#Hollywood Freeway

[rabbitcruiser]

Los Angeles was founded as El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora La Reina de los Ángeles de Porciúncula (The Village of Our Lady, the Queen of the Angels of Porziuncola) by 44 Spanish settlers on August 14, 1781.

[stinckers]

new @daxnorman stinckers in Hollywood (11/27/22)

[theaskew]

The setting sun burned the sky pink and orange in the same bright hues as surfers' bathing suits. It was beautiful deception, Bosch thought, as he drove north on the Hollywood Freeway to home. Sunsets did that here. Made you forget it was the smog that made their colors so brilliant, that behind every pretty picture there could be an ugly story.” ― Michael Connelly, The Black Echo

[ccohanlon]

l.a. fragments (from a notebook, 1998)

It is just after ten a.m. on a weekday and I’m sitting in a booth by a window in the diner on the ground floor of The Standard Hotel, on Sunset, sipping an iced latte and studying the geometric pattern of the blue linoleum tabletop.

“You hiding out? Cos’ if you are, let’s order breakfast. I’m starving.”

Without waiting for an answer, the slender black woman in white t-shirt and jeans unslings a Mexican leather bag from her shoulder and slides across the leatherette-upholstered banquette to sit beside me. She moves with the sinuous angularity of a snake.

“They’re looking for you back at your office,” she says.

“Did you tell them where I was?”

She smiles. “Baby, who knows that anymore?” She says it with the weary knowing of someone who, at age 26, has played most of the supporting roles in the repertoire of L.A. cautionary tales.

Her name is Aisha. We met in a café on Abbot Kinney a couple of months ago. She’s was once the too-young wife of a successful hip-hop producer, flashing a black Amex card in the fashionable bodegas off Rodeo Drive. Now she’s divorced, a single mother sharing a ground floor apartment smaller than her ex-husband’s garage with her young son on the edge of West Hollywood. She’s an actress, too, almost too old to hope for a break, but she does what she has to make ends meets — even, once, she confessed, hooking when a girlfriend offered her a thousand dollars for a threesome with a well-known director. “I didn’t mind it much,” she told me, “I was pretty desperate then.”

There’s a faded tattoo, blue-black like a bruise, on her right shoulder. I haven’t asked her about it but I know it’s from a life before the ones she’s told me about.

“You OK?” she asks.

“I don’t know.” Actually, I’m free-diving into a deep, aqueous depression. With luck, negative buoyancy will hold me down until I run out of air. “I lost it today.”

She shrugs. “It’s not the first time.”

“No.”

A pneumatic, not-so-young blonde waitress with a tangled perm and creamy flesh that billows from a utilitarian, faux-‘50s, yellow cotton dress puts a Caesar salad in middle of the table.

“It’s this fucking town,” Aisha says. “It does it to all of us.”

The aging English pop star is silent.

He’s performing tonight but his voice is strained, so he communicates through mime and when that fails, phrases scribbled in pencil on paper napkins. His hands are always in motion, rotating and flicking lightly from the wrists, like a percussionist working the inside of a beat.

There are three of us at a table beneath a bleached calico umbrella on a terrace of the Argyle Hotel. It’s just after midday. Beneath us, partly obscured by a sooty, carcinogenic haze, is West Hollywood: a symmetrical grid of boulevards and streets lined with grubby terracotta roofs, palm trees and eucalypti. Here and there, the glistening, crystalline surfaces of swimming pools.

I don’t even bother to take in the view. Too much of my life has ebbed away in these hotels, restaurants and parking lots. Whoever first said “Hell is other people” must not have lived in L.A. Here, hell is the shiny, empty places, from which all care has fled.

The other guest is English, too. His hollow-chested reediness and nasally Liverpudlian twang, along with the red Prada slacks and black Prada boots he’s wearing, mark him as a common music industry archetype. He has none of the pop star’s long-practised charisma. His name is Nick and together with the pop star he owns a music company in Tokyo that produces elusively pre-pubescent music acts called idoru for an adolescent market weaned on Sony Playstations.

“I was talking to someone this morning and he said I shouldn’t have anything to do with you,” Nick tells me.

I wait a beat before replying. “He’s heard the worst, I guess.”

“So have I,” Nick says. “How much of it is true?”

“Most of it.”

“You don’t seem too fussed.”

“Not much I can do about it.”

And that appears to be the end of it because as we eat, Nick tells me about the pop star’s plans, still in their early stages, to re-form the group with which he gained a rarefied stratus of fame in the Eighties. An hour later, the pop star himself scratches three words on a tea-stained paper napkin: “Come to Japan?”

I peer into the pop star’s famous blue eyes for a moment, then past them, over the low terrace wall, to a grassy reserve verge below that local residents use to exercise their dogs. Police in bicycle helmets, white golf shirts and blue shorts, are rousing several vagrants who were asleep, bundled in blankets. Disheveled, faceless figures rise and begin to wander away like refugees, trailing layers of threadbare wool, flannel and nylon, towards the scrappy suburban flatlands north of Melrose. A few stragglers, probably stoned on cheap crack or Thunderbird, are hurried along with the prods of batons.

I wonder if the hotel pays the police to do this so its guests don’t witness the only mortal sin you can commit in America: poverty.

I am so fucking tired of this place. The realization is abrupt and unexpected.

“Sure,” I say to the pop star. “When do I leave?”

I drive until dusk. With no particular place to go, I helm my reconditioned ‘63 Chevy Impala SuperSport like an elegant boat down La Cienega to Highway10, then west to the turn-off for the Pacific Coast Highway. From there, I follow the wide ribbon of four-lane blacktop north as it unspools along the beach. At Big Rock, the ocean’s shining, stainless steel surface disappears behind fragile homes of wood and stucco clinging to the eroded foreshore; it’s glimpsed again only in shimmering slivers until I reach the old Malibu pier. I hang a u-turn and re-trace my route on PCH until I reach the Topanga Canyon intersection. Turning my back on the Pacific Ocean, I alter course inland towards the grim sprawl of Hollywood.

There’s sometimes a mindlessness in driving around this way, a kind of meditation – a mechanised zazen, if you like – in which time and space pause, consciousness stops, and there is just being, a solitary samadhi experienced on the road. Except it’s not like that this evening. I can feel the persistent itch of psycho-toxins seeping through my brain, corroding reason. I’m unable to slow my racing thoughts. Incomplete images and addled phrases assemble then disassemble in my mind like arcane cryptography, impossible to break.

My body is tense, as if expecting a blow, and every sensation, from traffic noise to a draft of air on my skin, is an unbearable irritant.

A rusted, cast-iron gate, framed by a scraggly bougainvillea, opens from the sidewalk onto a metre-square patch of bare concrete. Four steps ascend to Aisha’s front door. An unprotected bulb at the end of a length of duct-taped flex burns a pale yellow above the door. The windows of the apartment are dark.

I knock on the door. Shuffling footsteps inside, as light as a child’s. The door opens. Aisha’s hand appears, then half her face, to beckon me in.

“Hey baby,” she whispers, smiling, closing the door behind me. She turns on a lamp. Its light is diffused, candle-like, beneath an earth-toned Moroccan veil. “I was waiting for you, but I couldn’t stay awake.”

She encircles my waist with her arms and presses her head against my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. She looks up at me, expecting me to continue, but my eyes are focused somewhere just short of the wall beyond her head.

“I’ll make us some tea,” she says.

The apartment is a large single room. A deep alcove, separated from the rest of the space by a hand-sewn curtain, painted in abstract, earth-toned patterns, serves as a bedroom for her son. A timber daybed in a distressed whitewash, across which are strewn several cushions and lengths of colourful East African fabrics, is set against a wall facing an open kitchen. A djembe, an African drum, is next to it and supports the veiled lamp on its desiccated skin. In front of the daybed is a blood red timber coffee table, of the sort you can pick up cheaply in Mexican furniture stores at the less fashionable end of Third Street.

I kick off my boots and my socks, and lie on the daybed, my head angled so I can watch Aisha in the kitchen. She’s wearing a plain, black satin slip that clings to her skin as she moves. She’s not wearing anything else; her coarse pubic hair ruffles the fabric’s easy flow above the hem. Her slender legs are unusually long.

“Come here,” I tell her. The voice isn’t mine: there’s a gonadal rawness about it, disconnected from anything sensual. Aisha stops what she’s doing and turns to look at me. She doesn’t move from the kitchen counter.

“Come here,” I repeat, less urgently, holding a languid hand out to her, as if reassuring a wary animal. She walks over and takes it. I try to draw her down onto the daybed but she balks.

“Let’s just talk for a while, OK?” she says. I try again to pull her towards me again, moving my body deeper into the daybed to make room. This time, she joins me. She lies with her back towards me, his shoulder blades against my chest, her ass pressed into my groin. She positions my hand where she wants it across her stomach.

“How was the rest of your day?” she says. Anxiety ripples through me. Unable to speak, I bury my face in her hair. Then I thrust my hand between her legs. I slide her light body up the mattress so my mouth can reach the side of her neck and her exposed, tattooed shoulder. “Baby, don’t,” she insists. “This isn’t what I want.”

I ruck her slip up over her belly as I turn her onto her stomach. I take in her exposed body with the clinical indifference of a mortician as I unbuckle my belt. There’s no tenderness, no desire, just this nagging emptiness that I want to caulk with sex.

“I don’t want this,” she says again, more softly – a last attempt to assuage what she senses is the worst of me.

I fuck her hard from behind, my fingers probing, bruising, as she lies still, silent, not even breathing hard. When finally I roll away from her, she stands, strips off her slip, and without looking at me, walks to the bathroom.

I think I hear her crying. I wait for an astringent of self-loathing to sting me but there’s nothing, not even care. Fifteen, twenty minutes go by, then the shower sputters. I get up from the daybed to wipe myself with kitchen paper and get dressed.

When Aisha returns, she is covered by a plain, ankle-length djellabah, with a white towel wrapped loosely around her head. She stands in front of me, just out of reach.

“What the fuck was that about?” she asks. There is an unnerving calm about her.

I want to answer but I can’t find the emotions around which to form the words.

“I am trying to understand – really I am – what would make you think it was okay to treat me like that.” She studies my face like it’s evidence of some un-nameable crime. Contempt flickers in her eyes.

I meet her stare but say nothing. A tear threads down her cheek. She turns away. I want to hold her, to console her, to tell her that I am sorry even though – I realise then, with a sickening jolt – I’m not. I’m not anything. Something is broken inside me and I don’t know how to fix it.

Without saying a word, I go to the front door, open it, and walk out into the empty night.

First published in Hobo Eye, USA, 2008.

