Wendy Bevan

Hollywood, in the adjective sense, is truly so bizarre. Human beings become products with price tags ranging from zero to millions and the ones assessing that value wheel and deal and talk a game as though the sun itself revolves around the big white letters on the hill. There is no surefire way to know who will be billboard worthy and who will “fail” and yet some suits presume to know how we all ought to be.

When I was seeking a sublet for September I met a talent agent with a spare room. It was in the valley on a particularly hot day and all I could think, if at all among the beads of sweat pouring down my face was: Brenda, you can’t live in the Valley right now. Don’t do it. [Don't get me wrong Studio City, Valley Village, Burbankians, I adore you and you live convenient to all the major freeways but my personal longing was to stumble upon a more calming studio that doesn't require an elevator. But I love you.]

I shifted on my heels pulling on my awkwardly grown out bangs and waited for him to arrive, having already decided the outcome. He approached, cell phone at constant bay and shook my hand. We toured the place quickly in between his incessant phone calls and I eventually plopped onto the sticky tan leather couch while he checked an “emergency” Saturday email. Twenty (!!) minutes later he finally sat with me and discussed the house. I don’t know why I choose to be polite over honest sometimes; talking price with him was like giving a terrible boy your phone number. I knew it wasn’t even a temporary place to call home.

He (let’s say Chad) inquired about my career and the state of it. It was honestly the last thing I felt like hashing out with a stranger but I did. I spilt out some of my latest projects, careful to not be too transparent about my girlish heart’s desires. I had an innate knowing he would only attempt to tear them down with “realism.” At one point he reeled back in disgust, “You do music videos?”

I smiled to keep my eyes from rolling. “I love working. I love being an actress and in whichever format those opportunities come is of no matter.” (Actually, because I’m not a fancy British woman in 1850 there’s no way that’s a quote but I said something like that.)

“Well, I mean sure, I don’t know how far away you actually are from having a career so if that’s what you want to do,” he shuddered, “fine.”

If I had a thought bubble it would’ve just read: Argh. Feeling no immediate desire to defend I explained I had to go to work. In hindsight I should’ve said I had a meeting with Michael Bay at the Four Seasons but a girl can’t be witty all the time, can she?

Luckily I left with the joyful knowing that he tried to affect me but didn’t even leave a ding. I’m no fool. Would I rather follow the Hollywood “rules” that only the shallow-minded believe exist or spend my days working with excellent directors who will all make movies someday, ideally with myself still on board? It may be all about “who you know” but how lovely that the ones I know are authentic dreamers creating their careers one project at a time. I would love to do big budget films with fancy names but only time will tell and all I can do is be blessed by these very moments.

Terry Richardson

Johnathon Miller

I’m so excited to play dress up. It seems actors always speak about the power of a costume. Perhaps that explains my interest in styling as well; it’s fascinating how transformative clothing can be. Even when I improvised a monologue in my childhood mirror it simply could not be without a thorough peruse of my wardrobe. I laid necklaces across my forehead to channel Cleopatra and found my shiny pink cape essential now and again. Even now, working with a good stylist thrills. One gets to take constant steps outside comfort zones all in the name of art.

I perform with my improv team in my own wardrobe but will soon channel a Beverly Hill’s brat and then a prep school teen. I’ve got constant butterflies just imagining the near future.

Jan Welters

So it is official. In two weeks I hop a plane to Chicago to play a teenage babe with a bad reputation. She is notoriously promiscuous, worlds away from any clout I’d ever gained in real life high school. Who wants such a rep? She does, thrives off it even, regardless of the negative implications. Just a girl hoping for a place in her little world. I am beside myself with the joy of bringing her to life. However, what am I doing?!

