ACTING CLASS

Acting class is a great way to make new friends and connections. That’s how I got my first agent was through a referral from a friend in my acting class. Acting class is also a great way to develop a cocaine addiction. That’s how I found my first cocaine dealer was through a referral from a friend in my acting class. Sex, drugs, and memorizing lines… 

I had done cocaine a couple of times with my older brother when I first moved to LA. I was around 21 years old. He and his girlfriend had gotten a room at the Standard Hotel Downtown. They had no reason other than to get fucked up which I think is the only excuse why anyone would want to stay there. The 6’4, heavy set security guard at the Standard Hotel also sold cocaine. So, that was convenient.

As older brothers do, he showed me how to snort cocaine with a rolled up twenty dollar bill. I was so nervous. My anxiety caused me to breath heavily which caused the cocaine to fly away which caused my brother to be annoyed. My brother was determined though. He believed in me. He told me not to think. Just do it. Put one finger on my left nostril and stick the bill in my right and breath it all in. Whooosh!

I knew my life would never be the same after I snorted my first line. It would take a certain innocence away. But what good was innocence doing for me? The world was not innocent. My mother got murdered when I was 14 months old. My dad was a creep. He never touched me, but he liked to have sex in front of me. Every nickel I got, I would have to give to my dad because he refused to work. And on top of all of that, I had recently gotten kicked out of college for basically being bad at acting. I went to DePaul University Theatre School where they had a cut system. I didn’t make it after the 2nd cut. I wasn’t doing drugs or smoking pot like most of the kids in my class. I didn’t drink that much. I worked hard! I wanted to belong there so badly. I felt like it was my way out. Becoming a successful actor could free me. Free me from my father. Free me from my wound from my mother’s absence. Free me from… myself. But alas, I sucked so much that they invited Bong Breath Bill back and not me. Bong Breath Bill was not a better actor than me. Goddamn it! Were the teachers really rooting for Bong Breath Bill and not for little motherless Dixie whose life was being ruined by her dad’s warped views and threatening voicemails about money?!?!

There was no escape in my future. It was never going to free me. So no…the world was not innocent. The world was fucked up. I was done being innocent. I inhaled the white powder dust.

Whooooooooooooosh. 

Oh god! That first high was ah-mazing. All of a sudden everything started making sense in life. Everything was making sense because I felt like none of it mattered. Fuck acting. Fuck not having a mom. Fuck having a shit dad. Fuck. It. All. 

I felt liberated! I could finally be myself…which apparently meant grabbing strangers crotches within seconds of starting a conversation. My brother’s girlfriend got so irritated with me. (Maybe because I wasn’t grabbing her crotch perhaps….?) She told me that I should never do cocaine again. So I didn’t for awhile. Part of me was scared because I enjoyed it so much. Plus, I became way too sexually aggressive. Noted. I didn’t know how to get it other than going to the Standard. That place was too far and too expensive. Also, I don’t like being trapped in a building with that many skinny people.  

But then I joined an acting class and opened myself up enough to forge a coke buddy. Her name was Jasmine, and she was the coolest. She drove a VW bus. It was the real deal. The breaks didn’t even work. She was sex-positive and proud to be a slut. And most impressively, she could queef on command for communal entertainment. She took everything that I was embarrassed about and owned it. She felt honored to have a big bush. Jasmine took me to all the rad after hour places where everyone knew her name. I felt like I was with a celebrity even though she didn’t have any tv credits. I wanted to be her.

Jasmine introduced me to Hawaiian Mike, the east Hollywood/Los Feliz coke dealer. He would take me into the dirty bathroom in a Thai restaurant that served alcohol after hours. He fed me generous bumps on the tip of a key. He told me I was sweet. Hawaiian Mike smelled like fish because his family owned a small aquarium and reptile store in the neighborhood. I knew he liked me. He wasn’t charging me money. He made me feel special…and also nauseated from his odor. 

Hawaiian Mike always seemed happy. He was 6 feet tall, Asian, long black hair with some weird goatee thingy. He had a body guard named Chad who seemed serious and angry most of the time. It never felt dangerous hanging out with Hawaiian Mike. But maybe I was naive. 

