Hell-ywood

I couldn’t sleep last night. Between the noises from the street (sirens, cars, yelling and even what sounded like gun shots) and the music from my new neighbours’, it wasn’t possible. It didn’t help that I was crying hysterically, doing my best not to make any noise whilst I was. I couldn’t face calling my parents to let them know I’d got here ok, so texted instead. I knew if I heard their voices I’d be crying even harder, wishing I could go home. I was trying to be optimistic, things couldn’t really get much worse, so in theory would have to improve, right? Right? Shit, I was royally screwed.

          I made myself a tea from the god awful teabags I’d bought at the shop last night. It tasted like crap but I didn’t care. I needed the caffeine. I was exhausted and wired, too freaked out to sleep, but too tied to be awake in any sense of the word. I held the chipped mug desperately between my hands like a life line. It was probably the only thing holding me together at this point. I was a weak, frightened little girl who had thought it so romantic and brave to go to the other side of the world with very little money and ‘find herself’. Well, I had done that at least. I had learned that I was fucking insane to do this and that people are bastards wherever you go. I’ve learned that I would need a HELL of a lot more money to stay somewhere where I feel remotely safe, and that the only way I’m going to get through the next few weeks is to be heavily medicated or on drugs. The drugs are not an option, but at least I had enough of my crazy pills to last me until I could find a doctor. God bless the NHS as I knew there was nothing like it out here.

I really hadn’t thought this through at all. I’d expected it all to magically fall into place because all my school friends had had unbelievably perfect gap years. That was probably because I went to a school full of rich kids and they hadn’t had to stay in crack dens in the dodgiest part of Hollyweird. I was so screwed, so, so screwed. I didn’t even know what to do to fix this. My options were; admit defeat and crawl home with my tail between my legs, or try to find some kind of job that would allow me out of here. I wasn’t talented so acting was out. I wasn’t pretty so modeling and prostitution were out (I hadn’t been seriously considering them anyway) I wasn’t smart and I had no experience in anything other than retail. I could beg, but doubted that would be successful. I would need to find a job as a waitress, or be a runner in a studio or something. I needed a local paper and a shit load of luck. I hadn’t had any so far, so I’d pin my hopes on the newspaper. Someone must have a job for me. And not one that involved danger, talent or looks. I felt like laughing at how ridiculous this all was, or that I was asleep or in a coma somewhere and this was all an awful dream. Maybe I could write a book and make some money out of it? But who the hell would want to read about a whiney British girl having shitty luck in Hollywood? Everyone was a struggling actor/model/singer here. I wasn’t even able to try out for something interesting like that!

          I braved the streets again to get a paper, feeling a little safer with the sun up. The building I was in was so enclosed by others like it, that the sun didn’t reach it and it was in perpetual shadow. It was still warm though, and once I got out of the block, the sun hit me with its full force. Just seeing daylight made me feel a little more hopeful, that and the caffeine making its presence felt. I would be fine. I would find a shitty job, rise through the ranks and move here permanently. I would live in the land of sun and excess. I would make something of myself here, and even if I didn’t, no one knew me, so I could always lie to everyone back home.

          “Oh yes, I work for a hugely successful movie studio and am Johnny Depp’s secretary. He doesn’t have a secretary? Well he made the position especially for me as he was so impressed!” I would need to get a whole lot better at lying for that to work, but it sounded preferable to; “I live in a shitty apartment, fear for my life and clean toilets. Could you send me some money as I ran out a week ago and have been living by eating paper since then…”

          No, I was fine. The sun was shining, it was a beautiful day (if I pretended I wasn’t in this scary ass neighbourhood) and I was in the land of opportunity (I.e. the opportunity to be killed in a thousand scary ways). It would all work out. This was a new place, a new life and a new me. Maybe if I said it enough I would actually believe it…

          Dude from the shop eyed me up suspiciously again. I remembered to make an allowance for the stupid tax and tried to smile brightly at him. He narrowed his eyes further and pushed the newspaper towards me, telling me to GTFO. Awesome. How to make friends and influence people. Maybe I had an offensive smile? Was that even possible? I walked back to my flat, thankful that most of the people around here didn’t do morning, or light. The guy at the desk had thankfully disappeared as I had no desire to see his sneering face when I was already feeling pretty rubbish. I trudged up the stairs, dragging my feet and breathing through my mouth to stop the urine and other suspect smells from entering my nose.

          Back inside the flat I opened the paper and spread it over the floor, discarding the usual rubbish about shopping centres being opened by minor celebrities I’d never heard of. Maybe reality TV stars, but it didn’t matter. I discarded the pages with their perma-tans and false smiles smirking out at me. Urgh. I’d better get used to it as I was in the land of this kind of thing. I really hadn’t thought this through. I was a wren amongst birds of paradise, maybe that would make me unique? Whatever.

I circled several possible jobs and dialed the numbers. They were all gone. The last call I made (cleaner) gave me the number of a company she knew to be looking for a runner on a film set. The pay was crap, the hours were crap and the treatment was crap, but it would mean I wouldn’t be sat staring at a wall all day, plus I could maybe work my way up? Charm them with my ‘cute’ English accent? It hadn’t worked thus far,  but you never know.

          I called the number she had given me and blabbed incoherently at the person who answered. They asked if I had a working Visa, then told me to turn up at an address at 6am the next day. They didn’t ask about experience, criminal records or any useful, seemingly important details. I could massacre the lot of them, but they didn’t seem to care. Why was I complaining? I had a job! It wasn’t the kind of thing that called for a crazy celebration dance or champagne, but it was a small relief. If it sucked, I could keep my ear out for something better. If there was anything better. I got the impression that you either were hugely successful, or living in the gutter here, there didn’t seem to be a middle ground.

          I hung my suit up and made sure it was crease free and clean before spending the day cleaning the flat. It was a disgusting, pointless job, but it kept my hands busy and that was all I really wanted. I read the rest of the newspaper, giggling to myself in a condescending way at how shallow and vapid the stories were. From just walking around my block, there were enough serious issues that a newspaper should be dealing with, but this one was all about some famous singer’s new album, an actor’s pet Chihuahua breaking into movies and no end of new stores opening. And my god the adverts! There were so many, it was hard to find the actual articles, and they were all for stupid things like teeth whitening, implants, anal bleaching (I kid you not), acting classes, glamour photo shoots (we all know what that really means), escorts, bars…nothing positive or real. Meh, that was where I lived now. I needed to get used to it pretty damn quick.