La La Land

The closer I got to Felicity’s apartment, the less I thought about Michael. Of necessity, my mind became fully occupied with wondering where Felicity was this time, and what I was going to have to do to get her out of trouble. I knew Lila was right. I had to cut the cord sometime and let Felicity handle her own problems. But, I just couldn’t bring myself to abandon her. I had looked after her all our lives, and I felt responsible for her. Even if she resented me for it, I felt like I owed it to our parents to make sure she was OK.

After paying the cab driver, I looked in distaste at the somewhat seedy Venice Beach apartment building Felicity had lived in on and off for the last two years. I knew she wasn’t making a ton of money as an actress, and that her primary source of income tended to be her boyfriends, but I still could not understand why she insisted on staying in a place like this. Yes, it was right on the beach, but I wasn’t convinced that location was worth the dirt and potent smell of pot coming from the “pharmacies” located on the boardwalk.

I climbed the stairs to the third floor apartment Felicity shared with her roommate, Synnove, and knocked loudly. When the door swung open, I couldn’t help but be a bit stunned. Despite having met her two or three times before, I am never quite prepared for the wonder that is Synnove Sadler.

At six feet tall, Synnove automatically has a commanding presence. But add her height to obscenely long black hair and a remarkable face and figure and, well, it just doesn’t seem fair that one woman looks like that. Synnove is the daughter of a Norwegian supermodel and a Harvard astrophysicist. And she was blessed with the best of both her parents. She has her dad’s genius IQ and he mother’s runway looks. And, for some reason I never understood, she decided to take all that and pursue a life of rejection in Hollywood. She was mildly more successful than Felicity – at least able to afford the rent on this apartment whenever Felicity flaked on her – but despite her unique appearance (or perhaps because of it), she had not yet found her big break.

“Francie, hi!” Synnove gushed as she quickly embraced me and pulled me into the apartment. “It’s so good to see you! How’ve you been?”

I couldn’t help but smile. Synnove had such an open and cheerful personality that she quickly put everyone at ease around her. “Hi, Syn,” I said. “I’m good. No word?”

Synnove shrugged as she led the way to the sofa. Syn’s choice to live in this rundown building made even less sense to me than Felicity’s because Syn had pretty high standards for herself. But Syn loved the beach. And at least the apartment itself was immaculate, although I noticed the door to what I remembered to be Felicity’s room closed tight. 

“Her majesty has yet to grace us mere mortals with her presence,” Syn said. “But my friend Melanie thought she might have seen Felicity at a party in the Hills two nights ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. But Mel said she was with Rob Bennet, and Felicity and Rob have been seeing each other on and off over the past year.”

“I thought she was seeing that Lance guy.”

“Him too.”

I shook my head at the thought of my sister’s habit of moving from man to man, getting what she wanted from each of them. How had she and I turned out so differently? “Did Mel talk to her?”

“No. Just saw her across the room. Say, you want to take a walk?”

“Sure.” I grinned. Despite the slightly seedy atmosphere, Venice Beach did have a certain eclectic flair, and I always did enjoy a stroll down the boardwalk.

As we made our way past pharmacy after pharmacy, and through jugglers, guitar players and acrobats, I came to a decision. “This is the last time,” I said, stopping to look at a pair of sunglasses at a small booth.

Syn smiled her dazzling smile and shook her head. “You say that every year.”

“I know I do, but this time I mean it.”

Syn stopped smiling as she looked directly at me. “Huh – you do don’t you?”

“Yeah. Enough is enough. Felicity is a grown woman. She needs to take responsibility for her life. I can’t keep coming to her rescue.”

Syn smiled again. “Congratulations, Francie. It’s about time.”

“I guess so. What about you? You’ve had to put up with more of Felicity’s issues than I have over the last couple of years.”

“Well, you know, Felicity has her good points - when she’s not being a selfish bitch.” Syn shrugged. “But, I’m thinking of making some changes myself.”

“Really? Like what?” We came upon a small café and decided to stop for a drink. “Are you quitting acting?”

“Hah! You can’t quit something that you barely do!”

