Literature In Los Angeles


In LITERARY FICTION on May 12, 2010 at 4:22 pm

Woman you’re a mess
gonna die in your sleep…*

There was something, about this girl.
She was almost 18, I guess.
Still, to me, she sounded like an icon of Hollywood, an eminence of the cool life style and an authority of rock’ n’ roll.

She was black and she was totally into the party scene.
She was a roadie; she had traveled on the tour bus with a pretty famous local band a few times. The first, she was dating the bass player; the second, she was dating the singer. The third, she was just with the lighting technician.

She was totally into the drug scene too, but totally healthy enough to hike every morning up to the Hollywood Hills, “…‘cause hiking is so totally Hollywood and I’m totally a Hollywood girl. And, above all, I’m an actress… totally.”

Top Model Chanel Iman

You just couldn’t stop looking at her as she was talking about the fake ID she got to get into the clubs even if she’s still under age; when she was talking about the twenty empty bottles of vodka her landlord took out of her trash and set in front of her door in the attempt “to show me what? That I am an alcoholic? Of course I am not, motherfucker!;” when she was talking about “her” boyfriend that “…left to London to shoot this commercial and after that we were supposed to move in together into a luxury 1930s condo just off Hollywood Boulevard, the same condo Veronica Lake lived in—he had promised—but over there, some fucking where in Europe, he met this girl, this Burberry heiress and, I do not know why but—but I think because of her money; what else? I mean, he loved me, he still loves me—but they got engaged and… and I cannot fucking believe it. I don’t know what that bitch put in his mind because a common friend, a model who was shooting the same commercial, said the week before they were out all together for a few beers in a pub and my boyfriend was showing her pictures of me, so…. I don’t know what happen after. I just know he never came back. Not to me, at least. Maybe to LA, but who knows where, in LA. He didn’t answer the phone anymore, not even the million times I tried to call him with a blocked number… maybe he knew it was me.”

There was something disturbing, about this girl.
About the black and fuchsia highlights in her long bleach-blonde hair on such a dark dark skin. About her disarticulated thin limbs; about her big black eyes; about her subtle hyper-curved eyebrows and about her brownie-red fleshy juicy lips singing “…so he was gone, totally gone, and he has been gone for a long while… until the other day. Yes, the other day the sun was damn hot and I was driving up to the Chateau Marmont to have drinks with this guy, Randy, this thirty-something producer from the East Coast that was in town for the Oscars and I was in my car and I was almost there and one block before the hotel the light turns red so I stop, my eyes look up to the left and, right under that blinding sun, guess who’s looking at me?!
My boyfriend!! I mean, that was the first time I was seeing him after he left to London to shoot that fucking commercial!!!
He was standing there, looking down at me, staring at me from… guess what?!?
From a gigantic Armani advertisement!!!

Fuck…. Of course I didn’t give up on my drinks with the producer because I am an actress and hanging out with the right people in the right places is my job no matter what.
Once I met the producer by the pool I tried to forget my boyfriend on that billboard and just focused on making an impression.
And, I think I did…. I mean, the sex I gave him was totally fine, especially the blowjob in the Jacuzzi—“the best blowjob ever, baby,” he said. I knew it. I knew it from the way I pushed his hips towards me, as I was still in the water and he had just sit on the border of the pool. I knew it from the way he rounded my chest with his legs and pushed his cock in the middle of them… you see my new boobies? …nice job, right? I knew it from the way I grabbed his cock and started sucking and licking it like I hadn’t been drinking or eating for days, like I was desperate to get my first drink and my first food out of it. I knew it from the way his fingers couldn’t stop playing with my nipples as my tongue was slowly climbing up from his balls, from the way one of my hands climbed up to the back of his neck to push his look down as I was kissing the last seconds of pleasure out of his cock and from the dizzy look he gave to me right before he exploded into my mouth.
I learned how to please any cock from a movie my boyfriend made.
He had just hired a hole to shoot a fellatio-educational video. He wanted to make sure that any slut that craves his cock in her cunt is also able to suck it properly.
But, the perfect blowjob I gave Randy the producer comes with another secret:  for the whole time, I imagined he was my boyfriend. I had his stunning body in my eyes, as stunning as it was dominating the Sunset Strip from that Armani advertisement.
Not even the three Martini Vodka in a row before the blowjob and the two Sex On The Beach the producer bought me right after saved me from thinking about my boyfriend; it came to my mind that maybe he took her to Paris, the city he said we’re getting married in.
I mean, that was too much to think about. So, after the blowjob I totally broke down and cried in front of the producer and he got kind of mad like, “…what’s wrong with you? I thought we were having some fun here…” and I tried to be like, “…sure we are… totally…” but then he said he forgot he had a business meeting and I had to leave.
But before leaving I wrapped myself in one of those white white towels and I asked him, “I am still ok for that part in that movie, right?” and he said, “I’ll let you know, ok?”

So, I will be in something big soon. As soon as the producer calls me. And my boyfriend will see me as I saw him on that gigantic Armani advertisement and he will remember what I look like and he will regret he left me but, I’m sorry, it will be too late because, by that time, I will be SOMEONE, and I won’t be here thinking of him, drinking for him and crying for him; not anymore… totally not.”

Top Model Chanel Iman

There was something alluring, about this girl.
When she was talking about this new drug called “speed” she and all her friends are into. When she was talking about how she’d to take a break from alcohol to make it big as an actress if it was not that just the acting thing, all those auditions that seem to lead her nowhere, make her drink. When she was talking about how she would let the cocaine out of the picture if it was not that cocaine is just what she needs to stay sober. When she was talking about her mother, who is married to someone in Colorado and calls her “all the time, just to make sure I don’t go to sleep too late at night, but for one reason or another we always end up getting so mad at each other.”

There was something, about this girl.
She was almost 18, I guess.
Still, to me, she sounded like an icon of Hollywood, an eminence of the cool life style and an authority of rock’ n’ roll.
Totally. Especially if you were high too.

Story by Liliana Isella.

Il Cielo Beverly Hills Advertisement


* Once Bitten Twice Shy by Great White.

For Chanel Imans official myspace page, click here.


  1. Great writing, I look forward to follow more of your stories:-)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: