Bright Shiny Morning by James Frey
As the gang population and the related violent crime rates in Los Angeles City and County rise, state and federal programs to combat the problem through both community outreach programs and law-enforcement initiatives are being cut due to budget constraints.
A conversation between a father and a son. The father is twenty-six and the son is five.
What do you want to be when you grow up?
A gangbanger.
What else?
A dope-slanger?
What else?
A cold-blooded killer.
Why do you want to do that?
Because that’s where the money is, and I want money.
How much money?
All the money in the world.
You’re my boy. I’m proud of you. You’re my boy.
The average gang member makes less money each year than the average cashier at the average fast-food restaurant.
In 1904, a tobacco baron named Abbot Kinney buys a large marsh west of Los Angeles and hires architects and builders to construct a “Venice of America.” More than fifteen miles of canals are dug and flooded with water from the Pacific Ocean, and three entertainment piers are built on the beach, along with a boardwalk that is lined with restaurants and bars.
Residential housing is built on the edges of canals. Within five years, Venice Beach is the largest tourist attraction on the West Coast, and one of the largest in the nation. In 1929, oil is discovered just south of Venice, on the Marina del Rey Peninsula. The City of Los Angeles subsequently annexes both areas and fills in the canals with concrete.
Kelly. Born in Alabama, raised in Tennessee. Competed in her first beauty pageant at age four, winning second runner-up in the Little Miss Chattanooga Jr. Princess division. Performed in her first play, an American version of The Nutcracker set on a hog farm, at seven. Started working with a singing coach at nine. Modeled for local department store catalogs between the ages of ten and fourteen, won the Junior Miss Middle-Tennessee Pageant at fifteen, became Homecoming Maiden at sixteen, Homecoming Princess at seventeen, Homecoming Queen at eighteen. Voted Most Beautiful, Most Talented and Most Likely to Succeed by her high school class. Received full cheerleading scholarship to the University of Tennessee. Varsity cheerleader for four years, including Head Cheerleader her senior year. Graduated with honors and a double major in theater/elementary education. Moved to Los Angeles at twenty-three to pursue a singing career. She is five foot nine, has blond hair and blue eyes, weighs 115 pounds. She is a waitress at a ’50s-themed restaurant, where she also sings the ballads from a popular Broadway show, over and over and over again. She is now twenty-nine.
Eric. High school heartthrob. Rode, and still rides, a motorcycle. Didn’t win any awards for anything, but slept with all the girls who did. Moved to Los Angeles at age eighteen to become an actor. Six foot two, long brown hair, brown eyes, 185 pounds. Works as a busboy at a high-end Beverly Hills restaurant. He is now thirty-two.
Timmy. The class clown. The laugh-a-minute buddy boy. The funniest kid on the block, and I mean funny funny. I’m talking absolutely the funniest fucking kid the block has ever seen!!!! Short and chubby. Black hair. Rosy cheeks. His father was an alcoholic who hit his mother. His mother was depressed and rarely spoke. They lived in a fourth-floor walk-up in Astoria, Queens. His parents tried to have other children, but were unable to conceive. Almost from the day of his birth, Timmy loved two things: making people laugh, and eating. They fed each other. The more he ate, the worse he felt, the worse he felt the more he needed to make people laugh so that he could feel a little better. He started writing comedy routines at age twelve. He’d practice them in front of the mirror and do an act every Saturday at 5:00 PM on the street corner. He started drawing crowds, and for the first time in his life, people liked him, and people admired him. He put on his Saturday shows for two years, at which point his father made him get a job working weekends in a local butcher shop. When he graduated from high school he went to college to study engineering. He started working at comedy clubs and doing open-mic nights. He quit college three months before graduating and moved to Los Angeles. He was twenty-two. He now works the door at a comedy club and still does open-mic nights. He is forty-four.
John. Guitar virtuoso. Originally from Cleveland. Moved to Los Angeles with his band at age 20. Works at the counter of a car-rental office. Age 29.
Amy. Model. Originally from New York. Moved to Los Angeles to become an actress at age 23. Works as a cocktail waitress in a high-end hotel bar. Age 27.
Andrew. Self-declared genius. Originally from Boston, went to college at Harvard. Moved to Los Angeles to be a screenwriter, and further down the line, a director, at age 23. Works behind the counter at a video store.
Age 30.
Jennifer. Triple threat. From Chicago. Was considered a singing, dancing and acting prodigy. Attended Northwestern on a full scholarship. Moved to Los Angeles, with visions of taking the town by storm and basking in triple-threat glory, at age 22. Works as the assistant manager of a clothing store. Age 27.
Greg. Started making short films at age 10. Graduated from prestigious film school with honors. Moved to Los Angeles to be a director. Works as a ticket-taker at a wax museum.
Ron. Bodybuilder. Wants to be an action star. Works at a gym.
Jeff. Actor. Works in a duck costume at an amusement park.
Megan. Actress/model. Exotic dancer.
Susie. Actress. Waitress.
Mike. Actor. Waiter.
