KATIE & JEFF

Today I talked to Katie and Jeff.

I'm walking past the Hollywood Museum when a girl standing next to a camera shouts in my direction: "Could we take a picture of you?" - "Well, yes. What is that for?" I ask. "It's for Travel and Leisure," she answers. I agree and strike a few awkward pauses. It's pretty ironic to find myself pausing for someone while I'm actually looking for a person to photograph. Katie is a freelance photographer and her assistant - who is also her boyfriend - is Jeff. She is a direct, daring girl who doesn't seem afraid of approaching people spontaneously. Katie and Jeff are 27 and 26 years old. They met at the California Institute of the Arts where they were both studying photography. Today, they are making pictures to go with an article that will come out in Travel and Leisure's September issue. I ask them if I could follow them around while they work. They agree and we enter the Hollywood Museum together.

In the entrance hall, a large shiny chandelier hangs from the high ceiling. A faded rumba stresses the obsolete style of the place. I notice a sickly but discreet old cooking oil smell. Through a door ajar, I see Mel's Drive-In, the restaurant next door. At the ticket desk a perfectly groomed lady welcomes the tourists one by one. She wears a fitted pink skirt and a white flowery blouse. Her hair is tied in a tight chignon and her makeup - ruby lips and white skin - looks perfect.

The Hollywood Museum is the authentic Max Factor building where all the major actresses would come to buy their beauty products about a hundred years ago. Katie, Jeff and I enter the make-up rooms. The light blue room is "For Blondes only", the currant and beige "For Brunettes only", and the pink one "For Brownettes only". "This room will shoot better," says Katie while she peeks into the pink room. Jeff helps her set the camera in a good place. This room looks like a giant candy: the walls, carpet and ceiling are pink. An original poster of Judy Garland stands next to a dressing table covered with powders, lipsticks, and makeup accessories. Everything seems left in place by an actress who just left. Jeff measures the light and gives Katie the value. She starts to shoot. They work quietly together, exchanging only a word from time to time. In the blue room, the final scene of "Gentlemen prefer Blondes" plays on a TV. June 1st would have been Marilyn Monroe's 84th birthday. At that date, the museum opened the largest temporary exhibition in the world called "Marilyn Remembered". Private collectors and museums sent all kind of objects related to Marilyn: a fridge, personal photos, dresses, a pill bottle, a fox fur, and many more.

"I'd like to shoot Hannibal Lecter's cell," says Katie. In the stairs to the basement, we hear a creepy music and the light grows dimmer at every step we make. The basement is a mix between a shabby prison and a haunted house. The light is so low that I can hardly see the red brick walls. There are portraits of vampires and headless women here and there. Katie adjusts the height of the tripod and chooses a long time of exposure to shoot the cell. "There's somebody lying there," says Jeff. A body wrapped in a white linen lies in a dark corner right behind us. It makes me slightly jump.

The shoot is over. In less than a minute, Katie and Jeff pack their material. We come back to the bright light on the street. A family of red-face tourists wearing identical t-shirts passes by. "Could I take a picture of you?" Katie asks. "No, I've had my picture taken too much these days. We just came back from a cruise," says the father, and he goes off his way. Katie, Jeff and I split on a friendly note. They have more pictures to make and head towards another group of people. I go the opposite way and let myself slowly disappear into the crowded street.

DIZ

Today I talked to Diz.

This is the middle of the afternoon. The sun is intense. I stop at a newsstand to find some shade and buy the British Elle. “We sold out…” the lady says. “I love your shades! What are they?” she asks. This is Diz. I like her warm attitude right away.

Diz works six hours a day at this newsstand in Hollywood but the place is open 24/7. She stands on the street to answer people’s questions and check on them if needed. She reads The New York Post every day. “This is how I got so smart!” she bursts out of laughter. Her favorite magazine is Vogue India. “It feels like you’re reading a book about beauty, fashion and photography”, she says. “It’s all about famous people from Bollywood. I don’t know about them, don’t even know how to pronounce their names but they’re nice”.

Originally Diz is from Boston, Massachusetts. She says that her sing-songi accent comes from there. She laughs willingly after each sentence. Her style is unique too. She wears a red tartan skirt, a vintage jacket, vintage Jean-Louis Scherrer sunglasses, and square brown shoes. The badge on her shoulder reads “American Legion of Illinois”. Each of her fingers is decorated with at least two rings. While a white haired man is paying for his newspaper, Diz continues our conversation. She tells me she has two hundred pairs of shoes displayed in her house. In her refrigerator, she keeps two hundred and fifty nail polish. “I put my champagne there too, and milk and eggs”, she says with a smile.

Every person who passes by the stand seems to know her. It looks like she is completely part of the neighborhood. Incidentally she lives by the Hollywood sign. “I live under the D like Diz”, she says in an amused voice.

Today the temperature is surprisingly high. Diz and I stay in the shade. “At home I have a Wizard of Oz shrine, a Marilyn Monroe shrine and an Auntie Mame shrine”. Auntie Mame is a 1950’s movie. The main character is Diz’ idol. “She is an eccentric glamorous lady who gets rich, and then poor, and then rich, and then poor, and spends all her money on clothes and friends. This is how I’d like to live my life”.

