A few months before I made my official move to California, I visited once more. One of my best friends was getting married in San Diego, and I was a bridesmaid. After the wedding, I decided to visit Cat in Los Angeles again – the friend whose mom I drove out with originally. Cat and I studied film together in college and had stayed in touch. She said I should come for a night and see her new place, so I did. Cat was working for a big-time Hollywood director and had unsurprisingly weaseled her way on the “scene.” She had to work the night I came to visit – and by work I mean attend a private event at the Chateau Marmont on behalf of the director she worked for. I was to be her guest.
A few things about Cat… Cat was the absolute best when she wasn’t the fucking worst. Bright, blonde hair, huge boobs, long legs, and big, brown doe eyes. She was three years younger than me but spoke to me as if she was much older to the point I often forgot she wasn’t. She was incredibly convincing — you had to be careful. Anytime you were with Cat, you were merely a guest on The Cat Show. She was captivating and engaging, and she spoke with such passion and conviction. But listen a little closer, and you’d find she merely regurgitated the thoughts and opinions of artists she admired and quoted The New York Times. She didn’t know how to think for herself or be alone, and she fell in love with someone new every week. She was pure emotion, driven by sex and a longing to be loved. One only had to spend a short time with her to see how insecure she actually was. The loudest people always are, and she desperately overcompensated. One year on my birthday at The Standard rooftop pool with friends and family, she insisted on being topless to avoid tan lines. This was not a topless pool, and it was also my birthday, but hey, why should I have any of the attention? Her giant D-cups served as pool floaties. And yet, I liked going out with her. She made me look good — the quiet, mysterious one with a magnetic pull while she babbled breathlessly and grazed the arms of men. There was no doubting she was fun, and she always had a way of meeting the right people. Cat had been a good friend to me, too. Whether it was for personal gain or not, I didn’t really care.
Let me be clear: I was screwed from the start. Before I ever moved to Hollywood, my perception of what it would be like was forever imprinted on by this night. Cat booked us an Uber Premier SUV with the director’s credit card. It was the height of awards season, and we were on our way to a pre-Oscar party at the Chateau. I felt underdressed and out of place wearing a simple black dress from Madewell and matching heels. Cat insisted I put a champagne-colored velvet bomber jacket over it to look more the part. If you’ve ever caught yourself thinking, “I wonder what Leonardo DiCaprio is doing right now,” I could’ve told you. He was sitting on the foot end of a long reclining lounge chair outside by the iconic pool – party guests swarming him like summer mosquitoes. I thought to myself, “That’s it. We can go home, and I can die happy. I ‘met’ Leo.” But then, it was time to go to the penthouse – the real party. Apparently, the pool gathering was just a teaser trailer. I was quickly shuffled through the dark halls, full of quiet whispers and history of the greats who had partied there before me. I found myself sharing an elevator with Bob Odenkirk from Better Call Saul. It’s a strange feeling seeing celebrities in real life. Of course, you don’t personally know them, but your body reacts as though you do, seemingly without control or even consciously. If you’ve ever ran into an ex and experienced that visceral response – near panic – towards a person whom your body had been hardwired to recognize but in actuality, you don’t really know this person anymore or at all now. This was sort of how it felt being in a room with celebrities I knew and simultaneously didn’t know. I tried not to stare.
The hardest part was deciphering how to act in a small penthouse suite shared with some of the greatest actors of all time. Tom Hanks. Meryl Streep. Jude Law. Leonardo DiCaprio (it can’t hurt to mention him again). Even Steven Spielberg was there. Do I act like I don’t know them or do know them? They can’t possibly think I don’t know who they are. Do I introduce myself? Should I tell them I’m a big fan? I went straight for the bar and pounded whiskey on ice – just a little something to settle the nerves, and keep ‘em coming, please. I soon found myself standing next to Tobey Maguire. We exchanged a subtle hello, and moments later I figured it was the perfect opportunity to ask him what he does for a living. He smiled, shook his head, and looked away – “Good one,” he said. And again, I thought, “I made Tobey laugh. We can go home now. I can die happy.”
I was sublimely and supremely drunk by this point. The penthouse at the Chateau Marmont has a rooftop balcony that overlooks Sunset Boulevard. The billboards lit up and beckoned me. “I want to live this life,” I thought. I would do whatever it took no matter the cost – not realizing that it would cost me everything.