Los Angeles, 2002
The wind was in his hair, Phantom Planet was blasting "California" from his car stereo, the sun was shining, and Chris (Christian) Foster could not have been happier. He was twenty-five and his future lay in front of him, brighter than the sun.
His bottle-green Mustang convertible shot down the palm-tree lined highways. Destination: Los Angeles, California. Chris sang along with the Phantoms, ecstatic to be leaving home for good. He was going to pursue his dream of songwriting, and what better place to do it than the home of the Lakers and bikinis on the beach?
In the back of his car were his few valuable possessions: his turquoise Fender electric guitar and his acoustic, a few suitcases, some paintings by Toulouse Lautrec, Diego Rivera, and Frida Kahlo, and a few posters of guitar gods like Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin.
Fancy, designer cars passed him and blondes with surgery-stretched faces grinned his way. He waved back, feeling almost flattered.
The sky was hot pink and the clouds were purple over the ocean that was electric-blue. Chris's senses were in overdrive as he inhaled the smells of suntan oils, McDonald's, and smoke. His car whizzed past the sugar-sand white-hot beaches filled with tan and oiled bodies. "California here we come, right back where we all belong." He sang, overly, intoxicatingly happy. Chris's thoughts drifted to his family back in San Diego and the scene that had taken place the few days before he'd left home for good.
"NO, Christian Foster, you are NOT going to Los Angeles." Peter Foster slammed down his leather briefcase and the impact shook the dinner table. Peter was a successful lawyer and his briefcase was his most prized possession.
"Yes I am. I am twenty-five, Dad, and I am an adult."
"I'm not funding anything..."
"For Christ's sake, Daddy, let him go." Maggie, Chris's fifteen-year-old sister with a head of magenta dreadlocks and a flair for vintage clothing and swear words, slid into her seat and grabbed a drink from Maya, the Cuban maid.
"Maggie! Watch your language!" Adding to the commotion, Francesca Foster, her face slathered with some greenish concoction and a red kimono swathed around her, scolded her daughter.
Chris sat at his place, picking at the teriyaki chicken before him. "I have some money." He said, failing miserably at his cause. You would have thought that with a lawyer father he would have been better at arguing.
Peter took a deep breath and fought to conquer his frustration at his son. His face became quite red. Chris held his breath. Peter stared. Chris stared right back. And then Peter said,
"Go then if it'll make you happy. I'm tired of all this moping. Get your lazy ass out of my house."
And from then on, Christian Foster left his home and went off into the trippy sunset that was L.A.
After the humbling experience of asking for directions to his new apartment, Chris finally drove into the tiny garage allotted to him. It stank of old liquor and cigarettes. There were bits of broken glass that he swept away carefully with his foot. He took the cases of his guitars first and hauled them inside, followed by the other things that he'd packed. There wasn't much. With butterflies flapping their wings in his stomach, he unlocked the door to his new home and stepped inside.
There was a small bedroom, a bathroom, an eat-in kitchen and a moderately big living room, all painted a shade of ocean blue. Christian unfolded the chairs he'd brought with him and decided that tomorrow he'd go thrift shopping. The previous owners had left a blue couch that was in nice condition. Chris hung up the paintings and put up a few of his personal pictures and posters, laid down a few Oriental rugs salvaged from a junk shop, and put his food in the cupboards and refrigerator. There. He was done for tonight. Now he could fiddle around on his guitar.
Obviously the gods had other plans. At that moment, the door flew open, revealing a short, dark-haired man with a camera around his neck and a group of three others. One was a bald man with Ozzy Osbourne-esque sunglasses. Another was a petite girl with dark purple hair and kohl rimmed eyes who was on the shoulders of a chocolate colored man.
"Hello!" The cameraman chirped, grinning so broadly it almost hurt Chris's own face.
"Um...hi."
"I am Theo Lenius, resident welcomer. And you are...?"
"Chris Foster."
"This is Eldrin." Theo gestured to the Ozzy man, who waved. "And Pixie," he said about the purple girl who was wearing some strange outfit covered in purple lace. "And Debia."
The large man slipped the Pixie girl off his back and she ran to Chris and hugged him, her bright, flowing skirt trailing behind her. With the skirt, she wore a dancer's leotard. He breathed in the heavy scent of peppermint and something organic. "Welcome to Los Angeles!"
