My stripper friend Rita let me couch dive with her again, provided I agree not to wear a lot of clothes around the house, and also to act surprised should she suddenly photograph me eating, drinking or taking a pee. "Upskirting" was all the rage in the specialty pervert market she was set on cracking, so most days started with her under the kitchen table shooting up as I sat cross-legged eating my Cheerios. "I really have to get off the pole," she said, zooming in for the money shot. "You're not the only one with a dream.""Please don't shoot my face," I told her. "I really need to keep my nose clean now that I'm in with the cops."
"The cops are some of my best customers," she scoffed. "Your pals at Hollywood Division tend to get extra generous when they come in and pretend they're working."
"Wait, you're telling me our officers are partying on duty?" Never in a million years had it occurred to me that my crackhead, pole dancing roommate would be the go-to source for dish on my mysterious new boss, but I couldn't stop thinking about him so I took a shot. "Ranking officers? Like, you know, captains?"
"I don't do titles," she said. "I like to get on a first name basis with a guy when I'm giving him a lap dance, creates an illusion of vague interest. Don't open your eyes."
She had me sitting very still on the bathroom sink in my underwear, applying a practice set of permanent eyelash extensions for her advanced cosmetology class. "I don't know what you're so surprised about," she said. "Cops and strippers have always gotten along. We're the peanut butter and chocolate of the sex trade."
Here I thought I was the one with the questionable track record and I still had no idea if the captain was a good cop or a bad cop. "Okay, so do you know a guy named Chuck?" I prodded. "Little older, seriously blue eyes. Laughs a lot, then wishes he hadn't. Not sure if he's married. Cops don't wear wedding rings, did you know that? Gives too much away in the field."
"Are you kidding me right now?" She stood back to admire her handiwork, hoping she hadn't contributed to creation of some deluded long-lashed monster fantasizing about a future in law enforcement. "You've been there for, what, two weeks and suddenly you're Mariska Hargitay?"
"Well, I am an actress," I said. "You want to play a cop, all you've got to do is act like one."
"Why not?
"I said trust me."
"Rita? Why can't I open my eyes?"
"Jesus Christ, you're swelling up like crazy. Hang on." She ran to get the manual as my eyelids began to grow to the size of peaches. By the time she broke down and got me dressed, dropping me alone outside the emergency room and taking off for work, nobody was sure whether the bonding glue or the overdose of liquid remover had caused such a severe allergic reaction.
What happened next was all such bad timing -- losing my vision for three days straight, having to call in sick, getting hit with a nineteen hundred dollar hospital bill I had no legit way to cover. What's that they say about desperate times calling for desperate measures? Considering the things I'd already begun to see in and around Hollywood Division -- most especially about myself -- part of me wishes I'd stayed blind forever.
What happened next was all such bad timing -- losing my vision for three days straight, having to call in sick, getting hit with a nineteen hundred dollar hospital bill I had no legit way to cover. What's that they say about desperate times calling for desperate measures? Considering the things I'd already begun to see in and around Hollywood Division -- most especially about myself -- part of me wishes I'd stayed blind forever.
