It was a nice thing to do. An opportunity.  Totally unexpected. What right did Dik-Dash have being ...nice?

"So why don't out come over to my house for Thanksgiving dinner, Harry? We can talk about your script and I can introduce you to some people, like this agent friend of mine."

What could be the downside?

"Sure, thanks,  Dik."


Dik. Just can't get into this Dik thing.

CUT TO:

A LITTLE LATER - STARBUCKS ON MONTANA AND 26TH, SANTA MONICA

Gomez licked the lid of his frappacino and scrunched up his nose. "Cinnamon! I distinctly asked for chocolate. "

"So go back and change it," Harry said.

"What for? I'd rather sit here bitching about it. Anyhow we have to plan your Thanksgiving dinner strategy."

"I still can't believe he invited me. "

"He probably wants you there so that you can go back and tell everyone in Montreal how wonderful he is. The home in Hollywood Hills, the industry friends...Y'know the big life."

"Maybe."

"Schmooze your ass off. It's the only way you get anywhere around here. It's not about the great script, it's about meeting the right people. Why d'ya think these studios churn out so much crap?"

"Like Leftovers."

"Exactly. I have the crappy cast,  I wrote a crappy script and now the project is floating around in the toilet like a piece of crap waiting for some snot-nosed studio prick to flush."

CUT TO:

SFX: A TOILET FLUSHING

A WEEK LATER: INT: DIK'S HOUSE - IN FRONT OF THE POWDER ROOM NEAR THE DINING ROOM

Teddy Slutsky peeps his head out from inside the powder room and hollars, "Hey Dikkie, where do keep the plunger? EMERGENCY!"

Dik dashes from the table to the powder room.  Teddy emerges from the powder room laughing. "The perfect dinner party ice -breaker! Relax, just took a leak, no number twos."

FADE INTO PROSE:

Trisha Levy contemplated her glass of Merlot and inhaled deeply. She'd have to hold it in a bit longer. The thought of  'next in line to the loo after Teddy' was not amusing. Ever since she married her rich Uncle Asher, the game- show producer, ambitious Trisha Levy had taken on airs.

"Oops, sorry," Teddy excused himself as he intentionally brushed up against her - Trisha had a great ass.

"Class act, Teddy," Trisha groaned. Nothing turned her off more than horny men who weren't even family, rubbing up against her wonderful ass. 

"It's party-time!" Teddy roared. "Loosen up your sphincter, Trish baby!" 

Like she did during that wet 'n wild SeaWorld weekend in San Diego a few years back. What an accommodating gal!  Trish scowled in disgust. Teddy was always Teddy, ever the vulgarian, the heavy-hung pig in bed she could never get enough of. Unlike Uncle Asher; he was tender and giving.

"Whoa, the football kid!" Teddy cried after spilling a splash of  Stoli on Harry.

"Whoa, the football coach!" Harry mimicked while intentionally unintentionally stepping on Coach's stubby toes.

 If only I had my cleats on.


"Fuuuck!" Teddy whimpered while grabbing his foot.

"Sorry, Teddy, sorry. I guess we're all being so clumsy tonight," Harry said.

Teddy hobbled off back to the powder room and shut the door. No doubt a little toot would ease the pain.

"So who do you play for, Football kid?" Trisha asked Harry.

"Myself, but I haven't stepped on a football field for years? Teddy used to coach me when I was a kid back in Montreal."

"Oh, another Montrealer..."

Oh, another jerk?


"Did I hear you say, Montreal?" Vikki Bee recited as she tapped Harry on the shoulder. "I once had a special lover there who made wonderful sandwiches..."

Vikki Bee nee Shirley Blumenthal, fuck-doll to the stars. How did she do it? How far could a charming sycophant smile take you? When you're skinny like a chicken carcass, sport an unfixed Shylock schnoz and have bug-eyed baby blues. Dressing in Pravda ain't enough. And not everyone gets the peroxide mane in a bun, the neo-Kate-Hepburn look. Yes, Vikki nee Shirley is an artistic one, her ersatz Gauguin portraits adorn the laundry rooms of all her ex-lovers. Like real estate mogul, Cliff Fainer.

"She's a slut, I'm a slut. It was a perfect match."  

