The Coldwater Diaries

Once we’re down the hill and onto Sunset Sonya tells me it’s stupid for me to go home (and she doesn’t feel like driving much anyway) so she’s going to take me back to her place in Beverly Hills where I can crash and later tonight we’ll go out again. Before the thought even crosses my mind she seals the deal by telling me not to worry about clothes either, since we’re pretty much the same size, I can have something out of her closet. No problem.

And apart from having the worse hangover I’ve ever endured and zero function of my nostrils from all the cocaine last night (and this morning) I couldn’t imagine feeling any better about life.

Not only am I being invited out for a second night but I’m also being invited to her couch and closet! God I never would have in a million years figured this is where I’d be today twenty-four hours ago. I mean from nameless extra to vixen in Beverly Hills… I wouldn’t doubt by this time next week I’ll have my own place in Beverly Hills.

Plus, and I feel girlish to brag about this, but how crazy was it that Donnie showed up at Cal’s a bit ago! I mean I know everyone in this group is friends of one another and all that but I can’t look past how Donnie rushed out to see me before Sonya and I drove off. He was such a little boy – all fumbling with his words and asking if I needed a light and whatnot – he was speechless. It was almost something out of a movie. And although I hate myself for not saying more to him, I didn’t want to seem stupid or weak in front of Sonya. I mean, I’m sure I’ll see him again and we’ll just let fate take its course. At least I know he feels the way I do about him. It’s only a matter of time. I just wish I could talk to Sonya about him… but I know she’s not the type of girl to talk about boys with. Not that way. Not after everything she taught me last night…

And on that subject, I surprisingly feel nothing for what we did to Cal last night. Sonya hasn’t talked about it at all since telling me she’s taking me back to her place, but I know we made out well. I really thought I’d feel bad for using someone like we did, but I don’t. I mean, outside of some of the mean things Sonya said to Cal, I’m pretty much over it. The guy was obviously sleaze all the way and I’m sure deserved whatever he got.

After about ten minutes of navigating down the quiet streets of Beverly Hills, Sonya takes her SUV down a hidden alleyway off of Durant Street right next to Beverly Hills High and parks her car behind a beautiful white duplex. Everything is picture-perfect right out of a dream. I can’t get over how beautiful and clean things are in this part of town. It’s a feeling you can’t really put a finger on… everything is just, I don’t know, brighter. The sky is bluer, the concrete perfect, the grass full and dark green, and all the apartment buildings and duplexes are milky white and calming.

Without saying anything Sonya shuts her car off and grabs her handbag. Careful not to mess any of this dream situation up I remain quiet and follow her lead.

Within a minute we’re inside her apartment and I can’t believe my eyes. Everything about Sonya’s place is right out of a movie-set, yet not to be confused with generic by any means. Like Sonya herself, her apartment has a presence of its own, almost alive, representing through marble and drywall and furniture and paintings and appliances and whatever else you can think of, all the seduction and glamour and sultriness Sonya embodies. Cleopatra herself would be envious of Sonya’s digs. And if I’m not careful I’m sure to fall to the floor any moment.

“So this is my place” Sonya finally breaks the silence, “I usually don’t have guests so, I don’t know, feel honored or something.”

Sonya gracefully glides from the foyer to her kitchen like a figure skater executing a routine she’s perfected over the years. Everything goes into its place and everything she needs is a reach away. She moves around in the kitchen almost as if I’m not even around – placing her handbag on an island table on her way to the fridge.

“I don’t know about you but I’m hungover to all hell” She says with her head buried behind the stainless-steel door of her fridge, “I’m about to make a little rum-blender-drink I do in cases like these. Perfect for hangovers, I put a ton of banana in. You want one sweetie?”

Although I’m certain another drink will put my head in a toilet I can’t refuse her and say, “I’ll take one I guess, it’s just I’ve never been this hungover in my life. I’m afraid another drink will put me over the edge.”

Sonya comes up from the fridge with a bag of fruit (I presume) she prepackages for occasions like these and smiles at me. “I’d wager you don’t have much experience with hangovers period.”

“Not really” I admit.

“Don’t worry. There’s a saying everyone uses here, drinking yourself sober,” she empties the bag into a massive stainless-steel blender along with some juice, milk, and plenty of Bacardi, then asks me, “You know why everyone uses the saying?”

“Why” I ask.

“Because it’s true” she says just before starting the blender with a mischievous smile.

The blender goes on for a few ticks, then like a bartender that’s gone through the same motions for years, Sonya twirls the blender and pours out two even glasses. She gestures for me to collect my drink, which I do, and she raises her glass, “To the low-calorie breakfast, a girl’s best friend.”

Not quite sure what she means I smile anyway and take a sip of my drink. To my surprise, despite seeing her dump half a bottle of rum into the blender, I can’t even taste the alcohol. In fact, this is better than a Jamba Juice. Sonya obviously notices my shock and surprise and smiles as I dig deeper into my drink.

“Trust me Rachael” Sonya says, “After one of those you’ll fall asleep in no time and after a few hours wake up good as new.”

“I bet” I say, feeling the alcohol already go to work and settle the pain in my head.

“Plus I’ve got a ton of Xanax and Ambien and I think some Valium in my bathroom too so if you need to clock out I’ve pretty much got you covered. I wouldn’t suggest taking a pill if you’re not used to them, they’re a bitch to wake up on.”

Sonya grabs a crystal ashtray, lights a Newport, and offers me one. I take it. Then ask, “Is the cigarette part of the Low-Calorie breakfast?”

“Cigarette’s are part of any low-calorie diet. I just want one.” She says.

We smoke for a minute and enjoy our blender drinks. It’s quiet, but I don’t feel uncomfortable at all. Sonya’s done quite the job at making me feel like I belong. Realizing this I finally say, “By the way, I don’t know if I’ve thanked you yet and feel bad… so like, you know, thank you for everything you’ve done. I mean it. I’m really glad I met someone like you.”

Sonya smiles and if I’m not mistaken may have even thrown a wink in there. She looks me up and down with that same devilish grin as if she knows something I don’t and finally responds, “Don’t mention it. At first maybe I was just trying to save you from Stacy but now… you’re a friend. More than a friend… you’re more like…”

“A sidekick” I offer lamely.

“You never want to be anyone’s sidekick honey. You’re more like my right-hand girl.”

And with that she walks toward her purse leaving me a blushing rocket, moments away from hitting the ceiling.

“Besides” she says returning with her handbag, “we’re officially partners now. We cleaned that schmuck Cal out last night. Outside of all the blow, I found this on his dresser while I was doing the whole take a piss in your bedroom routine.”

She tosses an envelope filled with what looks like cash on the kitchen counter.

“Is that?”

“Close to two-grand” she says with a sparkle in her eye, “we’ll split it fifty-fifty, maybe go out and get a full spa treatment before going out tonight.”

“I couldn’t accept—“

“Accept what?” Sonya cuts me off, “you earned it. If it weren’t for you putting on the charm Cal would have probably watched me pee if I were running solo.”

I watch as if I’m dreaming while Sonya peels off half the cash stack, folds it in half, and slides my share across the counter.

“I still feel weird—“

“Don’t feel weird” she says, again cutting me off, “pretty soon it will all come natural. We could have been anywhere last night, that jerk-off has to pay for our time. You don’t have to fuck a guy to charge him by the hour. Hookers are just too stupid to know how to do it without using their twats. Besides, you think Donnie Ramo wakes up while the sun is still up all the time? I’m sure if we didn’t take the money, Donnie sure was going to. Why else do you think a guy like him would be at Cal’s?”

Just the mention of Donnie’s name sends a quake throughout my body so strong I neglect to inquire exactly what Sonya meant by saying if we didn’t take Cal’s money, Donnie would have. Everything is happening so fast I don’t know how to take it all in. I decide everything will make sense in time and without another word I slip my share into my handbag. I can’t help but to smile.

“That’a girl” Sonya says as she pours what’s left in the blender in both our glasses and leads me out of the kitchen, “Come on I’ll show you the rest of the place. Like I said I hardly have anyone over so it’ll be kinda nice to show someone around. Fuck, I don’t think I’ve even had Stacy over here.”

From the moment I stepped into Sonya’s apartment, from just the kitchen and foyer alone, I thought I could only imagine how beautiful the rest of the place would end up being. I was wrong. I could never in the best of my creative days ever have imagined what this place looks like. The living room alone is like nothing I’ve ever seen in my life –including what I’ve seen in movies – and I’m starting to seriously question whether or not Sonya is actually human. How it’s possible for one person to have such a high-caliber sense of style is beyond me. I didn’t even think people like Sonya existed in fiction. I mean the best of all worlds? How is this even possible? Even Holly Golightly, who had style down like no other, lived in a shit apartment.

Sonya on the other hand is Holly Golightly on steroids. The living room is wall to wall marble flooring, classic layout furniture wise – not too much but very modern – everything in the right place, modern art on each wall, a ultra-sleek and slim television mounted on the wall, gold trimming bordering the ceiling, Jesus she even has her own bar – made of glass and gold plating as a side note – this place is a sanctuary. Her sanctuary. A place where few are invited, and she’s letting me a virtual stranger, treat as my own home.

Sonya no doubt can see my eyes widen and says simply, “It all looks nice and took a decent amount of time to put together, but don’t think for a second I actually paid for any of this with my own money. You know what I mean?”

“Not really” I manage to say as I collapse on a couch that probably cost more than Sonya’s car.

“I like to call it using credit. For instance we both made off with some cash from Cal right? But what are we going to spend the cash on? All our drinks are spoken for right?”

“They were last night” I say.

“They are every night sweetie, trust me” she says smugly.

“We obviously don’t pay for drugs. So why should clothes, TV’s, fucking bars made of glass… why should any of that be any different?”

“I don’t know…” I say, still spinning by everything Sonya’s laid on me and introduced me to.

“That’s what I’m here for babe. Just look around you” she gestures around the living room, “The couch your sitting on, I got it from hanging out with some loser whose parents own like half the furniture boutiques in Beverly Hills. The marble, some Armenian in the Valley. The paintings, an art douche from Downtown… you get the picture. You want something, get it on credit.”

“So then, what do you do with the cash?”

“I don’t spend it sweetie. I put it in the box. Safety deposit box at WaMu in Brentwood. You think I’m going to be partying and using men forever? Fuck no. And I’m sure as shit not going to wait until it’s too late and resort to fucking marriage. Everything I do I have one thing in mind, me – and securing a future for me as well. You understand?”

“What about rent?” I ask, still spinning, but registering.

“Sometimes and I do mean sometimes, I’ll pay rent. But hardly ever. Rent’s the easiest thing to get out of a guy. Say you’re hanging out with a guy the last week of the month. You show him a good time whatever. Then you pull away. He asks why you’re not around or why you’re so distant and then you lay it on him, I’ve got to pay rent.”

God she has it all worked out, I think to myself, but has she any shame?

“Once in a blue-moon you’ll get an asshole offering to move you into his place, but most of the time they cough up rent like it’s nothing. The trick is finding the right guys, knowing how to tell the difference, and maintaining an attitude where you always have the upper hand. Probably seems like a lot, but we’ll take you around and show you the ins-and-outs.”

“You obviously know what you’re talking about” I say, maybe buttering her up a little too much toward the side of kissing ass but whatever.

“Yeah and the bitch of it is I had to learn as I went along. Now you’ve got me sister.” She says this as she leans back on the sofa opposite mine with her arms laid back as if she’s supreme empress of the world. She takes a few deep breaths, obviously proud of herself, and then under laughter she says, “shit, as a last resort for rent there’s always the fake-abortion move… Rent should be the last thing on your mind.”

Fake abortion move… my curiosity gets the best of me and although I think I know where this is probably going I have to inquire, “What exactly do you mean by fake abortion move?”

“What do you think I mean? It’s certainly not new. In fact it’s a classic. Whenever you really need money, bust out the calendar, tie a date to the last guy you balled, call him up and tell him you’re pregnant. He’ll be writing a check before you can spell abortion, and best part is he’ll probably even pay for a car service to take you to the clinic. No questions asked and he’ll never call you back!”

Sonya roars into laughter as she finishes off the rest of her blender drink while I sit back looking at all she has, listening to all she does and talks about so casually, and wonder if at any time in her past was Sonya an innocent little girl with dreams of making it big in Hollywood, or was she always like this.

Sure she’s manipulative and conniving and all the things that make people rotten, but when her intentions are brought into light – or better yet – her plight (if you will) in fucking men over before they have a chance to fuck her over… you can’t help but to admire her. She’s an anti-hero of our modern times. Where the only people getting hurt not only more times than not deserve it, but gladly allow themselves to be exploited by this creature.

For every part of my soul whispering into my ear, warning me that Sonya and what she represents is wrong and rotten, I’ve got five times as many reasons to look the other way and ride her tails as long as she’ll allow staring me in the face in the form of designer clothing and custom made furniture.

But even all the material possessions aside, Sonya has something very few women today have… complete and utter freedom. She answers to no one but herself.

I finish my drink and come back to reality and ask with a smile, “Please don’t tell me you’ve pulled the fake abortion move…” to which she responds, “the last one was a married plastic surgeon from Orange County. This apartment’s paid up until Christmas.”

“God, I want your life!” I say as hug a leather pillow beside me on the sofa.

“No babe, you want your own life. Just use mine as a model.”

With that Sonya gets up and makes way down the hall. I note the clock says its past two in the afternoon and despite being tired as all hell, I couldn’t possibly fall asleep. I don’t want any of this to end. I want to know everything.

“So I was going to have you crash the sofa” Sonya says from beyond the hall, doing what I could only imagine, “but I forgot about this guy that owns a restaurant in Brentwood who’s been begging me to have lunch with him. I’m not really hungry but he’s gone as far to send me a text promising to take me shopping after and god knows I can use a new dress…” her voice modulates up and down as she switches rooms from down the hall. A sink runs so I suspect now she’s in the bathroom, “…plus I need to get you a new handbag for you to put all your goodies in. Not to say the one you have now isn’t cute; it’s just not the caliber of what I have in mind for tonight.”

Drinking herself sober, fake abortions, safety deposit boxes, free lunches when she’s not hungry, taken out shopping not only for herself but for me as well… who is this girl!

Sonya emerges from the hall dressed in something completely different, brushing her hair, and not even having to bother with make-up. A complete wardrobe change and camera ready in a little over a minute.

“So I was going to suggest you slept on the couch” she continues, “but since I’m going out just take my bed. Don’t worry, the sheets are clean. Whenever I do fuck, I never invite guys back here.”

Everything she does and says is so casual – and with me there’s this tone of openness, almost as if she hasn’t had anyone to talk to in awhile, and I’m that to her now. Like a little sister.

“Here” she says as she tosses me a pill bottle. “Those are 1mg Xanax footballs. Have you ever taken Xanax before?”

“No” I say, reading the bottle, a prescription to some guy for Anxiety.

“They’re wonderful. Soon they’ll be like tic-tacs for you. There’s sixty in that bottle. You can keep it. I’ve got like four other bottles of the 2mg in my bathroom.”

“What am I supposed to do with these?”

“Just take a half right now. Not getting too much sleep added to the blenders we just had you’ll be out like a light in 30 minutes. Get some sleep and when I get back we’ll do a quick dinner or something and get you all dressed up and take the town on.”

I look at the bottle and all the pills in it and note she told me only to take half of one and ask, “What am I supposed to do with the rest of these things?”

“Like I said, soon they’ll be like tic-tacs. They keep you calm and in control.”

“Isn’t this the stuff Marilyn Monroe died from?”

“Hardly, those are 1mg pills. You’ll build a tolerance. Trust me. Cal last night must have taken a handful to pass out and not deal with my shit. And that guy Donnie, don’t get me started on him.”

I can’t resist, “What about Donnie?” I ask, perhaps a little too excited, which thankfully Sonya doesn’t pick up on as she’s still getting ready for her lunch.

“The guy is a walking IV drip. He’s who I get a lot of pills from.”

“So he’s like a drug dealer?” I ask hoping for a no.

“Donnie?” Sonya smiles, “Donnie is anything but a drug dealer. He’s a drug user. The heavy kind. The guy can’t even get out of bed without a couple handfuls of pills. One of those bask in his own misery types.”

I think back on the first moment I saw Donnie and remember the impression I had gotten, how he had lived hard, been through things, and although for most girls finding out their crush is a habitual drug user would be an instant red-flag. I’m only more attracted to him. Miserable with life is Donnie, self-medicating his way through unbearable days, just waiting for someone to come along and breathe life into him… to give him a reason to drop the pills.

“So then what does he, like, do?” I ask.

“Well he was supposed to be some sort of writer but who knows now. Trust me kiddo, he has issues. Like I said, I get pills from him.” She stops for a moment, thinking about something I don’t know and probably wouldn’t understand, then says “He’s the type I try and keep my distance from. Definitely not the type of guy that would put marble on my floor or fall for an abortion scam.”

Sad as it may be to admit, hearing the way Sonya speaks of Donnie brings a sense of calm throughout my body. Since meeting him and seeing him interact with Sonya there’s been this fear in the back of my mind that they’ve been in involved or are involved or whatever but now it’s clear they’re not. And furthermore, I’m now certain when he ran out to stop Sonya’s car earlier at Cal’s it was in fact to see me and not Sonya.

