderstanding."
"Yea. Well, the thing is, Jennifer, that we've been fooling around so much, and it's gotten so close - and I just can't take it anymore. It's making me crazy. When we stop."
"So. Let's not stop."
he rolled his eyes a little bit, "When?"
"Now. Let's not stop now."
he still looked a little bit frustrated so I repeated myself as I started unbuttoning his shirt, "Right now. No stopping."
That got him cracked open.
As we undressed each other, Steve Fox began playing classical guitar right under our window, which made us laugh even more than we already were.
"Well, I don't think you planned this.." I said.
I wasn't nervous. Not much.I was nervous about it hurting, but nothing else.
The music kept playing as we finally didn't stop.He kept looking into my eyes, a little worried - maybe I was scrunching up my face or something. It did hurt. But I looked right back at him and kept saying "It's ok. It's ok."
He was smooth and perfect, and everything was silky and lovely down there.
I trusted him. Absolutely.
When we were done this wave of euphoria began to engulf me. It kind of snuck up on me - and things just didn't feel very real. Steve was still playing under our window, a breeze was coming in from the garden just barely caressing our warm bodies, and there was....blood on the sheets.
I don't know why that surprised me so much. But it did.
Jeff had beautiful, light blue sheets. He didn't make a big deal out of the blood at all.
I lost my virginity on a beautiful afternoon in Malibu California with classical guitar serenading us. I "lost" it to someone I knew I would always love.
There was his father's house.
I don't know exactly when we went over there, but it must have been at least a few days in. After I had become relaxed and comfy at his mom's.
I knew before we even got there - from Jeff's demeanor - that his father's house would be very different. And it was.
Not far away, but a whole world away in some respects. Where his mother's house was sunny, his father's was shady and dark.Where his mother's house smelled like flowers, and herbs and the sea, his fathers house smelled like Pinesol and moth balls.Where dinner at his mother's house was friendly and relaxed, full of laughter from the very start, his father's dinner table was stiff.
Not unkind, mind you. I found myself at a formal feeling dinner with Jeff, his Father, his father's wife, and their 6 or 7 yr old little boy. On a Tuesday. In the summer. I remember Jeff's father clearing his throat quite a bit, a lot of akward silences, and both parents looking at me like they had NO idea what to say to me or what to make of me.
I found myself looking my own outfit over to see if I had inadvertently worn some 'Madonna'- esque piece that would offend these upright Brain surgeons...Nope. Not even one of my signature cut- to- shreds tee shirts. I probably wasn't wearing a bra. I never did. But I'm only realizing that that might have ruffled them now, while writing this.
I thought it was certainly all about me - this discomfort and ...I didn't even know what....and THEN...something revealed itself.
I started to observe as dinner went on, that these grown ups were even more akward with their own sons. The 6 year old in particular.
His name was Justin. And he was so cute. But, as any normal 6 year old boy would do - he was squirming in his seat, trying to make jokes, and - you know - just bored with having to sit quietly at the dinner table and eat his vegetables.
I realized that his parents were looking at him and each other as though he were an alien. They did not get him at all.He could have been speaking another language.
I, however,being the oldest of six children, was fluent in 'little boy'. So I started joking back with him, answering his questions, asking some of my own.. And the atmosphere around the table seemed to sigh a great breath of relief. I felt like the ambassador to Kidland.
Justin and I shortly excused ourselves from the table (It was clear Jeff's father wanted to do some real catching up with him), and made our way to his bedroom where we told some more jokes, he showed me his toys, and i got him into his PJ's and started to read him a story. At the end of the story, Justin's mom came in and sat at the edge of the bed with a lovely smile on her face. She looked about a million times more relaxed than she had at the dinner table.
I thought I knew what was going on. She and her husband had big, stressful grown-up jobs that they had to do every day. They had this little boy when they were a bit older - more set in their ways, and it didn't seem like either of them spoke the language. So Justin was confusing to them sometimes. When he thought he was being the most witty fellow in the room telling some wicked good fart joke, then screaming with laughter - they mistook it for bad behavior at the dinner table. And they were tired. Any one who's ever been around a 6 yr old boy knows that they almost ALWAYS have a LOT of energy. It's hard to deal with that much energy when you're 40 and you've been thinking about brains and important, serious things all day. ...MUCH easier for a 17yr old who still has about three quarters of that energy.
Anyway.Jeff and I listened to the James Taylor greatest hits album about a dozen times at his dad's house. And some Nat King Cole. And I fell in love with Justin.