[pinene]

Another funny thing. And I wouldn’t be surprised if this is true in like every giant city. Is like I could be fully within city of LA. and on the freeway one of the signs is like. 5 south to Los Angeles. like babe .. we’re already here

[amtrak-official]

LA is applying for several exciting RAISE grants including plans to cap the 101 Freeway between Santa Monica Boulevard and Hollywood Boulevard

[wandering-cemeteries]

Monument dedicated to the memory of Toto from "the Wizard of Oz". Unfortunately, Toto's original grave was destroyed during the construction of the Ventura Freeway.

Hollywood Forever Cemetery, Hollywood, California

Oct. 2018

[pinesource]

In a preview from his conversation with Willie Geist for Sunday TODAY, Chris Pine looked back at how much his role as Anne Hathaway’s love interest in The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement impacted his career.

Pine recalled the exact moment he got the life-changing call saying he had been cast as Nicholas Devereaux. He was on the freeway, driving his 1972 BMW that he owned since he was 16, at a time in his life when he had only booked small TV roles.

“I got a call from my agent saying I booked the job, and I pulled over to the side of the freeway, and they said, ‘You’re getting paid $65,000,'” said the actor. “It was like they had just told me I’d make $15 million.”

Pine shared that getting the call was “absolutely earth-shattering” as he was severely struggling financially. “I had an overdraft on my bank account. It was like $400 over. I was going to have to ask my parents for money, and then I got that 65,” he said.

“I remember distinctly knowing in that moment that my life had changed somehow,” Pine continued, “even though 65 at the end of the day turned out to be like $15,000.”

“And I owed my parents rent money,” he added. “But that is a wild feeling. I’ll never forget that.”

While Princess Diaries 2 was Pine’s first major role, which resulted in him being cast as the leading man in the 2006 Lindsay Lohan-starring rom-com Just My Luck two years later, Pine didn’t receive his big break until Star Trek. In the J.J. Abrams-directed reboot, Pine took over William Shatner’s role as Captain Kirk.

Two decades later, he might reunite with Mia Thermopolis. In 2022, The Hollywood Reporter announced that a third Princess Diaries movie was in the works at Disney. Pine has expressed a desire to reprise his role as Nicholas, telling Entertainment Tonight in 2023, “I’m here for it. Give me a phone call or an email.”

[silentglassbreak]

Anonymous

Noah Sebastian x OFC

-

This story is flying out of me folks. Hope the few readers I have so far are enjoying! Again, if you want to be tagged, lemme know.

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, overall abuse, mild violence (ie. bar fights), smut, swearing, and altogether just a lot of fuckery.

+It goes without saying, this is a work of fiction. All of my words are my own. Plagiarism is a crime.

Part 4 - Never Know

The ride back to Calabasas was surprisingly more comfortable than I expected. Once it was just the two of us, Noah had become rather chatty, going on about the show, the crowd, the lighting that kept pissing him off, the meet and greet.

“It always amazes me how many people walk around with my face on their shirts.” He laughed to himself.

“Yeah, I’ve always found that kind of strange, wearing another human on your body.”

I felt his eyes burning a hole into the side of my head.

“That sounded very serial killer-ish?” His tone was apprehensive and playful.

“Who says that’s not what I meant?” I managed to hold my composure for about 30 seconds before bursting into a fit of laughter, him following right behind.

“Yeah, sure pipsqueak.”

My jaw dropped. “Excuse me! Not all of us are walking Elm trees, okay?!”

“Yeah, and not all of us are shorter than 5 feet!”

My hand batted over at him, his arms flailing in defense while he laughed at me.

“I am five-foot-one, mister!”

He held his stomach, his laughter roaring.

I set my head back on the headrest, my wheels inching forward at a snail’s pace. Normally, a drive to Calabasas from Hollywood would only take about 45 minutes, but a wreck on the 101 Freeway had us in gridlock. We had already been sitting, barely moving for about thirty minutes.

Normally, I wouldn’t mind. We had good music on the radio, it was a cool, crisp evening, and Noah was plenty good company. However, my bladder was going to betray me soon, and I could feel it.

I squirmed in my seat for a moment, trying to arrange my jeans to take some pressure off my bladder. I must have been obvious, because Noah spoke up.

“You okay?”

I stopped wiggling immediately. “Hm?” He raised an eyebrow at me. “Oh, yeah. Just getting restless.”

“You sure?”

I smiled earnestly. “Yeah.”

“Well I don’t know about you but I’ve got to pee like a motherfucker.”

I sighed loudly. “Oh my GOD me too!”

He laughed and turned the heat up in the car. I looked over at him inquisitively’

He put his hands up. “It helps. I don’t know why, but it helps.”

-

Thirty more minutes of traffic and we were finally driving winding roads through neighborhoods I had only dreamed of. I helped sell houses, but not houses like this. He finally directed me to a gated driveway, where he got out and held his wallet up to a small terminal. Slowly the gate creaked open, and he jumped back in the car.

“You want to come in and use the restroom?”

I bit my lip, staring up at the huge house before me. It was intimidating just to look at, let alone imagine myself inside of.

“Erm…” I nervously picked at my fingernail. “That’s okay, I can wait.”

He gave me a look that told me he wasn’t accepting that. “No you can’t, c’mon. No one will be home for a while.”

He hopped out before I could protest further. The call of nature was stronger than my will to fight, so I followed, hastily grabbing my purse and hitting the door locks.

I followed him up a pathway through a large grassy yard, through a door that I couldn’t even guess how tall it was.

When we walked in, I was surprised. It wasn’t how I pictured a rock band to live. He had mentioned him and the entire band lived there. I’m not entirely sure what I expected, piles of beer cans? Guitars everywhere? Random studio equipment? It felt silly now, thinking it back over.

It was normal. Sure, there were guitars hung over the mantle neatly, obviously not played much, with framed records hung between. But the couch looked so comfortable, a throw blanket draped over the back. The staircase wound through the living room, and beyond I imagined the kitchen was somewhere deeper into the home.

“Bathroom’s right there.” Noah pointed to a door just off the staircase. “I’m going to use the one in my room. I’m going to change real quick too. I’ll only be a sec.”

And with that, he was bounding up the staircase, two steps at a time. He really did have to pee.

I cautiously made my way over to the door he pointed out. Inside I found a half bathroom, only a toilet and sink. Black rugs lined the floor and bright red towels hung from the holders. I locked the door and quickly made my way to the toilet.

Washing my hands, I happened to glance at myself in the mirror. Holy fuck, I was a mess.

My eyeliner and mascara were smeared under my eyes, my jet black hair was frizzed, and I had something on my sweater. What the hell did I manage to spill on myself?! Nachos. The god damn nachos.

I quickly took my sweater off, exposing my plain black tank top underneath, tying it around my waist. I pulled my contact case from my purse and easily removed my lenses, before splashing water on my cheeks and rubbing dampened toilet paper under my eyes to rid the excess smudgy liner.

I slipped my glasses on quickly, cursing the metal frames for aging me at least ten years, and threw my hair up in a ponytail, smoothing it out as best as I could.

When I came out of the bathroom, I heard footsteps from the top of the staircase.

“Better?” I looked up at him, hands clutching around the strap of my cross-body bag.

“Much, thank you.”

Noah had a curious smile on his face that made me rebalance my weight in each foot. “What?”

He shook his head and made his way down the stairs. “Nice glasses.”

I instinctively turned my face away. When I looked back, he was next to me. His eyes caught mine in a trance, dark and looming. I couldn’t feel if I was breathing anymore, and I’m not entirely sure if I cared in that moment.

That ‘moment’ went on for longer than I would’ve liked before his eyebrows shot up.

“Sugar!”

This broke me from my daze, confusing me. I raised an eyebrow but too quick, he grabbed me by the wrist and started leading me to the kitchen past the staircase.

“We need sugar.” He let go of me at the counter, opening the freezer drawer of the fridge. He came out with a tub of vanilla ice cream, and loudly pulled two spoons out of the drawer next to me, dropping one in front of me.

Flipping the top off of the tub, he dug his spoon in and stuffed it into his mouth, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. I tried not to stare at him.

“I think I’m okay.”

He shook his head at my argument.

“Nope. You said that as my sponsor, you’d eat ice cream with me if I needed it.” He pointed at the tub. “Eat.”

I raised my eyebrow and picked up the spoon, getting only a touch of ice cream on the end.

“I don’t remember saying exactly that.”

He shrugged, but I still put the sweet, cold spoon in my mouth. It did help.

We sat in silence for a moment, devouring the fresh tub of ice cream for a few minutes before he grabbed it and headed for a tall black table near the countertop. I followed.

We sat adjacent, tub in the center, and continued to gorge.

“So, am I going to get fat from all the sugar?”

This made me chuckle and shake my head. “You’ve got to counteract the carbs. Work out. That also helps because of the endorphins.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.” His tongue was cleaning the underside of the spoon, and I had evidently stopped mid-bite to ogle this, because he smirked at me.

“Sorry.” He sheepishly put the spoon down.

I blinked rapidly and coughed out a giggle. “No, no, I’m sorry.”

Standing up, I turned around and headed for the sink. Quickly rinsing water over my spoon, I set it in the metal basin with a loud clink.

I felt his arm come up beside me, setting his down as well. I hadn’t even heard him walk over.

He didn’t move away from my side, just standing directly behind me. I felt the warmth of his breath on the bare skin at the nape of my neck. His hand was still resting on the countertop to my right and I saw his knuckles turning white where they grasped the edge.

This was bad. I didn’t know what it was, but it was bad.

He did back away after a moment, breathing loudly. I took an extra second to compose myself before turning around.

When I did, there were those eyes again. Boring into me. However, after a second, he smiled, lifting his hand to my face. I was frozen, entirely unaware of what was happening.

His thumb reached up, and swiped across my bottom lip. Is he serious?

When he pulled his hand back, however, the creamy white liquid made me chuckle. I had ice cream on my lip. I reached up and wiped my mouth, while he laughed and just wiped his hand on the sweat pants he was wearing.

“I’m such a mess today.”

He shook his head in response. “I don’t think so.”

And suddenly, the air was thick. Thicker than water. Thicker than syrup. I couldn’t even breathe. His lips were so close. It wouldn’t take much, just a swift movement. A trip? A leer in the wrong direction?

His eyes were studying mine, back and forth. Mine were fixated on his mouth, pink from the cold. Puffy. Absolutely mouth watering.

My body began pulling back, when a hand grabbed me by the back of the neck, fast as lightning, and pulled me in.

His mouth was hot, despite our dessert. His tongue was searching through my mouth, my eyes rolling back behind my lids.

My instincts kicked in and my hands grabbed his shirt, pulling his body closer.