God Sonya would kill me if she could read my mind. Here she is trying to toughen me up while inside my heart’s on fire over a complete stranger.

“Anyway enough about Donnie Ramo. He’s not in your league.”

“What does that mean?” I blurt out defensively.

“Relax sweetie” Sonya says with a giggle, this time picking up on my tone, “I’m not saying you’re not hot enough for a Donnie, what I mean is he’s not the type of guy I’m trying to get you in the mix with. He’d see you, and me for that fact, coming a mile away. Plus…” She stops.

“Plus what?”
“Plus he’s not exactly into the simple things. He’s on a whole other level in that respect. It’s hard to explain, and to tell you the truth I don’t want to talk about that guy anymore. Just remember what I’m trying to teach you here, we exploit guys that want to be exploited. Simple guys with simple needs. And Donnie… let’s just say he doesn’t have a simple bone in his body. He knows what he wants and he takes it.”

Without thinking I let out the observation of, “so he’s sort of like a female you?”

To this Sonya says nothing and loses herself in thought. I fear I may have struck a nerve. To avoid getting to personal or offensive I switch gears and say, “So I should only take half of one of these?”

“You could take a whole pill if you want. It just may be harder to wake up.” She answers, I suspect happy to have changed the subject.

“Honestly I don’t even think I need a pill. I could crash out right here and now. I don’t know how you’re going to manage doing a lunch, then shopping, and then going out for another night.”

Sonya digs into her handbag and comes up with another pill bottle, shakes it, and says, “We’ve got pills for that too. But that’s for another discussion. Anyway, I’m going to go meet this moron. If anything it’s a free lunch and an opening for another day in the event he’s bullshitting about shopping. Either way I’ll be back around seven-ish – hopefully with a couple goodies for you – and we’ll play it by ear from there. I’m used to this kind of running around. You’re just getting started. Just go lay out on my bed and make yourself at home.”

“I really can’t begin to thank you for everything—“

“Stop thanking me” Sonya cuts me off (as has become her custom) and says very genuinely, “You’re my friend. And to be completely honest it’s been a long while since I’ve met someone in this town I’d actually invite back to my place… let alone sleep in my bed and raid my closet. Just don’t read too much into my kindness and get some sleep. We’re going to have another long night, trust me.”

“Okay” I say like a little girl seeing her mom off to work, “Well have fun, I guess.”

“Sweetie I’m always having fun, even when I’m not.” She says while hopping into boots, “but I’m late so I’m going to run. Couch or bed it doesn’t make a difference. Just get some sleep.”

“I probably just pass out here on the couch” I say, secretly urging Sonya to leave in my mind so I can explore her entire apartment.

“I’d recommend the bed, it’s comfortable as hell, but whatever. I’m gonna run. Trust me, if you take one of those Xanax I’ll probably end up being the one waking you up when I get back. You won’t even notice I’ve been gone.” Sonya says all of this as she slings her handbag over her shoulder and makes way out the door.

“Okay” I say, unsure what else to say.

Sonya’s already out of sight and opening the front door and just before shutting it behind her I hear her say half-joking, “and don’t steal anything!”

And before I can even chuckle the door is shut and Sonya’s gone en route to yet another adventure.

And I’m left alone in a whole new world I never even knew existed twenty-four hours ago.

And as I take my pill as instructed I take another look around the apartment in all its splendor and smile to the point of tears upon realizing this afternoon I’m a guest.

Today I am a guest to a lifestyle many only dream of.

And thanks to Sonya, I won’t be a guest for long…

Like she said, I’m building my own life – just taking pointers from the best of the best.

And within seconds the pill strikes me and I’m instantly relaxed. Sleep is moments away. However much I may want to, I couldn’t dream of actually standing up and jumping into Sonya’s bed.

I’m stuck on this couch and that’s not a bad thing at all.

I stretch my legs out and take one more look around. I think of everything Sonya’s told me and everything she’s convinced me I’m capable of. I dig the scene around me – all that Sonya’s worked for – and vow to myself from this point on I’ll never settle for anything less.

Much too pretty to be a movie extra… after one night, I know exactly what she meant by that.

And then just before lights out another thought comes to mind, on the subject of movie-extras…

Maybe I’ll give that Andrew guy a call sometime. Sure he may only be a movie extra, but if anything… at least he’s a free lunch.