Going Down in La-La Land by Andy Zeffer Read Free Book Online Page A

well-known restaurant on Santa Monica and the aging sexpot of a waiter, pushing into his late thirties, sized me up and down and said coldly, “We haven’t hired a new waiter in over three years. There is no turnover here.”
    “ Thanks anyway. Keep reaching for the stars,” I said to the career waiter before leaving in frustration.
    With half the people in town aspiring actors and all them vying for a server position, I might as well be auditioning for the role of a waiter in real life.
    The temp agencies weren’t much better.
    “ I can schedule you for an appointment a week from today,” a tired-sounding woman said on the other end of the line.
    “ Can’t I just come in during open interviews?” I asked.
    “ No. We do scheduled interviews only,” she replied.
    So much for accessibility. I always did horribly on those typing and computer skills tests anyway. Back in New York I was always assigned to the phones.
    To ease my worries I attended my first big social event in LA, the “Labor Day LA” celebration. This was the end-of-summer circuit party in town and was being held in a space called The Palace located in the heart of Hollywood. I wasn’t a huge circuit party fan. I did enjoy them every once in a while but didn’t plan my whole existence around them like countless other gay guys. Besides, I didn’t have the money or energy to organize weekend drug binges that enabled me to stay up endless hours packed into a crowded space with a bunch of gym queens strung out on crystal. But I appreciated the energy, the music, and checking out the hot bodies every once in a blue moon.
    I was glad when Sarah had invited me to go out with her and her cohorts. They were obnoxious but other than Candy were the only people I knew in town.
    “ You’re coming to Labor Day LA with us, right? Stephen is getting the whole crew customized tank tops,” she went on.
    I had gathered by now that these people considered themselves an exclusive group. When they walked in a place they acted like they owned it, all of them gravitating toward one another. And many of the other people gravitated to them, stopping to chitchat and make idle talk. I even heard a few of the guys jokingly refer to themselves as “the A-list,” but they sounded half serious. And I’m sure they really believed it. Strangely enough, other people around them seemed to buy into the idea as well, which I found even more disturbing.
    The night of the party I planned on picking up Sarah at her place and then driving over to her friend Fred’s apartment, where we’d meet up with the rest of the group.
    Fred was the uber-stud of the clique, with a perfectly chiseled body, a face that was almost too pretty, and the ideal job and apartment to go along with his looks. I actually liked him better than any of the other guys in this conceited convergence of queers that was the A-list. He seemed much more genuine than the others. The rest of the guys were well aware of Fred’s physical appeal, and I had even heard a few of them make sniping remarks suggesting he might have had plastic surgery. But when I was first introduced to him he asked me plenty of questions about my interests and seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me as a person.
    He was definitely not afraid to show his gay side, having an extended conversation with me about who our all-time favorite actresses were, a sure sign of two gay men hitting it off.
    “ And I love all those luscious women from Fellini flicks, you know like Anita Ekberg and Claudia Cardinale!” I gushed, going on and on.
    “ Mmmm. And what about Lana Turner?” Fred would reply, pursuing the subject further.
    This guy wasn’t concerned about appearing macho, or maybe it was that he just wasn’t trying to impress me in particular. Either way it was cool. Nothing irritates me more than a gay guy who tries to maintain a rigidly straight and heterosexual image in public, just for the sake of attracting other men, then goes