Tuesday Night. Then:
7:04 pm: Wanna meet me for a glass of wine? My girlfriend messages. I respond: I’m trying not to drink. But I guess one is fine.
7:53 pm: We order a bottle. It’s basically the same price as two glasses. We split some moulés frites and barely touch them. I kinda lose my appetite when I drink. Two shots appear at our table. The server points to a man at the bar wearing a wide brim hat with a bunch of silver rings on every finger. We smile and wave, and he heads over, pulls up a chair, and sits on it backwards. He was prepared, with a third shot in his hand. We toast and shoot. Mezcal. It burns.
He’s cheesy. His teeth are way too white, they look dumb. His face is dumb. He tells us about his boutique hotel in the desert and name drops like seven C list celebrities in a row. My friend and I kick each other under the table. I hate him.
9:47 pm: My friend’s Uber just picked her up, and I’m waiting for mine. Suddenly cheesy guy pulls up in a Porsche Cayenne.
“Wanna go to a party?” He says. I look around. I know this is a bad idea but I’m feeling pretty loose and energized from the drinks. I hop in the passenger seat and cancel my Uber.
We wind up the hills and he’s talking about the 70s. I fucking hate when dudes go on and on about the 70s. This is boring. I don’t care, I think, deeply regretting my choice.
“Do you have any blow?” I interrupt, hoping he’ll redeem himself.
“Nah, I don’t do that stuff,” he says, blinding me with his teeth. “I’m sure there will be some at Brian’s though.”
I have no idea who Brian is. It’s so weird when people talk about people like you’re supposed to know them. He continues ranting about the 70s and like, the Byrds or something, when we pull up a long driveway at the top of Laurel Canyon, near where it meets Mulholland. Brian answers the door. He too wears a wide brim hat. Their hats touch as they bro hug.
Inside it’s a little dingy, definitely a dude’s house, and we walk out back towards a pool with leaves floating on top of greenish looking water. A girl wearing a leotard and crazy high, rattan wedges staggers up to me.
“You’re so pretty,” she says. “Your skin is so nice.”
She touches my face and I look around to see if anyone is witnessing this, but cheesy guy has gone to get us drinks. I nearly say, “Yours too,” but stop myself when I notice her face is covered in a thick layer of caked on foundation, probably to hide what looks like scabs underneath. I don’t like to lie, so I just smile.
A few feet away, I spot a guy with a scorpion tattoo on his neck. He looks real shifty, so I walk up to him. His eyes light up when he sees me, he takes my hand and kisses it. His teeth are the opposite of cheesy guy. They’re kind of grey.
“Um, do you have any blow?” I ask.
He licks his lips.
“I can get some,” he says, pulling out his phone, grin spreading across his face. He’s not ugly. Just… sketchy. I knew he’d be in the know.
Cheesy guy returns and puts a plastic cup in my hand with some melty ice cubes and a mysterious liquid within. I take a giant gulp. It’s disgusting.
“Mmm,” I say.
Scorpion Neck ‘s phone dings. “You wanna take a ride with me?” he asks. Cheesy guy is talking to his dudes and has his back to me, so I just nod and walk off and out to Scorpion Neck’s car. A Lincoln Town car.
10:41 pm: The Zombies blast through tinny sounding speakers as the car winds down the hill to the 101 and I sing along to “Care of Cell 44.”
“You remind me of Sharon Tate,” he says.
I smile politely and wonder if he’s gonna murder me. I notice he’s got a long pinky nail on his left hand and now I think I’m definitely a goner.
We drive all the way to Echo Park and pull up to a house with a chain link fence. The neighbors have pit bulls outside that bark furiously, and after what feels like forever, this really sleepy looking older woman with spaghetti sauce stains on her thick, cotton t-shirt comes to the door.
Inside smells like microwaved hot dogs and menthol cigarettes, and she directs me to sit in a lazy boy with burn holes in it. The TV blares Seinfeld - Elaine’s dancing badly - and there’s like three dudes zoned out in front of it on a couch. A few minutes later, Scorpion Neck and the sleepy lady return from down the hall.
“Can I show my girlfriend where the bathroom is,”he says and I wince. I’m embarrassed she’s going to think we’re together.
He pulls me into a scary bathroom with yellow light, pubes all over the sink and filthy grout. He sticks his pinky nail into a baggie and holds it up to my nostril. I inhale hard. All is well.
12:54 am: We’re at some warehouse party. Scorpion Neck keeps giving me bumps from his fingernail. It’s gross but I’m high, so whatever. I’m sipping my double vodka soda and we’re both kind of bopping to laser-y sounding music. I’m so fucking bored.
I see this guy I used to know, but I’m not sure how. He runs up to me, spins me around and I pretend he is my long lost soul mate. I can’t really introduce him to Scorpion Neck because it’s so loud, and I don’t know either of their names, so the two men just stare at each other with dagger eyes.
“Hey, you wanna get out of here?” My friend who I don’t know screams in my ear. I nod. I tell Scorpion neck I’ll be right back and just leave.
