i was sitting in the Y on wilshire in santa monica across the street from where diane’s bikinis was for 30 years.
when i moved to santa monica from illinois 40 years ago, one of the first things i noticed next to the 7-11 near lincoln near st. monica’s church was that shop.
it was a simple bikini store with incredible babes of all sorts going in and coming out. it was like a cartoon of ants going into the hole with tiny leaves and marching out to get more. except this was the opposite.
for 30 years every time i drove by id see the prettiest girl of the day strolling out with a little bag with Diane’s written on it.
who knows if it was the Internet or malls getting smarter or competition but when her bikini shop closed it was like watching a tree grow and bloom, then get zapped by lightening and instantly die.
could this have been avoided? like what on earth could diane have done other than maybe selling five years earlier, on top.
is there a lesson for all of us here? how on the money was kenny rogers when he said you gotta know when to hold em and know when to fold em? what should i be folding right now before that bolt of death strikes?
her name was missy, she was from upper arlington ohio. she was on the phone, her man was late, still up in the crib. she got in, kept the door open for him. on the phone she was trying to change shifts with the mid-morning guy so he would take her 6am shift and he would give her his 9am.
who on earth would make that hellish trade?
so i spied in the rearview and holy moses she was stunning, but in the most natural way. i guess if she called me on friday night asking me to do her a favor id probably reluctantly acquiesce, even if it meant going to work at an ungodly hour. theres worse things than having babes owe you one.
when her man finally arrived he apologized and slid in, also on the phone. he was Black, she was blonde, both stylish, both so busy even though it was 10:30 at night and we were going to hollywood.
normally if someone is one second late id cancel the ride. fuck ppl disrespecting my precious time. time is the most valuable thing we have because it’s fleeting and limited.
but also lyft for some reason was giving me an excellent rate and it would get me to the heart of hollywood which is colorful and alive and grungy and electric. and all the things i love. yes i will wait as long as you want to get your tardy ass into my tesla.
immediately they were great. so in love.
we are in love, missy sang to me.
where did you meet?
i’ll admit, she said, i slid in his DMs
yes you did, he said in a baritone.
she had stripey pants, feathered hair, a choker with a heart pendant right on the adams apple, blue mascara and a crop top. when she told me she was in fashion i was all, duh.
of course. just look at you, i said.
are you too? i then asked him cuz he had a striking style too, but just like her, not in a forced way. he wore a simple mesh top and jeans that probably, magically, cost hundreds of dollars.
not like her, she makes money from it, i just like it.
they were both new in town and had exchanged flirty DMs for quite a while and both agreed to move to LA where they would live together and see what happened. if it didnt work out it didnt work out, at least it was fun trying two miles from the beach.
before we even made it to the ten she said in the most sincere hippy girl yet slightly dramatic way, can i just say, i feel blessed that you are our driver tonight.
awwww, thank you i said back, and then i remembered we were going to a club in hollywood and said oh wait, are you two on drugs?
they laughed and said, hahaha not yet!
i closed the windows when we got on the freeway and wanted to floor it but lots of people were heading out of the west side. it was a prime halloween party weekend. en route we saw some houses that had good lights, monster scenes, skeletons that neighbor kids had rearranged into obscene positions.
who is your fashion hero, missy?
vivienne westwood she said right away
now heres the thing, sometimes you get lucky. sometimes you steer a conversation into a dark path in the woods, having no idea what awaits you in there that’ll make you look like a dope. even at my ripe old age, that’s the direction i typically go.
and sometimes you get lucky.
i had just happened to have watched a so-so docuseries on the sex pistols on hulu last year and i learned that vivienne westwood in 1975 or ‘76 worked in a wild fashion shop in london and her boyfriend malcolm mclaren brought in johnny rotten and sid vicious to get dolled up, and somehow chrissie hynde worked there too, and the shop was called SEX, all caps, bold.
but all i said was, ah yes, sex.
excuse me? they both gasped.
the first shop she worked at, i clarified. on kings road. where proto punk rock style was born. it was called SEX.
silence.
all caps i added, and pointed towards london.
bra-vo, he said
i love her, missy sighed.
then do this one thing, i said, don’t ever stop. nothing is impossible here. dreams come true in LA.
why in LA, he asked.
because let’s says something great happens to someone in farmfield, ohio. youre happy for them but you make up excuses about them that separate you from them. that they had a freak growth spurt or had a rich uncle or got massively lucky.
but here in LA, you see this month’s It Girl starlet isn’t the prettiest in real life. you’ll see little missys in the back seat of ubers who are hotter. or you’ll catch a glimpse of the new action star at the gas station and see he isn’t the burliest.
and lord knows you know the hottest band on the charts isnt the hottest because you saw them six months ago get blown away by three kids from japan.
in LA we watch mediocrity rise to the top overnight month after month, year after year, and you can choose two ways to reconcile that:
you can give up because fuck this game where the lame asses never stop winning,
or you can choose to keep playing because fuck it, clearly anyone can get it as long as you dont move back to bumfuck.
preach, she said
so i did
i say hold LA for what it is, a soundstage, a backlot, the green screen where you are going to pull off the miracle of making your dreams come true.
back there in century city is the nakatomi center, i said gesturing to the west, the building from that christmas movie die hard,
near where i picked you up is the third street promenade where pee-wee got his bike stolen,
and where im taking you is where in knocked up, the Black guy from the office was the doorman who told the two beautiful women he couldn’t let them in because, “you old and you pregnant.”
this entire city is a set.
star in the art film youd watch.