The cab pulling up to Mr. Hollywood‘s, I step outside and see that we’ve stopped in front of a gated house. I had no idea people in Hollywood lived in houses (with the exception of the people who live in the Hollywood Hills, which was obviously strategically done so by the industry gods who thought of themselves as above everyone else looking down on the rest of the minions struggling to make it to the top of the hill…both literally geographically and figuratively in the industry). Baffled at the site before me, I turn back to Mr. Hollywood and attempt to clarify my confusion when I ask, “So…are your roommates home? Don’t lie this is really your parents’ house isn’t it!” Mr. Hollywood, laughing at my question, takes my hand and pulls me back in to kiss him, either to not have to answer or to just shut me the fuck up (or both I guess). As drunk as I am, I notice you haven’t answered my question man! So I repeat myself. He simply replies with, “No haha this isn’t my parents’ house, nor do I have any roommates.” Hmm. OK then. Walking in through the gate and up to his front door, Mr. Hollywood leads me into a HUUUUUUGE two-story house, a baby-grand piano greeting us in the front room and a gigantic gold-framed mirror at the entry way. HOLY FUCK. In the kitchen, a large 80-inch flat screen TV hangs from the far corner as marble counter tops line its perimeter. Completely stunned at what I’m seeing, I turn to Mr. Hollywood and ask,
Me: (Holy shit who IS this guy?! This is definitely his parents’ house…he’s totally a trust-fund baby or the heir to the Bounty Paper Towel Fortune) Umm..wait…what do you do exactly?
Mr. Hollywood: *Rummaging through his cabinets and finding a little baggy full of coke, now pouring a pile of powder onto the marble-topped center island* Umm..I just do international consulting and shit *pulling a $100 bill from a pile of crumpled up cash on his counter and handing it to me* Here help yourself, Hun, I’m gonna go call the driver and figure out where Serenity is *rubbing my shoulder and winking at me as he gets on his phone*
Me: *not hesitating to help myself* Aww thanks *sniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiff* HOLY SHIT YOU HAVE A PIANO I PLAY THE PIANO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mr Hollywood: *sniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiff* YOU DO?! OH MY GOD I PLAY TOO I HAVE DRUMS TOO AND A GUITAR WE ARE TOTALLY JAMMING TONIGHT!!! *on the phone* OK four minutes? Awesome man thanks a lot. *pulling up his iPad, which displays a gps locator with a little cartoon car moving on it* Here, that’s where she is and she should be here in 4 minutes exactly.
Me: ….who ARE you, Mr. Hollywood…? *still baffled at where I am right now and everything that has transpired so far in the night*
Completely forgetting that I asked him anything, I glance behind Mr. Hollywood and see that his back kitchen doors lead to a huge backyard. Pointing to it, I ask him what’s back there. Without answering me, Mr. Hollywood grabs a remote, hits a button, and, in an instant, his pool area lights up, exposing a tropical looking pool and a hot tub attached with a waterfall that begins cascading down from behind it. WHAT THE FUCK?! If he wasn’t so gorgeous and hospitable with his coke, I would probably think he was a super creepy internet predator and proceed to look for the nearest, biggest kitchen knife to stab him in the face with as I race for my life and scream at the top of my lungs “FIRE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” (because if you scream RAPE nobody comes to help…imagine that). Like really man? A remote-control waterfall? I feel like this is something that Michael Jackson would’ve donned for all the children he brought back to his place, but instead of a remote-control waterfall it would be like a remote-control theme park…yeah I bet the whole theme park TURNED ON with one click of a button…that creepy mother fucker…Mr. Hollywood is totally…a creepy mother fucker for this….yet so unbelievably sexy at the same time. I’m a creepy-mother-fucker-addict aren’t I…? Fuck it.
Remembering that Serenity is on her way,I RUUUUN to the front door and swing it open, now running into the street with the intent to jump on top of the hood of the Lincoln town car and retrieve my long-lost friend. Maybe I can even get injured in doing so then sue for millions and move in next door to Mr. Hollywood! I’m a fucking genius! Jesus Christ this is some good coke…
The Lincoln town car now pulling up, I YAAAAAAAANK open the door before the car can even stop, Serenity now seeing where we are
Serenity: *As stunned by the sight of the house and the fact that she just pulled up in a town car as I am* Jay…holy shit where the FUCK ARE WE?!