A low, guttural growl escaped his throat before his hand reached down and grabbed my ass, lifting me in the air. He pushed me back onto the countertop so we were at an even level.

I can’t say how long this went on, our mouths fighting each other, my hands gripping his hair. His hands were sliding up and down my thighs, fingertips touching my hips. My body was electric white hot need.

It had been so so long.

But at that moment, that stupid, idiotic fucking moment, my brain kicked in.

He has a girlfriend.

He has a girl-friend!

He has a girlfriend!

YOU’RE HIS FUCKING SPONSOR!

This brought me back, my hands forfeiting his hair, and pushing my body backwards. The back of my head bumped the cabinet behind me, but not hard enough to care.

His pupils were blown wide, making his irises appear to be entirely black.

“Leena…I…I’m so fucking sor-“ But before he could finish, I had hopped down from the counter.

“I have to go.” I padded to the front door, not looking back. I jumped in my truck and nearly peeled away from the driveway, only slowing down to allow the gate to open again.

What the fuck did I just do?

-

I forced myself to sleep that night, refusing to process what all had just happened.

I regretted it the next day, when I woke up with blackened eye crust and stiff from wearing my hair in a ponytail over night.

I had only the forethought to take my jeans and bra off. I cursed myself when I saw my reflection the following morning. It was horrendous.

My hair was askew, half ripped from the ponytail. My eyes were bloodshot, which is odd given I didn’t think I had cried. Maybe I cried on my way home? Who knows. I actively tried to block it all out.

This was unacceptable behavior from me. I’m the responsible one. The older one. The sober-senior, so to speak.

To only add insult to injury, I had forgotten to grab my energy drinks last night, so I was stuck making a good old fashioned cup of coffee with my barely used Keurig.

While I waited for it to brew, I grabbed my phone out of my purse, groaning when I saw it was on 24% battery. I didn’t even plug it in.

I did notice that I had several fresh texts. One from Laura, one from Abel, and one from Noah.

Naturally, I wanted to open Laura’s first, but my morals forced me to open Noah’s first. He might need his sponsor (which is all I am to him).

Noah: Leena, I can’t even begin to tell you how awful I feel. I’m so so so so so so so sorry. I completely understand if you don’t want to sponsor me anymore. Please just let me know you made it home safe.

Fuck that guy, and how god damn sweet he was. He shouldn’t be apologizing, I should. I should know better.

The text had come in at 11:46PM, right after I left. I sighed, typing a fast response.

Me: Please don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. I’m sorry. I can still sponsor you, maybe we just see each other in group only?

I added a smiley face to hopefully convey that I wasn’t actually angry at him.

His response came too fast for me to ignore.

Noah: I understand. See you Tuesday. I’ll call if I need you.

I felt like the message was almost cold, but I ignored it.

I didn’t even bother texting Laura before calling her.

“Hey babes! I’m so fucking tired this morning. I don’t know how I thought I was going to make it through work today. My back is kill-“

I had to cut her off. “He fucking kissed me.”

The other end went completely silent.

“What?!?!” Her shrill voice mimicked my own panic.

“Yup.”

“I fucking knew you liked him!”

I sneered. “Didn’t you hear me?! He kissed me!”

“Oh okay, so you pushed him off?”

I hesitated. I did, just after being an entire fucking moron for at least two minutes. “Y-Yes.”

My voice was such a God damn traitor.

“Oh no, Leena.” Her tone was serious now. I didn’t even have the balls to respond. “This is bad, babe. You can’t fall for your sponsee.”

“Fall for him?!” My turn to be shrill. “I don’t even know him!”

Poor Angel whined at me from down near my legs. I padded to the back door and let him out.

“Exactly! And see how drawn to him you are already! You need to stay away from him.”

“I’m his sponsor, Laura. I can’t exactly ditch the guy.”

She sighed. “No, but you can keep a distance.”

“Yeah. I told him we should only see each other in group.”

“What did he say?” I read her his response. She tsk’ed. “He’s butthurt.”

“He has a girlfriend.”

“Apparently one he can’t care about too much.”

I sighed. “It’s the alcohol withdrawal, dude. It makes you do stupid shit. Makes you crave…stuff.”

“Like hot little brunette girls?” I rolled my eyes.

“Oh my fucking god.”

She laughed then. “I’m fucking with you.”

“Please don’t. I’m fucking struggling here.” I groaned loudly. “I want a drink so bad.”

Her tone changed. “Babes?” I hung my head over the kitchen counter. “Maybe you should call your sponsor.”

My head snapped up. “You’re right. I’m going to.”

“Call me later if you want.”

I agreed and hung up. Scrolling through my phone, I called the one person I trusted more than myself.

The phone rang only a second before his voice rang out on the other end. “Hey! You okay?”

“Hey Daddy. No, I’m not.”

-

After a good two hour talk with my Dad, a scalding hot shower, and three pieces of cinnamon toast, I was curled up in bed, arm slung over Angel who thoroughly enjoyed our lazy days, watching The Conjuring. It was nearly 8PM, and I had no other plans. My day off tomorrow would be for laundry and cleaning. Maybe a run? Today was for sulking and healing.

Which I could do, if my phone didn’t start ringing.

Noah’s name flashed across the screen and I groaned before fixing my tone.

“Hello?”

“When does this stop being so fucking hard?” His voice was agitated, and much louder than I was used to. He was worked up, which was dangerous when you’re trying not to drink.

I sat up straight in bed, hitting pause on my remote.

“Noah, what happened?”

I heard him huffing on the other end of the phone. “No, answer that for me. Fucking, please!” He was yelling now.

I stiffened my voice. “Noah, please don’t yell at me.”

I heard him take three calculated breaths.

“I’m sorry. I’m just pissed off.”

I nodded, as if he could see. “It’s okay. Talk to me, what happened?”

“Lily and I got into a fight.”

“Lily?”

“My girlfriend.” I felt my confidence slip.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I tried to tell her I didn’t want to meet her for drinks. That I was still sick. She told me I had been acting so weird and told me I’ve been so off lately.”

I laid back on my pillows, letting him continue to vent.

“Which says a lot because the only difference is, I’ve been fucking SOBER! I’ve been working my ass off to get better, and she tells me I’m essentially boring. Like, I’m a vocalist for fuck’s sake! Alcohol murders my voice! I can’t sing for shit when I’ve been drinking! And I always end up fighting someone. Some rando at the bar, or Nick, or Jolly. It’s a miracle I haven’t been arrested!”

His rant was only getting stronger.

“I want to get healthy. I want to be better. And that’s me being off? She hasn’t even noticed I’ve been sober!”

He made a sound that was something of a growling, which made my stomach flip. I ignored it. But I could hear his breathing slow.

“Feel better?” My voice was small, unsure if he was quite done.

His voice snorted on the other end. “Yeah, I do, actually.”

I smiled, sad. “Good.”

The line was quiet for a few, just breathing from each end.

“Maybe it’s time to tell her, Noah? Maybe you should tell all of them. You’ll be surprised who may support you.” He shrugged.

“I don’t know how.”

“I get that, but you know them better than anyone else. You got this. I’m sure they love you, and will understand.” I’m not sure, but he needs the comfort right now.

“Thanks Mileena.” I had never heard him say my full name. “Sorry for calling.”

I laughed. “Never apologize for needing your sponsor.”

“My friend?”

This made me pause, but I did respond. “Of course.”

[writingsbyzuzu]

high enough.

four- the end of beginning

notes: harini welcomes you with open arms. ethan isn't taking the transition very well

you finally meet the last few key players of the story ;)

warnings: alcohol consumption, minor angst

“So what changed your mind?”

You and Harini are cruising down the freeway, heading to her home. 

“She ate a strawberry.” She scrunches her face up in confusion.

“I’m sorry?”

“Ethan isn’t the biggest fan of strawberries for breakfast. But he gets them every morning when his chef makes eggs. Because I eat strawberries. And he knew I don’t eat breakfast. So he gets something he knew I would take, knowing he didn’t want them.” You look out at the road, the Los Angeles spots blurring past you.

“And she ate one of your strawberries? And that was enough? I have to say, that isn’t quite the catalyst I expected.”

You turn back to her. “It wasn’t just that.”

“He told her my line.”

“Your line?”

“At practice. Every day, I get Ethan something to drink. And nearly every time he says this stupid line. ‘When I get to the pearly gates, I hope the first thing I hear is you telling me you got me my drink’.”

Harini scoffs at this. “That’s so weird and corny.” She turns, pulling the car off of the freeway. 

“Whatever. It’s special to us. He never says it to anyone else, just a thank you. But he said it to her. I fucking heard him. When his manager and I came in to debrief him. She was laughing, tossing back that ridiculously long blonde hair, and she said something, so he grabbed it and smiled at her, and then he just said it.”

Harini lets out a groan of disgust. “What a fucking pig.” She zooms through the streets of her fancy neighborhood, the mansions huge, towering over the two of you and her tiny convertible.

Sure, Ethan lived in a mansion, but this was a different tax bracket altogether. These were the absolute stars of Hollywood. You think of all your favorite movie stars and musicians, who no doubt lived in this neighborhood, or at least in one nearby. 

She sees you looking away, so she continues to speak.

“Well. I’m glad you decided to join me. I promise, you’ll have a good time. I don’t have any plans to backstab you. I mean, you’ll definitely have more eyes on you, but you have more job security. Just don’t spill my secrets,” she jokes. You shake your head, turning back to her. “I wouldn’t fucking dare.”

The two of you share a glance and a smile, before pulling up to her house. You see your car and Annie’s parked in the extensively large driveway, along with a shiny chrome Jeep you assume is Damon’s.

You observe Harini and Damon’s (and now technically, yours and Annie’s) home. “Holy shit,” is all you manage to say.

“Welcome home,” she grins. The two of you step out of the car, walking on the gravel to the front door. The front door swings open and Damon steps out, arms wide spread. “Welcome home, ladies!” he cheers. “Annie and I managed to move everything inside, you just have to decide what room you want and move your stuff into it. I’ll help.”

So far, you didn’t regret a single thing.

It only hits you hours later, when your stuff is perfectly adjusted in your new room, and you’re on a sofa with the three of them that it really begins to hit you, smack dab in the middle of a Star Wars marathon.

“Oh my fucking, it’s over. I can’t believe I did that, he was so sad, he begged me, Annie, he begged,” you sob. Annie wraps her arms around you, rubbing your back. “You needed to do it. Look what you’ve done for yourself, for me, for us. You deserved better. You were played for a fool. And now you got us a wonderful opportunity. Sure, it could have been handled better, but he could have too, with that fucking girlfriend..”

You let out a wail at the mention of Lizzy, and Harini goes to also rub your back.