This is the first feature film I’ve embarked upon. The cast is flooded with talented unknowns and speckled with accomplished stars. It seems I will be in the midst of creative souls who are excited to make a clever comedy. And although I’ve been acting since 9 years old it suddenly occurred to me that I have never prepared for something like this. What to expect? Well, I imagine it is different every time. I don’t feel nervous as much as a heart thumping expectation. I’ve said for a long time now that if one director or producer would just take a gamble on me then perhaps my paid, sole career could acting be. Could it? That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

As an embarrassed and faithful fan of The View I tuned in the other day to find Christopher Walken a guest. I was almost stunned to hear his take on readying for a project; he swore that every time he is overcome with nervousness and self doubt. Well if Christopher Walken feels free to question himself then who doesn’t?

At the end of the day I’ve just decided to get daily exercise to focus my mind, keep familiarizing myself with the script, prepare my character, and breathe. Beyond that, what is one supposed to do?

Two weeks and counting… <3

So it’s a beautiful Saturday morning in Los Angeles and I’m sitting on a fire escape, homemade latte by my side, memorizing my lines. Ordinarily everytime I am repeating written words over and over again under my breath they aren’t “my” lines. Usually they lead to a curl of my hair so I may competitively swim in a sea of fellow blondes at a casting. However, today is different. A director friend of mine who lives in Chicago has cast me in a feature. It is such a fun role and will undoubtably lead to galavanting around in a school girl uniform and acting like a teenager come April, and most likely with name actors by my side.

The first two times he told me I had the part it was like trying to convince a girl the world was flat. After all, have I not been promised a half dozen movies and once by a wildly successful actress? I wasn’t about to go down that road of expectation again. It only lead to crumpling over in my bed and crying in the fetal position. Nonetheless, the more I heard it the more it fell on my ears as the honest truth from a friend.

Anyway, today Drew is busting out his camera so we can focus it on one of my scenes and send the results out to Chicago. I absolutely cannot wait to jump on that plane and do this thing! Two months to go…

The old man’s hands shook as he held the papers uncommonly close to his face. He had that sweet, almost forfeited depth in his eyes that many older people seem to have; as though he’d gained peace with the up and down roller coaster of life after 70 some years of riding it.

He looked to me with his watery eyes and managed a half smile despite his apparent nerves. The casting director called his name and he slowly stood from his chair and climbed onto the small stage before us. The room shared a collective hush of breath held and I pondered being that age, what he must have seen, wondered if he was a good man all along. I sighed out in gratitude as I looked to the gold band on his left hand; I hate to picture old people all alone in the end.

He swayed and had trouble on his feet as many old men do to which the casting director asked, “Are you drunk?” This was intended to be a joke, but we all seemed to imagine it hit too low. It must be quite difficult to go from agile to faltering. 

The man answered, a bit offended though trying to mask it, “Haven’t had a drop in twenty two years.” We all smiled and he proceeded to read the scene. There were some misplaced words, but everyone could tell he was a wonderful actor. In the end it felt natural to applaud him after such a laborious undertaking. He retreated back to his chair and when I smiled he voiced disgust. “That was terrible. Just terrible.” I argued, of course, but he had already resolved it in his mind. 

I discovered later that he had a very prosperous and successful career in the 1950’s and beyond. He starred with some of the greats and, well, it made me sad that later in life we’d find ourselves in the same room. I, at the beginning of my journey with prayers to be discovered and he, at the end of his life, sharing my same prayers. It begged the question, when is enough enough?

When a hopeful actor touches down in Hollywood they imagine that there are hundreds of thousands of pathetic people chasing similar desires who will never be as good as they. However, although there may be 99,999 terrible actors, the rest are pretty good. Great even. There truly is a ton of tough, substantial competition. So, when one is talented, prepared, and well-studied it simply comes down to playing roulette: whose space will the ball land on next?Of course I believe that God destines us for things, but I suppose that’s the point. I wonder how many people just desperately want this, and are even fully skilled to have it, compared to those who have really sought their hearts and found, “this is the only thing for me.”

I’ve had the privilege of experimenting and enjoyed a wide array of careers. I helped produce a show for New York fashion week, worked as a celebrity stylist, wrote for a nationwide publication, did music reviews for Universal, and even had a stint at a talent agency. All in all, my heart consistently draws me back to “actress,” but I love not limiting myself to that alone. 

