It’s 2:30am and I’m sitting in a slick black town car heading up into the hollywood hills. My surroundings are foreign but feel familiar. I have seen this road before in a dozen movies and imagined myself as one of an elite group of young people in Los Angeles who were invited to a private after party. We come to a stop at the top of the hill at a house with a matte black mercedes parked out front. A slim black figure is waiting for us outside. He is wearing a blazer with no shirt underneath, a slew of gold chains, and the most ornate loafers I have ever seen-black snakeskin with bold gold accents. He kisses my friend Jess on each cheek and greets the rest of us in a high pitched drawl. “Hayyyyy ladies” he says. “Come on in.”
A giant man is standing outside the front door regulating the validity of the guests who have just arrived. We keep our heads low. He ushers us in quickly with a slight grunt. The foyer of this immaculate house is adorned with an illuminated swimming pool. As we enter the house we notice the plush carpet, stark white walls, and rectangular marble tables. We all take in the views of the city of Los Angeles through the giant glass windows that made up the entire front of the house and I giggle to myself in excitement. Our arrival is acknowledged with a few blank stares. Everyone thinking to themselves, “look what the cat dragged in.”
I choose a spot next to a semi-friendly looking girl in a pencil skirt and four inch heels. I give her a head nod as I sit down, waiting to see what my next move should be. “Ummm, do you have a cigarette?” She asks in a hollow french accent. “Nope, sorry I just ran out” I mutter as I think to myself how unprepared we were to attend such an affair. I look to the plastic bottle of vodka we have concealed in my purse out of embarrassment. In the kitchen there is a frosty bottle of Belvedere the size of a small human sitting on the counter. The french girl and I have a shallow conversation about how my friends and I are staying the night in LA and then heading to Big Bear the following day for a snowboard competition. “IS THAT LIIIIKE IN SAN DIEGO OR SOMETHING?” I immediately feel dumber after talking to her. I think she lost interest after I said I didn’t have a cigarette. We head back inside.
My friend and I sit together at a glass table in the living room to avoid immersing ourselves into the small conglomerate of self absorbed assholes in the kitchen. We chuckle at each other as we watch a clearly inebriated girl attempt to take a photo of herself “enjoying” the party. She bumps into the stove in the midst of her photo and turns the burner on with the little ass that she does still have after being turned down by 10 modeling agencies because she was “too fat.” Suddenly an angry looking 20-something comes out of his bedroom with his pants unbuttoned. He immediately turns towards the blazing burner and twists it off in a snarl. In a bleary state he directs his attention to two blonde girls who look like they’ve only eaten adderall and cucumber slices for the last two weeks. He grabs them both by the waist and heads back into his dark room. My friend and I watch the same girl fall into the stove again. It lights up in flames.