Damon turns down the movie, before opening his mouth to speak. “Look, I’m sure he cared about you at some point. But no matter how much he does or doesn’t care about you, you deserved better from a job. Regardless if he ever loved you back. We’re grateful you accepted Rini’s offer. You’re going to be treated better, and we’re happy to have this be your home.”

You smile weakly at the words.

“There she is,” he grins. 

The last movie of the night is rolling its credits. You and Annie are slumped on the couch asleep, your head on Annie’s shoulder, Annie’s on top of yours. Harini puts a blanket on the two of you, before returning to her seat next to Damon. 

Damon has instagram open, scrolling through a comment section. “My comments are blowing up, since you stole Nestor’s precious Trouble, apparently. Like she can’t think for herself or something. They’re asking me to return her like she’s a toy I stole at the playground or something.” 

They both laugh at the ridiculousness of the thought. 

Damon sees Ethan posted on his Instagram story, and hesitates, before he taps to see it. There was a video of Ethan ruthlessly beating down a sandbag, with the caption “anyways, back to what’s important”.

“Jesus,” Harini whispers, watching with a look of concern.

Damon eyes her, then yours and Annie’s sleeping figures. “It’s like I said at the mall. The man only has one weakness. When you take a man’s weakness, he either crumples, or he’s invincible. You just made Ethan Nestor the most angry and solid man on the planet.”

He kisses Harini’s head, leaving her on the couch. “G’night baby.”

When you wake up the next morning on the couch, you immediately scramble to your feet, rushing upstairs to change. It was your first day, you couldn’t make Harini regret hiring you so soon. 

You change in a panic, putting on the usual “assistant’s clothes” Jerry had always insisted you wore. You had used it as your uniform for this long, why disrupt routine?

As you hop down the stairs, you rush into the kitchen. Damon is ruffling through the drawers. “Well, good morning to you!” he says cheerfully, pulling out a package of eggs. He motions you to sit at the table. “Sit down, ‘m making pancakes!” 

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to do that?” “You’re an assistant, not a private chef,” Damon jokes. You freeze at the statement. Harini comes in, in fluffy pink pajamas and slippers, waltzing over to Damon and giving him a small kiss.

You watch, your stomach hurting. You had always hoped, with Ethan… you scratch the thought.

Harini turns to you, and scans your outfit. “Babes, you don’t have to wear that if you don’t want to. Just wear your normal clothes. Unless those are your normal clothes,” she says, her nose crinkled. You look down at the button up blouse and trousers. “Really?” you ask. “My assistant needs to shine with her style. Not the corporate style. Go get changed.”

With that, you run back out the room and up the stairs, rushing to change into an outfit. As you’re putting on the last of your new outfit, there’s a knock at your door. Annie enters your room, looking slightly nervous. “What?” you ask her. “You haven’t checked your phone yet, have you?”

“No, I turned it off yesterday morning. Is it bad?” You turn fully towards her.

“Kind of,” she whispers. You motion for her to sit on the bed, so she does, and you join her. After your phone boots up, it almost immediately freezes, overwhelmed with notifications. 

“You’re trending on, well, any community sports related. Open TikTok.”

You do as she says, seeing she’s sent you a video. “Open it,” she tells you. 

It’s a fucking video of you. You click on it nervously.

“Who do you fucking think you are?” you hear yourself say, before it cuts to you jumping into Harini’s car and flipping him off, some trending song playing. It’s an edit. Of course people have edited you.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, rewatching it. “There’s a lot of those. A LOT. A lot of people think you’re really cool for sticking it to the man, a few people have thought you’ve betrayed him. A LOT of them think they just saw a breakup or something adjacent.”

“Yikes,” you whisper. You swipe out of direct messaging, but a video of Jerry is on your for you page. You groan, before Jerry begins to speak.

“Ethan regrets to inform fans that unfortunately, his assistant is no longer a part of his team from here on out, we are looking for a replacement. It’s clear from her incredibly immature response that Ethan believes this is what’s best for him and his career.”

You swipe out of TikTok and slam your phone onto your bedsheets. “That bastard. That fucking bastard,” you say, Annie nodding. “What a fucking dick! All the shit you’ve done for him, that meltdown he had and now he’s saying you leaving was the best thing for you?? Girl, fuck him.”

Your phone lights up again, as the rest of the notifications have been slowly trickling in, mainly new followers and mentions.

15 missed calls from: eth❤️‍🔥🥊

3 voicemails from:  eth❤️‍🔥🥊

30 messages from: eth❤️‍🔥🥊

“You’re fucking joking me,” you murmur. You unlock your phone and delete the notifications for the calls. You pause for a moment, before going to your voicemail and deleting them, without even a listen. You do the same to his messages, before finally opening his contact and changing it to simply ‘Ethan Nestor’.

You look at Annie, who’s looking back at you.

 “It’s a new day Annie. Let’s get to fucking work.”

“You need to get up,” Ethan hears.

He can feel the carpet of his bedroom against his face and neck, a drool puddle having formed where his mouth was. His head was pounding with dull pain, so he doesn’t move.

“Ethan.” God, does this woman ever shut up?, he thinks.

Lizzy nudges him with her foot. “You need to get up, loser. LIke now. Jerry is getting pissed, it’s 1 PM.” Ethan rolls over. “Jesus, you look like shit, and you smell like whisky,” Lizzy groans.

Ethan slowly sits up, rubbing his face slowly. He felt like shit, that was for certain. He turns to check his phone, but nothing from you. “She hasn’t called me back, Liz.”

“She’s not going to, dude. Not after you shot yourself in the foot like that. Now come downstairs, Jerry has to plan out more interviews for you so we can fix this.”

Ethan checks his phone last time, swiping to his messages. You had turned off your read receipts, because of course you did. He tucks his phone into his pocket, and with that, heads downstairs.

He wasn’t the largest fan of Lizzy. He wasn’t going to be a fan of any PR girlfriend, but Lizzy was brash and rude, and nothing like you. But at least she also didn’t want to be there. Having been fired from the big show she was on due to calling out a famous producer (who spun it around to say Lizzy was “difficult”), she needed good press. Up until yesterday afternoon, Ethan was good press. Minus the rumors he was railing his assistant. How he wished that were true. But even then, fans seemed receptive to the idea, considering the bond he and Trouble have had.

Jerry had begun to talk to him the minute he was within vision, but Ethan wasn’t listening for even a moment, his eyes glazing over. Lizzy leans over to Jerry. 

“You should give him the day off, I think he’s still drunk.” Jerry scoffs. “He’ll get over it.”

Those are the first words that cut through to Ethan. “No, I fucking won’t. Congrats, Jerry, you’ve ruined my personal life.”

“Ruined? Ruined your personal life? How? You have a girlfriend you can take out, and you’re about to fight in the highest league, you have a shot to be the world junior middleweight champion. And you’re out here threatening your life with the outbursts,” Jerry hisses.

Ethan points at Lizzy. “That’s a fake fucking girlfriend. Nothing about it is real. I love her, Jerry. And this stupid fucking plan of yours to make me look better has not only cost me her, has made me look like a dick in front of TMZ and the internet.”

“Yeah well, I fixed it, no thanks to you.”

“What?”

“I blamed her outburst on her not having the maturity to continue being your assistant.”

Ethan immediately turns around, marching up the stairs.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jerry shouts. Ethan screams back. “Taking the damn day off!”, storming back into his room and slamming his door shut.

“What would you want to do?” Harini asks. You and Annie are sitting on the floor of the recording studio an hour from the house, while she sits in a bright pink office chair. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate, Rini,” you say, taking a sip of water.

“Music, dancing, do you want to model?”

You nearly choke on the water, coughing furiously, before your throat clears up. “I thought I was being your assistant,” you whisper.

“You are,” Harini nods, “but I want to help you have your own stuff, too, both of you. You sat in the shadows of that man while you helped push his career, and I won’t let that happen to you again. I told you, I want you to shine like you deserve.”

You and Annie stare in shock at her. 

Then you bring yourself to finally speak. “Let’s do all of it.”

Ethan felt like a stalker as the week progressed. While you hadn’t posted anything on any of your pages, every trace of him had been wiped from every single page of yours. Pictures of the two of you together, gone, pictures of him, things he did for you, all gone. Like you had always been Harini’s assistant, instead. You had even deleted your own birthday party pictures, ones that didn’t even include him.

“Happy birthday, trouble,” he cheers, enveloping you into a hug. “Ethan, this cake is so pretty!” you croon. The heart shaped cake with blue icing sat on your apartment counter, the candles lit. “Make a wish,” he whispers to you, as your friends all pile around the two of you. You blow out the candles and beam at him. Ethan pulls out a small wrapped box. “For you, trouble.”

What a lifetime ago that had felt.

But Harini posted you a few times. So now he found himself checking Harini’s page regularly. Annie had blocked him after he announced Lizzy, so he never bothered checking her page.

Like today. There was a picture of you on Harini’s story, your hair done, your makeup fully done, and you were in a baby tee and jeans.

Who was this person? This wasn’t his trouble. It hits him that he didn’t really ever see you in normal clothes that often. And you usually only wore mascara. Who was this?

Jerry walks up to the bench, and Ethan quickly puts away his phone. Jerry looks him over and sighs. “Alright, you got a lot to do. Hit the showers. Also, you have to take Lizzy out tonight, the paparazzi needs to see you tonight together, we are trying to sell this.” Ethan rolls his eyes, sitting up to pull on his shoes. “Fine.”

“Just breaking, Ethan Nestor and Lizzie Dee Mitchell are caught kissing in Ethan Nestor’s car.”

You look up from your clipboard at the gaggle of girls in the practice room, raising an eyebrow.

Terra groans. “Who cares, he shouldn’t even be allowed to be a thought in our mind.”

It felt weird to be in a girl squad. For most of your lives, it had been just you and Annie. Adding Harini was already a shift in dynamic, especially because you lived together, but now you had an additional 4 girls to adjust to. Not that you really minded. You liked them each in their own ways.

Morgan, who was soft, sweet, and a talent at anything she put her hands on. Brit, who was witty, sarcastic, and incredibly sharp.

Kiera, who was always in the loop on gossip (like just now), was funny, fast thinking, and good with people. And then there was Terra.

Meeting Terra was something else. As Rini’s oldest friend, you were worried Terra wasn’t going to enjoy your presence. But Terra, after looking at you and Annie for a moment with a dead stare, she enveloped you both in a hug. Terra was fierce, loyal. And she saw that right back in you. Which meant you were fast friends.

However, after a gossiping session with the girls, she was also Ethan’s number one hater.

“Let me see,” you blurt out. Annie snatches Morgan’s phone. “No way. You’ll just wallow in your misery, and we just got you to agree to my clubbing promise tonight.”