The best day we had over there was when Jeff took us to the beach to see the seals. I was skeptical that we would really see them up close - but we did! Justin and I sat at the edge of a giant rock getting splashed over and over again by waves that sparkled in the sun. And the seals were right there, as promised.
Jeff watched us from a distance, tee-shirt wrapped around his head, hiding from the sun like a sensible red head, reading his book. He was finally seduced into joining us because we were having SO much fun.It was one of the best days of my life.
By the end of my trip, Jeff's step mother and father offered me a nanny position. I will always wonder what my life would have looked like if I'd taken it.
As the days and nights went by, and especially after my poison oak had cleared up, something began to change between Jeff and I.
It was small. So small, I thought maybe I was imagining it.I wasn't.
By the fourth of July, we were back at Jeff's mom's house. We all went to this super fabulous party on the beach. It was at a family friend's house. Their back yard was the Malibu beach. Jeff, his brother and Steve didn't seem to think it was any big deal - but I was kind of blown away. It looked like a movie to me.
I was in a great mood. But something was a little off with Jeff. So Steve and I went on a walk down the beach. Jeff ended up following us - a little petulantly at first, I think. Steve had beer. We drank it. There may have been champaigne. I decided I was a mermaid and took half my clothes off - swam out to a big rock. An 'island'. Jeff came out to drag me back when I threatened to sleep there all night, and we ended up kissing on the sand.
I remember being freezing cold - he found a blanket or a big towel that we wrapped up in together.I was warm, even in my wet panties - all snuggled up to his chest. Completely high on love. And then the fireworks came. Right over our heads.
They were so beautiful, and so close.It felt like the Universe was putting on this great show - just for me. Just for us.
I lost my purse with all my money and my ID to the tide that night - but I could care less.
When we got home and into bed, I finally had the courage to ask Jeff what was wrong.
"Nothing", he said.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course, it's nothing." he said. Then he turned his back to me and rolled further away from me.
"well, why are you way over there, then?"
" I just can't take it any more, Jennifer."
"ah", I thought.
I had suspected as much.We still hadn't had sex. It was getting hard for me, too.
But I couldn't - didn't know how to deal with that hurt, slightly mad tone in his voice that night. It hurt me to hear it. Especially after being a mermaid and kissing under the fireworks, laughing with Steve - the 3 Muskateers - all of it.
I went to sleep with a terrible lump in my throat feeling helpless and inadequate.
The next day, Jeff and I did that weird avoiding thing that people figure out how to do when they are in each other's company, and in front of other people, and don't know how to deal - or have a private moment to do it.
It was a beautiful day. AGAIN. Malibu. Sun. Steve being charming - everyone but us apparently in the best fucking mood of their whole lives.
In the afternoon, Jeff snuck away from me to go practice the Sax in his room.
That hurt. I wasn't going to let that happen. So, when I heard him playing upstairs, I shot Steve a look, and Steve seemed to give me a "go ahead" look back, and I ran up there like a little bunny rabbit and jumped on the bed.
Jeff cut his playing short and came over to sit with me. He let out this big, dramatic sigh and said, "What do you want?"
"Well, I'm not the agressive type, but I never said I didn't want to...you know. I just haven't been able to start it - and I think you're such a nice guy, such a gentleman...I mean it's just a misunderstanding."
"Yea. Well, the thing is, Jennifer, that we've been fooling around so much, and it's gotten so close - and I just can't take it anymore. It's making me crazy. When we stop."
"So. Let's not stop."
he rolled his eyes a little bit, "When?"
"Now. Let's not stop now."
he still looked a little bit frustrated so I repeated myself as I started unbuttoning his shirt, "Right now. No stopping."
That got him cracked open.
As we undressed each other, Steve Fox began playing classical guitar right under our window, which made us laugh even more than we already were.
"Well, I don't think you planned this.." I said.
I wasn't nervous. Not much.I was nervous about it hurting, but nothing else.
The music kept playing as we finally didn't stop.He kept looking into my eyes, a little worried - maybe I was scrunching up my face or something. It did hurt. But I looked right back at him and kept saying "It's ok. It's ok."
He was smooth and perfect, and everything was silky and lovely down there.
I trusted him. Absolutely.
When we were done this wave of euphoria began to engulf me. It kind of snuck up on me - and things just didn't feel very real. Steve was still playing under our window, a breeze was coming in from the garden just barely caressing our warm bodies, and there was....blood on the sheets.
I don't know why that surprised me so much. But it did.
Jeff had beautiful, light blue sheets. He didn't make a big deal out of the blood at all.
