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So I'm walking down Rodeo Drive and I'm feeling good. People
are loungin' in sidewalk café's, traffic's cruisin',
I'm taking it slow and I'm thinkin' "Hollywood is MINE
baby". I don't care that no one knows who I am cos I'm
wearing bitchin' pants and everybody's noticin'.
"Man, those pants are HOT" calls a dude from a low-slung
mustang, "Woo-hoo" breathes a guy, passin' me by
and giving me the old up'n'down. And I'm smilin', but I'm
keepin' it to myself cos I want to look cool.
Inside my pants I don't feel so bitchin'. I just can't stop
the weight from goin' on. In restaurants I just keep my head
down and eat what I need - can't stand to watch the whales
shovellin' up their pancake plankton by the ton and chuckin'
it down their open throats. But three weeks on my clothes
are stretchin' at the seams same as theirs are. "Mean
pants man", another dude is checkin' me out as he cruises
by. Guess Hollywood don't mind as long as you flaunt it.
The pants shouted at me from the window of some store on
the K Road in Auckland the day before I left. I leapt off
the bus I was on faster 'n' you can say "L.A." and
ran right on in and bought 'em. Soon as I put them on I was
already there, imaginin' Hollywood, with me in the pants causin'
a stir. I'd march in to wherever the stars hang out and I'd
get a table, no problemo, just because I looked so fine.
Now I'm headin' up the other side of the street, peerin'
out the corner of my eyes to see who's lookin'. Past big men
with little dogs and chicks in five-hundred-dollar jeans.
No one knows who anyone is but everyone's pretendin' they're
someone and walkin' like they own the world.
I'm doin' the same, perfectin' my Hollywood step, usin' all
my space plus some, when the pavement jumps right out and
grabs me. In a heartbeat I'm sprawled on the floor, face on
concrete, poise in the gutter. And I'm thinkin' "The
pants, the pants, please don't say I've ripped the pants."
And it feels like five minutes I'm layin' there before I gather
my shades and my scattered pride and stand up. I don't look
round. I don't wanna know who's lookin' at me now. I brush
myself off and try not to care that I've grazed my elbow and
there's blood runnin' down my arm. And I look down at my feet
and walk on up that hill.
My Hollywood step's the last thing on my mind now; I'm just
tryin' to maintain my dignity. Then I think about Audrey Hepburn
and how in "My Fair Lady" she pulls that face to
get men to look at her on the street, and how Naomi Campbell
fell off those Vivian Westwood shoes on the catwalk and I
think "Hell, so I fell over on Rodeo Drive in bitchin'
pants. Even the most glamorous people make a fool of themselves
at some time." And I smile. I let out a laugh, look up
at the bright sun and the blue sky and tell myself "I
have SO done Hollywood".
Text © Naomi Wiggins, all rights reserved.
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Travel Writers: Bitchin' by Naomi Wiggins
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