She wasn’t kidding. It took the entire girl squad an hour to convince you to go out tonight. “Okay, that’s fair,” you nod. "Now ladies, let's focus," Harini chastises.

Three hours later, there you were at the Black Rabbit, LA’s most exclusive celebrity nightclub. The seven of you strut in, the paparazzi taking pictures as you do. The music is loud, and there’s dozens of people you recognize and never thought you would meet. Harini and Morgan go to dance immediately, but the rest of you take shots, trying to get yourselves tipsy before you danced.

Once you drank to your heart’s content, you joined the dancefloor. You couldn’t lie, under the pink and green lights, you were actually having one of the greatest nights of your life. Everyone was jumping up and down and twirling and swaying. It felt good. You were among friends.

Hit it like rom-pom-pom-pom (hit it like)

Get it hot like Papa John (get it hot)

Make a bitch go on and on (make a bitch)

“God! I love Chappell Roan!” Morgan screams and you cheer in response. You stumble a tiny bit, and you accidentally elbow someone. “I’m sorry-” you turn, and face someone’s chest.

“It’s alright, you barely even brushed me,” a soft Irish voice calls out. You look up to see a man smiling down at you, with a chiseled jaw and blonde curly hair. Woah. You smile back at him, and you share a moment looking at each other, until you hear Harini squeal with joy behind you.

“Alex! You made it!” Harini bounds up to the two of you. “Alex, this is y/n, she’s my new assistant. Y/N, this is Alex Jamie Wilson, he’s my opener for the tour once we get the album out.”

Alex lifts up a hand to shake yours. “Beyond charmed.”

Oh, you could get used to this. “Pleasure,” you say.

Neither of you have broken eye contact, which gets Harini a little excited, turning to the girls every few seconds to make a shocked expression. She couldn’t lie, she was kind of hoping you’d take an interest in Alex, as watching you continue to wallow over Ethan was torture for everyone.

You were incredibly kind and sweet, you deserved the world. She knew it would take more than just a week to get over someone you loved for four years, but it wouldn’t hurt to plant a seed, right? Surely you’d get over Ethan eventually-

The universe has to be playing a sick fucking joke, she thinks.

Ethan walks in with Lizzy, an arm draped around her.

Jerry had all but forced Ethan to take out Lizzy. Lizzy, in all her infamous wisdom, suggested that they go to the club, so at least they could have something in their system before having to do disgusting shit in front of the cameras. Ethan agreed, so the Black Cat it was.

It was crowded, he thinks, and he hated thinking all these people thought she was his girlfriend. They split up pretty quickly, as Lizzy goes to the bathroom. Ethan goes to sit on a stool at the bar, ordering a scotch. He pulls out his phone to scroll as he waits for Lizzy, but he feels a tap on his shoulder. Harini.

“You can’t fucking be here,” she yells. “Why not?” Ethan exclaims back, annoyed immediately. The audacity. She stole the one thing that matters to him, now she’s yelling at him to get out of a public night club.

“You have to fucking go.”

A girl approaches, taking a place next to Harini. “Beat it, Nestor,” the girl says, crossing her arm. “Who the hell are you?” Ethan responds. “She can’t see you, you have to leave,” Harini exclaims.

Trouble was here?

He looks over their shoulders, and there you were, perfection, having an animated conversation with someone Ethan couldn’t see. His face noticeably lights up. Finally, he can just fucking see you, maybe talk to you.

He slides off the stool, but the second girl blocks him. “No,” she shouts. Ethan parts the girls with ease, his focus on you. He starts trying to push through the crowd. Harini and Terra trail behind him quickly, trying to convince him not to.

But by the time Ethan gets there, you’re gone.

He flips back around, where Harini and Terra are waiting behind him, equally confused.

“Where is she?” he asks, looking over their heads. But it was fruitless, you couldn’t be spotted. Harini’s eyes grow big as saucers, confusion becoming more apparent on her face. “I don’t know, she was just right there!”

Harini grabs the elbow of another girl, who spins around. “Morgan, have you and Keira seen y/n? I can’t spot her.” Morgan and the girl she was dancing with immediately stop, shaking their heads.

Oh, shit.

[rabbitcruiser]

The City of Los Angeles was incorporated on April 4, 1850.  

[newhologram]

“I write this eulogy while looking across one of the ten-lane freeways P-22 somehow miraculously crossed in 2012, gazing at a view of his new home, Griffith Park. Burbank Peak and the other hills that mark the terminus of the Santa Monica Mountains emerge from this urban island like sentinels making a last stand against the second largest city in the country. The traffic noise never ceases. Helicopters fly overhead. The lights of the city give the sky no peace.

“Yet a mountain lion lived here, right here in Los Angeles.

“I can’t finish this sentence without crying because of the past tense. It’s hard to imagine I will be writing about P-22 in the past tense now.

"Biologists and veterinarians with the California Department of Fish and Wildlife announced today they have made the difficult decision to end P-22’s suffering and help him transition peacefully to the next place. I hope his future is filled with endless forests without a car or road in sight and where deer are plentiful, and I hope he finally finds the mate that his island existence denied him his entire life.

“I am so grateful I was given the opportunity to say goodbye to P-22. Although I have advocated for his protection for a decade, we had never met before. I sat near him, looking into his eyes for a few minutes, and told him he was a good boy. I told him how much I loved him. How much the world loved him. And I told him I was so sorry that we did not make the world a safer place for him. I apologized that despite all I and others who cared for him did, we failed him.

“I don’t have any illusion that my presence or words comforted him. And I left with a great sadness I will carry for the rest of my days.

“Before I said goodbye, I sat in a conference room with team members from the California Department of Fish and Wildlife, and the team of doctors at the San Diego Zoo Safari Park. The showed me a video of P-22’s CT scan, images of the results, and my despair grew as they outlined the list of serious health issues they had uncovered from all their testing: stage two kidney failure, a weight of 90 pounds (he normally weighs about 125), head and eye trauma, a hernia causing abdominal organs to fill his chest cavity, an extensive case of demodex gatoi (a parasitic skin infection likely transmitted from domestic cats), heart disease, and more. The most severe injuries resulted from him being hit by a car last week, and I thought of how terrible it was that this cat, who had managed to evade cars for a decade, in his weakened and desperate condition could not avoid the vehicle strike that sealed his fate.

“As the agency folks and veterinarians relayed these sobering facts to me, tissue boxes were passed around the table and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. This team cares just as much for this cat as we all do. They did everything they could for P-22 and deserve our gratitude.

“Although I wished so desperately he could be returned to the wild, or live out his days in a sanctuary, the decision to euthanize our beloved P-22 is the right one. With these health issues, there could be no peaceful retirement, only some managed care existence where we prolonged his suffering — not for his benefit, but for ours.

“Those of us who have pets know how it feels when we receive news from the veterinarian that we don’t want to hear. As a lifelong dog and cat owner, I have been in this dreadful position too many times. The decision to let them go is never easy, but we as humans have the ability, the responsibility, and the selflessness to show mercy to end the suffering for these beloved family members, a compassionate choice we scarcely have for ourselves.

“I look at Griffith Park through the window again and feel the loss so deeply. Whenever I hiked to the Hollywood sign, or strolled down a street in Beachwood Canyon to pick up a sandwich at The Oaks, or walked to my car after a concert at the Greek Theater, the wondrous knowledge that I could encounter P-22 always propelled me into a joyous kind of awe. And I am not alone — his legion of stans hoped for a sight of Hollywood’s most beloved celebrity, the Brad Pitt of the cougar world, on their walks or on their Ring cams, and when he made an appearance, the videos usually went viral. In perhaps the most Hollywood of P-22’s moments, human celebrity Alan Ruck, star of Succession, once reported seeing P-22 from his deck, and shouting at him like a devoted fan would.

“We will all be grappling with the loss of P-22 for some time, trying to make sense of a Los Angeles without this magnificent wild creature. I loved P-22 and hold a deep respect for his intrepid spirit, charm, and just plain chutzpah. We may never see another mountain lion stroll down Sunset Boulevard or surprise customers outside the Los Feliz Trader Joe’s. But perhaps that doesn’t matter — what matters is P-22 showed us it’s possible.

“He changed us.  He changed the way we look at LA. And his influencer status extended around the world, as he inspired millions of people to see wildlife as their neighbors. He made us more human, made us connect more to that wild place in ourselves. We are part of nature and he reminded us of that. Even in the city that gave us Carmeggedon, where we thought wildness had been banished a long time ago, P-22 reminded us it’s still here.

“His legacy to us, and to his kind will never fade. He ensured a future for the entire population of mountain lions in the Santa Monica Mountains by inspiring us to build the Wallis Annenberg Wildlife Crossing, which broke ground this spring.

“P-22 never fully got to be a mountain lion. His whole life, he suffered the consequences of trying to survive in unconnected space, right to the end when being hit by a car led to his tragic end. He showed people around the world that we need to ensure our roads, highways, and communities are better and safer when people and wildlife can freely travel to find food, shelter, and families. The Wallis Annenberg Wildlife Crossing would not have been possible without P-22, but the most fitting memorial to P-22 will be how we carry his story forward in the work ahead. One crossing is not enough — we must build more, and we must continue to invest in proactive efforts to protect and conserve wildlife and the habitats they depend on — even in urban areas.

“P-22’s journey to and life in Griffith Park was a miracle. It’s my hope that future mountain lions will be able to walk in the steps of P-22 without risking their lives on California’s highways and streets. We owe it to P-22 to build more crossings and connect the habitats where we live now.

“Thank you for the gift of knowing you, P-22. I’ll miss you forever. But I will never stop working to honor your legacy, and although we failed you, we can at least partly atone by making the world safer for your kind.”

[alldancersaretalented]

Duos/Trios 23/24

Here's a small collection of Duos/Trios sorted by dance studio!

