I’d been in Hollywood seven weeks. Seven short, eventful weeks.
I’d arrived pretty high. My dance troupe in Amsterdam made me feel I could do just about anything.
Hollywood ran on connections and I had a good one.
Wilson, someone I dated in high school, was directing music videos now. He promised to introduce me to talent agents, producers and directors. He’d even invited me to crash at his beach house while I hunted for an apartment.
That's all I needed.
I didn't have lots of $$, but after improvising on another continent, LA couldn't be tougher. I had a cushion of a couple months in the bank.
Wilson had picked me up at the airport in his jeep.
I teased him about the shredded jeans and hipster shirt he was wearing, and we laughed.
I was jetlagged, and loving SoCal. The tail lights of cars on the freeway looked like popart. The scent of eucalyptus hung in the night air.
80West LA is the most boring place81
I sank into the soft bed, delirious for the next chapter of my beautiful life.