2:13 am: I can’t quite remember how we got to this weird apartment in K-town with carpet on the floors and an aquarium. A liter of Orange soda is being passed around and when I take a swig, I gag.
“What is this?” I say and everyone laughs. It’s me and like, four dudes in tank tops, and a lady with short, bleach-blonde hair. She looks a little older than us. Everyone is real chatty, and sweaty. Someone hands me a glass pipe. I take it, someone else lights it from the bottom and I inhale hard. Immediately, I’m on the ceiling.
“What is this?” I say as I cough and laugh. They just laugh.
9:22 am: I come to in a different apartment. This one is nicer, with black and white photos in silver picture frames on white painted, wooden end-tables. The couch is white but I’m sitting on the floor. The blonde woman is wearing big, cotton underwear and a t-shirt, pacing in front of a giant flatscreen, saying, “Can you believe I’m a lawyer?” Then she laughs maniacally. There’s a silver tray with lines of cocaine and a rolled up hundo on it. I lean over and snort one. A handsome-ish older man with a long dark pony tail, touches my shoulder and smiles at me.
“Let’s get some breakfast,” he says.
10:07 am: We pull up to the Beverly Hills hotel in his Maserati. The valet knows him. We are ushered to a perfectly shaded table in the garden. He orders a bottle of Veuve Cliquot and everything on the breakfast menu. A group of European looking people wave from another table and he invites them over. I eat like, three bites of bacon, then he passes me a vial. I go into the bathroom and snort more cocaine.
12:22 pm: “Let’s take a nap,” the ponytail man says, leading me by the hand into the foyer of the most stunning, breezy, pristine white, Spanish style mansion I’ve ever seen. It’s like a dream. Gauzy curtains hang, flowing about as he pulls me into a clean, white bedroom. He undresses me. I feel like my clothes are too dirty to even be in here. He’s nice looking and being very nice to me, so I let him fuck me with his alarmingly small penis. His ponytail falls into my face and smells heavenly, like some secret scent only the super wealthy have access to.
Afterwards, I lay my head on his shoulder so I can inhale his ponytail while he pets my head. It’s kind of blissful and I wonder if we’re in love. I feel safe so I close my eyes for a moment. Maybe I fall asleep but who knows. I wake to the sounds of people laughing and world-techno music drifting from the pool outside. I get up, throw on the lush robe that was clearly left for me, and wander out double French doors. I always wonder who listens to this kind of music in a serious way - like, of all music in existence this is what they choose - so, I need to see for myself.
3 pm: Attractive, tan people mill about, drinking rosé while ponytail man holds court in his lush bathrobe. I drop my robe and jump naked into the pool and swim around, pretending I’m a mermaid. Someone leans down and hands me a mojito. It’s delicious. I wonder if I died. If not, I’d like to stay here for the rest of my life. This girl with red hair in pigtails jumps in and swims up to me. She shows me her third nipple. I’m impressed. Then she kisses me.
“I’ve got some friends meeting at The Abbey. Super fun crew. We should go and dance,” she says and I consider it. It does sound kind of fun.
5:47 pm: She drives us in her Ford, Focus to West Hollywood. She has an entire wardrobe in the backseat and hands me a tube top. I swap out my button down. An air freshener in the shape of a foot hangs from her rear view. I miss the ponytail man and his fancy world.
7:15pm: I’m making out with the red haired girl in a bathroom stall, and she slips a pill into my mouth. “Molly,” she says.
“No, Holly,” I say.
“The pill. It’s Molly.”
I laugh. Hard.
10:14 pm: In an apartment with a popcorn ceiling, I’m being ignored by a bunch of beautiful, muscular, gay men. It’s probably time to go home. With shaking hands, I pull out my phone and call an Uber.
10:45pm: The driver is hilarious. We are chatting up a storm. He’s new in this country, though as soon as he says where he’s from, I forget. It seems a shame to cut our hang short, we’re having too much fun.
9:45 am: I wake up fully clothed. My eyelids are practically glued together with goopy mascara and my eyeballs burn from sleeping with my contacts in. I look over and see the Uber driver, also fully clothed in bed next to me.
Ugh.
I try to remember what happened, what day it is. Then I sit up straight, panicked.
Did I smoke crack?!
Tuesday Night. Now:
9:30 pm: I just… go to bed.
6 am: I wake up and I’m in the same bed.
I’m doing advice now. Seeing as I’ve made every mistake there is to make, I know about turning shit around. Write to hollywould@substack.com
I’ll answer as many as I can right here, in a video, midweek. I’ve already received some incredible emails, so maybe this will become a thing. Please share HollyWould, press the heart, leave comments, and follow my Instagram. Happy Saturday. xx
Oh, Holly. Glad you’re still here.
Wow!!! To have experienced so much in your lifetime! Truth so much stranger than fiction. Reminds me of the movie “Less than Zero.” But it’s real life for you. Thank you for sharing. I really felt it in your writing. Second hand excitement for me!