4PM Dance:

Mila Madriles, Kennadie Wright - Hey Mickey

Avi's Dance Project:

Aubree Ginter, Coraline McClintock - Only Hope

Terryn Jackson, Sydney Williams - Let Me Think

Christine He, Nicole He - Home

Mariah Merrigan, Kaydence Thomas - Secret Symphony

Aubrey Avila, Alyssa Garay - Islands

Molly Croll, Ella Siders - Stand By Me

Evianna Granado, Ana Roman - We'll Be Fine

Alexa Estep, Caylin Garcia - Song For You

Bobbie's School of Performing Arts:

?? - Not A Mountain

?? - Don't Give Me Up

?? - Life's What You Make It

?? - LiourI

?? - Only Ever Loved Your Ghost

?? - I'm Through

Canadian Dance Company:

Ellianna Buck, Olivia Colozza, Delia Wu - Freeway

Emma Lee, Emma Phillippe, Stella Savage - On Broadway

Olivia Colozza, Filip Lipiec - Hard To Handle

Alexandra de Groot, Kadence Wright, Clara Zhao - Snowing

Callista Crowe, Damian Shillis - Every Little Thing

Jessica Battley, Kadence Wright - Swing Phenomenon

Jessie Alfaro Kazula, Sabrina Digings - Feet Don't Fail Me Now

Ryan Blackburn, Callista Crowe - Anything You Can Do

Damian Shillis, Sophia Van Haastrecht - Last Night

Cydnee Abbott, Chloe Greenfield, Sadie Wen - Mind-Link

David Blackburn, Arianna Frano - Moves Like Jagger

Therese Marie Adap, Sadie Wen, Avery Yoo - Aaab

Therese Marie Adap, Oliwia Lipiec, Avery Yoo- Contra

Aliyah Demone, Irene Rose Santos, Analia Theofilopoulos - Glitch

Ella Boughner, Lauren Gibbon, Anna Volkova - Drive

Lauren Gibbon, Olivia Granic, Gabriella Seixeiro- TBA

Lauren Gibbon, Brandon Yoo- Die Trying

Olivia Granic, Gabriella Seixeiro - On The Jazz Four

Center Stage Performing Arts Studio:

Addalyn Daley, Coco Gonzales, Ivy McEwan - Run The World

Kate Baker, Violet Schwarz, Anistyn Larsen - The Grudge (Shannon Mather)

Kylie Lawrence, Elliana Wilson - Say A Little Prayer

Tessa Ohran, Rory Frye, Hadlee Heriford - We Could Stay (Noelle Marsh)

?? - Evening Ceremony

?? - Inside

Club Dance Studio:

Ellary Day Szyndlar, Sylvie Win Szyndlar - Dreamscapes (Jenn Peterson)

Ellary Day Szyndlar, Sylvie Win Szyndlar - La Rapture (Brady Farrar)

Danceology:

Amelia Principe, Annalisa Francis, Mackenzie Hammer - Diamonds

?? - Big Love

?? - Party Girls

Penny Harris, Brody Schaffer - My Girl

?? - Nana's Flowers

Aspen Bloem, Annelise Hseih, Ryee Kameya - Funk Soul Brother

?? - Tres Chicas

?? - Tick Tick Boom

?? - Rhythm X 2

Dance Deluxe:

Haven Bryan, Adriana Houlihan, Adaline Louderback - You're Invited

Allie Aston, Livian Bailey, Lily Conaway - Hollywood

Jake Roberts, Stella Roberts - We Go Together

Emerson Mullan, Avery Stephens, Adelina Quintanilla - Hocus Pocus

Brighton Taylor, Briele Bailey, Remi Skidmore - Big Finish

Kamdyn Arnold, Haylie Birchman, Aracely Lee - Snap

Eva Gonzalez, Remi Skidmore - Snowing

Gage Davis, Vanessa Soto - Somebody

Gage Davis, Vanessa Soto - Falling Slowly

Dance Enthusiasm:

Liesl Dowdy, Margot Phelps - Shake Your Groove Thing

Kayleigh Stoler, Violet Werner - Sign Of The Times

Julia Visan, Olivia Visan - Optical Prism

Shelby Ellis, Kayleigh Stoler - Made For You

Olivia Visan, Violet Werner - Explosion

Jazmine Raine Werner, Violet Werner - Time

Amelia Gonzales, Kayleigh Stoler - Dream On

Malia Gazda, Paige Kim - Falling Leaves

Shelby Ellis, Janea Latimer - Let Me Follow

Taelyn Albrecht, Paige Kim - Refugees

Taelyn Albrecht, Jazmine Raine Werner - One Sec

Taelyn Albrecht, Alexa Lynn - Carry You

Christina Kalafatis, Emily Zolla - Hocus Pocus

Dance Precisions:

Aliyana Denham, Aniyia Ortega, Kennedy Wong - Think

Everly Park, Skylie Schreppel, Grecia Underwood - Like This Like That

Emma Orr, Xara Sakhrani, Charlotte Stirling - Shake Your Tailfeather

Elleyna Kadera, Raegan Wendell - I Feel Good

Sydney Ko, Londyn Nevois - Nowadays

Dance Town:

Belle Marie Arauz, Amanda Carpenter - My Dolphin And Me

Krystal Alvarez, Luna Santana, Arantza Sardinha - Con Altura

?? - Without You

Elektro Dance Academy:

Niah Corpeno, June Townley - Butterfly

Elite Dance Pro:

Peyton De La Cerda, Valynnita Mei, Alice Yan - Forget About That Boy

Alexa Schwarze, Summer Skousen, Chloe Tarwater - Fleur

Olivia Quintana, Ella Rempfer, Charlotte Woodside - Bang Bang

Carlin Ciocchetti, Lily Douglas, Sophia Schiano - To Falter

Elite Danceworx:

?? - Life Is Circles

?? - Make It Matter

?? - Cranes In The Sky

?? - Third Dream

?? - Free To Form

?? - All In The Same Breath

?? - The Beauty of Dissolving Portraits

Epic Dance Complex:

?? - Let You Know

Evolve Dance Company:

Olivia Bennett, Adeline Vogt - Wash That Man

George Grech, Jaydnn Mendez - Creeks

Alexa Kunishige, Ava Sparks - Thousand Eyes

George Grech, Vivian Grech - Groove Is In The Heart

Ava Banuelos, Sienna Thor - Don't

Trinity Hastings, Tanziana Contino, Viviana Contino - Iris

Evolve Dance Complex:

Dylann Sebes, Brynley Brett - It's Raining Men

Jossi Josephic, Hallie Oberhofer, Deanna Tierno - Bites The Dust

Ella Martindale, Natalie Vinton - Sweet Dreams

Kyleigh Harbarger, Lola Rodi - Adios To You

Andrew Spalvieri, Abby Spalvieri - Devil Went Down To Georgia

Cami Vorhees, Elyse Wingertsahn - Stay Away

Samuel Evans, Onna Williams - Implacable Hearts

Evoke Dance Movement:

?? - Boogie Shoes

?? - About Today

?? - Come Let Us

Imperial Dance:

Malia Gandy, Dayana Hernandez, Sophia Solano - Took The Night

Isabella Cruz, Eliyan Rall, Zarielle Trimmings - Call Me Mother

Myla Durand, Anaya MIchell, Sofia Velazquez - Run To You

Aria Edmond, Sarai Trimmings, Savannah Yard - Secure The Bag

Sophia Basso, Sophia Solano - Mini Me

Leyla Bedoya, Marley Cheron, Gabriella Cuadrado - This Woman's Work

Aryanna Anujar, Sophia Basso, Hannah Galantai - Amor

Marlon Cheron, Layla Hernandez, Arianna Velazquez - Love Me Or Leave Me

K2 Studios:

Emery Cordero, Rylai Orozco - Safe And Sound

Belle Anguiano, Sadie Anguiano - Beautiful Thing

Juniper Balatero, Rosalind Balatero - Stand By Me

Lilly Douglas, Penelope Lee - Breakin Dishes

Ella Cordero, Alani Hernandez, Jiselle Saavedra - Dem Girlz

Riley Fernandez, Nicholas Turner - I Follow

Jessica Sutton, Rebecca Sutton - Fix You

Adiyah Ayres, Kynzli Reece - Madness

Ariana Gomez, Neriah Karmann, Nicholas Turner - Unbreak

Neriah Karmann, Abby Viramontes - Save Me

Alex Almeida, Zoey Garcia - River

Love Acierto, Alex Almeida, Jordan Wallace - Be Alright

Tessa Andelkovic, Jade Castaneda - Monsters

Larkin Dance Studio:

Stella Ames, Jade Glyzinski, Harper Kill - How Long Will I Love You

Hallee Anderson, Gigi Shea, Sailor Stormoen - Bird On A Wire

Elia Cocchiarella, Eleanor Lamers - Checkerboard

Savannah Jackson, Maylin Munos, Neala Murphy - Dream

Matinly Conrad, Chase Lang - When I Was Your Man

Evie McCune-Barrett, Truett Ziemke - As Long As You Love Me

Lexie Charnstrom, Scarlett Manzel, Evie Mccune-Barrett - Change

Maddie Kulenkamp, Brody Lanoux - Mr. Postman

Mila Ayshford, Tillie Kuhl, Palmer Peltier - The Trumpet In My Head

Lilly Anderson, Bella Charnstrom, Malia Scott - Too Tightly

Jemma Eisenbrei, Mia Kostinovski, Hailey Turnbull - Gold

Finley Ashfield, Kelsie Jacobson, Savannah Manzel - Picture Perfect

Sienna Powers, Hazel Semans, Savannah Werner - A Noise I Once Heard

Belle Hughes, Maizie Hughes - Near Me

Erik Barker, Laci Bloss - To The Moon

Lola Boisen, Sarah St Cyr - Twilight

Matissa Conrad, Tahari Conrad, Ava Rothmund - Eternal Voice

Kate Monge, Giselle Mourad, Harlow Pike - To One's Perception

Laci Bloss, Daphnie Braun, Kira Riessner - Allure

Caleb Abea, Keira Redpath - Empty Apology

Isabella Jarvis, Claire Monge, Keira Redpath - Stuck In Pause

Miami Dance Company:

Varia Mari, Brooke Martin, Kylie Sanchez - Rise Together

Michelle Latimer Dance Academy:

Lindsey Gruidel, Tatum Jackson, Savanna Pitcher - Deeper Love

Lindsey Gruidel, Tatum Jackson, Savanna Pitcher - What It Means To Be Human

Murrieta Dance Project:

Rylan Ashley, Sierra Koops - That Beautiful Sound

Lily Dejoya, Carter Ruiz - Total Eclipse

Brooklyn Coronado, Jaclyn Coronado - Can't Let Go

N10:

Kailyn Nong, Emma Vianzon - When Doves Cry

Juliana Kang, Emmersyn Van - Little Fluffy Clouds

New Level Dance Company:

Gisele Alpendre, Haley Raines - Wherever You Will Go

Francesca Caputo, Harper Stein - Until We Bleed

Natalie Frantzen, Noelle Klug - Fix You

Charlotte Danford, Beata Polunin - Paint It Black

Brooklyn Bailey, Sabryn Stein - Tragedy

Marisa Bruno, Ainsley Rice - Black Car

Charlotte Dister, Taylor Lapointe - Selah

Elle Bonner, Myiah Brown - Awards Night

Noretta Dunworth School of Dance:

Ella Saad, Sophie Saad - Venus

Lily Marshall, Daisy Nuznov - Carry Me

Maria Carpenter, Camille Moore - ??

