Lucius Bod | Rogue Diary

Showing posts with label sadness. Show all posts

I was sad for a few weeks after I left Lucius on Sunset Boulevard. My agent was very blunt about what I would face as a public figure, since entertainment is a universal Religion, and everyone must be immaculate, flawless. Somehow, I am beginning to understand what he meant about the torture Lucius would face in the tabloids, being flagellated and slandered.

My close friend Selene described him as a beta personality guy with some alpha traits, but not suited for the life of an icon. Perhaps, I can channel my feeling of loss to help me portray the heroine in that new play…

The life I used to lead as a model in New York feels like a dream I had long ago. Some of my designer clients still call me, but I must focus on my acting career now. Oh, I dreaded being just a “lovely mannequin” in the showrooms, and I ached to perform, to be Anna Karenina on the runway if the clothes inspired me. Well, here I am in Los Angeles with my awards underfoot in a new reality.

Most industry luncheons and parties are such a bore, darling. Lucius told me he was not fond of my white lies, but he just doesn’t understand I cannot speak my mind and tell people off, to burn bridges, and all because of silly drunkards’ arguments. I had never feared someone before, but he knows about my past and I have a legacy to build. One day, I hope to have a daughter, and I will name her Siobhan, to always remember my mother and I will tell my little girl all about her.

Sequins and lights, the applause… There is something in me that comes alive when I read a great script and I can see myself using my eyes, my lips, and hands; my entire body, to make such beautiful words come to life. My art has given me the closest feeling of what Heaven can be and I cannot be far away from the productions and even the bickering behind the scenes. This is a love I have waited many years to feel.

Pascale Hutton wearing Paul Hardy - Heart and Stroke Foundation

This work by 0rlando Barahona is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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Fashion photography by Jannis Tsipoulanis

She resisted the conventions of her craft and the politics of her business for one year. Every new film propagated her image of beauty and lust with unrestrained promiscuity. Every man who watched her became enamoured and jealous, possessive and demanding. A saviour to all, she was. The women saw a threat, but none could forget the agency of her ingenuity in the few moments she was allowed to show it.

Her range of emotions increased auspiciously with every new middleman she dealt with and all the ambitious female allies she made. Fame was almost close enough to touch and she could feel it. One, two, then infinite lies took her to new levels of achievement. I watched, amused.

When she bowed out of her screen self at the end of rehearsals we used to meet at my flat between Franklin and Ivar Avenues and do shots of Jack. She would always ask: “Lucius, do you think I will be a star someday?” In the Oracle of my mind my answer came back as multiple distorted echoes through barely-used synapses to help me understand she belonged to her public and the end of our intimacy was nigh.

In the spring of ‘89 she entered the elite group of actors who can control their public image and projects after a masterful performance that earned her domestic and foreign awards. She mentioned me in her acceptance speeches! I was proud and full of joy for her.

One night, after celebrating yet another award she turned to me, still smiling for the cameras and made me promise never to tell anyone about her childhood. She had finally entered the safe haven of wealth and its power to intoxicate her out of sad memories. Our friendship was dangerously becoming a part of the past she had been relentlessly escaping from because she was being born again.

The last time we met she chose Grauman’s Chinese Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard. We walked in the afternoon arm in arm. We laughed and then quarrelled over Champagne memories and stopped on the corner of La Brea and Sunset Boulevard. Tears fell from behind her cat’s eye framed dark sunglasses and gave me one last kiss to remember what we were. She called a taxi and left me in the final act of her wondrous live performance. I was in the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.

Model: Siri Tollerød

This work by Orlando Barahona is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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