A chubby woman rushes to Diz and speaks in a semi-whisper: “I’ve got a script. Do you know someone at Disney?” Diz nods but does not answer. The woman leaves. Mysterious encounter. I ask Diz if she will be able to help her. “I see a lot of things. I have my nails on the pulse of the city”, she utters. It makes me wonder. Is she some kind of doorkeeper? Is she the secret path that leads to the Hollywood studios? The shaman who knows the sacred words? She definitely looks like one… I am interrupted in my thoughts when a wiry man rushes by and addresses Diz “Hello beautiful!”

Everything in this buoyant woman is unexpected. When I ask Diz if I could take a picture of her, she rushes inside the shop. “Let me put some more lipstick”. Then, she strikes an unconventional pose, displaying her nails around her face. When she finally sees the Polaroid picture, she exclaims: “Shee-whiz, that’s fa-bu-lous! My lipstick came out perfectly.”

More customers arrive. It’s time for me to leave. Diz hugs me warmly: “It all started with our shades”, she says. “Now we’re friends. You can always fly by”. I will for sure.

LAS PALMAS MARKET

Today I talked to Kyunghye (pronounced Kee-on-he). She is a 50-year-old Korean woman who welcomes me with a cold look. She softens when I tell her how much her store reminds me of the European convenience stores.

Kyunghye and her husband own the Las Palmas Market, a grocery store at the corner of Fountain and Las Palmas Avenues. Reminiscent of simpler times, this red painted wooden building stands out from the surrounding modern houses. A sign on the roof reads “Fresh Milk and Ice Cream”.

Outside the market the light is dazzling. Once inside my eyes take a few seconds to adjust. The place is full of things stacked from top to bottom with beverages, food, frozen food, a few fruits, umbrellas, nails, cigarettes, Indian incense, sunglasses, hair nets for fuzzy hair… “We have everything”, says Kyunghye quietly. Sometimes she sees the same person twice or three times a day. “They cook, realize they forgot something, and come back ”.

This place is the lively hub of the neighborhood. The locals call it The Red Market. “All our customers walk here because they live in the area. We don’t even have a parking spot”, she adds. I’m amazed to see that every minute someone walks in. A short Mexican man with a huge white t-shirt and a gangster look buys beers and packs of ham.

A few moments later, a smiling polite man buys a few Double Match cards. He asks me questions about my camera. His name is Derico. “My mom gave me an original name. She wanted me to be original. Sure I am”, he says. I notice his cool Black Dynamite t-shirt and find out he made it for a movie. He is from Michigan and has been living in L.A. for thirty years. “I just got my passport. I want to go to Belize, see new places. I’ve been around here too long”, he says. He scratches his Double Match card. No win. “A friend of mine won 25,000 dollars with that game”. Dericio’s goal is to be a professional bowling player. “I’ve got to go train now. My bowling balls are in my van”.

Shortly after, a platinum pale blonde with extra-short red shorts buys an energy drink and a pack of Band-aids. She has no eye contact with Kyunghye and leaves.

The Las Palmas Market is also an important role player in Hollywood. At least twice a year the place becomes a set for films, TV shows or ads. One of its most memorable roles was in the TV show called Southland – a crime TV series that takes place in Los Angeles. The episode was about a robbery. The market owner was wrongly accused to be the thief because he was holding a gun when the cops arrived. It makes Kyunghye laugh while she tells me this story and then suddenly becomes more serious. “Sometimes we have weird customers, so we have to watch”, she points to the round mirrors hanging from the ceiling.

Kyunghye is short on casual conversation and most of the customers seem to be in a hurry. She is concerned that her accent may be too strong even though she has been living in this country for sixteen years. For her the toughest side of being in America is missing her friends and family. “This business is a family business. It takes a lot of sacrifice”, she says. Kyunghye doesn’t see her children as often as she would like to.

When I ask her if I can take a picture of her she declines… even though she is aware of her beauty. She smiles mischievously, “I know I look ten-fifteen years younger”.

OSCAR

Today I wanted to talk to Oscar but Oscar didn’t want to.

The sky is purring. Helicopters are patrolling and their cameras filming the streets. The whole city is a buzz. Today is Oscars’ day.

I walk up the streets of Hollywood. The road signs say Work Zone Ahead or Do Not Enter. I ask a police officer sitting on his motorbike, which is the best way to reach Hollywood Boulevard. He tells me to walk further down on Sunset. Two women overhear our conversation and advise me to drop my expectations and go back home. They were there, saw nothing but a big black screen and couldn’t access the red carpet.

I decide to go on with my quest anyway. My goal is to find out where the magic hides. I join a herd of interested and dreamy fellow human beings. After half an hour of wandering, a few of us reach Hollywood Boulevard. The excitement floats in the air. Tourists, professional photographers, and cops mix with each other. The stars on the pavement are all wet with rain.