Cliff Fainer, another schmaying real estate guy. Par for the course among these crowds. Cliff Fainer, CEO, President and God of The Fainer Group. Builder of all that is industrial, commercial, Lord of the strip malls, feudal baron of the residential, increasing his great fortune with each tick of the clock. Tic tock, tic tock. Whining about bad tenants, how he just got screwed for rent by another Chapter 11 schmata whore. But ever manly; slap the bastard with a court injunction, confiscate his chattel,. Oh, the cat-and mouse games played out like a ballet with commercial tenants. Dance of the Eviction. The Flight of the Tenant. Need to blow off steam, to stay in shape to rape more Johnnies-on-the-make. Cycling, cycling, cycling. A hundred miles here before breakfast, five hundred mile weekends. Peddling, peddling, peddling. Pedaling his lumpy ass away.

"The Match Game, now that guy made money," piped in Mr. Big, every inch of his sculpted 5'4" frame packed with importance. Every show He created a monster hit. Mr. Big, hustling, hustling, hustling. Creating, reinventing, shmoozing, shmoozing, shmoozing. Scoring jackpots, new ventures, triple sevens with Internet start-ups, getting out before the bubble burst. Scoring, scoring, scoring. Emceeing cancer fundraisers, his mug shot plastered on every society page. Smiling, smiling, smiling. Why not? Just having fun with life. Writing a memoir now. Chock-full of rich and famous BBF's. And he did it all with but a 5'4" frame, bluster, chutzpah, an effervescent smile and a good yiddishe kop for business. Everyone loves Mr. Big.

Montreal, L.A., what was the difference? Just another room full of Jews. Like he never left home. Everywhere Harry turned nothing but Jews, Jews, Jews. Just like back home, blabbing, blabbing, blabbing. To be noticed, to adored, to be validated by the In. To show your pipik to the world. To shout from the top of Sinai, I'm here, I'm here, I'm here. I'm in the money, I'm in the business, I'm beautiful.

Like their forefathers millennium ago, still worshiping the golden calf.

Isaiah Redux:

In that day the Lord will take away the finery of the anklets, the headbands, and the crescents; the pendants, the bracelets, and the scarves; the headdresses, the armlets, the sashes, the perfume boxes, and the amulets;

Potential , career-making connections, rain-makers, sipping cosmos, dipping dips, shmaying shmaying shmaying. Ingratiate yourself Harry boy, burrow your nose deep into needy asses in search of noses. Brown-nose it to the top, Harry. Go for it, go for it, go for it, boy. This is how you do it, Harry. This is how it works. They'll love you 'cause you're beautiful. Work this room of success Harry boy, grab some stardust. Grab it now, Harry. Feast on it, stuff it in your pockets, eat it, excrete it. It's there for the taking, Harry boy. Don't be a schmuck. Connect, connect, connect. Cause humans are social animals, because success is the currency in this room.

Mr. Big to the left, Fainer to the right, here you are suck in the middle with--- 

But he bailed, he bailed. Harry slipped out of the room and ran wee wee wee all the way home. And he knew it was a mistake, that he was choking on yet another stage, and didn't have a clue why he fled success. Just to have the goods is not enough though. Harry knew nothing, Harry knew everything. But nothing o be done.

California Dreamin'

Every night that week the same dream:

FADE IN:

Walking down Sunset Boulevard between Dik-Dash and Gary Feldman. Harry looks up and realizes that both men tower over him. As if he's a two-year old boy. Dik-Dash looks down at Harry and says, "Harry, you have beautiful brown eyes," and then laughs hysterically.

Gary Feldman stares down at Harry, pats him on the head and ruffles his hair. "You have beautiful brown eyes, Harry, but you're too short to write on my show."

"No, Gary, I'm really tall."

Gary and Dik-Dash laugh maniacally.

The three of them walk past an office building and stop to admire an artful graffiti mural spray-painted on the wall of the building. Harry reads a message embedded in the mural: I'm tall. The message grows taller along with Harry, until they both are high as the building.

Harry looks down to see that he is still standing between Gary and Dik-Dash, only now, he towers above them.

"See, I've always been tall," Harry says as Gary and Dik-Dash nod in agreement.

The graffiti vanishes and is replaced by a giant video clip of a brown eye winking at the three men.

Gary says,"That's one beautiful brown eye."

The eye pops out of the wall followed by another brown eye.

Poof! A cloud of smoke appears. When it clears, Gomez emerges singing The Partridge Family song, Point Me In the Direction Of Albuquerque. Now he is on stage before a packed house at the Hollywood Bowl. The audience applauds wildly. Harry finds himself on stage in from of a mike. 

"But this is so gay," Harry tells the crowd.