“But I thought you loved it.”

Leaning back in her chair, Syn gazed out over the beach. “I love LA. I love the beach. I don’t love cattle calls and casting couches.”

At that, I did a classic spit-take and stared at Syn. “Casting couch?” I managed to utter.

“Whoa! No! I’ve never actually gone that far. But it seems like the only callbacks I get are for sleazeball producers who want to screw me, not cast me.” Syn sighed. “It’s gotten me to thinking, I guess.”

“About what?”

“About the fact that I may not be a very good actress.”

I didn’t quite know what to say to that. I’d seen plenty of crappy actors in plenty of crappy films. Syn was better than them! I resorted to this lame response: “You’re beautiful, Syn. You just need to keep at it. Don’t give up on your dream.”

Syn shook her head. “I’ve been at it for six years, and all I have is a couple of guest spots and some commercials. But, I have to tell you, Francie, I don’t feel like I’m giving up on a dream. I don’t think acting has ever been my dream.”

“Then why did you pursue it?”

“Well, at the risk of sounding like a bit of a self-centered bitch myself, look at me. I spent my whole life with people telling me, ‘Be a model.’ Or ‘Be an actress.’ So I figured why not. I was bored at school. Hollywood seemed like a fun idea. But I think I’m over it. At least, as an actress.”

“Are you going back to school?” I knew Syn had dropped out of Harvard in her sophomore year, much to her father’s dismay. He’d probably be thrilled to have her go back to academia.

“No. Actually, I had a very different idea.” Syn grinned at me and leaned forward. “Actually, I’m really glad you’re here, Francie. You’re probably the only one who won’t think I’m totally crazy.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you started your own, um, ‘unique’ business and didn’t care what anybody thought.”

I think that was a compliment. “You want to start a business?”

“Actually, I’ve already gotten started. I even had a mock up done of a flyer. Check it out.” With that, Syn reached in the pocket of her denim shorts, pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to me. I opened it and read:

SYN’S CELEBRITY SAFARI

TOURS OF THE REAL HOLLYWOOD

SEE THE STARS IN THEIR NATURAL HABITAT!

All of this was set against a jungle background, featuring a Jeep with a leopard print paint job. Driving the Jeep was Syn herself, looking very, well…

“It’s very ‘Sheena, Queen of the Jungle’, don’t you think?”

Syn shrugged. “Hey, people have been exploiting my looks for years. It’s my turn. Besides, I won’t actually wear that. I’m thinking khaki shorts and button down top with, you know, a few strategic buttons undone. “ She settled back in her chair and stretched her long arms over her head. “Sex sells, Francie. You know that.”

“Not in my business,” I commented. “In my business, it’ll get you arrested.”

We both laughed so loud that anyone who wasn’t already ogling Syn looked our way. “Seriously,” Syn pressed, more quietly. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Aren’t there a million celebrity tours out there?”

“Sure, but this one will be different. We won’t be looking at a bunch of walled estates. We’ll be roaming the jungle of the streets of Hollywood and Beverly Hills, looking for celebrities.”

“Isn’t that what the TMZ Tour does?”

“Yeah, but they don’t have tour guides that look like me. Like I said, it’s time for me to exploit my looks for once. And I have one secret weapon.”

“What’s that?”

“I know a lot of actors. A lot of unemployed or underemployed actors. Some of them are even mildly recognizable. The plan is to have surprise guest guides on some of the tours. And, for an extra fee, guests can go to lunch or dinner with a ‘star’.”

“I assume you’re using that term loosely?” I asked.

“Of course. But, everything’s relative, right? People know they aren’t going to meet George Clooney or Channing Tatum. But if I say, ‘Meet Joe. He was a background dancer in Magic Mike,’ little Sally Smith from Cornhusk, Nebraska, is going to be thrilled! And she’ll go home telling everyone she had lunch with a movie star.”

I shook my head. “It’s clever. A bit cynical, but clever.”

“Cynical Syn, that’s me. You know I got the whole idea from you.”

“From me?” I didn’t see how that was possible. Syn and I barely knew each other.

