So this night is so not what I expected when it first began waiting like a moron to be let in that dumb fashion-show. FYI, Stacy hasn’t even called once to ask where I disappeared off to. Some friend she’s turning out to be. But it’s okay. I’m not upset or anything. That’s stupid. In fact I couldn’t be happier with how the nights panned out so far. Sonya is awesome.
And I don’t care if I sound like a little kid to say that because it’s the truth. Call me a loser or a lesbo if you have to, but Sonya is so far the best thing I’ve encountered since moving out here. She’s like, I don’t know, a real woman in a world of girls. If that makes any sense at all, I don’t know? My mind is like totally racing off the coke I can’t believe I did but don’t regret for a second.
At first we were going to this place called Avalon but Sonya changed her mind last minute. In fact I think her exact words were “I don’t know why I even suggested Avalon, that scene is awful – Unless you’re into chinks and fucking ecstasy.” And then she just switched gears (literally) and said we’re going to some hotel in Beverly Hills. Whatever, I’m up for anything.
I know I’m sounding stupid and girlish or whatever but when Sonya said she wanted to change up from Avalon part of me wanted to protest on account I think I remember her telling that Donnie guy she’d be heading there and quite frankly, nothing would make the night better than seeing him and getting to know him and kissing him and playing with his hair and whatever else I could—
“What are you doing all quiet over there?” Sonya asks me to which I don’t quite know how to respond. What am I supposed to say? I’m thinking about a boy? Please. I’m trying to make this girl respect me.
“I don’t know” I say, searching for something, anything that won’t make me seem lame, “I guess I’m just like, zoning on the blow.”
To this Sonya laughs, then says, “Ten minutes ago I couldn’t get you to shut up. You must be coming down. Help yourself to whatever if you want. Trust me; it won’t be a problem getting more.”
Not wanting to bite the hand that feeds me – and also not really minding the way I’m feeling – I go through Sonya’s unbelievable handbag and pull out the vial. I scoop two mounds in each nostril and chase them with a few drops of Fiji Water just like Sonya taught me. The drip finds its way down my throat and I actually love the way it tastes now – where before it tasted like drain cleaner. I immediately take one of Sonya’s Newports and enjoy the ride. I’ve heard the term comedown before but never really had one. Now I can see what she meant. I feel so much, like, better.
“Come on now don’t forget mommy, dear” Sonya says, I suspect referencing the coke.
“Here” I hand her the vial as she drives.
“Forget that move, we’re on Santa Monica like two blocks from the Beverly Hills Police Department. They’re all over looking for DUI’s. I need both hands on the wheel. Just scoop some and put it under my nose. Don’t worry honey, I drive smooth.”
Everything you do is smooth, I think to myself as I load a bump on her sterling-silver spoon and carefully place it under her right nostril as she drives. She Hoovers it up in one swoop, smiles, then says, “Now don’t let the other one feel left out”.
Picking up on the cue I oblige by medicating her second nostril without a thought and replace the vial in her purse.
“You know” she says, “You have to have the steadiest hands in LA.” She takes a second to light a Newport and roll down the window, then says, “That’ll change once we get you drinking more.”
I don’t really get what she means by that but smile anyway. For a moment I realize that Sonya, to someone else, would seem like the kid mom-and-dad warn you about. Like a bad influence – with the whole casual approach to alcohol, drugs, partying, and I’d imagine sex – but to me she’s the ideal woman. And I put my emphasis on woman.
I know we’re like supposed to think of ourselves as independent when we leave home for college or whatever but I think there’s a point where a girl changes into a woman. I mean like, half the people I went to High School with are still living back at home after getting out of college and doing the same shit they were at sixteen. Yet here you have someone like Sonya, pretty much the same age, living in a large city on her own, fending for herself, and asking for no handouts. And most amazing of all, she’s been here for awhile – suggesting she probably started out on her own at like eighteen or something. I can’t help but to respect that… if not envy that.
From the moment I met her I knew I wanted to be her. And I will be. This is my goal. With my training as an actress I’ve already picked up on some of the physical attributes that make Sonya unique, her mannerisms and general way of going about things. That confidence and smoothness – combined with this hard to explain demeanor that suggests she just doesn’t care one way or another – if that makes any sense at all?
Sonya’s her own woman and never has to make excuses for anything she says or does. It’s clear to me now, especially after going to some of these clubs and parties and whatever, there’s two breeds of girls/women – the Stacy’s of the world and the Sonya’s. And sad fact of the matter is, and this spans around the world, most women – probably a good ninety-percent of them – fit in the Stacy category.