I lost my virginity on a beautiful afternoon in Malibu California with classical guitar serenading us. I "lost" it to someone I knew I would always love.
.....and WHY has it taken this long?
It's taken this long because my computer crashed. Took everything with it. And it cost SO much money to fix/regain content.
But that's not really why. It's been up and running for months now.
It's taken so long because I went to Thailand, came back to crisis, was in the last dramatic throws of a huge lawsuit, and then I cut out and went to Europe for a little while.
But that's not really why , either. It's because I don't want to finish the story.
Like a book you don't want to end. Start reading slower and slower as you come to the last chapters.I never wanted this story to end.
There aren't that many stories like that in my life. Lots of good ones.And LOADS that i couldn't WAIT to end....but there has never been a story like this.
This story was for me a beginning and an end. And many of the people that went to Interlochen may be able to relate on some level.
Leaving Interlochen was hard enough no matter who your parents were, or what great college or conservatory you were going to.For me, this was losing my virginity on many levels at once.
And ,maybe, it's also because I don't feel like a very good writer anymore - and I want so badly to do it justice.
But what the hell. There is always the option to rewrite, and i can't sleep anyway.....
But that's not really why. It's been up and running for months now.
It's taken so long because I went to Thailand, came back to crisis, was in the last dramatic throws of a huge lawsuit, and then I cut out and went to Europe for a little while.
But that's not really why , either. It's because I don't want to finish the story.
Like a book you don't want to end. Start reading slower and slower as you come to the last chapters.I never wanted this story to end.
There aren't that many stories like that in my life. Lots of good ones.And LOADS that i couldn't WAIT to end....but there has never been a story like this.
This story was for me a beginning and an end. And many of the people that went to Interlochen may be able to relate on some level.
Leaving Interlochen was hard enough no matter who your parents were, or what great college or conservatory you were going to.For me, this was losing my virginity on many levels at once.
And ,maybe, it's also because I don't feel like a very good writer anymore - and I want so badly to do it justice.
But what the hell. There is always the option to rewrite, and i can't sleep anyway.....
Monday, February 8, 2010
Losing IT...part 2.
Let me first quickly apologize for my blatant disrespect for capitol letters, and pledge to TRY to do better by them in the future.
Ok. Malibu. Summer after my senior year of high school. Jeff's mother's house. The most beautiful house I have EVER been to. It still is my dream house to this very day. I mean, if I saw it again, I might change my mind - but I don't think so. In my memory, it is exactly the house that I would love to own and live in. And the very best thing about it, was the garden.
Jeff's mother (now that I could actually hear what she was saying), suggested that we have our breakfast outside. So we did.
The minute we stepped outside into the yard, I fell madly and passionately in love. Oh! That yard was so AMAZING! I will tell you right now that I am a Taurus - which means that I am an extremely sensual person. And this backyard was like an attack on all of them.
There was a good sized pool - not huge - but a pretty shape, and big enough to do some decent laps in, and great outdoor eating area, lots of little areas and paths that begged to be explored...but most of all - the GARDENS.
The majority of the yard was taken up by these beautiful, beautiful gardens. They were full of vegetables, herbs, flowers - all bursting out of their raised beds, a cacophony of color and sweet smells. Because of this incredible wealth of flora, the back yard was also filled with butterflies and bees, and the prettiest sounding birds.
As i took it all in - the scents of rosemary and roses, the sounds of the birds and the bees (literally),the clean air kissed ever so slightly with ocean salt, and the warm California sun on my hair - I knew right away - without being told - that this, too, was the creation of Jeff's beautiful mother.
During the next month (I think I stayed there for about a month), I learned that she ran every day, was a brain surgeon, and had written at least one (I did say I would forget details) highly respected book on brain surgery or research or something like that. This woman was a dynamo. She also turned out to be incredibly cool and kind. She was the kind of person who could laugh at herself. Her boys would tease her about the "baby-talk" voice she used when she was talking to the dog. I remember her swatting at them, and laughing. She was also incredibly kind to me when I got the worst case of poison oak I've ever had in my life! I was COVERED....COVERED in itchy bumps - it was horrible. I was quarantined in the guest room for days.
Anyway, a couple of days after I got there, she demonstrated how cool she was by allowing me to move into Jeff's room with him. We WERE out of high school and everything, but still - some parents would not have been ok with it.
I was certain, with this new development, that I was in paradise.
