This story begins in Minibar, as many of my Hollywood stories do. Well, technically called Lily's Bar now, but for me it will always be Minibar, the discreet bar of holes on the wall inside the best western, no, wait, the Adler to Hollywood Hills Hotel in Franklin Avenue.
It is the type of place where you can talk to everyone or anyone, and that's why I love it.
Now it is not necessary to say that it has been a difficult beginning for the New Year for us Angels. As if the constant threat to democracy and the fires induced by climate change were not enough, I also found myself deeply in solitude and existential despair that comes with a break, one that was initiated by me but still chopped. My ex is an egomaniac actor who once said: “I think I would like more if it were represented by an agency accredited as Caa.”
Then you will understand my choice to drown my sorrows in a “sex and anger” by Martini and Eve Babitz.
Despite my intention to “talk to anyone” on this inactive Wednesday, I found myself distracted by a man sitting on the edge of the bar in front of me, writing feverishly in a napkin. I recognize that inspiration flow, the need to put each thought on any possible surface before it escapes. This way attracted me in more than its sharp jaw and bright hair (it must have a greaseing routine), although in retrospect its features were magnetic, almost a different era. A Marlon Brando style look that has a world of thoughts.
I felt looked at at different times, when I was (pretending to be) deeply absorbed in a chapter, and when I was scribbling by a thought. I wanted to ask him what he was writing, but he would have had to shout through the bar or drop with him. None of the options seemed justified.
After an hour and a second dirty Martini, I decided that it was time to leave and let this man continue to be a mystery. Just when I asked for my check, he got up to go to the bathroom, and an inspiration stroke hit me: why not leave my number on a napkin? At least I would respect the container through which I chose to write it. So that is exactly what I did.
I put it next to his drink, and the cantinero gave me a wink, which felt like a good omen. I left with an energy blow. I should leave my number more frequently, I thought while crossing the parking lot to my car.
Then I heard someone say: “Kelly!” My name crossed the energetic air, and I turned around to find it standing there. He shrugged and asked: “Do you want to go to the party room?”
I could have said Mars, and I would have said yes. Suddenly, what was before me was a night full of infinite possibilities. He had not felt the electricity of spontaneity for a long time.
It turns out that the Frolic Hall was a fast walk to Hollywood Boulevard, probably one of the only times I have walked from one bar to another in Los Angeles, he said he liked the audacity to leave my number and wanted to do the same. He told me his first name: Vincent. There was a lot of silence, but it was comfortable. And we walk fast.
There were only a handful of people inside, although the place could not fit much more than that anyway, and Vincent guided me directly to the record machine, hand in hand. “Choose a song,” he said.
I don't know why, but Billy Joel's “Vienna” came to mind, maybe because he always embodies a desire to find adventure in this city and soak the marrow of life. That led Vincent to choose “Piano Man”, and before realizing, we were taking photos of whiskey and pretending that the bar was a piano itself, imitating the notes with our hands. Everyone joined.
All the time I was thinking, who is this guy? Although I was curious about what I did for work, I also appreciated that we had not addressed this subject, especially because it is often the first thing people want to know about another person in Los Angeles, I was forming my own theories: a writer, of course, or perhaps a musician.
It seemed to be a source of musical knowledge and I was hitting those false piano notes with a rhythm that I didn't have! Or maybe he was an artist from many trades, like me, who brings together different passions to make a living.
As the place closed, the Cantinero said: “You know that you have just hung your photo on the wall!”
I was surprised to see him a gesture with a photo framed by Vincent and another type that was heading to the camera, his arms thrown on the shoulders of the other fraternal. It was in the middle of a gallery wall full of signed photos of celebrities, including Sly Stallone and Lindsay Wagner, Johnny Depp and even Charles Bukowski. Now my wheels were really turning.
We passed by Hollywood Boulevard and heading to the Pantages Theater, Arm-In-Arm, under the tent. “So what are you doing?” I finally asked, and our very stimulating conversation was like this:
He: “I am a DJ.”
Me: “Do you love?”
He: “I do it!”
Me: “That's … great!
He: “Yes. Do you want to return to my house?”
I do!”
So that was all. Mystery not completely resolved. The escapes that followed are a story for another day, but let's say the atmosphere was first category. Think of musk candles, dim lighting, Lo-Fi jazz and soft whiskey with a large cube. Let's say I was also more interested in my pleasure than his own benefit, and that was refreshing.
I woke up the next morning with a headache, a meeting to hurry in Santa Monica, and a vertigo that had not felt long before the new year. Of course, the question remained of who was exactly, but while driving on the 101 highway, with the sun hitting, the smoke was cleaned literally and figuratively and the sky was a bright blue tone, I realized how little it mattered.
Now, of course, I would be lying if I said that I did not do everything in my power to look for him on Google when I got home (although not knowing that his last name was a true barrier). I am a bit detected and finally I found your Instagram through the Lily Bar page. I can confirm that it is, in fact, a world -turn DJ, although I had never heard his music. So, a famous, or better yet, an enigmatic and dynamic person named Vincent, made me feel hopeful again and claim a little of the love I had lost both with my partner and the feeling of charm in Los Angeles in Los Angeles had been difficult, but there was still love to find. When will you realize, Vienna awaits you?
This author is an actor and writer with headquarters between Los Angeles and Paris. She fences in the weekly subsistence column an leisure woman (awomanofleisure.substack.com), Where explores femininity, loneliness and art of paying attention. She is also on Instagram: @Kellyrokdaly.
Los Angeles Affairs Chronices The search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the Los Angeles area, and we want to listen to their real history. We pay $ 400 for a published essay. Email [email protected]. You can find presentation guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