Stella Bennett, Sophia Cialkowski - ??

Isabella Jaczynski, Danica Lentz - Tumbling Lights

Lily Saad, Mila Saad - Ain't Nothing Wrong With That

?? - Last Goodbye

?? - Lucky Ladies

?? - Big Finish

thanks!

Orange County Performing Arts Academy:

Bailey Chalmers, Kiera Simon - What's On The Menu

Everleigh Alonzo, Annabelle Bright, Camila Valdez - Emergency

Harper Bridge, Elle Dahl, Raegan Gold - Conga

Olivia Montano, Hayden Peterson, Parker Seymour - Space Jam

Elizabeth Leiter, Hannah Wright - Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better

PAVE School of the Arts:

Aniston Maurer, Lola Mesa, Sophia Smith - Mr. Postman

Claire Devine, Emma Wishart - Showtime

Ashlynn Fairfield, Rebecca Kessler - Dancing Machine

Annelise Chan, Kirsten Kim - Zero To Hero

Stella Fisk, Emi Hoang - Creep (Sasha Dee)

Stella Fisk, Emi Hoang - Tightrope

Kensington Arrendondo, Talia Donaldson, Kassidy Luong - Diamonds

Paisley Branch, Kira Guchko - Angels

Kaylee Baldwin, Kaylee Townsend - Women Be Wise

Hayden Calder, Wavy Hazen - Nowadays

Joah Moore, Bryn Zimmerman - Look

Charlotte Minhas, Phoebe Black - Gimme Gimme

Oliver Hincy, Olivia Battle - Moving Pictures

Adriana Krall, Alexa Krall - It's All Coming Back To Me

Emersyn Fee, Sienna Hardin - Everytime It Rains

Kailey Longshore, Peach MIller, Ella Smallwood - Bassline

Spree Hazen, Ava Kendall - Tell Him

Ava Zimmerman, Kate Allen - Silhouete

Project 21:

Kami Couch, Katie Couch - To Cross Paths

Renner Dance Company:

?? - End Of The Line

?? - Climb Every Mountain

?? - Pixies

Charlotte Bailey, Madeline Collier - I Enjoy Being A Girl

Charlotte Lewis, Olivia Siri - Sugar And Spice

?? - Dog Days

Leighton Crump, Seneca Hrdina - Found

Emily Fedirow, Presely Krohn - Surround You

Ella Garrett, Grace Snider - Girls Night Out

?? - Never Grow Up

Rose Mangan, Brantley Meador - Dancing On The Moon

?? - You Are My Sister

?? - In The Distance

Sophia January, Stella January - Inside

Sarah Martin Duncan, Ensley King - A Winter Story

Claire Naismith, Lauren Stubbs - Ends Of The Earth

?? - Pressure

?? - What Might Have Been Lost

?? - Still Life

Stars Dance Studio:

?? - Proserpina

?? - Rollin'

?? - Mirrors

?? - Here On This Hill

Studio 19 Dance Complex:

Frances Farone, Mackenzie Smith, Leira Wilbon - California Cuties

Brynleigh Kerestes, Kallie McKenna - Small Word

Nitalia Manilla, Alessia Price - Think

Landry Blosser, Brynleigh Kerestes - Sugar And Spice

Ashlynn Bickford, Iris Edwards, Charlotte Haas Itsy Bitsy Spider

Harper Miller, Sloane Sherrets - Opposites Attract

Scarlett Fornear, Olivia Fornear - Good Company

Maddie Maker, Sadie Vaccaro - If We Hold On Together

Maddie Chiplock, Maddie Maker, Addison Smith - Venus

Claire Osche, Grace Sypien - Holly Rock

Mila Jaymes, Brooklyn Schirripa, Evelyn Woodburn - Gonna Get Ya

Carina Lavella, ?? - Mr. Sandman

Sienna Arias, Atalia Spagnolo - State Of Shock

Tia Adams, Sienna Arias, Ella Laughlin - Meeting In The Ladies Room

Sofia Farone, Brooklyn Schirripa - Good Versus Evil

Avery Organ, Evelyn Woodburn - Sassy X's Two

Camia Adams, Kendall Nace - We're Gonna Party

Gianna Cugliari, Melanie Steed - Silent Night

Gianna Cugliari, Madison Makowski, Karsyn Schifino - Choose Your Path

Alexandra Bayles, Antonia Spagnolo, Haley Steed - Scarborough Fair

Kileigh Davison, Sophia Haas, Sophia Lapina - Bad Apples

Calista Herbst, Emma Schrock - Ashes

Haley Steed, Hannah Steed - Tappin With My Twin

Lexi Pompa, Taylor Williams - Troubled Waters

Gia Booker, Aliana Spagnolo - Running With The Wolves

Ella Barch, Keira McKenna - Carry You

Mia Jackson, Ava Means - Don't Stop The Groove

Ellie Rosenwasser, Mia Mirabile - In The Hold Of A Dream (Chelsea Jennings)

Soleil Herbst, Mia Jackson - Hold Me Down

Emily Holcomb, Becca Kohler, Allie Philips - Why

Millie Julius, Rowan Mansfield, Ciera Ragula - Islands

Haley Engelmore, Raelyn Rectemwald, Kyleigh Turner - She's Not Me (Talia Flavia)

Tessa Pagone, Madeline Schrock, Addison Vargo- Hold On Tight

Studio 702:

Grace Peralta, Kamea Solidum, Reese Tolentino - Balacobaco

Aalayah Perkins, Breanna Tenney - Belly of the Beast

Charley Lehman, Faith Letourneau - Cyber Surveillance

Redle Edler, Alysa Owen - Vulgar

Studio X Dance Complex:

Emery Bourne, Braxy Montana, Karter Strong - Proud Mary

Emma Acosta, Hannah Martinez - Free Me (Victoria Wootem)

Kambria Keegan, Berkeley McGrath - Dangerous

Berkeley McGrath, Abigail Weber - Rain

Summit Dance Shoppe:

Jemma Scates, Shayla Scates - Girls Night Out

Meadow Majkrzak, Brooklyn Peterson, Malia Reuter - Luminous

Monroe Johnson, Zoey Schelitzche,  Camryn Westrum - Best Of My Love

Katy Lawrence, Tova Thompson, Greta Wagner - Stop

Audrey Boro, Nora Turunen, Finley Weigelt - I Believe

Kinsley Fairchild, Annie Zechmeister - Carmen

Lily Buchholz, Calia McArdle, Emma Misuraco-Janish - Carry You

Temecula Dance Compancy:

Amara Fisher, Alana Kalahiki, Luke Noss - A Little Less Conversation

Bailey Dalton, Teaghan O'Reilly, Cece Radach - Calling All B.B.S.

Ava Aflague, Anaya Johnson, Ava Thammavong - Soy Yo

James Hetsko, Jocelyn Hetsko - Mr. Zoot Suit

Hudson Locke, Jake Pribyl, Vera Spencer - 3D

Audrey Fite, Piper Conway, Alyssa Vinskey - It's A Mood

Andrea Tylman, Ella Zhang - Forever Friends

Paige Caveney, Giada Gariffo, Brinleigh O'Reilly - F.U.N.

Scarlett Berroteran, Ta'ina Gonzalez, Princess Sanchez - Shake That

Kyrstin Duquid, Brooklyn Powell, Ava Radach - Scheibe

Carter Roa, Lacey Walker - I Love You But Don't Trust You

TheCREW:

?? - Diamonds

?? - Chase

?? - Skinny

The NINE Dance Academy:

Abigail Mathias, Evelyn Rego, Ella Waltman - Material Girls

Charolette Baldassarra, Laurina Lin, Gia Traficante-Petrozzi - New York New York

Sienna Di Pietro, Mia Jorge, Alina Sedova - Statues

Molly Kravetz, London Mandell, Ashley Shultz - Piano Man

Nathaniel Chua, Tristan Redly, Ashley Shultz - Is There Somebody

Emily Bertola, Jessica Brettone, Lily Kravetz - What Lies In The Balance

Nathaniel Chua, Shaunaughsey Meagher - Bound To You

The Vision Dance Alliance:

Julia Amato, Violet McGuire - Void (Jess Malafronte)

Julia Amato, Emily Polis - Willow Bends (Jess Malafronte)

Caitlyn Polis, Emily Polis - Two Organs (Jess Malafronte)

Caitlyn Polis, Maddie Polis, Emily Polis - You Are Every Memory (Jess Malafronte)

Caitlyn Polis, Hannah Beatty - Claim It (Jess Malafronte)

Caitlyn Polis, Maddie Polis - Human Touch (Jess Malafronte)

Vlad's Dance Company:

?? - Without Hesitation

?? - Not To Be Forgotten

Westside Dance Project:

Isabella Kouznetsova, Diana Kouznetsova - Cells Divide (Timmy Blankenship)

Isabella Kouznetsova, Diana Kouznetsova - Sharp Dialogue (Alina Krasovskaya)

Esme Chou, Tegan Chou - Amaru

West Florida Dance Company:

Marlow Hess, Lola Bryant - All That Jazz (Jess Disalvo)

Macey Strickland, Stella Brogan - Shot Me Down (Struther White)

Scarlett Griffin, Sophia Griffin - If I Could

Lily Hackney, Reagan Hess, Desa Jankes - Movies (Jess Disalvo)

Ava Kim, Natalie Kim - Sunshine

Bella DiBenedetto, Aubrey Haugh - Swim Good

Stella Fowler, Caleb Monnell - Your Angel

Hudson Heath, Caleb Monnell, Indy Ray - Bad Romance

Woodbury Dance Center:

Ian Stegeman, Skylar Wong - Depth Over Distance

Wyatt Brisson, Klaire Simek - What Weighs Me Down

Caleigh Proulx, Samuel Sharp Jr. - Glacier

West Coast School of the Arts:

Isla Benedetti, Olivia Conner, Aubrey Minadeo - Werk

Kinsley Cooper, Larkin Low, Paige Perez - Jail House Rock

Genevieve Lee, Marlee Ninofranco - Eyes In The Back Of My Head

Lily Meghdadi, Mila Osgood - Young And Beautiful

Skylar Nixon, Dakotah Robinett - Play That Sax

Alexa Perez, Mackenzie Perez - Opening Up

McKinley Barragan, Kensie Lee, Ayla Mohtashami - In The Zone

Madison Fontanilla, Marlee Ninofranco - Journey Of You And I

Lyric Low, Camdyn Mitchell, Makayla Tran - Everybody Needs A Best Friend

Ally Cheung, Casey Cheung - How It Ends

Leyna Huynh, Sophia Thayer-Pham - Move

Ally Cheung, Gabi D'Ambra, Sophia Oppegard - Poison And Wine

Yoko's Dance and Performing Arts Academy:

Priscilla Huang, Isabelle Shi, Grace Yan - Firework

Arielle Konaris, Anaya Seals, Avery Yamaguchi - I'll Get You Home

Michelle C. Wang, Alexander Wang - Why Don't You

Kaelani Carlson, Isabel Dela Cruz - When The Party's Over

Fiona Wu, Raina Wu - Bitter And Sweet (Megan Ellis)

Avery Du, Grace Koo - Black Horse And A Cherry Tree

Samantha Tan, Isabelle Tang - How To Save A Life

[orpheusdrinkinga40inadeathbasket]

A woman drives fast along the California freeway with the radio screaming, delirious with grief. She does this every morning, dressing quickly in her Beverly Hills home so as to leave no time to think. Changing lanes is like a dance the way she's trained herself to do it, seamlessly and to the beat. She walks barefoot into gas stations, rinsing down pills with warm Coca-Cola and chatting mindlessly with the attendants. Her marriage is over. Her showbiz career is dead. Her child has been taken away. She is known to cry at parties or get carried home; close friends have come to believe she's insane. It is only on the freeway, when the music is loud, that she can forget what's become of her life. To fall asleep she imagines herself on the road: "The Hollywood to the San Bernardino and straight on out, past Barstow, past Baker, driving straight on into the hard white empty core of the world."