Recently a fear has even grown inside of me, on behalf of myself and those around me. I’ve wondered, which of us is missing, or has missed the boat? So many gifted people strive an entire lifetime to act and, even if they’ve been guest stars on an a host of television shows, sometimes it only adds up to maybe one year of solid acting work. It’s quite heartbreaking, actually.

They call my home “the city of broken dreams,” but whose dreams? Who is living out a dead childhood fantasy or feeding off a pressure not to fail, all the while losing sight, or even being incapable to see, the extent of their true desires? Sometimes I wonder if the cure to cancer or the next Nobel Peace Prize recipient isn’t just sitting in a Colgate audition. 

In the end, I will always be an avid and fierce advocate of never giving up. But, without open eyes and a true sense of self there’s no way to be sure one is refusing to abandon the correct thing. It’s OK, wonderful even, to want to be an actor. Just be sure that it is your love and not your fear that is driving you. And not because, “geez, you’re never gonna make it” but because the peace of doing what one is born to do must be the most exhilarating, beautiful thing imaginable. 

<3

As many know by now, I like having complete transparency in my writing. When I’m up, it’s known, when I’m down, it’s clear. That being said, I’ve been struggling with the idea of “success” for a while…uh, I mean forever. And lately, it’s rearing its ugly six headed being in a more full force. It would seem that, as honored as I may be to work for successful people, my supposed lack of accomplishment keeps nawing at my feet, begging the question, “Brenda, are you really on the right path? Are you actually walking in the right direction?” For some clarity, here is my story.

In elementary school I was exceedingly quiet. I don’t recall being shy, but more so, observant. I used to sing, loudly and proudly, in the privacy of my bedroom constantly so when the teacher announced auditions for the “head ringmaster” of our circus concert, it seemed natural that I audition. It never occurred to me how astonished Mrs. Dash and her class would be when I opened my mouth and allowed that loud, belty voice to escape. All my classmates’ teeny mouths lay agape as Mrs. Dash uttered several surprised adjectives, staccato.

I remember just how I felt to this day. There was a flush in my cheeks and a gentle roll butterflies breaking through their cocoons in my tummy. I gazed out into the bleachers ahead and knew I had stumbled upon something incredible. The passion I uncovered that day has never left.

In the beginning, I did all I could to move forward. I auditioned for plays in middle school and in between seasons I sought opportunities in the paper for community theater. Not long after I educated myself on local talent agencies and decided to meet with the only “bigwig” I could find: Edie Rob of Talentworks, renown for discovering the 3 Lawrence brothers.

As you can see, it was a disaster. Well, she didn’t type “humiliating failure” in the letter but, believe, it was! My lack of confidence held me back worse than a bouncer would in a bar fight. I couldn’t deliver amidst my fear. Thankfully, local theater kept up my resolve and an understanding that I was talented, just lacking a strong sense of self with the New York or Philadelphia types of industry folk.

However, I never ceased to dream. I spent countless hours in my room creating monologues, rearranging my furniture to resemble a set, teaching myself to cry in the mirror, and staring in awe at the huge screens in local movie theaters. I imagined my life as a pint-sized starlett and even cried in misery over Anna Chlumsky’s role in My Girl. “Why wasn’t I in that movie,” I begged my mom, “Why didn’t I audition?” After I wiped my tears I just imagined myself as her instead, with pretend cameras capturing my Oscar-worthy reaction to Macaulay’s bee death in the back yard.

Fast-forward to today and it’s hard to figure out who I’m “supposed” to be. I have friends my age with Oscar nods, others with starring roles in motion pictures, more who audition constantly, and a few who appear on TV now and again. If I had a dollar every time I heard, “Oh geez, I just was modeling and thought acting would maybe be kinda fun, ya know? And boom! Haha, isn’t that so funny?!” … Yeah. Hilarious. Plainly, it has been confusing, and sometimes disheartening or lonely, to be in a category all my own. I hardly feel like delving into all my supposed woes and instead would prefer to highlight my many blessings.