I’m not looking to be dependent on a man nor am I looking to ride the coattails of someone else or become another in a long line of women that consider raising a family their call to life.
Sonya wouldn’t settle for that. Neither would I.
Although I don’t know where we are I assume we’re at our destination as Sonya pulls into the lot of a beautiful hotel and instinctively gets out of the car and relinquishes the car to a gorgeous valet guy – I’m used to crusty Mexican’s.
“Grab coke out of my purse will you?” Sonya says without any regard to what the Valet may hear or think or judge and then says, “Just the coke. I don’t want to drag my purse around this place.”
Before I can raise the question, as if reading my mind, she says, “It’s not like we’re going to have to worry about spending any money in here.”
With that she cruises her way into the hotel lobby and I follow at her side – careful to walk with the same confidence and in the same manner she does. Where once before I would always feel some sort of obligation to inform employees what I’m doing at their establishment – like I had to answer to someone or something – Now I glide like Sonya, as if to say by walking alone that whatever I’m up to is none of their business.
I notice with Sonya, whenever she’s walking into anywhere, she has her own language. In regards to whoever she’s with she says nothing – walking in a more furious pace than I’m used to – as if she’s on a carefully plotted mission.
In the hands of Sonya, I feel no need to ask any questions. I’m confident whatever we’ve got going on is under control. There isn’t a single aspect of the night Sonya isn’t fully aware of.
“Beverly Hills sucks to party at” Sonya says to me in a smoky whisper, “unless you’re at a private house-party or something. Everything here closes down early and there’s like, no night life” she talks as she walks through the hotel lobby and brings us into a dim-lit lounge area where scattered well-dressed beautiful people – both young and older alike – sip drinks and share conversation, “but the people on the other hand are always top shelf and top dollar. Plus the guys our age here aren’t at a club for a reason, they think Beverly Hills and whatever money they pretend doesn’t come from their parent’s is enough to get a girl to want to fuck them. That’s what we’re banking on.”
We take a seat in a corner booth some guy led us to and Sonya whispers something into his ear. He laughs and points out to Sonya a few people in the lounge. After a beat of conversation he scampers off to the bar and Sonya leans back into the booth – which has room for four by the way – in complete control.
“It shouldn’t be long” She says smugly.
“For what?”
“Our drinks.”
And almost as if in a movie the drinks arrive, in fact an entire bottle – along with a bucket of ice and three glass containers filled with cranberry juice, orange juice, and soda water. The bottle – Belvidere Vodka, chilled. The cute guy that brought us the set-up (by the way everyone in this place is fucking unbelievably good-looking) asks me how I want my drink. I tell him to just make it with orange juice. He does it for me. Star treatment. Very chic, very chilled out. Sonya asks for her usual which is a whole lot of vodka with a little bit of both orange juice and cranberry juice. The waiter/bartender/male-model leaves us to the bottle and Sonya raises her glass.
“To a ladies night out and new friends” She says, causing me to blush uncontrollably no doubt, and we enjoy our drinks.
The liquor goes down smoother than ever before and meshed with whatever the coke’s doing to my body feels good. I have an indescribable urge to get up and move around, while Sonya on the other hand is completely relaxed and taking in the scene.
After a beat of silence, although against my better judgment I let my curiosity get the best of me and ask Sonya who’s paying for the set-up. To this she calmly responds, “I don’t know yet. We’ll figure it out.”
I get what she means but I don’t believe it. The confidence she has – somehow certain by the end of the night someone other than us will end up picking up our bill – which I’d wager is astronomical.
“You mean like one of the guys here?” I ask, “It’s that easy for you?”
“It’s easy for any of us. All you need is tits and a smile. Shit” she says grinning, “you don’t even have to be bright. The smart ones act dumb and the dumb ones just act like themselves.”
For Sonya it’s all so simple. So easy. So matter of fact. But I just can’t wrap my mind around it. It’s all so methodical and almost diabolical. Turning it all over in my mind I eventually weakly say, “Don’t you ever, I don’t know, feel bad?”
“For what?” Sonya asks truly taken aback.
“I don’t know, I guess for like using people and all.” I say – sure I seem like an ignorant child to Sonya.
“Please Rachael, like men don’t use us! Spare me.” Sonya says with a white-smile and roll of the eyes as she finishes her drink and mechanically fixes herself another. “Believe me and I’m not just saying this because I’m full of myself or anything – the minute we walked in this place everything with a dick not only eyeballed us, but in their minds have come up with ways to get us into their bed – whether they’re wearing a ring or not. It doesn’t matter. All of them only have one thing on their mind and they’re willing to do anything it takes to get it – save for being honest that is.”
