LEO
“Walking down the steps of the Sky Bar, I asked myself when I’d become the sort of guy who ‘did’ lunch?”
In Casablanca, when Claude Rains asks Rick (Bogey) what brought him to Morocco, Rick tells him that he came for “the waters.”
I love that bit.
Rains points out to Rick rather obviously that Casablanca is in the desert—there are no “waters.” That’s when Rick says his line—the three words that sum up Rick and every other flawed hero there ever was. “I was misinformed.”
You get the feeling from that line that not only will you never know anything about Rick, you will also never find out why he came to Casablanca. But, most important of all, you’ll never stop wanting to know either. That’s what being a flawed hero is all about see—having no back story.
Before I met Holly, not only didn’t I know what my back story was, I wasn’t even aware that I had one. But Holly has made me look at and think about a lot of things that I didn’t know about myself. Like believing that my dreams can become reality. It’s like my mum says, I just let things happen. Take my career, for instance. Career? What career!
Sure, I’ve managed to get a few sets here, a few sets there. But I never really hustled for them, or made the most of them when they came my way. Holly has shown me what shooting for something really means and now I want to shoot for things myself.
I want to be the sort of guy that makes things happen.
When I signed up for this MakeMeOver malarkey I didn’t think I had anything to lose. As far as I was concerned it was just a way to get close to Holly. I was right to think that, as it turned out. I did get close and, sure, we shagged like idiots for a couple of weeks. But suddenly shagging Holly didn’t seem like a life plan.
As I was driven away from the party at the Mondrian in the limo I realized that it wasn’t what I’d lost that had cost me. It was all the things that I’d gained. My own back story, for starters, and now my father.
I was no longer misinformed. I was in the proverbial picture.
Standing at the Sky Bar with Mike, after we’d stuffed up Catherine’s plans for a scene with Holly, I could see that Auntie Lucy was right. Mike was a good guy. Crap dad, but a good enough guy. And, while it was kind of cool to finally meet him, it was disappointing as well. Mike “Bad Ass” Monroe no longer held any mystery for me.
After they’d carted Holly’s mother off I told him I was going to go back and join my friends. Jilly looked relieved to have Mike to herself again, so we said goodbye and agreed to “do” lunch the next day. I’d told him about my dream to be a DJ, but I’d held back asking him for his old records. But, then again, he’d held back on offering.
Walking down the steps of the Sky Bar, I asked myself when I’d become the sort of guy who “did” lunch?
I didn’t want to face Holly, who as far as I knew was still snogging Ted somewhere. It seemed like I didn’t know her or what made her tick anymore—if I ever had. Whatever, it was over now. We were finished.
I went back into the restaurant to check on Nancy, and at first I thought she’d disappeared, but then some old bird strung out on diamonds and attitude pulled a face and pointed under the table.
Sure enough, Nancy was lying on top of our drinks waiter, totally wasted. “I juss wan him to stick some of his sperm in this Evian bottle for me,” she explained, waving the empty bottle at me. “For later.”
The waiter, spread-eagled on the floor underneath, was looking clinically depressed.
“Let’s get you home girl,” I said, pulling her off the waiter. I wished I had a few notes to slip him, but all I had was Nancy’s charlie, so I gave him that and he cheered up a bit.
I threw her over my shoulder in a fireman’s lift and had the valet call up Holly’s limo. She’d probably be going home with Ted, I figured, and besides, I reminded myself, it wasn’t my business what she got up to anymore. Then again, it never had been my business. I’d only ever had a walk-on part in Holly’s life, and now even that was officially over.
Nancy’s place was close by, nestled in a neatly hedged street in West Hollywood. She was already asleep when we pulled up, so I carried her inside and dumped her on her bed. She rallied for a bit and tried to wrestle my dick out of my trousers again. The woman was rampant even when unconscious.
She fell asleep while I was telling her off for being an incorrigible old slapper, so I covered her up with the quilt and left her there without undressing her. I didn’t want to risk her waking up and thinking her lucky day had come.
After I left her place I didn’t know where to go or what to do next. With the makeover over, my life had turned into a cul-de-sac. I looked at my mum’s Rolex but it was as accurate as ever—i.e. not.
Still, I thought to myself as I walked out onto the street, I’ve still got the limo and a driver, and the evening is probably still young. Climbing in the back, I spread out on the white leather upholstery and thought about what I was going to do next—how I was going to make things happen. The driver asked me where I wanted to go, so I gave him directions to Holly’s.
“Good night?” he asked.
“No,” I said, not really in the mood for conversation.
“If you don’t mind me saying, guv’nor, you look fucked.”
“Royally,” I replied.
He laughed, and introduced himself. Dave was an excabbie from London, and pretty soon we were talking about life in L.A. (me), and life driving a limo in L.A. (Dave).
“You wouldn’t credit the things I’ve seen in the back of this car.”
Maybe it was because he was from London, but I found myself telling him all about what had happened to me since I crash-landed in L.A. I told him all about my weeks of sofa-surfing at Tifanie’s, and taking a punch for Holly, and how she’d taken me back and done a makeover on me.
Dave laughed. “Yeah, that makes sense now. I have to say I was wondering about your shiny straight teeth, innit.”
When we got to Holly’s place there was someone else’s limo parked outside.
I didn’t totally fall apart or anything—hey, I’m not that pathetic. Instead asked myself what Kev would do in this situation?
“You’re not going in, are you?” Dave asked.
I didn’t respond as it occurred to me that a guy like Kev wouldn’t ever get into a situation like this, period. And he’s supposed to be the nutter.
“Feel like going for a drive.” It was a statement rather than a question.
“Do you mind?”
“Nah, not at all. Since the wife left me for her trainer I’ve not been able to sleep. Besides, you look like you need some company, and I’m already paid for.”
“Okay, what the fuck?” I agreed. “I’m in your hands.” It’s not every day you get a limo complete with driver and a full bar fridge at your disposal. I also had some serious drinking to catch up on—all those vodkas Nancy had nicked, for starters.
I asked Dave if he fancied joining me for a drink at the Bourgeois Pig in East Hollywood. Sometimes Kev hung out there. Not as a punter, you understand, but to beg change. But when we got there he was nowhere to be seen and the Bourgeois Pig was closing up, so we drove all over L.A. in a futile search for Kev at some of his other haunts.
Eventually tiredness overcame me and I had Dave drop me off at Tifanie’s apartment. It had been a long night.
Tifanie was still up, learning some lines for a new part in a miniseries, so I sat with her and helped her out by reading the other characters’ lines. There was no one else home.
We smoked a bit of gear we found in the tea caddy, and Tif told me all about how she’d finally won her big career break, and we had a bit of a laugh about Nile. Well, actually, I had a bit of a laugh about Nile. Tifanie thought he was a guru. When the sun came up we took a taxi to Swingers Diner and she stood me breakfast.
I arrived back at Holly’s around midday, desperate for sleep. I was about to throw myself onto the futon to catch up when Conchita started banging on the door.
“You must come, Mr. Leo,” she said, bustling me up the grass slope and into the kitchen.
“She bring home two men. One of them kiss Joseph on the mouth, Mr. Leo. He very upset. The other one—him in kitchen. Come, come! Very bad men, Mr. Leo. Very bad men.”
My biggest fear was making himself a coffee when I walked in.
“You must be Leo,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Ted. Great to meet you. Holly’s told me all about you.”
I’m not all that great at violence. Like I told you, at school they called me Fetal Man because that’s what I was if I ended up outnumbered in a fight. So it took me by surprise when my fist just reacted of its own accord.