Honestly, everything I’ve accomplished came so naturally, it just flowed like sweet honey. Those blessings are uncomplicated and lovely. I moved to Los Angeles in short notice after being encouraged by an acting coach. From there every home in which I resided flowed from one to the next. My relationship with Drew was easy from the start and the way we met was never forced. I fell into celebrity styling without even trying, then into PA extraordinaire from there, and have written for magazines simply thanks to word of mouth. None of that is glamorous, but the moments within it all have been cinematic and beautiful; a huge adventure, for sure. But, those were the things I never pined over and exhausted myself towards. It’s all been more like eating a piece of cake I was simply offered- then kicking butt at gobbling it all up.

So, perhaps the lesson is: relax… I am creating- with my Creator- everything I desire. I need to just enjoy the ride.

I just had a totally unsolicited flashback. I mean, truly random.

I recalled being in this acting workshop back in Philly around 14 years old. There was this swarmy, overly confident Italian dude imparting his wealth of knowledge on Hollywood and its “real deal.” He’d been in a bunch of local commercials and had a couple guest spots on TV, and was therefore the Philadelphian authority on “the biz.”

He flailed his arms around the whole time yelling about “reality,” “gumshun,” and “beefing up your skills.” He handed out some sort of color chart which supposedly defined one’s emotions and equated them to one’s ability to succeed, which explained why we should take his 8 week course…or something. 

In my experience, every “teacher”  in Philly made Hollywood sound like a death pit full of grizzly bears who just wanted your soul. It was awesome.

As if I didn’t always feel awkward 100% of the time, this guy approaches me before the entire group, places his pointer finger on my forehead, presses down hard and says, “You wanna be an actress? You really need to start hiding those. Ever hear of coverup?”

What a grizzly bear!

I had the strangest dreams last night & I knew I should have journaled them earlier, lest I forgot. Which, mostly I did. Each dream took place in high school era for me, which for some reason most of my dreams do.

I understand this because, you see, every day I would come home from school, eat dinner, and go to my room to fantasize. I would either stare out the window at all my popular neighbor’s houses or dream of Hollywood…

 

 

Please bear with the pathetic nature of the former fact, but this was my street: I always felt I was the only “unpopular” person on the entire block. There were the Reinas’ (Andrea, Eva, and George). Andrea was graduated but I was well aware of the other 2 because they were easily popular due to their extreme attractiveness (among other things, loves!). Eva was as tall as I with poker straight long dyed blonde hair, olive skin, and an amazing body with perfect c-cup boobs. George played football and was over 6 feet tall with Eva’s identical skin, his natural black hair, with a perfect mesh of exotic and all-American features. (I would later become best friends with both, but I’d have to wait a bit for that one.) George was close friends with his next-door neighbor, so they were in the same crowd. On the opposite side sat the home of two beautiful girls. The older one dated a guy I died over; he somehow was my George Clooney of freshman year and the younger one was just wildly outgoing and probably lots of fun to be around. On my side of the street was my beautiful best friend Tara and a couple houses down was “Tyler,” who proved to be freakin’ hilarious in classes and then next to him was- you know what, forget it. The more one travels down “Paloma” Road- from at least 1998 to 2001- all those kids were popular…

 

 

Anyway, dream. In this dream I was in high school and all these faceless people that I seemed to recognize within the world, were letting me know that Tyler wanted to make out with me. I was excited but also so nervous; I never kissed anyone before. Would I have to tell him I wasn’t ready for sex? Then, in the midst of all the excitement Katie Holmes got on a nearby stage and started dancing and singing. No one paid attention to her, actually they thought she was incredibly lame, but no one audibly made fun of her or anything. Some girl was shaking my arm and talking about Tyler but I was spellbound by Katie on the stage. I was so worried that maybe I was supposed to be up there with her instead of down here caring about boys.