“You seem pretty confident in your philosophy there” I say a in a tone suggesting the drink has loosened me up a bit.
“It’s not a philosophy sweetheart. This is science – fact.”
Don’t ask me why but I think of Donnie from earlier. I think about his eyes and his hair and that voice of his. I think back on all the classic romantic-comedy’s I used to admire when I was younger. I think about love – and all the magic that can come with it – and for more reasons than one, can’t quite bring myself to Sonya’s level on this one… Although I’m sure Sonya, why with her experience and all, probably has good reason to think the way she does.
“I’m sure a lot of what you’re saying is true. But at the same time you have to admit the possibility of there being a few exceptions out there” I say, as I too polish of my drink and prep number two.
“Exceptions?” she says with a smack of the lips, “What like your soul mate? Prince Charming? That’s all bullshit.”
“So love is bullshit then?”
“It’s less than bullshit, it flat out doesn’t exist.”
“Come on now” I say, certain at this point I look and sound pathetic to this strong and capable woman.
“Love is nothing more than an illusion – a series of stages that ultimately lead to the same end-result. Obligation and misery.”
“How optimistic and cheery you are…”
“How lippy and loose you get with a couple in you” Sonya snaps at me, sending my heart-rate up a few notches until she graces me with a ‘just-kidding-smile’. I smile back and Sonya goes on to say, “Love is bullshit, at least when you think about how we as humans treat it – kind of believing in an invisible man that is listening to you – we treat love like it’s some sort of force that once we’re hit with it there’s no turning back for better or worse.”
“Well isn’t that basically what it is?”
“No dear. Love is a series of stages – like getting addicted to a drug” she says passionately, as for whatever reason (probably the coke), she’s really getting into this, “Like with drugs, first love is all fun and games right? Then the deeper you get, or fall as they call it, love becomes a habit, then you reach a point where maintaining this love becomes a job. After awhile you wake up one day next to someone you can’t stand and by then it’s too late, you’re just flat-out obligated.”
As hard as I want to disagree with Sonya I can’t ignore how valid everything she has to say seems. Yet on the other hand, and again I’m a total nerd for this, I think of Donnie or anyone else I may meet in the future for that fact, and can’t see around the tragedy it would be to never give falling in love a chance. Personally, I want to be swept off my feet… to be Sleepless in Seattle or meet a Harry to my Sally or a Jonny to my June.
“I just couldn’t, like you know, write love off completely from my life” I say, unable to come up with anything of more substance.
“It’s easy once you see it for what it all really is. Like one big advertising campaign tricking people into believing this magical state of being can serve as an end-all to all their problems.”
“I don’t really think that’s how it’s perceived or presented.”
“Really” she says, “take a look around the lounge and tell me what you see.”
The theme is pretty consistent: couples at tables, singles commiserating around the bar, obnoxious drunks dressed in Armani hitting on bartenders dressed in Gucci – your typical night-scene just with classier trim.
“Every person in this room is chasing the same bullshit dream, that illusion of love. And they do it over and over – and what’s worse, they live their entire lives around it without even knowing. In the beginning it starts at places like this or coffee shops or whatever – the whole meeting people thing. You think the guys here in their twenties work forty-to-fifty hours a week because they have a passion for what they do? Please. Outside of basic survival, every penny they make goes toward the close they wear out and the drinks they buy at the clubs or the fancy dinners or the opera shows or whatever… all of this for love. Even the assholes that just want to fuck, whatever, sooner or later they’ll want to get married so it always boils down the same no matter how you cook it. With every sip, with every smile, with every lame fucking pick-up line, with every swipe of the plastic, all of these people are after the same thing – love. And the worst part of it all is it’s always repeating itself –trial and error – repeating the same bullshit, going about it all the same way, over and over until one day it finally hits. All of this for love. Why? Because they’ve all been at some point in their lives programmed into thinking love is the end-all, the meaning of life.”
Sonya takes a breath and so do I.
I let everything Sonya laid out soak in for a beat – her point-of-view and arguments bombarding everything I’ve always believed – and in truth – really held dear. It’s the magic I experienced as a little girl watching those old love-tales that made me want to be an actress in the first place. I wanted to be able to fall in love over and over again with different men in different ways for a living – even if it was all make-believe and scripted. I wanted to feel that mystic spark – the same charge that surged through my body when I first met eyes with Donnie – all the time. And now, listening to this girl whose opinion really matters to me – regardless of our just meeting – I don’t know what to believe.
I know what’s in my heart, sure. But I haven’t been through what Sonya may have been – that’s for sure. At the same time though, in loves defense, maybe she hasn’t fallen in love herself.