Elvis walks up to me and asks: “You want a picture with me, babe?”. He takes me by the waist. “No thanks. Just you alone”, I say. Then I ask him his name. “Romeo”, he answers. “My porn name is Barry Sausage”, he adds in a laugh. “Barry Who?” I ask - I obviously didn’t pick up the joke -. I notice a pack of dollars in his hand and dig into my purse to give him a few. “I’ve been Elvis for seven years, seven days a week, and I make seventy-five kisses a day”, he says. A group of excited girls is waiting for him. Elvis quickly moves to them and strikes the King’s pause.

On my way to the red carpet, I stop by Jesse and Chase, two cops leaning on their car. “Are you enjoying the Oscars?” I ask. “It’s boring as hell. We just stand here all day”, says Chase who looks really pissed off. “And we have to wear these stupid hats”, he mutters. “It’s definitely more fun working in the car”, adds Jesse. A thick rain suddenly starts and they both exclaim: “For Christ’s sake!”

The crowd sticks together behind high guardrails. The entrance to the ceremony seems close but I can’t see a thing. A thirty feet limousine slowly drives by. Then a hand – visibly a woman’s – waves out of the tinted window. The crowd yells and waives back. But the burst of joy fades out as the car drives away. The street is empty again. I realize how disappointing this place is. I feel annoyed by this purportedly popular event that keeps people as far away as possible. Surely, the magic must be somewhere.

On my way back home, a rap flow catches my ear. A man holds an amplifier in one hand and a microphone in the other. His name is Dr. Geek. He is improvising lyrics about May’s beauty. She stands next to him and seems to enjoy the moment. Later, I find out that May is a Brazilian journalist/writer working for a Brazilian TV show. “I’m looking for weird stories. Mr. Geek is my best one so far”, says May.

I leave the hustle and bustle and take a side street. I'm vaguely looking up at a crumbling motel when I hear: “This is the hotel from Pretty Woman”. A smiling middle-aged couple walks by. “They told us that in the tour we took last week”, the woman adds.

Here, the Hollywood stars live in the walls, buildings and pavements. You rarely see them in the flesh. Yet a few blocks from there, I finally get to meet them. On a painted wall James Dean and Liz Taylor are staring at me with vibrant eyes. I wonder. Are they waiting for the movie to begin?

JOHNNY & ALAN

Today I talked to Johnny and Alan. They were having a yard sale in Hollywood. I got drawn to the silk dresses, fur coats, vintage suitcases and watercolor paintings. Johnny is a muscular man with a tribal tattoo on his belly. He talks openly and introduces me to Alan, his partner. “Her blog is called Talking to L.A.”, says Johnny in sign language, so naturally that it takes me a minute to realize that Alan is deaf. Alan signs back: “That’s cool.” They own three houses in this town. Two face each other on that street. The third one (in Silver Lake) is the one they live in.

Every minute, someone pops out of a car or a corner to check out Johnny and Alan’s stuff. People ask for the price of a mannequin or a chair. Some promise they’ll come back, others just want to chat. Johnny and Alan enjoy it. All these things are props that Johnny finds for movies. He rents and sells them to have fun. “It’s my hobby. My job is to make research on HIV”, he says. He works for the Center for Disease Control – a foundation sponsored by the government.

Johnny talks about his partner with a genuine enthusiasm. “He’s a good guy”, Johnny says. “What about you?” I ask. “I’m the bad guy”, he laughs. Alan was a successful actor on TV shows. A few years ago, he received the title of “International Mister Deaf Leather 2001”, a well-known contest in the gay community that promotes the leather life style. Today, he teaches sign language and storytelling to kids. So that Alan can follow our conversation, Johnny signs every word he says. Alan gives his thoughts and Johnny blends them naturally into his sentences.

A Russian lady picks up a red suitcase. She looks at Johnny and signs with her head: “How much?” -“Twenty”, says Johnny. The lady mumbles and drops the suitcase on the floor: “Too old”. And she leaves. Johnny, not affected in any ways, looks totally relaxed. “We like doing that. We meet all kind of people. Weird, nice, and cool ones”, he says.

Then he points at the green house next to where we stand. “This house is called « The Hollywood House ». It’s a sober living house.”

Alan and Johnny opened this privately financed place four years ago to help addicts get sober. It is exclusively for gay guys. Their rent is cheap and the help is free. Most of them stay in the house for a year, but they can stay less if they want to. At the moment, The Hollywood House takes care of three men. “You can be a doctor or a prostitute, it doesn’t matter. Everyone is equal here”, adds Johnny.

Since Johnny is working full time, he hired a manager who stays in the house night and day, and looks after “the guys” - as he calls them. Johnny visits every day though. “I do that for selfish reasons. I don’t want people to experience what I did”. He got sober alone in Kentucky a few years ago. He remembers how tough it was. “It helps to be a small community living together”.

New customers walk into the front yard full of knick-knack. “How much for that fire sign?” asks a tall man. “That’s not for sale, I like this one”, says Johnny. He smiles.