parents
I woke up next to Lila in her sunny room in her family's ranch style house in the hills above "the valley," on yet another sunny day in L.A. No parents around, no breakfast being cooked, no one getting ready for work. Oh, there was her cute brother, but he was just a blur, a whir of hormones passing by on his way out. The scent of Chanel #5 wafted in the warming morning air, as the perpetual L.A. bouquet garni of anise, sage, mustard plant and smog drifted in through cream-colored plantation shutters. The slow morning was the result of a long night spent in a white bread restaurant club so mismatched to my sensibilities that it felt like an uncomfortable research project, rather than the kind of fun I would have in the comfort of dirty rock clubs, jazz clubs and dive bars where I felt more at home. At that time, I was trying on lifestyles, and for this one I wore new and shiny clothes meant for chicks with acrylic nails and gold jewelry, when ...