My mind spinning the only thing I can manage close to a rebuttal is a in form of a question, “Say you’re right and everyone is being duped – assuming we’re tricked into believing love is the primary meaning of life – assuming that’s all wrong, then what’s right? The meaning of life I mean, why live if not for love?”
“You wanna know the meaning of life sweetheart?” Sonya poses as she puts her drink down.
I lean in close as to say I’m ready and waiting to which she responds by saying very matter-of-factly, “Survival sweetheart, survival is the meaning of life. And for some of us, it’s to survive by the most comfortable means available.”
Somehow, I wager with the assistance of the coke in my brain, I’m able to match together everything Sonya’s said so far and challenge it almost instantly with, “But wouldn’t having someone by your side at all times, someone you loved with all your heart, wouldn’t having that union make survival all the more comfortable?”
“No sweetie it doesn’t”, Sonya says cold-yet-confident while pouring her third drink, “Love doesn’t make survival more comfortable. It makes it more complicated.”
And with that Sonya switched her attention to another end of the lounge as if to say she’s done with the conversation – point made. And despite all my those fairytale dreams I had as a little girl and even still do now, I can’t ignore the logic in everything this force of a woman just laid out for me. It feels as if the rug has just been pulled from under me and I question everything I once believed.
Could it be, I wonder, this outlook of Sonya’s – this seemingly adult and well thought out theory of hers – is what makes her so unique? Where once before I saw Sonya as something out of this world and almost more a character in a novel rather than a real person, I wonder if maybe I had it all wrong, and maybe Sonya is just one of the select few walking the earth that really has it all figured out.
My mind’s spinning and for the life of me I can’t remember what even brought this conversation about – and although I see Sonya is obviously distracted by something at the other end of the lounge, what I don’t know – I can’t resist asking her permission to go to the bathroom and do some more coke. I do this and she flashes a smile that almost suggests she’s proud of me for some reason and tells me to just bump it at the table. Apparently nobody in the lounge will make a fuss.
As I prepare myself to do a bump Sonya tells me she’ll be right back and I don’t question her. She leaves. I do two bumps.
And then drink number three.
In short time Sonya returns to the booth sporting an almost diabolical grin. She inches close to me and with her smoky whisper says, “So this guy I know Cal is going to pay for our bottle and help us finish the rest of thing off. Then we’re going back to his place, well actually not his place, it’s his father’s but he bought it for him – anyway we’re going to finish the bottle here and then do some blow at his place. Plus I’m sure he’ll give us like an eight-ball for free because he’s such a loser.”
I’m hearing this and I can’t really believe it. I mean first its bottle service and now it’s going back to some guy’s house and getting free blow? Sonya doesn’t strike me as the type that would go out of her way just to score drugs, and I’m certain she’s not going to sleep with this guy – although I haven’t seen him he could be pretty hot I’m sure – just to have a bottle paid for at a lounge. There has to be something else behind this? Then I think about our conversation moments ago, how Sonya had not only laid out her facts solidly but with the type of passion suggesting she not only believes this but lives by it. Whatever’s going on I’m sure Sonya has her reasons, but at the same time I don’t want to get into something with both eyes shut. Not wanting to piss Sonya off but still wanting to extract some information I Google my brain for the right thing to say and come up with, “I’m really not that interested in scoring more blow.”
“Scoring more blow, listen to you”, Sonya says mockingly, “Like we’re really going over there to do his blow? Spare me. We walk into a club on the East-side we’ll get free blow. Point is Cal’s going to give us a ball for starters and god-knows what else the two of us will be able to relieve him of when we’re over there. Take a look at us, shit take a look at you honey, he won’t know what to do with himself.”
Sonya starts laughing and fixes herself another drink. She asks me if there’s more blow left. I give it to her. She does two bumps. All smiles. She’s really getting a kick out of all of this and for some reason, I’m not.
“So if we can get free coke from guys anywhere why does it matter that he’s giving us an eight-ball?”
“Please honey in this town cocaine is currency. He might as well be giving us cash. Plus for whatever reason, don’t ask me how because he’s such a loser, Cal gets really good coke.”
“So we’re just going to hang out with him for his drugs? Isn’t that kinda, I don’t know, trashy?” I say, instantly regretting accusing Sonya for doing anything in the likes of trashy. Luckily she doesn’t appear to be offended. In fact to the word trashy she laughs and literally (I’m not joking here) pinches my cheeks.
“God you’re green. Like I give a fuck about Cal’s eight-ball? Despite how good it is I can only get tops 150 dollars for it. I just told him we needed to go sell some tonight and he offered so we’d go straight home with him. I’m more concerned about what else we can get from him.”