Sloane. Actress. Waitress.
Desiree. Actress/singer. Waitress.
Erin. Actress. Works at a shoe store.
Elliot. Screenwriter. Works in a bar.
Tom. Screenwriter. Makes pizzas.
Kurt. Actor. Delivers pizzas.
Carla. Singer/dancer. Serves wings in a T-shirt and a pair of short-shorts.
Jeremy. Identical twin. Actor. Works behind the counter at a coffee shop.
James. The other identical twin. Actor. Works behind the counter at a different coffee shop (they tried working at the same shop but it confused the customers).
Heather. Actress. Better body than Carla. Serves wings in a bikini top and a pair of short-shorts. Gets bigger tips than Carla.
Holly. Petite actress. Wears an E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial costume at an amusement park.
Kevin’s parents always considered him odd. As a child he liked speaking in strange voices and making up accents, which he would attribute to imaginary countries. They tried to get him to stop, but he wouldn’t. They offered him incentives: money, trips to the local go-kart track, books, new sneakers, as much ice cream as he wanted but nothing worked. He spoke in strange voices with made-up accents. It got to the point where they weren’t sure what his real voice sounded like.
When he was fourteen, he read King Lear. He was a bit young to try and digest such a profound piece of classic English literature, but he did it anyway, and boy oh boy, did he do it. He was overwhelmed, blown away. The words hit him, penetrated him, affected him, in a way unlike anything he had ever experienced. From that day forward, he devoted himself to the theater. When he wasn’t in school, he was in his room reading plays, starting with the Greeks and moving forward, and reciting monologues to himself. He switched permanently to a stiff, upper-class British accent, and started wearing medieval clothing both at home and at school, where dismayed officials initially tried to stop him, but gave up when he threatened to sue them for violating his rights under the First Amendment. Needless to say, he got teased, got his ass kicked by football players, he was shunned by everyone, even the most unpopular of the kids at his school. He didn’t care. The words of the masters flowed through him, fulfilled him, and comforted him in a way none of them could or would ever understand. They had each other; their classes and games and parties and dances and all the petty dramas that ruled and governed their days. He had the masters, the giants of theatrical history, the titans of stage. He had drama on a grand scale.
He left school
It was more of the same at Juilliard. He dazzled his professors. He outperformed his peers. He took on the biggest, most challenging roles and he made them look easy. Broadway, just a few blocks away, started taking notice. Talent scouts came to see everything he did, agents offered to represent him, producers wanted to stage plays around him. He enjoyed the attention, but had bigger plans, bigger dreams, Broadway would always be there, he wanted HOLLYWOOD! He graduated at the top of his class, as expected, and as valedictorian, he gave the class commencement speech, which he did in the style of Molière, the great French playwright of the 1600s. He moved to Los Angeles the next day. He was twenty-two.
There is a curious phenomenon in Los Angeles that occurs when non-film and TV artists, such as theater actors, playwrights, novelists, painters, and theater directors, come to town. Industry people, generally executives and agents, want to work with them and be seen with them, regardless of whether they are actually talented or not, because there is a perception that because they are from the East, or from Europe, and because they are established in what could be considered the Fine Arts, that they are smarter, more prestigious and somehow better than their counterparts in California. Many a career has been ruined by the phenomenon, many a promising playwright turned into a TV hack, novelist into mumbling screenwriter, stage actor into preening sitcom star, and theater director into director of soap commercials. Well aware of the phenomenon, Kevin came to town with a vision, a vision that he was determined to stick with and never sell out, a vision of a glorious and innovative future: he was going to bring the works of the ancient Greeks, Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, to the multiplex screens of America. Agents and producers were initially seduced by his idea. He signed with a prestigious agency and had signed a development deal (an arrangement where he got paid to try and write a script) with a big-time producer at a major studio. When he started turning in drafts of the scripts, which were actually just transcriptions of the plays, the producer and the studio were shocked. They told him they couldn’t justify spending tens of millions of dollars on a film about a violent young man who murders his father and impregnates his mother. They asked him to do some rewrites and he refused. He was quietly shown the door.
That was seven years ago. Despite setback after setback after setback, Kevin has not given up on his dream. He works nights at a medieval-themed restaurant, where he continues to polish his vast array of accents and personas, and where he acts as the master of ceremonies for jousting matches and swordfights, and he spends his days making phone calls and setting up meetings in an effort to find investors for his films. The offers for work have stopped coming in, and the agents no longer want to represent him, and most of his classmates at Juilliard are now enjoying successful careers, but none of that matters. He has a dream. Los Angeles is where dreams become reality. He’ll never give up. Or as he might say, with subtle inflections of Manchester General circa 1545, Ye not will yield for further on the battle lies and ye night is dark but thy lord willeth provideth thy light!!!!
Allison. Model. Moved to Los Angeles at 18 to become a Playboy Bunny.
Now 19, she works in porn.
Katy. Actress. Left her husband and three children to become a star.
Works at a grocery store. Cries herself to sleep every night.
