"I'm Not Crazy"

II.

Halloween was approaching. That meant that Hollywood was busy getting into character. Hollywood boulevard was bursting at the seams with orange hues, pumpkins, cobwebs and spiders. It was normal for people on the strip to dress up, busk and perform for money. Budding actors and musicians dreamed of being discovered from their sidewalk entertainments. During Halloween, it was as if the entire thing had been blown up tenfold.

I'd always loved the idea of Hollywood. When I was a kid, my family visited once on a vacation. I was only 6. This was before my father had died, and my mother hadn't met her new husband, and my step brother hadn't been included into the fold. It was just me, and my parents, and the stars on the sidewalk of Hollywood boulevard. We saw someone dressed as spider man and took pictures. Those pictures sat on my bedroom wall for several years, even after my dad was deceased and we had moved in with my new step family.

I lost the picture at the beginning of my first inpatient stay. Moving frequently always results in lost things.

The club I was heading to was towards the west end of the walk of fame. The stars on the sidewalk dwindled until I met naked pavement, and the sign above the club read "The Ballads." I thought it was maybe a music reference or something. Most of the businesses in Hollywood had a theme they were trying to enact for tourist purposes, and inside the bar was no exception. It was littered in music notes, and instruments and faux memorabilia from fake celebrities.

The club opened earlier than most, before the sun was even fully down. It was my favorite time to go because that was when the bartender was available for chats without much distraction. The main event of the venue wouldn't begin until at least after dark. I'd never stayed much into the late evening, but I was told that it could be quite riveting stuff.

Those opinions were objective, of course. That would be because this was not a regular bar. It was a strip club.

"Charlie!" The bartender called as soon as they caught sight of me walking in through the swinging glass door of the entrance. "Welcome back, darling! Have a seat!"

I didn't pick a strip club intentionally on my initial visit to the Ballad. It was my first week in LA, and I had just realized a few minutes prior that I was legally allowed to drink. I was a free adult over the age of 21. There were technically no laws to stop me, and so with that thought, I ran. I made my way to Hollywood blvd and immersed myself amongst the familiar starts. Then I walked until I found a sign that looked like an alcohol serving establishment.

I was very surprised to find such a surplus of scantily clad women before me at that point. I found it fascinating, actually, to watch their alluring gazes and curved bodies captivating the stage. The bar had been busier then, with a dozen men loitering at tables, drinks in hand and eyes on the women.

Then one of them looked my direction. It was a quick moment. I was standing just a few steps in the door with wide and curious eyes, and then he was approaching before I even registered why or how I'd found myself in that moment. I didn't even know to be scared, although something in his expression had certainly tightened my shoulders.

That's when I met the bartender, who called themselves Bird.

Bird was actually short for Bird Patrol,  which was a title given to them by the other bartenders and dancers in the building because of Birds tendency to "Watch over the entire building like a hawk." Bird took it upon themselves to be hyper vigilant, always watching for trouble before it occurred.

When I was approached on that very first visit to the club, Bird had reached me before the man did. Bird had grabbed my hand as if we'd known eachother for our entire lives, smiling and saying something to the effect of, "You made it!" before carting me away. They were pretending to know me.