Please excuse the Katie Cruise- I also know where she came from. Yesterday, I had been thinking about how Katie was doing theater in high school and flew out to Hollywood and happily booked Dawson’s Creek immediately. Katie quite represents how I thought my “Hollywood” fantasy would play out when I used to dream awake in my white single bed. Instant success.

So it seems nowadays, not surprisingly, my literal dreams are flooded with unfulfilled desires and I think that’s why they replay these things over and over and over and over. I mean seriously, do I care about high school? No. I never even once think about it in my waking life let alone ponder how it could have been different. I am so thankful that it was so difficult and humiliating because it kept me grounded, gave me plenty of reason to be humble, built my resolve, and above all, to an embarrassing degree, kept me out of trouble.

It’s not always easy to say, but I feel the same for my career. It has generally been incredibly hard, demanded every ounce of faith in my heart, stolen tons of money, torn me from my east coast roots, and kicked my butt until I couldn’t sit down. However, I can’t help but fully believe it will be exactly like high school. That once I look back I’ll see how the timing of my blooming was impeccable, ordained, ideal, and divine.

So, I think I need to let my adolescent self know, baby, we are letting these fantasies go. I used to fall asleep every night with headphones on and dream up scenarios to please my soul; Oscar acceptances, or figure skating championships, or Jordan Catalano being in love with me, or what it would be to move to LA. Nothing, and I mean nothing I ever fantasized about came true.

One has to be far more openhearted than that. To dream of success or love is beautiful! Pray about it day and night. But to be oh-so-specific, doesn’t seem to serve one well.

How interesting though that they would constantly replay themselves at night? I wake up and laugh thinking, “I don’t want that anymore. Where the heck did that even come from?” I think I just trained my brain wrong and it’s time to consciously let it all go.

My ship has sailed on being popular in high school, I don’t want to make out with anyone new, and I will never be a teen-early 20s movie star. That window of opportunity is gone! And best of all, I’m sure it’s best of all.

 

 

Exactly one week ago from today I spoke to my acting teacher and a fellow student about the issue of nudity on film. I attempted to clarify my views on clear-cut lines and obvious go-tos for making such a weighty “To be or not to be (naked)” sort of question for an actress. But, the more I babbled the more I realized I had no idea where I stood on this subject. Off I went with, “I adore being naked and if only we were European thinkers in the US, but what about being a naked screen-saver for a masturbating teenager, blah, blah, blah?” However, one thing was for certain: “I would never be one of those hoes on Californication! Those chicks have zero respect for themselves and that script is not brilliant enough to justify that trash.”- And that is a quote.- In all the ironic brilliance God Himself could offer, fast-forward one measly week and my black heels were clumping into Showtime television, script in hand for “Daisy” the porn star, “nudity and simulated sex involved.” For what? Californication. How does that happen?

The answer is simple: I’ve ignored the obvious far too long. Some subjects, such as horror films are wonderfully simple in my heart. I believe they belittle life with a perverted, glamorized look into the darkest areas of this world while offered no solution except, “here, get off on this.” No thanks. Explicitly banging my teenage boyfriend in Another Not Another Teen Movie Again? No thanks. Bearing my body completely and utterly to depict a victim in a concentration camp?

Absolutely, bring it on. It’s become, to my heart, far more complex than “no nudity ever, whatsoever!” However, where, when, and how does the line blur for people? How do I discover the point where morality and art harmoniously meet and honor my spirituality? When has enough become enough and when has one forfeited her soul to gain…Hollywood?

I must hope that there is no woman seeking an answer from me in this passage. I am, unfortunately, only sharing the journey I am on and must admit my faults and confusion. With my exhibitionist attitude and joy in sexuality, I often feel born into the wrong society and time. Countering, I consider that could be precisely why I am alive at this moment and in this position. Perhaps the answer is quite alive and for me to discover. Now however, there are pressing contradictions.

