Turf is Green Too (Part 2)
Artwork by: Kay P. Beck
Jamie
I promised myself I wouldn’t work in bed. It’s become an unhealthy convenient habit. Mama says I should never work where I lay my head because my brain can’t shut off when it’s time to rest. She’s right. She’s right about everything these days. Reluctantly, I get up and walk down the hall to my office. Tomorrow is the Golden Globes and I’ve been appointed as the correspondent for red carpet interviews. This is my first one for the network and I’m scared out of my mind. I’ve worked so hard for this opportunity, and now it’s here I can’t sit still. To stay a few steps ahead I’ve been catching up on all the celebrity gossip. The last thing I want is to embarrass myself by asking the wrong questions.
There’s so much to do. Celebrities are all over the place. It’s hard keeping up with who’s dating who, who’s pregnant, who’s divorced, remarried. Hell, most of the time I don’t think they can keep up with themselves. I tried giving myself a break by washing my hair and taking a nice hot shower, but my computer kept calling my name. Now I have my hair wrapped in a towel, a glass of wine, my favorite pj’s, and skimming through all the gossip blogs. Enough. I need a break before my head explodes. Facebook it is. I’m rarely on social media unless it’s for work. Being "on" everyday for work is hard enough, I refuse to participate during my spare time too. Everyone is a celebrity on Facebook.
Sip. Scroll. Sip. Scroll. My timeline is filled with such adorable babies. They’re all getting so big. Talks of PTA meetings, cooking dinner, kids’ football games, new house purchases, and the fury of activists all grace my timeline. The constant reminders of the life I chose not to live staring back at me. I was so ambitious coming right out of college. At first it was fun. The thrill of moving to LA and being in the midst of Hollywood. Not until seven years in did I realize it all comes with a cost.
Nothing about my life says normal. I thought that’s what I wanted, but some days I’m not so sure anymore. The only stability I have is a steady paycheck, and even that wasn’t always the case. For the first year and a half I did some serious couch surfing. I didn’t have a car nor did I have any clue as to where to start. All I knew was I wanted to work as an entertainment correspondent. With a little luck and a whole lot of God I got an opportunity at a up-and-coming blog. It wasn’t much, but it was a way to get on-air exposure and work on my interviewing skills. Scrolling past engagement pictures when I see Patrice’s post. I remember her from college. She had a few really creative exhibits in the art school. That was back when I used to date an art major. Thomas was his name. I think, or was it Brad. No, Brad was the basketball player? Whatever.
It looks like her husband surprised her with a midday picnic. How romantic is that? They have the cutest son who’s the spitting image of her husband Nathan. He’s so fine. In school he was an engineer major who never came out much. He always had his head in the books. Looking back I can see why. Who knew the quiet guy would become a successful engineer for Boeing? They always look so happy together. Maybe I had my priorities mixed up. A life of stability would definitely be enough to get Mommy off my back. Four months from turning 30 and the constant questions are starting to become too much.
“Jay are you dating?”
“When are you going to pop me out a grandchild?”
“You know success won’t keep you warm at night.”
I used to lie. Make up interesting men I was dating, but now I avoid the question all together. I’ve tried to tell her the men out here are so full of themselves they don’t even notice I’m there. Or what about the aspiring rappers, married men, or guys with no real ambitions other than being in the entourage of someone actually chasing their dreams. For two years I dated an actor. It was nice at first. He went on audition after audition, but once he scored his first major role, the busier he got and we couldn’t get around to making our schedules work. It happens. Hollywood is a different kind of place. Nothing is how it really appears. Plus, there’s a special task force of women hunting after the very few who are actually about something. I don’t date. I work. Day and night. Some days I do wish there was someone waiting for me when I came home.
Patrice has a fine husband and a beautiful son. She probably lives in some fancy house decorated with all her beautiful sculptures. Every night she gets to cuddle up to someone warm. The other side of my bed is reserved for my laptop. I can picture her now baking cookies for her son’s football team, attending the company Christmas party all dazzled on her husbands’ arm, and spending her days painting. Not me, I always have to be on. Speaking of which, it’s almost three in the morning. I have to be up at six to meet up with my stylist and the glam squad. Fingers crossed.
Read Part One Here