How chic the story sounds the way Joan Didion tells it in her 1970 novel Play It as It Lays. The woman is a trainwreck but a sharp and glamorous one, numbing out on pills as a critique of moral rot in 1960s Tinseltown. Books are great that way. Played out in real life in the year 2007, the tale loses its cool; now the woman is a punchline whose endless personal disasters keep a burgeoning new media economy afloat. It seemed that every week, or sometimes even every day, brought a hysterical new headline regarding the downward spiral of America's pop princess. ("HELP ME!" "INSANE!" "OUT OF CONTROL!") "We serialize Britney Spears. She's our President Bush," said TMZ founder Harvey Levin in a gruesome Rolling Stone cover story from early 2008, which began with Britney wailing in a San Fernando Valley shopping mall as a crowd closed around her with their Sidekick smartphones brandished. "I don't know who you think I am, bitch," 26-year-old Spears snarled to a shopgirl approaching for a photo. "But I'm not that person."

...

"Do you feel out of control in your life?" asks an interviewer off-screen in Britney: For the Record, the MTV documentary on Spears' "post-breakdown" life released at the end of 2008. That February, she had been placed against her will under the conservatorship of her father and former business manager, which would last for the next 13 years. "No, I don't feel it's out of control. I think it's too in control," Spears answers without pause. "There's no excitement. There's no passion. It's like Groundhog Day every day." The camera pulls in close as she wipes away her tears. "When did you last feel free?" the man asks later. "When I got to drive my car a lot," she wistfully replies. "I haven't been able to drive my car."

Meaghan Garvey, "Blackout Album Review"

[warningsine]

Just over a year ago, a woman told a crowded room that her ex-husband had kicked and slapped her. She described him throwing a phone at her face. She described him penetrating her with a wine bottle. “I remember not wanting to move because I didn’t know if it was broken,” she said. “I didn’t know if the bottle that he had inside me was broken.” While she said all these things, people laughed. People called her a whore and a liar. People cheered for her ex-husband, and made posters and T-shirts emblazoned with his face.

Only about 14 months have passed since Amber Heard was mocked and shamed on a global stage. But, apparently, that means it’s now high time to relive it. This week, a new three-part series from director Emma Cooper drops on Netflix (UK viewers can also watch via Channel 4 on demand). That’s right folks, we’re back in the hellscape that is Depp v Heard.

There are certain legal cases that transcend courtroom drama to become full-blown ‘where were you when’ cultural moments. Usually, these ‘trials of the century’ are criminal trials. Charles Manson in 1970; OJ Simpson in 1995. But, occasionally, a different calibre of case will grip the public consciousness – one that spins around sex and humiliation; one that strikes to the heart of how contemporary culture understands gender and power. In 1991, attorney Anita Hill testified that Supreme Court nominee Clarence Thomas had sexually harassed her while she worked as an adviser to him. The Senate ultimately confirmed Thomas’ nomination, while Hill received death threats. Just a few years later, as the new millennium swam into view, another sex scandal rocked American society. This time, the main characters were President Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky. Despite Clinton eventually admitting to having had an affair with Lewinsky, for many years the court of public opinion was clear in its verdict: Monica Lewinsky was either a whore, or a liar, or both.

In a sense, the Johnny Depp and Amber Heard defamation trial, which took place from April 11 to June 1 2022, in Fairfax County, Virginia, combined elements of all of these previous ‘trials of the century’. As with Clinton and Lewinsky, a relationship between a younger woman and an older, more famous and more powerful man was under the microscope. In an echo of Hill v Thomas, during which lawmakers accused Anita Hill of suffering from a ‘delusional disorder’, a psychologist hired by Depp’s legal team ‘diagnosed’ Heard with borderline personality disorder and histrionic personality disorder. Like Charles Manson, the man at the centre of proceedings was also the figurehead of an obsessive fan club. And if that fan club grew to resemble a cult, in its slavish devotion to Depp against all reason, it’s largely because, like Simpson’s trial, the whole thing was televised.

However, one key difference between Depp v Heard and these other previous high-profile trials, is the influence of social media on public opinion. The trial was not only ‘televised’ but also TikToked, live-streamed and memed. The tagline for Cooper’s three-parter Depp v Heard even bills the trial as ‘the first trial by TikTok’.

The show opens with the Hollywood sign flickering into Amber Heard’s face on a red carpet. There’s old footage of Depp and Heard on the Hollywood walk of fame, at a dinner, and stepping off a boat in Venice glitch and distort into shots of Los Angeles freeways. News anchors read headlines about the couple, and about the trial. The screen glitches again, into a tree lined highway in Virginia. More clipped footage, more contextualising news clips. Then one anchor raises an important issue – a crucial factor in the trial proceedings that, a year on, often gets lost in the heady internet fog of misinformation, conspiracy, clout-chasing and PR campaigns. Why was the whole sorry spectacle staged in Virginia, when neither Heard nor Depp live or work there?

Well, the ‘official’ reason Depp was allowed to sue in the state is because the news outlet that ran Heard’s article, The Washington Post, “houses its printing press and online server in Fairfax County.” Yet, it’s also because, under Virginia law, the trial judge can decide whether to allow cameras in the courtroom.

Heard’s team tried to exclude the cameras from the trial. At a pre-trial hearing in February, attorney Elaine Bredehoft noted there was already a huge amount of media attention on the trial, as well as scrutiny from what she described as “fearful anti-Amber networks”. “What they’ll do is take anything that’s unfavourable,” Bredehoft said, “they’ll take out of context a statement, and play it over and over and over and over again.” Depp’s team, on the other hand, wanted the trial televised. “Mr. Depp believes in transparency,” his lawyer, Ben Chew declared. It should have been a sign of what was to come that the judge sided with Depp. “I don’t see any good cause not to do it,” Penney Azcarate, the chief judge of Fairfax County, announced. Others saw it differently. “Allowing this trial to be televised is the single worst decision I can think of in the context of intimate partner violence and sexual violence in recent history,” Michele Dauber, a professor at Stanford Law School said in May 2022. “It has ramifications way beyond this case.”

One of the ramifications of Judge Azcarate’s decision is that Depp v Heard is now on our screens. But, none of those quotes from various legal professionals are taken from the series. Indeed, there are no expert voices at all. There is no narration. No one who was involved in the trial is involved in this directly. There is no ‘broad view’, or ‘behind the scenes’, or ‘recontextualising with the benefit of hindsight’. This is a documentary in the loosest of senses. Early takes from the other side of the pond have been split – some critics have suggested it “casts the trial of the decade in a new light”, while others have deemed it “nothing more than a tactless win for pro-Johnny fans”. Perhaps this shouldn’t come as a surprise, given that the trial itself was so notoriously divisive. Personally, I’m inclined to agree with Audra Heinrichs of Jezebel, who described the docuseries as playing “like a highlight reel from hell”. 

If Depp v Heard suggests anything, it’s that people consuming the trial were biased. Well, that’s hardly a scoop, and to my mind, it’s certainly not worth the full, three-hour docuseries treatment. The series doesn’t dig into the motivations of the anti-Amber content creators or their backgrounds. For example, one prolific poster and top Depp stan who is featured extensively but anonymously in Cooper’s three-parter is Andy Signore. Not long before the Depp v Heard trial began, Signore had been fired from Screen Junkies, the YouTube-focused company he founded, for a variety of sexual misconduct allegations. Having set up his channel Popcorned Planet after being dismissed, Signore now posts livestreams about ‘daily news’ and ‘pop culture justice.’ Mainly, he covers what he characterises as the injustice of the #MeToo movement. Signore more than doubled the following of his YouTube channel during Depp v Heard. He made more than 300 videos about the trial, ratcheting up millions of views as he built a new reputation as a crusader for ‘justice’ and, crucially, making money in the process.

All the content creators immortalised in this series, and many more besides, were making money – but this also isn’t discussed or made explicit in Depp v Heard. Cooper presumably believes this allows the content to speak for itself, and lets the viewer weigh up their own thoughts, becoming another member of the public jury. But the true effect is just blur – an endless stream of stuff. Just how much money were all these #JusticeForJohnny content creators making? Was there a coordinated and well funded online PR campaign for Depp throughout the trial, fuelled by bots, as many alleged post-trial? Depp v Heard has no answers, just more clips. He said, she said. No thoughts, just vibes.

I wrote about Depp v Heard last year as the trial was ongoing. Then, I felt like I had to maintain some semblance of neutrality in my discussion of the ‘facts’ of the case itself. The piece wasn’t about who was ‘right’, or who was telling ‘the truth’ – it was about how strange the spectacle of the case had become, and how dangerous a precedent it seemed to set, if trials about intimate partner violence could be spun into comic TikTok clips. I didn’t want to come down on one ‘side’. I wrote that “treating an ongoing defamation trial, featuring graphic and distressing testimony about physical violence, coercive control, and sexual assault, like […] Netflix’s latest true crime documentary series is, at best, distasteful and, at worst, actively dangerous.” Now, as Netflix’s latest documentary series opens up the can of worms again, the only true takeaway is how little we’ve learnt since then.

[de-salva]

… untitled (Freeway between Ventura and Hollywood, South California, 1953)

© László Josef Willinger (1909 – 1989)