I took cocaine as it was my birthright. The little I knew about my mother was that she was an alcoholic and addict. Getting high was my way to connect with her. I didn’t know her favorite foods or movies, but I knew she enjoyed cocaine. Soon I was going to these places without Jasmine around 3 to 5 times a week by myself. 

One Wednesday night around 4:30am, I was in the bathroom at the Thai restaurant with Hawaiian Mike. After he fed me two bumps, we both wiped are noses and started to head out. Before he opened the door, he turned around and unzipped his pants. He glanced at his flacid dick and then back to me. 

“Can you?” He asked.

Whoa. My stomach sunk. I began to feel queasy. This was unlike Hawaiian Mike. He had never made any sexual advances towards me in the time I knew him…which was like less than a month and a half, but still. 

“Ummmm…” I was desperately stalling for time.

He stood in front of the locked door. My heart started pounding. Maybe more intensely due to the drugs. The bathroom was small. It was the width and height of a king-sized bed. I turned my head away. I did not want to glance at his dick, let alone put my mouth around it. For the first time after all these late nights, I was scared.

I shook my head no, looking at the sticky bathroom floor. 

Please. Please. Please. Let me out of here…were my thoughts. I was too terrified to speak them out loud. 

“You owe me.” He said flatly.

My ears started to hum.

Could I yell? Would people hear me through the bad karaoke? No one cared. Not here. Hawaiian Mike basically ruled this place. 

I shook my head again. Hoping it would make a difference. 

Don’t you see I’m trying to say no???? 

Hawaiian Mike towered over me. There wasn’t a smile on his face anymore. I reached for the door handle. He moved in front of it. His pants were around his ankles. His dick flying freely. 

He continued to smell like a fish tank. I could only imagine it would be worse… closer to the pubes. Please let me out.

“I really don’t want to. I’m not good at blow jobs. You don’t even want me to. Trust me. It won’t be a good experience for either of us…”

Hawaiian Mike didn’t budge. He didn't want to listen. His only intention was to intimidate me, and he was succeeding. My mouth was dry from fear and cocaine. I wanted water. I wanted to be home. I wanted to be curled up safe in my warm bed. I was afraid he was going to hurt me. He was a drug dealer after all.

“I’ve been very nice to you. It’s time for you to be nice to me.” He said matter of factly.

Ugh! I wish Jasmine was here. She would come and get me if I screamed. But she wasn’t here. Why did I have to go out alone? Who am I trying to be? I am not my mom…

“It’s time for you to be nice to me.” He repeated. 

I felt my heart pulsing throughout my body. Thump. Thump. Thump. 

“I thought I was being nice. I’m sorry. I’ll be nicer. I just gotta go home…Please.” I begged. My eyes started to sting. I was about to cry. I looked up at him. Maybe my eyes could speak better than my words.

Silence.

“I’m so lonely.” He muttered. Hawaiian Mike began to weep…like seriously weep as if he was mourning for lost child. He bowed his head down and continued to sob. 

I froze. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do. He was still bottomless. This guy was about to force me to go down on him, and now he’s crying? I was less afraid, but now I was way more uncomfortable and confused.

Should I unlock the door and make a run for it? 

But still there was a man in front of the door, crying with his pants around his ankles in a dirty bathroom who stunk like a dead gold fish.

I slowly put my arms around his shoulders. I figured consoling him would help him forget his earlier threats. He grabbed on to me and continued to wail. I felt his limp coked out dick pressed against my upper thigh.  I bit the inside of my cheek, so I could feel that pain instead.

Hawaiian Mike and I hugged for I don’t know how long. Maybe 2 minutes? But it felt like an eternity..like doing a plank type of time. 

He pulled himself off of me. He then pulled up his pants.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I didn’t know whether he was apologizing for pressuring me to blow him or witnessing him cry.

“Oh, it’s okay.” I said politely. I forced a smile.

My body was tense. I wanted out.

Hawaiian Mike unlocked the bathroom door. He turned around and looked embarrassed. He glanced at the floor as he held the door open for me.