BAD ACTING

ROLLING STONE

        Michael told me about a client who started taking an acting class from a woman in Studio City. The scene study class helped the actor a great deal, and the studio had an impeccable reputation. He suggested I check the studio out. I immediately set up a time to go in and audit a class.

        Waiting in the lobby between classes, a girl sat down next to me.

        Leah, nineteen, dark blonde wavy hair, and glasses.

        "Cool bag," she said.

        I wore my messenger bag with a Rolling Stone magazine cover of the Beatles printed on it.

        "I'm auditing a class... never been here before," I said, looking at Leah and back at the floor.

        "You will like it," she said and left the room.

        I met with the teacher Karen Yates, thirty-five, dark honey hair, and beautiful.

        The meeting felt similar to the one with Lynn. My inexperience, not a plus. Karen specialized in children, teens, and young adults. Working actors with good representation. She explained the teachings and techniques she used. I owned the books on her preferred method. Uda Hagen. After our meeting, I audited the three-hour class.

*

        The group consisted of the sixteen to twenty-five-year-olds. Students worked in pairs on different scenes.

        Karen handed out the scenes. After twenty minutes, her students completely memorized their lines. The young actors transformed instantly into characters from different films and TV.

        One scene I recognized from the movie Close. A Natalie Port/Jude Lawson scene. The young girl wore only a bra and loose boxer shorts and the male actor took off his shirt. They set up four large blocks to outline a bed shape. Both actors clutched their scripts but did not refer to them once.

        Karen gave the pair notes and they performed the scene three times. Their actions became more believable each time.

        The entire class consisted of young, pretty, stylish people. I watched them interact between scenes. Everybody seemed confident and cocky. Each actor a different type. Nerdy, preppy, prom queen, flower child, girl next door, jock.

        I signed up for a two-month class session and drove home to my apartment.

*

         I needed to get creative to find a drug dealer in LA. I was not a total stoner yet, but weed helped my anxiety and shut my brain off when I needed to sleep.

        Cut-off denim shorts and a loose, distressed, t-shirt I loitered outside Circus Liquor for hours. Three men propositioned me for sex, which I understood to be a good sign. Somebody would stop by soon that could hook me up. I continued to drift further into this character. He seemed exciting as fuck.

        David pulled up in his blue Hummer, dank green flowing out the windows. An angel on a sativa cloud.

        "You selling baby-boy?" He asked, gold tooth twinkle.

        "Not today, papi."

        "Too bad."

        "I'm looking to buy." I said leaving into his car.

        "Daddy's free for a boy like you."

        "I need some green, dude."

        David did a double take.

        "You a cop?"

        I laughed hard and loud.  

        I took the hash vape from his hand and took a hit.

        David became my first and favorite dealer in LA.