"You play?" Debia picked up the acoustic guitar.
Chris nodded, a bit overwhelmed.
"Me too." Eldrin said.
"We came to ask you if you wanted to come with us tonight." Theo began. "To Red's."
"Huh?"
"Red's. It's a club. A rave, rather."
"Uh...I don't know."
"Come on!" Pixie giggled, drinking the pink liquid that was overflowing from her goblet. "It's so fun!"
He pondered for a few moments, fiddling with the strings on his guitar. "I don't have anything to wear."
"We can take care of that. Come on up to my apartment."
Theo's apartment was a mess of film negatives, camera parts, and various prints lying all over. One picture, a woman bathing in glitter, caught Chris's eye and he picked it up. "Who's this?" He asked Theo.
Pixie answered for him. "That's Di."
Chris was transfixed by the gorgeous figure in the bathtub. Her body was completely covered with glitter so no nudity could be seen and she looked like a mermaid. "Who?" He finally asked.
"Diamond. She's the DJ at Red's."
"Oh." He breathed. "She's beautiful."
"You'll see her tonight." Debia added. "She puts on a spectacular show."
"Great."
"HERE WE GO!" Theo burst back into the room and noticed the picture in Chris's hands. "I do lots of shots of Di." He shoved a shirt Chris's way and said, "You can wear those pants. They're fine."
Within moments, Chris was wearing a long-sleeved black shirt with thin gray pinstripes and Pixie was putting eyeliner on him, much to his dismay. "I look like a girl, Pixie!" He protested.
"You look sexy." She giggled, running her fingers through his hair and messing it up. "You look glam-punk. Want to try mascara?"
"No. Way." Chris stated, trying not to smile. "Maybe later."
"Here." Theo handed Chris a glass of what looked to be Mountain Dew and two pills.
"What are these? Theo, I don't do drugs."
"It's not a drug. It's E." Eldrin laughed.
"Ecstasy? That's a drug."
"It's harmless, Chris. Just take it."
"Ohh..." Pixie cooed. "His first taste of Ecstasy!"
Several minutes after taking the pills, Chris felt all warm and fuzzy. He loved everyone and everything and all he wanted to do was dance. The whole world seemed to be rose-colored and he was delighted with the rush of emotions he began to feel. It was as if it would be impossible to be sad.
A rush of color and music signaled their arrival at Red's. Bright lights, hot bodies, loud music. It was almost like Studio 54 of the 70's or the crazy Moulin Rouge from turn-of-the-century Paris. Chris's eyes were full of figures dancing crazily; a girl with blonde curls, a short pink dress and ribbons in her hair squealed and pulled him onto the dance floor. Maybe it was his drugged-out mind that made him think they were all dancing almost in sync, but he doubted it. There were people dressed like mimes and harlequins and hundreds of girls in strange attire. One wore wings, another dressed like Marie Antoinette, and one played up the Britney Spear's schoolgirl thing. Men wore their hair in rainbow colored Mohawks and some wore Victorian suits. It was a psychotic blend of cultures and fashions. Their bodies pulsated along with the music and everything was flashing from the strobe lights that hung overhead.
And suddenly, everything was silent.
"The...French...are glad to die...for love." Marilyn Monroe's throaty, sensual vocals were combined with raw trance music that immediately sent the ravers into cheers. "They delight in fighting duels."
Chris's eyes searched the crowd for the person making this music.
"It's her." Theo whispered. "Diamond."
Glitter showered from the sky and covered the dancing clubbers like rain. "But I prefer a man who lives and gives..."
"Expensive jewels!" The ravers shouted, whirling about and throwing glitter everywhere. Chris had sparkles in his hair, in his eyes, on his clothes.
Then the music began to play...the jazzy, musical-esque Marilyn melody joined with the hectic club beats. And someone swung from the ceiling on a diamond-encrusted trapeze. She landed perfectly at the DJ booth and she yelled "Are you ready to DANCE YOUR ASSES OFF?" Her hair was long and red, streaked with glitter. Glitter covered her eyes and coated her long lashes. She wore a black corset top covered in what seemed to be diamonds and long black pants. Her hands moved skillfully across the booth, doing things unknown to DJ-illiterate Chris. "A kiss on the hand may be quite continental..." Marilyn sang.
