The day might be filled with rejections, but at night, people loved me.
One night, I was standing outside the Argyle at two a.m., smoking a cigarette. This really pretty boy approaches me. Damn. Is he . . . prettier than me?
He came over to me. “You’re gorgeous,” he said.
“Oh God, you too,” I blurted out.
“Oh, thanks. You should be a model.”
I gasped, flattered, but the cigarette in my mouth made me cough a little. “Really? You think so?”
“Yes. I would love to shoot you.”
“Um . . . with a camera, right?”
“Ha-ha! Wow. You’re funny, too.”
But seriously, with a camera, right? Right?? His name was Damon. He gave me some cocaine, so I gave him my number. And just like that, I became a professional model. Well, not actually, but if you had tried to convince me otherwise, I wouldn’t have heard it. That’s the LA dream for you right there!
On one night out I met an agent from Endeavor with a huge cocaine problem. This was my chance to sell my talent to him.
“You don’t understand. I’ve got what it takes. I’m the next Charlize Theron.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. Give me a script and I will fucking destroy it. I’ll interpret the shit out of it. You think you’ve seen real acting before, but you haven’t until you’ve seen me.”
I think they typically call this liquid courage, but in my case it was powdered.
“All right. I’m sold. Call me next week.” He handed me his business card.
And that’s how it’s done, bitches.
Although I was the slightest bit worried he was too high when we met to remember me at all. I gave him a call anyway, trying to channel the same confidence I’d had that night.
“Of course I remember you, Laura!” he exclaimed.
Oh thank God.
“I got you an audition for X-Men!”
My mouth went dry with fear. Excuse me? X-Men? Let me remind you that I’d never had a real professional audition in my life. And I was supposed to jump straight into X-Men?
“Perfect. That is perfect for me.”
“Great. We’ll see how you do on this audition and then we’ll talk about your future.”
“You won’t be disappointed!”
Oh, fuck.
In the daytime, my fearlessness drained away. It was like in the dark of night I couldn’t see all the things I was afraid of. Nighttime Laura really liked to fuck over daytime Laura. Mostly it was just hangovers and no energy at all, but this? This audition? This was terrifying.
I prepped as hard as I could. I learned the sides forward and backward, and then I got nervous that I would accidentally do them backward, so I repeated them forward twenty more times. I knew I couldn’t give myself any excuse not to show up. When I walked into the casting office, I was ready to give the performance of my life.
It was a basically empty room, except for a table, a camera, a few producers, and the casting director. The casting director smiled at me. “Okay, Laura, we’ve heard great things. I’ll be reading the lines with you. You ready?”
Say yes, Laura. Say yes. Say something. I was petrified. I think I just opened my eyes really wide and nodded. That’s normal.
She read the first line to me: “I’m the wrong guy to play hide and seek with.”
I took a breath and LOOKED STRAIGHT INTO THE CAMERA.
“Who’s hiding, dickhead.”
The casting director glanced awkwardly at the producers as I MAINTAINED EYE CONTACT WITH THE CAMERA LIKE AN IDIOT. She continued on.
I gave my entire reading staring into the lens.
Can you guys imagine watching a movie where every character looks straight into the camera the whole time? It’s not exactly what they were going for.
That is the most rookie mistake someone could ever make. I just imagine the director watching the tapes later, uncomfortably trying to avoid the super-intense big-eye glare of a girl more nervous than anyone has been in the history of the world. Or laughing his ass off. Most likely that.
I didn’t know how to audition! I had no idea that it was even something I needed to learn how to do.
By the way, the part was Kitty Pryde in X-Men: The Last Stand. Ellen Page plays her in all the movies, and she didn’t look into the camera even once. So, good choice everybody.
The coke-problem agent called me shortly after the audition. “So . . . I got some notes back from the casting director.”
“Oh great!” Lay it on me, buster. I can handle it.
“She just said . . . your client needs auditioning classes.”
After this, he didn’t want to represent me. Who knows why?
Let’s just say this was a humbling experience. I realized that there was a craft I needed to learn if I actually wanted to book jobs. And I did take some auditioning classes.
I’m only slightly embarrassed to say that this was the highest point of my career during my first stint in LA. But at the time, I wasn’t embarrassed at all! I felt fucking successful, going on auditions and shit, and successfully getting high every day. I was solid.
Toward the end of the summer, things started to get more and more out of control. Neha, Neesie, and I ran out of money. We had already paid rent, luckily, but money to eat? Not so plentiful.
No worries! I had skills for this. I knew how to get free stuff! I trained my whole life for this.
I pulled into the In-N-Out drive-thru with Neesie, fully aware that neither of us had any money. She was not down. “What the fuck are you doing, Laura?”
“Chill out. I got this, okay? I got this. Just order. They’re going to give it to us.”
Neesie looked at me skeptically. Hey, save the skepticism for conspiracy theories! I pulled up to the window and we ordered. And then came time to pay.
I patted my pockets EXCESSIVELY. And then dug through my purse. “Oh shit. Oh shit, where’s my wallet? Oh my God, did someone steal it?” I looked at the cashier for any hint of sympathy. There was none whatsoever. Damn. LA was definitely not the Midwest.
Neesie was getting worried. “Hold on one second,” I said. I put the car in park, walked over to the dudes in the car behind us.
“Hey, I’m SO sorry. But I can’t find my wallet and I already ordered . . . could I borrow some money?”
The dudes were super annoyed. But they paid. And we lived another day!
I began to realize my trusty stealing methods really didn’t fly in LA. But am I the type of person to give up?? No!
Meantime, I had given myself some scars on my lower stomach from an at-home bikini wax gone wrong (do those ever go right?). Because I was not really feeling up to rock some vagina scars, I needed to get some scar cream. I went to the CVS on La Brea and Santa Monica and found the creams. There was one for five dollars . . . but there was also one for forty dollars. I could have easily bought the five-dollar one. But the forty-dollar one was probably better. I mean, why else would it cost that much?? I wanted it. I needed it. I deserved the best.
Years later in Alcoholics Anonymous, I learned that this is a trait of the alcoholic. It’s either grandiose or comatose. Either I’m the best and deserve the best! or I’m a piece of shit and I’m killing myself tonight! Once you’re sober, you practice learning that you’re no better or worse than anyone else. But in this moment . . . I was feeling grandiose.