Consider 2 recent news stories. One, Beyonce is pregnant with Jay Z’s baby. An informed DJ announced, “Beyonce’s religious beliefs prompted her to get married as soon as possible.” Two, Miley Cyrus has an oh-so-scandalous picture of her barebacked and holding a satin sheet over her breasts for Vanity Fair. Miley stated, after the world got angry, “I took part in a photo shoot that was supposed to be ‘artistic’ and now, seeing the photograph…I feel so embarrassed.” Please excuse me, but these are perfect examples of the sort of public figure I do not long to be. Human beings in general carry so much social responsibility on their backs as it is; imagine being in the public eye and carrying the nation’s guilt trip. The thing is, if Beyonce actually believed a religious view that demanded her purity she wouldn’t be pregnant. So why need to conform to that view after the fact? As for Miley, Vanity Fair quoted her telling the magazine the shot was “really artsy [not in] a skanky way. Annie [Leibovitz] took, like, a beautiful shot.” God never contradicts Himself, so why must we? Why can’t a conclusion just be drawn on our sexuality? Americans have no fear of seeing heads blown to bits or a comedian’s penis on film, so it appears it would be better if Jay Z put his junk on SNL and Miley was cut up by a serial killer on Hannah Montana instead; the backlash would have been far less.

Unfortunately, this is America and I happen to be an actress right here, in the middle of it all. Therefore, must I abide by “the rules” to maintain a role model status or do I do what feels right? Role model seems a safer bet, as “feelings” are terribly misleading. Why then did I walk into that Californication audition? Please note, I am not Halle Berry- I cannot just “renegotiate” those certain scenes. Essentially, by walking into Showtime I said without a word, “I am willing to get naked and bounce on David Duchovney.” Truly.

To be honest, decision day was a painstaking one. I received the call from my agent and proceeded to spend the entire day in agony. I called my acting teacher first (so he could laugh at the irony) and give me advice.

 

His: Brenda, it’s acting. You are not a porn star, you’re playing one on TV! I played a child molester for God’s sake! And its Showtime!

Then I called my TV star boss: Brenda, its an amazing job. Reoccurring guest star! I mean your call, but what a great opportunity. But, best realize it’s a porn star. You will be kissing girls- 2, 3 at a time, pretending to be gettin’ it all kinds of ways…I mean, know that.

Drew: Brenda you need to follow your heart on this one. I’m behind you either way.

Mom&Dad: Oh, God. Oh, man. Oh, man that’s a tough one. Naked? Oh, God. Ok, let’s all pray together, yeah? -  And we did.

Then my agent sealed the deal. In her incredibly sweet tone, “Brenda, I read this role over several times, picked it apart…just to sure I wanted to submit you for it. I mean, I knew what it entailed…It is…’edgy.’ But look, you are gonna read it like no other girl they see. Just give that character a heart, a guilt, a sincerity, just be you. You will make her a sympathetic character that most girls couldn’t.”

I was touched by her words and felt, indeed she was right on this one.

So, I clumped into Showtime, past some of the leading actors, and into the audition room. I stated my name and height for the camera and proceeded to read every “f*ck” and “a**-licker” while pretending to get a Brazilian wax. Astonishingly, despite every foul line out of my mouth the casting woman’s comment was a sincere, “Very cute, Brenda.” Very cute! I nearly laughed out loud at my mission accomplished…

In the end, I felt I made the right choice (while simultaneously admitting to God, “I am not strong enough to turn down this role. Please just don’t let me have it if it’s wrong for me.”) I also felt ashamed for judging the writers and every girl that entered that room before me; I can only see outcome, not the intentions. On this end, I have no idea to what lengths I will have peace about taking on acting. I don’t know if the world will ever see my boobs, but I also don’t know that it won’t. Presently, I only care about touching hearts and changing lives though film. I am open to showing much in body and soul to give those roles an honest truth.

 This is where I stand on May 1, 2008.

“You are the sweetheart in the scene,” he says, handing me the stapled papers.

I breathe in slowly, and sigh out even slower, still.

“Jill, you are the scorned mother…Sabine, you are the vixen,” he continues.