"But diamonds are a girl's best friend." Diamond added, her singing voice taking Chris's breath away. He was dizzy, but he wasn't sure if it was from the E or from the vision before him. He was in love. Or he thought he was, at least.
Then she began to play a combination of "Rhythm of the Night" and "Material Girl." The little-girl-figure that Chris had been dancing with was long gone and so were Pixie, Eldrin, Debia, and Theo.
A shake of her hips and a toss of her hair sent Diamond's crowd cheering. She climbed up on top of her DJ table (which must have been quite a task in the heels she wore) danced on it, singing along with Madonna. "Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me, I think they're okay. If they can't give me proper credit, I just walk away." She grinned slyly Chris's way and winked.
She took the microphone in her hands and shouted, "Let me walk on you!"
As if they were puppies at her beck and call, the ravers put up their hands and Diamond stepped off her stage and onto them. She paraded through the crowd, letting them throw her around. They always caught her. No one would let her fall.
But this time they did. Di's slim body dropped into the arms of Chris. She looked into his eyes, unfazed, and smiled slightly, looking amused. "Thanks," she whispered.
"Um...you're welcome?"
"Just throw me back up onstage." She prodded.
"In those shoes?"
"I can do it."
"Okay..." He pushed her featherlight body back up onto the stage and she went to the DJ booth. Another bunch of fiddling became Beck's cover of Bowie's "Diamond Dogs" mixed with the polka-like sounds of the circus. And then, after more frenzied dancing and showers of glitter, Di did a backflip and miraculously her legs caught on the trapeze. Dangling upside down in a spectacular acrobatic way, she sang with Marilyn who had returned. "Diamonds are a girl's best friend!"
And then she was gone.
He let himself go crazy and dance with everyone he saw. The mixture of Ecstasy, music, euphoria at being the one that Diamond noticed, the one that caught her and talked to her, and the strange lighting of Red's had made him so deliriously happy he could barely breathe.
Hours later, dizzy and sweating from the lights that changed from hot pink to magenta to sky blue to bright white, someone came up behind him and whispered, "Come upstairs in about ten minutes. She's waiting for you."
END OF CHAPTER 1
The wind was in his hair, Phantom Planet was blasting "California" from his car stereo, the sun was shining, and Chris (Christian) Foster could not have been happier. He was twenty-five and his future lay in front of him, brighter than the sun.
His bottle-green Mustang convertible shot down the palm-tree lined highways. Destination: Los Angeles, California. Chris sang along with the Phantoms, ecstatic to be leaving home for good. He was going to pursue his dream of songwriting, and what better place to do it than the home of the Lakers and bikinis on the beach?
In the back of his car were his few valuable possessions: his turquoise Fender electric guitar and his acoustic, a few suitcases, some paintings by Toulouse Lautrec, Diego Rivera, and Frida Kahlo, and a few posters of guitar gods like Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin.
Fancy, designer cars passed him and blondes with surgery-stretched faces grinned his way. He waved back, feeling almost flattered.
The sky was hot pink and the clouds were purple over the ocean that was electric-blue. Chris's senses were in overdrive as he inhaled the smells of suntan oils, McDonald's, and smoke. His car whizzed past the sugar-sand white-hot beaches filled with tan and oiled bodies. "California here we come, right back where we all belong." He sang, overly, intoxicatingly happy. Chris's thoughts drifted to his family back in San Diego and the scene that had taken place the few days before he'd left home for good.
"NO, Christian Foster, you are NOT going to Los Angeles." Peter Foster slammed down his leather briefcase and the impact shook the dinner table. Peter was a successful lawyer and his briefcase was his most prized possession.
"Yes I am. I am twenty-five, Dad, and I am an adult."
"I'm not funding anything..."
"For Christ's sake, Daddy, let him go." Maggie, Chris's fifteen-year-old sister with a head of magenta dreadlocks and a flair for vintage clothing and swear words, slid into her seat and grabbed a drink from Maya, the Cuban maid.
"Maggie! Watch your language!" Adding to the commotion, Francesca Foster, her face slathered with some greenish concoction and a red kimono swathed around her, scolded her daughter.
Chris sat at his place, picking at the teriyaki chicken before him. "I have some money." He said, failing miserably at his cause. You would have thought that with a lawyer father he would have been better at arguing.