The days were spent doing nothing much - but everything that means a damn to me. I watched Jeff water his mother's garden every day with a t-shirt wrapped around his head, sometimes helping, sometimes getting thrown into the pool by his god-like brother...at dinner every night, Jeff's mom would go into the garden with a basket and some garden shears and cut beautiful things for the evening's salad. At dinner there would be scintillating conversation, and laughter. Usually, Jeff practiced the Sax in the afternoon for about an hour in his dreamy bedroom - it was upstairs, overlooking the garden - and I would lounge around on his bed drinking in the music as if it were a warm, sexy drug.
At night (and in the afternoon sometimes), I had the privilege of sleeping in the same bed with Jeff. We snuggled, kissed, took most of our clothes off....and for some reason always stopped short of making love. It was heaven anyway. And just when I thought that world at his mother's house couldn't get any better - it did.
Jeff's good friend, Steve Fox, came for a visit. I knew him from Interlochen, too - but not well.
Steve was a really cool New York cat. He played the guitar. He played it really, really well. Classical, jazz - I think he could play anything.
With Steve there, there was even more music in the house, the dinner conversations got even better, and the 3 of us (Jeff, Steve and I) had a couple of cool adventures.
One of them involved climbing some pretty sticky mountains. I was NOT wearing good climbing shoes. They may have even been penny-loafers, and about three quarters of the way up the mountain, with rocks and and dirt crumbling from under my feet, and nothing I could see to grab on to - I was stuck. Paralyzed with fear.
I was convinced that someone was going to have to call a helicopter.I couldn't move. Then, Steve Fox climbed back down to me and taught me a valuable lesson.
After minutes wasted on trying to talk some sense into me - he realized the magnitude of my fear, and started singing.
"Come on, sing with me", he coaxed.
I shook my head like a four year old.
"It's ok. Don't think about moving right now. You're ok where you are. Just sing with me. Or at least hum..."
He started to sing again, and I started to look down. It was really, really far down - I was FREAKING.
"No, no,no....don't look down! Look at me. Look right at me", Steve Fox said with some authority in his voice.
I did what he said. He started singing again.
"Sing with me, Jennifer. I don't have the greatest voice here.."
I did what he said. I started singing, and soon enough, I had sung my way to the top of the mountain. When I got to the top - I collapsed in the dirt, laughing and yelping in relief.
On the path on the way down, we saw a beautiful big snake. I was scared of that, too - but they both assured me that it wasn't poisonous. It didn't matter, I had gotten my share of poison that day. That was when I got the horrible, horrible poison oak....ugh! It was sooo frustrating, just when Jeff and I seemed to be about to seal the sex deal - a HUGE delay!
Three years later, Steve Fox flew me over from London to audition for a Broadway musical his family was producing. I was pretty surprised, considering the only time he ever heard me sing was on that mountain.
...to be continued....
Ok. Malibu. Summer after my senior year of high school. Jeff's mother's house. The most beautiful house I have EVER been to. It still is my dream house to this very day. I mean, if I saw it again, I might change my mind - but I don't think so. In my memory, it is exactly the house that I would love to own and live in. And the very best thing about it, was the garden.
Jeff's mother (now that I could actually hear what she was saying), suggested that we have our breakfast outside. So we did.
The minute we stepped outside into the yard, I fell madly and passionately in love. Oh! That yard was so AMAZING! I will tell you right now that I am a Taurus - which means that I am an extremely sensual person. And this backyard was like an attack on all of them.
There was a good sized pool - not huge - but a pretty shape, and big enough to do some decent laps in, and great outdoor eating area, lots of little areas and paths that begged to be explored...but most of all - the GARDENS.
The majority of the yard was taken up by these beautiful, beautiful gardens. They were full of vegetables, herbs, flowers - all bursting out of their raised beds, a cacophony of color and sweet smells. Because of this incredible wealth of flora, the back yard was also filled with butterflies and bees, and the prettiest sounding birds.
As i took it all in - the scents of rosemary and roses, the sounds of the birds and the bees (literally),the clean air kissed ever so slightly with ocean salt, and the warm California sun on my hair - I knew right away - without being told - that this, too, was the creation of Jeff's beautiful mother.
During the next month (I think I stayed there for about a month), I learned that she ran every day, was a brain surgeon, and had written at least one (I did say I would forget details) highly respected book on brain surgery or research or something like that. This woman was a dynamo. She also turned out to be incredibly cool and kind. She was the kind of person who could laugh at herself. Her boys would tease her about the "baby-talk" voice she used when she was talking to the dog. I remember her swatting at them, and laughing. She was also incredibly kind to me when I got the worst case of poison oak I've ever had in my life! I was COVERED....COVERED in itchy bumps - it was horrible. I was quarantined in the guest room for days.
