BAD ACTING

THE CAVES

        A few days later I received a call from Andrew.

        "Come with us to the caves."

        I met Andrew and Carrie in Toluca Lake and we headed to Tarzana to meet up with a group of their friends.

        Andrew drove his Range Rover with Carrie in the passenger seat. I sat in the backseat with Matt, twenty, long oily hair, a native of the valley.

        I recognized Matt from class at the Young Actors Studio. I listened as Matt told me about himself.

        " I study at The YA Studio for fun. I don't plan on acting professionally."

        Good for you

        "Cool."

        "I work for a company that host focus groups."

        I do not care

        "Interesting."

        "I also go to Pierce."

        Why is he still talking?

        "What is that?"

        "Community college. I'm taking film and photography classes."

        "Oh. Okay."

        I looked out the window hoping to arrive at our destination soon.

        Twenty-minute drive to Tarzana down Ventura Blvd. and straight up to the top of a hill. There we met Leah, the girl who liked my Beatles bag, and her best friend, Julia, nineteen, black hair with bangs, stunning, think young Cleopatra.

        Julia stood with one leg on top of a large case of beer, hands on her hips. She lived with her parents a few streets down from the hilltop. I recognized a few others from the YA Studio waiting huddled in a separate group.

        From the hill where we parked, we walked through the woods for ten minutes and finally arrived at the caves. We used flashlights to light our path through the dark. Drawings and graffiti covered the walls of the caves. Andrew and Matt made a fire. I pretended to help.

        I left the light of the caves to go pee and Julia followed shortly after to see where I disappeared to.

        "There you are," she said, as I zipped up my pants.

        I made a comment about a rope hanging from a tree.

        "It looks like a noose."

        I told Julia the whole setting reminded me of a series of books by Christopher Pike. Julia knew the series I mentioned and we chatted about his books, laughing, both surprised we shared something so random in common.

        Julia's sense of humor fit with my own, her non-actress aspirations attracted me, and I instantly felt a connection to her.

        Julia asked me why I moved to LA from the East Coast.

        "The weather."

        "That makes sense."

        "What do you do when you're not reading Christopher Pike?"

        Julia laughed, " I'm a Psychology major,"

        "That's a useful trade with so many narcissists around."

        "What do you do?"

        "I read Tarot cards."

        We both laughed.

        "I imagine that to be a useful trade as well."

        "Sometimes, like I already knew about meeting you tonight."

        "You read it in the cards?"

        "Yeah, I pulled out the slut card."

        Julia paused with her mouth open. Then she burst out laughing and slapped my shoulder.

        "You asshole."

        "The cards never lie."

        We walked back to the campfire, the laughter felt good in my chest.

        Sitting around the fire the group fell silent as Julia told a story about a family that lived up in the hills near her house. Six years ago a lawyer, his wife, and two daughters became involved in a tragic event. Every news channel covered the story. The eight and sixteen-year-old daughters discovered their father sleeping with their nanny. The mother, recovering from one of her many cosmetic surgeries, did not know about the affair happening right under her newly purchased nose. Her medications doubled by her husband, she laid in bed a bandaged zombie. The daughters walked in on their father drowning their mother in the bathtub. The whole case became very public and scandalous. The daughters and nanny testified with contradictory statements. In the end, the court ruled the father innocent. The whole town knew he murdered his wife and nothing happened.

        Leaving the caves and driving back to Carries, where I left my car, I could not stop thinking about Julia's story. What a great movie! I cast myself as the young pool boy. A small role I inserted into the screenplay writing itself in my head. The sixteen-year-old daughter would become my friend, and tell me about the affair. My character heard the yelling from the master bathroom window before the murder happened. My courtroom scene looked perfect in my mind. The lawyers transformed my character from his pool boy attire and styled him in a conservative but extremely flattering dark blue Tom Ford suit.

        Back in my apartment, the name of the movie flashed in my head before I fell asleep.

        Daddy Did It