Jay Jay. Actor. Moved to LA with his mother at age 4. He is now 9.
He lives in a motel and is home-schooled. His mother is a waitress.
Karl. Hometown daredevil. Moved to Los Angeles at 18 to become a stuntman. Teaches karate. He is now 30.
Lee. Actor/model. Moved to Los Angeles at 21. Waiter, and occasionally a bartender. He is now 27.
Brad. Actor. Moved at 20. Works as a bouncer. He is now 30.
Barry. Singer. Moved at 18. Works in the ticket window at the Wax Museum. He is now 31.
Bert. Writer. Moved at 24. Bartender. He is now 50.
When Samantha was born, at a hospital in Cleveland, the doctor held her up, looked at her, and said—Wow, that is a beautiful baby. As an infant, and a toddler, people often stopped her mother and asked to look at her, and occasionally they asked to take her picture. Boys started fighting over her in kindergarten, though they were also all scared of her. In fifth grade a model scout saw her and had a meeting with her parents and told them she could make millions as a teenager if they were willing to send her to New York. They thought it was an interesting idea, but cared much more about their daughter’s happiness than her ability to earn money. In eighth grade the model scout, who was now an agent and had always kept a picture of Samantha on a blackboard in front of his desk, came to see her again. If anything, she was more beautiful than the first time he saw her. He met with her parents again and he told them the same thing, Samantha could make millions if they would allow her to become a model. Samantha, who had always tried to downplay her beauty, and was extremely shy and humble about it, was indifferent to the idea. She liked her friends, she liked school, she liked watching Browns games and Indians games with her father, she liked going to the mall with her mother. She was looking forward to high school, looking forward to her first date, her first homecoming dance, her prom. The man was convincing, though, so she agreed to give it a chance.
That summer during her vacation, they went, as a family, to New York.
The agency put them up in a fancy hotel, and for two weeks, Samantha gave modeling a shot. She had pictures taken, went on casting calls, booked every job she went for, caused a big stir in the fashion world.
Her parents went with her to the shoots, where she was fawned over by makeup artists, hairdressers and stylists, where photographers told her she was beautiful, where the clients told her how proud they were to have her represent their brands. While she enjoyed the attention, and was amused by the compliments, she was extremely bored, and found the long hours of waiting for a few minutes of work (the actual picture-taking part of the process) intolerable. The one thing, however, that she did love was a television commercial she shot for a shampoo company.
She only had one line—This is my hair, this is your hair—but she loved delivering it. Before the audition she practiced it a couple hundred times, saying it differently each time, changing her tone, her delivery, changing the pose she held while she said it. She was well aware that what she was doing was sort of silly, and somewhat banal, but the process was fun for her, and she practiced until she felt she had it down perfectly. When the cameras were rolling, she smiled and delivered it in a happy, friendly, accessible way meant to convey to the casual viewer, and the hair product consumer, that this is my hair and I love it, it could be your hair too, just smile and use this shampoo. It was perfect.
The director started clapping, and the CEO of the shampoo company beamed.
When their time in New York was over, Samantha and her parents returned to Cleveland, and Samantha knew that she didn’t want to be a model, or didn’t care enough about it to sacrifice her adolescence to it, but that she did want to be an actress. She started high school, joined the drama club, started taking acting classes on the weekends. She had her first date, at sixteen, with a boy she’d known her entire life, she did not kiss him that night, or on many nights after, but did kiss him at homecoming, and also went to the prom with him. He was the captain of the baseball team his senior year, an All-Ohio and All-American pitcher, and got drafted by a professional team. She had straight A’s and high test scores and decided to go back to New York to study drama, where she could pay for school by doing modeling jobs on the side. They broke up over the summer. They had never, despite an incredible, almost superhuman effort on his part, had sex.
Her college years were easy, fun. She modeled, studied acting, wor
When she arrived in LA, at twenty-two, she was noticed immediately. A producer approached her in a coffee shop and asked her out, she said yes and they went to dinner. When dinner was over, he said he’d find her an agent and put her in a film if she would go home with him, though he said it in a much more direct, and less polite manner. She had never fully been with a man, and was saving herself for whomever became her first love, and when propositioned by the producer, she stood up and left him at the table without answering him. She went home, which at the time was a run-down studio apartment in an area of LA called the Film Ghetto, where many young aspiring actors, writers, directors and musicians live before they begin working, and cried herself to sleep. She, like everyone else in the world, knew that this type of thing happened, she just never believed anyone would try it with her. Welcome to Los Angeles. She cried herself to sleep.
It happened again and again. She said no, again and again. She got a job waitressing at a fancy restaurant and took acting classes and tried to get an agent. She auditioned for roles at open calls and did plays at small alternative theaters in Culver City and Silver Lake. She got an agent, a young ambitious agent at a big agency, and got a couple bit parts in teen films and one-hour dramas. She always played the beautiful but elusive ingénue, and she knew that doing it was part of the process of building a career. She did an episode of a sitcom, she played the comic star’s dreamgirl. She did a medical drama. She played a damaged accident victim.