SFX: SITCOM LAUGH TRACK FOLLOWED BY THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE.

Harry smirks and as he prepares to tell a joke, he gags.

SFX: SITCOM LAUGH TRACK FOLLOWED BY THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE.




FADE OUT OF DREAM.




Harry wakes up in a cold sweat.

Beautiful Brown Eyes

Say what you want  about  Gomez, but like most Platonics, the man knew where to go for good food. Like the Cuban chicken place "that Desi Arnas Jr. owns" (bullshit, he just ate there once). The chicken was crispy, juicy and bursting with spicy flavor,  the MPC (Maximum Plate Coverage) score - a perfect 100, and the price of a meal, a steal. Still, prolonged one-on-one time with Gomez made Harry edgy. You never knew what the dude would say next. Like:

"Harry, did anyone ever tell you that you have beautiful brown eyes?"

(((((You have beautiful brown eyes))))) 

(((((You have beautiful brown eyes)))))

(((((You have beautiful brown eyes)))))

(((((You have beautiful brown eyes)))))

(((((You have beautiful brown eyes)))))

"..."

Harry clutched the seat of the booth for dear life. He was afraid that his legs would betray him and sprint out of the restaurant  and run wee-wee-wee all the way home. Flee from  Gomez, leave town.

The chorus to The Partridge Family song, Point me in the direction of Albuquerque, suddenly played in Harry's head:

Point me in the direction of Albuquerque
I want to go home, so help me get home
Point me in the direction of Albuquerque
I need to get h-o-o-o-ome, need to get h-o-o-o-ome


David Cassidy singing. The epitome of cool. SFX: A NEEDLE SCRATCHING A VINYL RECORD. David Cassidy? How gay is that? Take thought back, take thought.

I want my room. I want my bed. I want my basement. I want to hibernate there for the winter. Or maybe longer.


I wanna go home and sell belts.


I wanna stay and be a star.


I don't know what the fuck I want, just let it be far far away from Gomez. The guy is creeping me out.

It didn't take much to creep Harry out.

"...?"

"You have beautiful brown eyes." What next? "Shall we dance?"

Gomez knew it was a stupid thing to say, he just couldn't contain himself. He was a blurter; that was just him. Nothing to be done. Sigh. Nothing to be done.

It wasn't a come-on line. Not for Gomez, who at thirty-two years old, still wasn't sure what he was. Am I or ain't I? Is he or isn't he? He didn't have a clue. A hunch, okay. A feeling, yeah, but shit, Harry did have beautiful brown eyes.

Poor tactless Gomez. Thick thick, Gomez, Always pushing it, pushing it until something goes oops. Dumb questions, embarrassing questions, inappropriate questions, annoying questions. Questions, questions, questions. The trouble was that he had grown immune to eyes rolling, guffaws, sneers and about-turns. One stupid remark and you become a jerk. Life as Gomez, 'Good grief.'

"No, that's not what I meant, y'know," Gomez back-tracked.

Yeah right, yeah right.

"Just that you've got kind of a dangerous look, Harry."

Dangerous look?

I wanna go home. Take me home.

"Like maybe you should do acting instead of writing?"

Like maybe I should punch out your fucked up Gomez face.


Not that Harry would. Instead, he bragged, "I did some acting in college. Majored in theater actually," while hating himself simultaneously himself for saying that. The only thing more pathetic than hanging out with Gomez, was trying to impress him.

"Why'd you quit acting?" Gomez bit his lip.  He really wanted to say, 'You'd  make a great leading man,' but that really was too gay.

"Choked...Literally, on stage during a production of Waiting For Godot. Long story but I can't get on a stage anymore without gagging."

"Well, the camera's not a stage..."

"Look I can't act anymore,  Gomez, I just can't. No desire." Which was anything but true. Harry hungered for the spotlight, any kind, any way, but he lost his nerve and that was it. Shalom.

"Okay, okay. Just asking. In case we go into more casting for Leftovers if it gets picked up. There's still a few parts that need to be cast." (Bullshit).

Restraint. Be nice, Harry. Remember, Gomez is a connection. Networking is about making connections. About browning your nose. Hate it though. Maybe mom is right? Become a radiologist. No need to befriend the likes of Gomez. Just look at some undeveloped pictures and laugh all the way to the bank. What was so hard about that?

"I like writing because you don't feel so exposed.," Harry said. "Like there's something so pathetic about acting, so, 'Look at me, look at me!' Like a neglected child."