Peter took a deep breath and fought to conquer his frustration at his son. His face became quite red. Chris held his breath. Peter stared. Chris stared right back. And then Peter said,
"Go then if it'll make you happy. I'm tired of all this moping. Get your lazy ass out of my house."
And from then on, Christian Foster left his home and went off into the trippy sunset that was L.A.
After the humbling experience of asking for directions to his new apartment, Chris finally drove into the tiny garage allotted to him. It stank of old liquor and cigarettes. There were bits of broken glass that he swept away carefully with his foot. He took the cases of his guitars first and hauled them inside, followed by the other things that he'd packed. There wasn't much. With butterflies flapping their wings in his stomach, he unlocked the door to his new home and stepped inside.
There was a small bedroom, a bathroom, an eat-in kitchen and a moderately big living room, all painted a shade of ocean blue. Christian unfolded the chairs he'd brought with him and decided that tomorrow he'd go thrift shopping. The previous owners had left a blue couch that was in nice condition. Chris hung up the paintings and put up a few of his personal pictures and posters, laid down a few Oriental rugs salvaged from a junk shop, and put his food in the cupboards and refrigerator. There. He was done for tonight. Now he could fiddle around on his guitar.
Obviously the gods had other plans. At that moment, the door flew open, revealing a short, dark-haired man with a camera around his neck and a group of three others. One was a bald man with Ozzy Osbourne-esque sunglasses. Another was a petite girl with dark purple hair and kohl rimmed eyes who was on the shoulders of a chocolate colored man.
"Hello!" The cameraman chirped, grinning so broadly it almost hurt Chris's own face.
"Um...hi."
"I am Theo Lenius, resident welcomer. And you are...?"
"Chris Foster."
"This is Eldrin." Theo gestured to the Ozzy man, who waved. "And Pixie," he said about the purple girl who was wearing some strange outfit covered in purple lace. "And Debia."
The large man slipped the Pixie girl off his back and she ran to Chris and hugged him, her bright, flowing skirt trailing behind her. With the skirt, she wore a dancer's leotard. He breathed in the heavy scent of peppermint and something organic. "Welcome to Los Angeles!"
"You play?" Debia picked up the acoustic guitar.
Chris nodded, a bit overwhelmed.
"Me too." Eldrin said.
"We came to ask you if you wanted to come with us tonight." Theo began. "To Red's."
"Huh?"
"Red's. It's a club. A rave, rather."
"Uh...I don't know."
"Come on!" Pixie giggled, drinking the pink liquid that was overflowing from her goblet. "It's so fun!"
He pondered for a few moments, fiddling with the strings on his guitar. "I don't have anything to wear."
"We can take care of that. Come on up to my apartment."
Theo's apartment was a mess of film negatives, camera parts, and various prints lying all over. One picture, a woman bathing in glitter, caught Chris's eye and he picked it up. "Who's this?" He asked Theo.
Pixie answered for him. "That's Di."
Chris was transfixed by the gorgeous figure in the bathtub. Her body was completely covered with glitter so no nudity could be seen and she looked like a mermaid. "Who?" He finally asked.
"Diamond. She's the DJ at Red's."
"Oh." He breathed. "She's beautiful."
"You'll see her tonight." Debia added. "She puts on a spectacular show."
"Great."
"HERE WE GO!" Theo burst back into the room and noticed the picture in Chris's hands. "I do lots of shots of Di." He shoved a shirt Chris's way and said, "You can wear those pants. They're fine."
Within moments, Chris was wearing a long-sleeved black shirt with thin gray pinstripes and Pixie was putting eyeliner on him, much to his dismay. "I look like a girl, Pixie!" He protested.
"You look sexy." She giggled, running her fingers through his hair and messing it up. "You look glam-punk. Want to try mascara?"
"No. Way." Chris stated, trying not to smile. "Maybe later."
"Here." Theo handed Chris a glass of what looked to be Mountain Dew and two pills.
"What are these? Theo, I don't do drugs."
"It's not a drug. It's E." Eldrin laughed.
"Ecstasy? That's a drug."
"It's harmless, Chris. Just take it."
"Ohh..." Pixie cooed. "His first taste of Ecstasy!"
