2. The City Of…

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Los Angeles.

Everytime I think about the city, a line always pops into my head. It's the opening from Joss Whedon's Angel. Yes, I watched that show. David Boreanaz is hot! I'm allowed to say that because I'm bisexual. Besides, David Boreanaz transcends sexual preferences. Just ask any straight guy, and watch how hard he tries to lie to you.

Anyway, it goes: "Los Angeles. You see it at night, and it shines. A beacon. People are drawn to it. People… and other things…"

I learned about the other things part soon enough.

But first, there was Mercedes.

She'd been out here for a year before I showed up. She was still doing steady-work as a back-up singer. She was the vocal equivalent of a session musician. I'm not sure why, but that scared the hell out of me.

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Have you been sending in your demos? Have you even been recording your own stuff? I mean, you don't want to sway and harmonize in the background your whole life, do you? You might as well have followed Rachel to New York."

"Santana, you don't understand. Do you have any idea how many wannabe stars there are out here?"

"How many of them have your talent?"

"A lot."

"I find that hard to believe."

"I'm waiting for my big break, okay? It'll happen."

"When?"

"Come on…"

"I'm serious? When is it gonna happen? You need to make it happen. Or was Jesse right about you? Are you just lazy?'

"My God, you haven't changed a bit."

"Were you expecting me to?"

"Honestly? I hoped."

"Hey Mercedes, this is reality. Its writing you a check."

"Why'd you blow off New York? Why come out here?"

"New York's a theatre town. Its perfect for someone like Berry. But me? With my looks, and my chops…"

"Yeah, you know what? You're a perfect fit for the Valley porn industry."

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That bitch!

Although, I have to admit, it was a pretty good burn.

It turns out Mercedes was right. It's a lot harder to make it in the City of Angels than romantic comedies would have us believe. I ended up taking a job at a Hooters in Santa Monica. I could just hear Coach Sylvester snarkily musing about how my boobs should file for a 401K, and ended up crashing with Puck.

He lived in a dive in Van Nuys where the roaches were the patients and they truly ran the asylum. We had to share a musty futon that folded out into the living room-slash-bedroom-slash-kitchen-slash my frikkin wrists if I develop claustrophobia.

It was fine, for a while. Puck worked so hard at his pool cleaning business – making some extra money on the side by actually digging the pools themselves – that he was usually passed out by the time I got home.

On the nights he was awake, we'd sit up and watch Turner Classic Movies. Puck tried stealing cable from the apartment next door, but he screwed it up somehow, so the only channel we caught didn't show movies made before 1980.

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"No! I'm not doing this with you again, Puck! I might actually strangle you this time!"

"I always knew you were stubborn, Lopez, but I never figured you for stupid."

"Me? You're the one who shaved all the sense out of your head when you shaved off your Mohawk! No way does Isle belong with Victor Lazlo!"

"The dude's the better ticket! She knows that. That's why she gets on the plane with him at the end."

"No, she gets on the plane because Rick makes her go."

"That stupid hill o' beans speech? You bought that?"

"You didn't?"

"Victor's a counterfeiter. Plus, with the law all caught up in fighting the war, you know he's building up some serious bank!"

"He's a– Wait! What the hell are you talking about? He's not a counterfeiter."

"Sure he is. He fakes checks!"

"He's the leader of the Cheque resistance, you unbelievable moron! As in, the country!"

"Oh. Well, this movie just got way lamer!"

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It was fun for a while. Until Puck got drunk one night and made a pass at me. I had to knee him in a place that God only ever intended to be treated nicely.

I moved out the next day.

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