Me: *laughing and giddy and jumping up and down and clapping* Hahaha BRACE YOURSELF Serenity! We’re not in Kansas anymore…. *smiling deviously at her*
Serenity: *Still wide-eyed and gawking in disbelief at Mr. Hollywood’s house* Holy shit, baby girl….who IS this guy….
Leading Serenity back into the house, Mr. Hollywood is in his foyer sitting at the piano, demanding we join him. “Here! Have summore coke! I can play Adele! SING ALONG!!!” he shouts at us, now pointing to the enormous white powdery pile on top of the glossy black baby ground piano, as he begins to play the chords for “Someone Like You.” Serenity, having never done coke before, looks at me questioningly. I roll up a bill and hand it to her, shrugging, my eyes verbalizing, “Fuck it man, go hard or go home!” I think it’s safe to say that I very well may be a bad influence on all my straight-laced friends. Giving in, Serenity does a line, while Mr. Hollywood and I give her an approving golf clap. Mr. Hollywood continues to play the chords for “Someone Like You” while he, Serenity, and I sing along at the top of our lungs, completely transpiring into our best representations of Adele herself and highly convinced that we are now seeing our long-lost loves getting married to somebody SOMEHOW better than us! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! NOOOOOOOOOOO! I’LL FIND SOMEONE LIKE YOU BUT AM REALLY STILL IN LOVE WITH YOOOOOOOOUUUUUU!!!!! The three of us, screaming out and almost moved to tears, become stunned and highly agitated when Mr. Hollywood fucks up a note AAHHH FUCK NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! In a fit of rage, I SHOVE Mr. Hollywood off the piano and scream, “I CAN PLAY ‘MY HEART WILL GO ON’!!!!!!!!!! GET THE FUCK OFF GET OFF LET ME ON!!!!!” Not perturbed at the fact that he was just physically forced off his own piano by a little coked-out brown girl demanding to play Celine Dion, Mr. Hollywood RACES over to his kitchen, demanding, “WAIT!!! WE NEED TO PULL UP THE LYRICS!!!” Disappearing for about FOUR seconds, Mr. Hollywood comes back with three iPads, insisting that we each Google the lyrics and sheet music for “My Heart Will Go On” so we can sing and play appropriately.
Simultaneously for the next THREEEEEEEE HOURS, Mr. Hollywood, Serenity, and I sing along to “My Heart Will Go On” considering it’s the only song I know by heart on the piano and I refuse, refuse, REFUSE to play anything else God dammit (even though I keep fucking it up because of how violently I’m shaking and screaming! In fact, as I type this, I keep stopping to laugh and shake my head at how unbelievably absurd this night was…Jesus Christ). At this point in the night, I completely forget about how badly I wanna fuck Mr. Hollywood and instead convince myself that he, Serenity, and I are actually the THREE BEST FRIENDS THAT ANYONE CAN EVER HAVE YES WE’RE THE THREE BEST FRIENDS THAT ANYONE CAN EVER HAVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It’s 5 o’clock in the morning at this point when we remember that Serenity has to leave LA by 9 o’clock tomorrow morning. Fuck. Ok fuck playing the piano let’s just dance!!!! Each grabbing a bongo drum for ourselves, Serenity and I race up the stairs and continue drumming as Mr. Hollywood turns on his whole-house-surround-sound system, with dubstep now pulsating against the walls of his house. Entranced in the moment, Serenity and I make our way upstairs and see four empty bedrooms, all of which have a queen-sized bed in them. Immediately realizing which one is the master, Serenity and I continue to drum and dance our way into Mr. Hollywood’s bedroom, now kicking off our heels and swaying to the beat of the bass as we each step up onto a nightstand of our own to dance on. Mr. Hollywood eventually comes and meets us inside, more coke in tow, as he screams THIS IS THE FUNNEST NIGHT OF MY LIIIIIIIIFE!!! I couldn’t agree more as the three of us now dance by ourselves in the corner of the room, the sun teasingly peaking beyond the horizon, taunting us with an inevitable end to our debauchery. “I don’t want this night to end ever!” Mr. Hollywood screams as he cuts up more lines in the corner. I don’t want it to end either…
Who the hell are you, Mr. Hollywood….?
I’m about to find out….