Several minutes after taking the pills, Chris felt all warm and fuzzy. He loved everyone and everything and all he wanted to do was dance. The whole world seemed to be rose-colored and he was delighted with the rush of emotions he began to feel. It was as if it would be impossible to be sad.
A rush of color and music signaled their arrival at Red's. Bright lights, hot bodies, loud music. It was almost like Studio 54 of the 70's or the crazy Moulin Rouge from turn-of-the-century Paris. Chris's eyes were full of figures dancing crazily; a girl with blonde curls, a short pink dress and ribbons in her hair squealed and pulled him onto the dance floor. Maybe it was his drugged-out mind that made him think they were all dancing almost in sync, but he doubted it. There were people dressed like mimes and harlequins and hundreds of girls in strange attire. One wore wings, another dressed like Marie Antoinette, and one played up the Britney Spear's schoolgirl thing. Men wore their hair in rainbow colored Mohawks and some wore Victorian suits. It was a psychotic blend of cultures and fashions. Their bodies pulsated along with the music and everything was flashing from the strobe lights that hung overhead.
And suddenly, everything was silent.
"The...French...are glad to die...for love." Marilyn Monroe's throaty, sensual vocals were combined with raw trance music that immediately sent the ravers into cheers. "They delight in fighting duels."
Chris's eyes searched the crowd for the person making this music.
"It's her." Theo whispered. "Diamond."
Glitter showered from the sky and covered the dancing clubbers like rain. "But I prefer a man who lives and gives..."
"Expensive jewels!" The ravers shouted, whirling about and throwing glitter everywhere. Chris had sparkles in his hair, in his eyes, on his clothes.
Then the music began to play...the jazzy, musical-esque Marilyn melody joined with the hectic club beats. And someone swung from the ceiling on a diamond-encrusted trapeze. She landed perfectly at the DJ booth and she yelled "Are you ready to DANCE YOUR ASSES OFF?" Her hair was long and red, streaked with glitter. Glitter covered her eyes and coated her long lashes. She wore a black corset top covered in what seemed to be diamonds and long black pants. Her hands moved skillfully across the booth, doing things unknown to DJ-illiterate Chris. "A kiss on the hand may be quite continental..." Marilyn sang.
"But diamonds are a girl's best friend." Diamond added, her singing voice taking Chris's breath away. He was dizzy, but he wasn't sure if it was from the E or from the vision before him. He was in love. Or he thought he was, at least.
Then she began to play a combination of "Rhythm of the Night" and "Material Girl." The little-girl-figure that Chris had been dancing with was long gone and so were Pixie, Eldrin, Debia, and Theo.
A shake of her hips and a toss of her hair sent Diamond's crowd cheering. She climbed up on top of her DJ table (which must have been quite a task in the heels she wore) danced on it, singing along with Madonna. "Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me, I think they're okay. If they can't give me proper credit, I just walk away." She grinned slyly Chris's way and winked.
She took the microphone in her hands and shouted, "Let me walk on you!"
As if they were puppies at her beck and call, the ravers put up their hands and Diamond stepped off her stage and onto them. She paraded through the crowd, letting them throw her around. They always caught her. No one would let her fall.
But this time they did. Di's slim body dropped into the arms of Chris. She looked into his eyes, unfazed, and smiled slightly, looking amused. "Thanks," she whispered.
"Um...you're welcome?"
"Just throw me back up onstage." She prodded.
"In those shoes?"
"I can do it."
"Okay..." He pushed her featherlight body back up onto the stage and she went to the DJ booth. Another bunch of fiddling became Beck's cover of Bowie's "Diamond Dogs" mixed with the polka-like sounds of the circus. And then, after more frenzied dancing and showers of glitter, Di did a backflip and miraculously her legs caught on the trapeze. Dangling upside down in a spectacular acrobatic way, she sang with Marilyn who had returned. "Diamonds are a girl's best friend!"
And then she was gone.
He let himself go crazy and dance with everyone he saw. The mixture of Ecstasy, music, euphoria at being the one that Diamond noticed, the one that caught her and talked to her, and the strange lighting of Red's had made him so deliriously happy he could barely breathe.
Hours later, dizzy and sweating from the lights that changed from hot pink to magenta to sky blue to bright white, someone came up behind him and whispered, "Come upstairs in about ten minutes. She's waiting for you."
END OF CHAPTER 1