"For sure, actors are pathetic exhibitionists screaming for attention. Now I've got Wenzday Wilson threatening calling me up every day with special requests. 'I need this, I need that.' Like fuck, the show isn't even close to a green light yet and he's got this never-ending list of demands. Fuck him...On another note, how's life with Wendy?"

First tell me you never really dated her, Gomez.

"Well, she just adopted another pussy," Harry said. "Shared a joint with her last night and she coughed up a fur ball."

Gomez cracked up. "Seriously?"

"Yeah."

No. Embellished. Bullshit, but true in spirit. Because stories go better with bullshit.

"Welcome to California, Harry. One big freak-a-thon. Get used to it...And how's your room?"

"Okay if  I never leave it. Yesterday I walked into the kitchen and there was an inch-thick line of army ants running from the garden into a discarded pizza box on the kitchen counter..."

Gomez gagged. "Oh yeah, I forgot to mention the ant problem."

"Here's something else to gag about. I'm kind of having a thing with her. Don't tell anyone though."

Oh shit, Gomez thought, she probably exposed him already. They were only friends, platonic friends. He knew it was a mistake to introduce them. Every time he had introduced one of his friends to a girl he was once seeing, they ended up in bed, he got exposed and lost two friends in the process. The collateral damage from bullshit. " You  didn't!"

"More like she did me. Bad mistake but nothing serious. Wendy's not my type. Her pussy smells like a pet shop, but man, can she fuck!"

Gomez blurted out a nervous laugh. Good time to change the subject. Did Wendy expose him? Gomez shuddered at the thought but plowed forward with the conversation. "So did Ricky Dash read your Feldman script?"

"You mean Dik-Dash, that's how he wants to be called...I think he's on it now. I'm actually supposed to call him back tomorrow."

"Follow up with him. It could be the big break you need, Harry. That's what L.A.'s about."

Point me in the direction of Albuquerque.

Beautiful Brown Eyes

Harry was totally surprised but he wasn't, as he sat there with Gomez eating barbecued chicken in a Cuban restaurant "that Desi Arnas Jr. owns" (bullshit).

"Did anyone ever tell you Harry, that you have beautiful brown eyes?"

(((((You have beautiful brown eyes))))) 

(((((You have beautiful brown eyes)))))

(((((You have beautiful brown eyes)))))

(((((You have beautiful brown eyes)))))

(((((You have beautiful brown eyes)))))

"..."

Harry clutched the seat of the booth for dear life. He was afraid that his legs would betray him and sprint out of the restaurant down to the freeway. He couldn't bear another Gomez split-second. Flee Gomez, flee L.A..

Point me in the direction of Albuquerque
I need to go h-o-o-o-ome
I need to go h-o-o-o-ome

I want my room. I want my bed. I want my basement. I want to hibernate there for the winter. Or maybe longer.

I wanna go home.

I wanna stay.

"...?"

You have beautiful brown eyes. What next? "Shall we dance dance?"

And Gomez knew he had blurted out yet again The Cry of the Moron, but that was just him. Nothing to be done. Sigh. Nothing to be done.

It wasn't a come-on line. Not for Gomez, who at thirty-two years old, still wasn't sure what he was. Am I or ain't I? Is he or isn't he? He didn't have a fucking clue. A hunch, okay, a feeling, yeah, but shit, Harry had beautiful brown eyes.

Poor tactless Gomez. Always pushing it, pushing it till something goes oops. Dumb questions, embarrassing questions, inappropriate questions, annoying questions. Questions, questions, questions. But after a while, people like Gomez get used to the eyes rolling, the guffaws, the sneers, the turned shoulders. Life as Gomez, "Good grief."

"No, that's not what I meant, y'know," Gomez back-tracked. Yeah right, yeah right. "Just that you've got kind of a dangerous look."

Dangerous look?

I wanna go home. Take me home.

"Like maybe you should do acting instead of writing?"

Like maybe I should punch out your fucked up Gomez head, Gomez.

The Law of Putz Attraction in motion.

"I did some acting in college. Majored in theater actually," Harry bragged while simultaneously hating himself for feeling that way. The only thing more pathetic than hanging out with Gomez, was trying to impress him. Harry wanted to weep.

"Why'd you stop?" Gomez bit his lip.  He actually withheld saying, 'You'd  make a great leading man.' There's hope for us all.

"Choked...Literally, on stage during a production of Waiting For Godot. Long story but I can't get on a stage anymore..."

"Well, the camera's not a stage..."