“You mean like” I pause, not wanting to sound lame but wanting to be clear I’m grasping what’s going on here at the same time, “rob him?”
“Jesus, Rachael not rob him. I mean maybe we’ll take something here and there, but the point is we’ve got a great opportunity to take advantage of the prick. In one way, shape, or form – whether we benefit tonight or sometime in the future. We’re walking out with something.”
“I just don’t get it. We’re gonna spend the night taking advantage of a guy?”
“Haven’t you listened to a thing I’ve told you all night?” she says half frustrated/half smug, “He’s invited us over, so we’ve already accomplished what usually takes an entire night.”
“I still don’t understand? I thought we were just going out?”
“Right sweetie, and what do people usually do when they go out?”
“I don’t know. This.”
“This works. Going to nightclubs all that right?”
“Yeah”
“And usually men and women end up hooking up right?”
“Sure, but I’m not saying that’s the intention of this evening” I say, still confused.
“Right, but say it was just for the sake of argument okay?”
“Okay…”
“Say you’re out and a guy invites you over or you invite a guy over or whatever the case may be, sure you’ll have some fun and fool around, but in the end, only one of you will end up fucked.”
Even with Sonya’s vulgarity and skewed morals, she still captivates. And although I’m only half understanding what she’s telling me, it’s making a lot of sense.
“So taking into consideration what we’ve talked about”, she goes on, “and knowing full well Cal intends to fuck both of us tonight just because he’s that type of asshole, why shouldn’t we come out on top at the end of the night? Why shouldn’t we fuck him over for a change? Because it’s going to happen to one side or the other, why not have our side win for a change.”
A feminist of the information age, Sonya has a way of delivering a message. At first I thought she was just someone who knew just a little more than the rest of us, now I can see it runs deeper than that, this girl is on a mission… a crusade.
“But don’t you ever feel bad about, I don’t know, using guys like that?” I ask.
“Why should I consider it for a single moment – taking into account how much he and every other asshole guy like him uses and abuses and tosses away god-only-knows how many girls night after night – all for a piece of ass?” She gestures toward Cal across the lounge, “Look at that asshole”.
She points out Cal and puts on a smile. He sees us and raises his glass and winks at us. Then he gives me a real sleazy look, almost as if he’s licking his lips and undressing me with his mind. And during all of this, he’s surrounded by three laughing girls. Sonya’s right. It’s impossible to ignore how much of a dick this guy is.
“How many girls do you think that fucker has used and tossed away like it was nothing?” she poses to me, “All for one night of ass which leads to two weeks of tears for the poor chick stupid enough to listen to his shit. Guys like Cal are emotional assassins and probably one of the biggest reasons there are so many fucked up chicks out there. Think about it, how many girls do you know that have a Cal story?”
A fuck-load I think to myself.
Sonya puts her hand on mine, leans in close, winks, then says, “Think of it this way, we’re just going to tax this asshole Cal for all the trouble he’s caused to countless girls all over the city – if not the country – his father’s loaded.”
Across the lounge Cal catches my stare and winks to me – then get this – the jerk-off actually blows me a kiss. He whispers something into the ears of whatever girls he’s with, stands up, and makes his way toward our table.
“That means he’s done with those girls” Sonya says, “He’ll probably call them up tomorrow and fuck over at least one of them. At least with us he thinks he has a sure thing.”
Usually I’m pretty easy going but in the case of this Cal guy – and maybe it’s the drugs or Sonya’s speeches or a mixture of both – I hate him.
“He’s on his way over right now, so it’s time to make up your mind. You down to give this jerk-off a taste of his own medicine?”
Decision time and Cal’s making his way. A thousand thoughts flash in my mind. I think of everything Sonya’s told me in the short time we’ve known one another. I think of Stacy and all the sob stories I’ve heard from her by the hand of asshole guys. I think about the way Sonya delivered every word to me, the passion in her voice, and how apparent it is that she actually believes she’s doing something. And how can’t another woman understand her point of view? Seriously, how many times have I been fucked over? And if we can profit from a guy like they do us why not?
Everything Sonya’s told me soaks in deep and as I watch this jerk Cal approach closer and closer I figure why not.
Sonya obviously knows what she’s doing.
Besides, haven’t I been saying since the night began I’m up for anything?
Cal sits down. Sonya half-hugs him as if to say, this is all you get for now. And with a very neutral, yet very sexy and sophisticated smile she says, “This is my friend Rachael”.
Cal puts out his hand.
And in true actress form I mimic Sonya’s exact smile/half-hug combo and say, “Hi it’s nice to meet you, I’m Rachael.”