Anyway, a couple of days after I got there, she demonstrated how cool she was by allowing me to move into Jeff's room with him. We WERE out of high school and everything, but still - some parents would not have been ok with it.
I was certain, with this new development, that I was in paradise.
The days were spent doing nothing much - but everything that means a damn to me. I watched Jeff water his mother's garden every day with a t-shirt wrapped around his head, sometimes helping, sometimes getting thrown into the pool by his god-like brother...at dinner every night, Jeff's mom would go into the garden with a basket and some garden shears and cut beautiful things for the evening's salad. At dinner there would be scintillating conversation, and laughter. Usually, Jeff practiced the Sax in the afternoon for about an hour in his dreamy bedroom - it was upstairs, overlooking the garden - and I would lounge around on his bed drinking in the music as if it were a warm, sexy drug.
At night (and in the afternoon sometimes), I had the privilege of sleeping in the same bed with Jeff. We snuggled, kissed, took most of our clothes off....and for some reason always stopped short of making love. It was heaven anyway. And just when I thought that world at his mother's house couldn't get any better - it did.
Jeff's good friend, Steve Fox, came for a visit. I knew him from Interlochen, too - but not well.
Steve was a really cool New York cat. He played the guitar. He played it really, really well. Classical, jazz - I think he could play anything.
With Steve there, there was even more music in the house, the dinner conversations got even better, and the 3 of us (Jeff, Steve and I) had a couple of cool adventures.
One of them involved climbing some pretty sticky mountains. I was NOT wearing good climbing shoes. They may have even been penny-loafers, and about three quarters of the way up the mountain, with rocks and and dirt crumbling from under my feet, and nothing I could see to grab on to - I was stuck. Paralyzed with fear.
I was convinced that someone was going to have to call a helicopter.I couldn't move. Then, Steve Fox climbed back down to me and taught me a valuable lesson.
After minutes wasted on trying to talk some sense into me - he realized the magnitude of my fear, and started singing.
"Come on, sing with me", he coaxed.
I shook my head like a four year old.
"It's ok. Don't think about moving right now. You're ok where you are. Just sing with me. Or at least hum..."
He started to sing again, and I started to look down. It was really, really far down - I was FREAKING.
"No, no,no....don't look down! Look at me. Look right at me", Steve Fox said with some authority in his voice.
I did what he said. He started singing again.
"Sing with me, Jennifer. I don't have the greatest voice here.."
I did what he said. I started singing, and soon enough, I had sung my way to the top of the mountain. When I got to the top - I collapsed in the dirt, laughing and yelping in relief.
On the path on the way down, we saw a beautiful big snake. I was scared of that, too - but they both assured me that it wasn't poisonous. It didn't matter, I had gotten my share of poison that day. That was when I got the horrible, horrible poison oak....ugh! It was sooo frustrating, just when Jeff and I seemed to be about to seal the sex deal - a HUGE delay!
Three years later, Steve Fox flew me over from London to audition for a Broadway musical his family was producing. I was pretty surprised, considering the only time he ever heard me sing was on that mountain.
...to be continued....
Finally Losing IT...(getting there)
the summer after high school turned out to be the strangest time of my life - by far. in fact, it is an entire novel on it's own. so i don't intend to get into it now.
only one little part of it.
after Interlochen, i journeyed to Lockhart, TX, to get to know my biological mother, who had left my brothers and i when i was 4. she'd run away to mexico with a married preacher and never really tried to get in contact with me until my senior year of high school.
without getting into that big, twisted story, suffice it for now to say that shortly after i arrived at the ranch in Lockhart, my 'mother' and her crazy,gun hoarding husband decided it would be a good idea for me to visit Jeff Forrester out in Malibu. so they packed me onto a Greyhound bus with a couple of weird sandwiches, and sent me off. my mother saying things like "You just feel free to stay out there and become a movie star". i was 17 at the time.
i travelled half way across the country with a mixture of excitement and fear. probably more fear than excitement...for a couple of reasons. firstly, i had never met Jeff's family. And who knows what they would be like..Secondly, i had been to LA before. and it was WEIRD.
the previous summer, my boyfriend was Noah Blake. we also met at Interlochen. He was (and is) Robert Blake's son, and they lived in LA.