"Look I can't,  Gomez, I just can't. I have no desire to act." Which was anything but true. Harry hungered for the spotlight, any kind, any way, but he lost his nerve and that was it. Shalom.

"Okay, okay. Just asking. In case we go into more casting for the series if it gets picked up."

Ding ding ding. Be nice, Harry. Remember, Gomez is a connection. Networking is about making connections. About browning your nose. Maybe mom is right? Become a radiologist. No need to Gomez. Look at some pitchers (sic) and laugh all the way to the bank.

"I like writing because you don't feel so exposed.," Harry said. "Like there's something so pathetic about acting, so, 'Look at me, look at me!' Like a neglected child."

"True, actors are mostly a bunch of morons. Now I've got Wenzday Wilson threatening to walk if he doesn't get a personal masseuse on the set. Like fuck, we 're no even close to a green light...But more important, how's life with Wendy?"

First tell me if you really ever dated her, Gomez.

"She just adopted another pussy.  Shared a joint with her last night and she coughed up a fur ball."

Gomez cracked up. "Seriously?"

"Yeah."

No. Embellished. Bullshit, but true in spirit. Cuz stories  go better with bullshit.

"Welcome to California, Harry. One big freak-a-thon. Get used to it...So how's your room?"

"Okay if  I never leave it. Yesterday I walked into the kitchen and there was an inch-thick line of army ants running from the garden into a discarded pizza box on the kitchen counter..."

Gomez gagged. "I hope it's not the same one from last week..."

"Here's something else to gag about. I kind of had a thing with her the first day."

Gomez sang, "Everyone loves Wendy," but was worried that she exposed him. They were only friends, just friends. "You didn't!"

"More like she did me. Bad mistake. Won't happen again." it did happen again. And again. "She has a pussy that smells like a pet shop, but man, can she fuck!"

Gomez blurted out a nervous laugh. Good time to change the subject. Preemptive move before you get exposed. "So did Dik-Dash read your Feldman script?"

"I think he's on it now. I'm actually supposed to call him back tomorrow."

"Follow up with him. It could be the big break you need, Harry. That's what LA.'s about."

Just one more thing to dread.

Harry was totally surprised but he wasn't as he sat there in the booth eating chicken in Gomez's favorite Cuban restaurant.

"Did anyone ever tell you Harry, that you have beautiful brown eyes?" Gomez asked.

Echo. You have beautiful brown eyes.

Echo. You have beautiful brown eyes.

Echo. You have beautiful brown eyes.

Echo. You have beautiful brown eyes.

...

Harry clutched the seat of the booth  tightly so that his legs wouldn't betray him  and flee out of the restaurant. Flee from Gomez.

"...?"

You have beautiful brown eyes. What next? "Shall we dance dance?"

And Gomez knew it. Stupid remark.  Not a come-on line. Thirty-two years old, and Gomez still wasn't sure what he was. Am I or ain't I? Is he or isn't he? He didn't have a clue. Just a hunch, just a feeling. But Harry had beautiful brown eyes.

Gomez was a blurter, so he was used to dealing with inappropriate questions and comments that escaped from his mouth. Sometimes blurting out led to success like it almost did with his pilot, Leftovers.  "So what happens to Adults that don't hook up with someone - ever? There's lots of them and they're funny. Leftovers, a show about those left behind in the wake of life."  and he sold the script sold.

While other times, most times those blurts don't go over well.  Like, "You have beautiful brown eyes." Even Gomez didn't know what he meant.

And Wendy

"I'm staying here for good, mom."

"Give it some time, Harry. You've only been there...what, an hour?"

"More like two hours, mom. We landed early."

"Ridiculous. You see a palm tree and you're sold."

"I actually haven't seen any palm trees yet..I'm still in the airport waiting for my luggage. "

"So just tell me that you've landed and that you're okay. Give it at least a day before you say, 'Mom, I want to live here,' like you do whenever you go somewhere."

"That's not true."

"When you went to Burlington and ate for the first time at Burger King, you called to tell me you weren't coming home."

"I meant it."

"A day later you back in your room."

"There were too many fat women in Burlington. What choice did I have?"

"When we sent you on that trip to Israel, you called after a day to tell us that you were moving to that kibbutz. Forever."

"I was totally serious."

"After two weeks you wanted to come home early."

"Yeah, well, they wanted me to wake up five in the morning and shovel chicken shit. What kind of a life would that be?"

"And went you went down to audition in New York, you also called to say you weren't coming home."