“Damn-it,” I think, “She’s always the vixen.” I scowl the best I can in hopes someone, anyone, will take notice and cast me differently. Like, “Did you see her angry face? That was sexy.”

I look around. No such luck. John winks at me and smiles as everyone else looks over their scenes.

I escape to a vision in my head, and everything in my mind’s eye moves in slow motion: A long trench nearly drags on the ground and gently glides with the woman’s every elegant step. One of her legs glistens from under the slip of her dress and her black, messy hair moves like an ocean of locks in a thunderstorm. A thankful cigarette rests in between crimson lips and one can only be certain she dons a leather garter to nestle a dangerous, engraved derringer on her inner thigh. Her eyes pierce through anyone she encounters and no one can be certain she has any heart at all, although her apparent convictions run deep.

Her nights are spent in a book or with a rugged man; the home is sleek, minimalist, and she fears nothing, whatsoever. Her cherry wood cabinets are empty as she sustains her life with only fine red wine, carefully elected and selfish sex, long cigarettes, and the occasional hazelnut gelato…

My acting coach continues, breaking me out of my fantasy, “Miss Brenda, you’re holding back. I think you’re darker than you let on.” I laugh and he squints through me, as though he can see the truth.

My eyes land on Sabine. Well, I can’t be alone on this one; no one can keep their eyes off of her. Some poor boys in my class have probably only seen the likes of such a creature in magazines. Miss Switzerland traveled to LA in hopes of becoming a star, and she is on the right path indeed. It’s difficult to imagine her speaking on world peace or puppies because there seems to be a dark, sexual, fiery candor within her. To top it off, she is the crème de la crème: naturally tan skin, thick accent, chestnut eyes, waif thin frame, and donning colossal, flowing honey brown hair to her elbows. The fire behind her eyes speaks of a girl that will wrap a man around her slender, manicured finger and slam his heart to the ground, for fun.

There is, of course, a reasonably good chance that my assessment of Sabine is completely off-center. The point is not that she must be the bad goddess we all assume her to be; it’s just that we can imagine it.

Meanwhile, the heartless woman in my fantasy is the alternate me. Even the thought that she resides in my mind is probably laughable to anyone I know. However, it is so very true. As early as 12, I would lock my bedroom door, blast a boom box, slip on my highest heels, and roll up my skirt as high as possible. Sometimes I would just lie on my bed and envision I played Catwoman in Batman or the sexiest Bond girls; these fantasies never escaped into reality, but they certainly have not ceased to invade my imagination.

The actor and actress couple I work for continually tell me that I am on the brink of discovering who I am. The wife says that she can see things longing to burst out of me as soon as I simply accept that they exist within. Of course, only Drew will ever see the extent and the intensity of my sexuality but I am not just thinking of intercourse here. I have an increased knowing that there’s a warring spirit that is me, to the depths. The black-tressed woman in my fantasy life will pop out of me in far healthier ways than I imagine her now; it’s really her strength that attracts me so. She represents the joy I imagine pure freedom to be, void of fear and continuously giving herself away and yet somehow remaining entirely intact. Presently, her crusades burst out of me when I seek out justice, when I hear gossip, when I see an old lady treated poorly, or when I watch To Catch a Predator. More intense still are the dark writings I am waiting to put onto paper; screenplay ideas that expose evil and treachery in its most vile state, subjects that only the fantastical, dark side of me holds the courage to summon. Writing is the derringer I hold in a garter on my thigh.

So, I memorized the “sweetheart” scene John gave me with a sparkle in my eye, knowing there’s a raven-haired woman in me, sneering at the present scene, waiting for the moments I need to bravely embrace more of her and change the world as I know it. As even the brilliant, famously Christian C.S. Lewis wrote, God “told us to be not only ‘harmless as doves’, but also ‘as wise as serpents.” Also, he said to be full of “Fortitude…-the kind that faces danger as well as ’sticks it’ under pain.” My fantasy just seems a little more serpent, and a little more danger. Bring it on…