much to my SHOCK - my grandmother allowed Noah to fly me out to LA to visit him. it turned out to be a horrible visit. Noah quickly ignored me. His father was a kind of creepy, and i ended up hanging out with Noah's sister and Moon Unit Zappa the whole time. they were nice, and i remember having some fun with them in Westwood - but over-all, LA seemed like a huge,ugly,sprawling,grey suburb. it took forever to get anywhere, there didn't seem to be a "city" or downtown section to the mess - and it just didn't seem glamorous or fun at all. i must have been there at the worst time of the year, because the whole city seemed to be bathed in this muddy grey-brown haze. no sharp or vivid colors. everything was muddy and in soft focus. And instead of the hippy-healthy restaurants i was expecting to see, there were gross looking fast food places on every corner. More chili burger joints and donut shops than i had ever seen in one place. i imagined the entire city was full of fat, stupid police men eating donuts and chili burgers. The police men idea obviously came from my limited TV knowledge of their love for donuts, and the fact that there were constant sounds of sirens and police helicopters day and night.
LA was a BIG let down.
So, when i arrived (probably in Santa Monica - i don't think they allow Greyhound busses to come into Malibu) in the middle of the night, exhausted and cramped from trying not to touch or be touched by any of the crazy,stinky fat people on the bus, i didn't know what to expect.
I remember Jeff and someone else picking me up from the fluorescent station and transporting me with utmost delicacy to his mother's house. It felt like i was a fragile patient or something - just getting out of the hospital. Hushed voices, people being calm and soothing. i was ushered into a clean smelling room in a dark house. Everyone else in the house was clearly asleep,so i didn't ask about a shower - just passed out gratefully in a comfortable bed with nice sheets.
Because it had been so late and so dark when i arrived (and i was so tired), i had no concept of where i had landed until the next morning. But as soon as the sun came streaming in, and Jeff poked his face in door to see if i was awake - things started looking up. I was shown to a nice bathroom, where i took one of the best showers of my life (anyone who's been on a Greyhound bus for a couple of days should understand this), and noted that the soap smelled like a spa. Not that I had ever been to a spa, but i imagined that spa soap would smell that way.....turns out i was right about the soap. And there were big cotton towels, and a huge,fluffy robe for me to snuggle into.
Even before I made it out of the bathroom, the cozy smells of bacon and good coffee were making their way through the house. I threw on some clothes, and found my way to the kitchen.
I believe the memory of entering into that kitchen for the first time has embedded itself into my emotional DNA somehow. Although I know I don't remember many of the details, I remember the feelings, and the thoughts that ran ran through my head so clearly. And the first thought I had upon seeing, smelling and feeling that beautiful kitchen was "I'm not in Kansas anymore. And Malibu does NOT appear to be Los Angeles."
What I saw was this : 1. Jeff's mother. A petite, beautiful woman with a perfect tan and short,blonde hair who appeared to have happy sparkles flying out of her head and fingertips as she gracefully and efficiently helped her Latino housekeeper set things out for breakfast. She was definitely a morning person. I think she could have lit up a neighborhood with the electric energy that was already emanating out of her small, toned body at this early hour. This was clearly her world. From the instant I saw her, there was no doubt that she was responsible for this fabulous house, and this sun-lit kitchen. She immediately smiled at me, and her smile was bright and welcoming - it seemed completely comfortable and sincere.
She must have said something like "Good morning", or "How did you sleep?" - but I was in a state of shock. It felt like I was experiencing everything in slow motion with the dialogue volume turned way down, and the sound of the birds outside, and the bacon sizzling turned way up. I felt like I had stumbled into a house that was torn right out of a 'Better House and Gardens' magazine - and the people that went with it. I had been in some beautiful houses before. Some giant mansions in Dallas, even. But nothing like this. This was sort of a California "casual", spanish style house. Not ostentatious or cold in the least, just perfect, cozy style.
2. Next I saw Jeff's brother. He looked exactly like his mother's son. Athletic,smiling,perfect tan,surfer blonde hair....just like a magazine or movie depiction of the perfect, gorgeous California boy. He, too smiled at me immediately. But he seemed to have more going on in that smile of his. He was (understandably), sizing me up ,for one. I could hear the wheels turning in his head , "Now , what has my big brother brought home?"
The other thing I sensed in that first smile was mischief. Kind mischief, but most definitely mischief. I was thoroughly intimidated by both of these perfect looking, confident, tan, god-like people.
3. And then my eye was drawn towards their house keeper. She was not like the house keepers I had seen and known in Texas. She was Hispanic, didn't wear a uniform (believe it or not, the "help" employed by my wealthy Texas family wore uniforms) and seemed to speak perfect English. She, also, was practically buzzing with this great energy, and felt like part of the family.