"I was on the verge of of making it on Broadway."

"Until you choked on stage."

"Why do you always have to throw that in my face?"

"Who's throwing anything in your face, Harry?"

"You are."

"All I'm saying is to at least give it time. "

"..."

"Harry?"

"..."

"Harry, are you still there?"

"I see my bags, mom. Gotta go. Bye."

Said Californy is the place you gotta be
So he brought along his script
And moved nearby the sea
Santa Monica that is
Swimmin' pools, movie stars.

Sun.
Light.
Blue sky.
Palm trees.
Pacific Ocean.
Sunset Boulevard.

And the homes, what homes.
And the cars, what cars.
And the people, pretty people.
So many pretty people.

Californy.

Opportunity.

Californy.

The place he oughtta be. A Venn diagram of converging dreams.

Californy.

Far from flunkers
Far from belts
Far from family
And psychic welts.

Change your name
Change your life
Don't look back
Or get a wife.

Californy.

Harry parked the car in front of 262 Alta. He made it.

Who's leaning out from her bedroom window
Tokin' on a fat jay, blowin' her mind

Wendy opened the door.

"Hi, Wendy?...Harry Starr. A pleasure to meet you."

"Let's get one thing straight before we start, Harry Starr. I never dated Gomez. We're just good friends. I know that his real name is Irwin and I don't give a shit if you're gay."

"I'm not gay."

Who's bending over giving some lovin'
Some kinda greeting from Wendy.

"Wanna see my head-shots, Harry?" the blond down the hall asks while unbuttoning her blouse.

"Uhh.."

"Gross! You stepped in dog shit!"

Who's renting rooms to wannabe starlets
Smiling at everybody who pays
Who's canine family howls for attention
Some kinda living with Wendy

"I want you to spend your first night with me, in my room, Harry. Y'know I can set you up with the right people."

"Sweet," he says.

And Wendy has needy eyes
Inviting to lonely guys
And Wendy tells crazy lies
In her place that few escape
In her place that few escape.

"I'm staying here for good, mom."

"Give it some time, Harry. You've only been there...what, an hour?"

"More like two hours, mom. We landed early."

"Ridiculous. You see a palm tree and you're sold."

"I actually haven't seen any palm trees yet..I'm still in the airport waiting for my luggage. "

"So just tell me that you've landed and that you're okay. Give it at least a day before you tell me, 'Mom, I want to live here,' like you do whenever you go somewhere."

"That's not true."

"When you went to Burlington and ate for the first time at Burger King, you called to tell me you weren't coming home."

"I meant it."

"A day later you back in your room."

"There were too many fat women in Burlington. What choice did I have?"

"When we sent you on that trip to Israel, you called after a day to tell us that you were moving to that kibbutz. Forever."

"I was totally serious."

"After two weeks you wanted to come home early."

"Yeah, we'll they wanted me to wake up five in the morning and shovel chicken shit. What kind of a life would that be?"

"And went you went down to audition in New York, you also called to say you weren't coming home."

"Because New York is the place to go o if you wanna make it big."

"Not when you're choking on stage."

"Why do you always have to throw that in my face?"

"Who's throwing anything in your face, Harry?"

"You are."

"All I'm saying is to at least give it time. "

"..."

"Harry?"

"..."

"Harry, are you still there?"

"I see my bags, mom. Gotta go. Bye."

Said Californy is the place you gotta be
So he brought along his script
And moved nearby the sea
Santa Monica that is
Swimmin' pools, movie stars.

Sun. 
Light. 
Blue sky. 
Palm trees. 
The ocean.

And the homes, what homes.
And the cars, what cars.
And the people, pretty people.
So many pretty people.

Californy.

Opportunity.

Californy.

The place he oughtta be. A Venn diagram of converging dreams.

Californy.

Far from flunkers, far from belts,  far far away from St. Clair. Change your name, change your life.

Californy.

Harry parked the car in front of 262 Lincoln. He made it.

Who's leaning out from her bedroom window
Tokin' on a fat jay, blowin' her mind
Who's bending over giving some lovin'
Some kinda greeting from Wendy.

Who's renting rooms to wannabe starlets
Smiling at everybody who pays
Who's canine family barks for attention
Some kinda living with Wendy.

And Wendy has needy eyes
Inviting to lonely guys
And Wendy tells crazy lies
In her place that few escape
In her place that few escape.

And it was day. And it was night. Sunday. And Harry saw that it was very good.