“Yeah. I mean, you’re amazing, Francie. You were left with nothing and you didn’t let it defeat you. And, you didn’t turn to rich boyfriends to bail you out either, like some people. You reinvented yourself. I really admire that. That’s what I want to do.”

I could tell Syn meant it, and I was honestly touched. “Thanks, Syn,” I said. “I appreciate that.”

“Well it’s true.” Syn flashed that brilliant smile of hers again. “I was especially inspired by your use of professional mourners. That’s what made me think of hiring my actor friends for these gigs.”

“You know,” I offered, a sudden thought striking me. “If you don’t mind some unsolicited advice - You may want to consider hiring some of your actor friends to position themselves on the tour route. Then you still have people to point out, even if you don’t spot any really famous people. After all, no one likes a safari when the animals don’t show up!”

“Brilliant! I knew you were the one to talk to.” Syn looked like she was about to say something else, but then her phone rang. I took the chance to check my own phone for emails, but looked up quickly when she said, “Where?” and “Keep her there. We’re on our way.”

“Is it Felicity?” I asked.

“Yeah. That was Mel. She said Felicity’s busking down on Hollywood Boulevard.”

“Are you serious?”

“Afraid so. Let’s go.”

It took us over an hour in typical LA traffic to get to the Chinese Theatre from Venice Beach, and I knew in my gut that Felicity would be gone. As Syn and I pushed our way through the crowds of tourists and celebrity impersonators, there was no sight of my sister. I trailed slightly behind Syn, who seemed to be heading for a Marilyn Monroe impersonator, and couldn’t help but think that this place was more than a world away from my comfort zone.

“Hey, Mel,” Syn said to Marilyn. “Where is she?”

“Sorry, Syn,” Mel said. “She was singing and taking pictures by The Carpenters’ star, but she left about twenty minutes ago.”

“You didn’t stop her?” I demanded. Mel just looked at me, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, sorry, Mel,” Syn said. “This is Felicity’s sister, Francie.”

“No kidding,” Mel replied.

Syn looked confused for a second and then said, “Oh, right. Twins.”

“Sorry, Francie. I tried to convince Felicity to stay but she wasn’t having much luck with the tourists. Guess Karen Carpenter isn’t much of a draw.”

“Well, she is dead,” I pointed out. Mel just stared at me again. “Oh, right,” I said. “Marilyn.”

“Yeah, well, anyway, I didn’t think you wanted me to tell her you were coming. Besides, I didn’t think she’d stay if I told her that anyway.”

“How did she look?” I asked.

“Honestly? Terrible. But from what Syn tells me she’s been on a bender for days, so I guess that’s not really a shock.”

As much as I expected to hear it, it still hurt to know Felicity was doing this to herself. And it was about to get worse. “I don’t suppose you know where she went?” I asked.

“Well, Michael Jackson said he thought she was staying with Captain Jack Sparrow. But I asked him and he said she was hanging out with the Scream guy. He’s not here today.”

“Do you know his real name?”

Mel snorted. “Babe, I don’t know the real names of any of these people. And that’s how I like it.” She stopped to pose for a picture with a young girl and her mother, who gave her ten bucks.  “Listen, I was just waiting for you guys to get here. I should get back to my star. I make a lot more there. And I need to make sure that other skank Marilyn doesn’t take my customers.”

“One more question,” I said.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“What do you know about this guy she was with at the party the other day?”

Mel looked at me somewhat strangely, and then exchanged an even stranger look with Syn. “Rob Bennet, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Not much,” Mel said evasively.

“But you know him, right? You recognized him at the party.”

“Well, everyone knows Rob Bennet.”

“Why?”

“Well, he’s a producer.”

“Mel,” Syn said, an edge to her voice.

Mel scowled. “What? It’s not like she couldn’t Google him.”

Now I was getting concerned. “Why? Who is this guy?”

Syn ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “He is a producer. But not, like, you know, a mainstream producer.”

“OK, so what does he produce? Independent films?”

“Not exactly.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Mel interrupted. “Porn, Francie. Rob Bennet produces porn.”

Oh.