4. Finally I saw Jeff. Gratefully I saw Jeff. He didn't look like he was cut from the same cloth as these 2 Californian demi-gods. I had the thought that he must look more like his father. He was so pale, with his dark red hair. And his energy was much more...contained. I did recognize that he must have gotten those sparkles that quietly floated out of is eyes from his mother, but overall....he was pretty different from the two of them. And I was grateful for that. I felt like I fit very well with Jeff's quirkiness, and was pretty out of place with the magazine folk.
The moment he caught my eye, Jeff looked right through me. I am sure of it. We had a way of communicating deeply and accurately without speaking. He saw what I was feeling and thinking, but he didn't come over to me or do anything reassuring. He just shot me a huge cheshire-cat grin - that was even more mischievous than his brother's. He seemed to think it was extremely amusing to see me in this world.....there would be no "saving" from Jeff. I needed a cup of coffee - badly! I was NOT a morning person, and I was quickly starting to feel like a slug in the company of Olympic athletes.
Just then, Jeff's step-father strolled in. And there was my save.
I don't remember whether he and Jeff's Mom were actually married, or he was just a live-in boyfriend, but no matter. He seemed a permanent and happy fixture while I was there. I don't remember his name, but he was a fairly handsome English man with a good, English sense of humor, and thank goodness for me - as brilliant as it turned out that he was - a mere mortal, who was also in need of coffee.
As soon as he introduced himself, and procured me a hot cup of excellent coffee, things went back to normal speed and volume again in my brain, and I felt that all would be well. That, indeed, I could manage in this beautiful,unreal, technicolor OZ that was..... Malibu.
only one little part of it.
after Interlochen, i journeyed to Lockhart, TX, to get to know my biological mother, who had left my brothers and i when i was 4. she'd run away to mexico with a married preacher and never really tried to get in contact with me until my senior year of high school.
without getting into that big, twisted story, suffice it for now to say that shortly after i arrived at the ranch in Lockhart, my 'mother' and her crazy,gun hoarding husband decided it would be a good idea for me to visit Jeff Forrester out in Malibu. so they packed me onto a Greyhound bus with a couple of weird sandwiches, and sent me off. my mother saying things like "You just feel free to stay out there and become a movie star". i was 17 at the time.
i travelled half way across the country with a mixture of excitement and fear. probably more fear than excitement...for a couple of reasons. firstly, i had never met Jeff's family. And who knows what they would be like..Secondly, i had been to LA before. and it was WEIRD.
the previous summer, my boyfriend was Noah Blake. we also met at Interlochen. He was (and is) Robert Blake's son, and they lived in LA.
much to my SHOCK - my grandmother allowed Noah to fly me out to LA to visit him. it turned out to be a horrible visit. Noah quickly ignored me. His father was a kind of creepy, and i ended up hanging out with Noah's sister and Moon Unit Zappa the whole time. they were nice, and i remember having some fun with them in Westwood - but over-all, LA seemed like a huge,ugly,sprawling,grey suburb. it took forever to get anywhere, there didn't seem to be a "city" or downtown section to the mess - and it just didn't seem glamorous or fun at all. i must have been there at the worst time of the year, because the whole city seemed to be bathed in this muddy grey-brown haze. no sharp or vivid colors. everything was muddy and in soft focus. And instead of the hippy-healthy restaurants i was expecting to see, there were gross looking fast food places on every corner. More chili burger joints and donut shops than i had ever seen in one place. i imagined the entire city was full of fat, stupid police men eating donuts and chili burgers. The police men idea obviously came from my limited TV knowledge of their love for donuts, and the fact that there were constant sounds of sirens and police helicopters day and night.
LA was a BIG let down.
So, when i arrived (probably in Santa Monica - i don't think they allow Greyhound busses to come into Malibu) in the middle of the night, exhausted and cramped from trying not to touch or be touched by any of the crazy,stinky fat people on the bus, i didn't know what to expect.
I remember Jeff and someone else picking me up from the fluorescent station and transporting me with utmost delicacy to his mother's house. It felt like i was a fragile patient or something - just getting out of the hospital. Hushed voices, people being calm and soothing. i was ushered into a clean smelling room in a dark house. Everyone else in the house was clearly asleep,so i didn't ask about a shower - just passed out gratefully in a comfortable bed with nice sheets.
Because it had been so late and so dark when i arrived (and i was so tired), i had no concept of where i had landed until the next morning. But as soon as the sun came streaming in, and Jeff poked his face in door to see if i was awake - things started looking up. I was shown to a nice bathroom, where i took one of the best showers of my life (anyone who's been on a Greyhound bus for a couple of days should understand this), and noted that the soap smelled like a spa. Not that I had ever been to a spa, but i imagined that spa soap would smell that way.....turns out i was right about the soap. And there were big cotton towels, and a huge,fluffy robe for me to snuggle into.
Even before I made it out of the bathroom, the cozy smells of bacon and good coffee were making their way through the house. I threw on some clothes, and found my way to the kitchen.
I believe the memory of entering into that kitchen for the first time has embedded itself into my emotional DNA somehow. Although I know I don't remember many of the details, I remember the feelings, and the thoughts that ran ran through my head so clearly. And the first thought I had upon seeing, smelling and feeling that beautiful kitchen was "I'm not in Kansas anymore. And Malibu does NOT appear to be Los Angeles."
What I saw was this : 1. Jeff's mother. A petite, beautiful woman with a perfect tan and short,blonde hair who appeared to have happy sparkles flying out of her head and fingertips as she gracefully and efficiently helped her Latino housekeeper set things out for breakfast. She was definitely a morning person. I think she could have lit up a neighborhood with the electric energy that was already emanating out of her small, toned body at this early hour. This was clearly her world. From the instant I saw her, there was no doubt that she was responsible for this fabulous house, and this sun-lit kitchen. She immediately smiled at me, and her smile was bright and welcoming - it seemed completely comfortable and sincere.
She must have said something like "Good morning", or "How did you sleep?" - but I was in a state of shock. It felt like I was experiencing everything in slow motion with the dialogue volume turned way down, and the sound of the birds outside, and the bacon sizzling turned way up. I felt like I had stumbled into a house that was torn right out of a 'Better House and Gardens' magazine - and the people that went with it. I had been in some beautiful houses before. Some giant mansions in Dallas, even. But nothing like this. This was sort of a California "casual", spanish style house. Not ostentatious or cold in the least, just perfect, cozy style.
2. Next I saw Jeff's brother. He looked exactly like his mother's son. Athletic,smiling,perfect tan,surfer blonde hair....just like a magazine or movie depiction of the perfect, gorgeous California boy. He, too smiled at me immediately. But he seemed to have more going on in that smile of his. He was (understandably), sizing me up ,for one. I could hear the wheels turning in his head , "Now , what has my big brother brought home?"
The other thing I sensed in that first smile was mischief. Kind mischief, but most definitely mischief. I was thoroughly intimidated by both of these perfect looking, confident, tan, god-like people.
3. And then my eye was drawn towards their house keeper. She was not like the house keepers I had seen and known in Texas. She was Hispanic, didn't wear a uniform (believe it or not, the "help" employed by my wealthy Texas family wore uniforms) and seemed to speak perfect English. She, also, was practically buzzing with this great energy, and felt like part of the family.
4. Finally I saw Jeff. Gratefully I saw Jeff. He didn't look like he was cut from the same cloth as these 2 Californian demi-gods. I had the thought that he must look more like his father. He was so pale, with his dark red hair. And his energy was much more...contained. I did recognize that he must have gotten those sparkles that quietly floated out of is eyes from his mother, but overall....he was pretty different from the two of them. And I was grateful for that. I felt like I fit very well with Jeff's quirkiness, and was pretty out of place with the magazine folk.
The moment he caught my eye, Jeff looked right through me. I am sure of it. We had a way of communicating deeply and accurately without speaking. He saw what I was feeling and thinking, but he didn't come over to me or do anything reassuring. He just shot me a huge cheshire-cat grin - that was even more mischievous than his brother's. He seemed to think it was extremely amusing to see me in this world.....there would be no "saving" from Jeff. I needed a cup of coffee - badly! I was NOT a morning person, and I was quickly starting to feel like a slug in the company of Olympic athletes.
Just then, Jeff's step-father strolled in. And there was my save.
I don't remember whether he and Jeff's Mom were actually married, or he was just a live-in boyfriend, but no matter. He seemed a permanent and happy fixture while I was there. I don't remember his name, but he was a fairly handsome English man with a good, English sense of humor, and thank goodness for me - as brilliant as it turned out that he was - a mere mortal, who was also in need of coffee.
As soon as he introduced himself, and procured me a hot cup of excellent coffee, things went back to normal speed and volume again in my brain, and I felt that all would be well. That, indeed, I could manage in this beautiful,unreal, technicolor OZ that was..... Malibu.
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