Hollywood in the
Hospital.
While at Los Angeles, I stayed in the area called West
Hollywood, courtesy the hospital of my rotations. The medical center was a 10 minutes drive from the Beverly Hills. The hospital, pimped as a
multispecialty, state of the art, tertiary care center; besides taking care of
the service-class, insurance-less population from the free clinic; also
collaborated with many high profile private attendings, and was dubbed ‘the
Hospital of the stars’ for obvious reasons. Therefore, though the hospital was
in Hollywood, Hollywood seemed to be in the hospital in more ways than one.
(Dont want to violate any HIPAA- Health Insurance
Portability and Accountability Act, regulations here ) But, I can let you know
that many big names would be seen often,
casually walking down the hallways with thick shades over their eyes and heads in the air, there, for
themselves or to visit friends and family. The residents and nurses had many a
tales to tell, on how a particular movie actress was ‘so down to earth’ while
this other star ‘ had all the airs.‘
You could get a complete update of the latest fashion and
make up trends by just walking across the patients’ waiting room. Pregnant or
aborting, they did-not ever forget their ‘new soft under-eye concealer from
clinique’
The hospital staff too, had been inflected with this so very
virulent virus called showbiz. Everybody, and I mean everybody across all ages,
sex or rank, seemed to think that he/she was about to shoot the cover for the
People’s magazine.
My earlier impression
of attendings was of balding men with their sympathetic smiles, in boring
black-brownish suits or neatly dressed women holding hands of patients in the
middle of a labor pain.
Well my friends, at this hospital, our male attendings came
straight from a gym session into the morning rounds, in their tracks &
tennis shoes, high fived the patient’s boy friend and cracked naughty jokes
about Lady Gaga and her meat dress. The Ladies were young (atleast looked like,
to me, with an inch of powder and unmistakable double layered mascara) , in the latest designer dress from
the cover of Opera, with knee high boots. they were sure to flaunt their new
prada hand bag while they ran the ultrasound probe over the star mom-to-be ‘s
belly.
The residents and nurses (do-not, even for a second think
that nurses were paid any less. The RN-4s got paid by the hour and ended up
with more money than the chiefs) were even more interesting. They had to be in
scrubs all the time, but some found innovative ways to dress up. Many had printed OR hats or cool goggles
for eye protection during surgery.
It was considered an absolute sin to forget the early morning
makeup ( by early I mean 5 am)- together with the base, the eye-shadow,
mascara, blusher , lip-linner and a few more accessories I do not know the names of.
And, for your information, there is nothing like ‘trimmed
nails’ for Hollywood docs, (even though these were obstetricians and would
perform sensitive procedures),because all
of them had French, Italian & god knows what other kinds of manicures, with
each of their nails a centimeter in length. All this, irrespective of a regular
14 hr call or a 24 hr call or the not to be talked about 36 hr nightmare.
My 80 hour week with the Step -2 test lurking round the
corner, ensured that I could only dream about taking a walk along the Hollywood
Boulevard (the street that has all the big names in stars over the pavement)
.But what I saw from my off site location was far from the glamorous sparkly
face of Hollywood.
The struggler’s story.
West Hollywood was a very beautiful neighbourhood... nice
wide streets, beautiful houses, well trimmed gardens with a pretty little
coffee shop or a designer dress show room at every corner. The weather was
perfect on most days – light breeze with a bright, but not too sunny day. If I
did not have to wake up at 5 am 6 out of 7 days a week, i would seriously consider
the 2 months a long vacation.
These beautiful homes were owned by wealthy land lords, who
divided them into smaller apartments and rented them to what was called ‘the
struggling crowd of Hollywood.’
I sublet one such studio apartment but shared it with
maria and her dog Olive for the last 15
days of my stay as she had to return a few weeks earlier, from Mexico as ‘she
worked her ass off... but they just would not pay her as much. ’
She told me how she worked on contract basis as a stylist on
small time e series/ TV shows, but really dreamt of being a singer-cum-artist.
And oh, she really did work hard for it. She took singing lessons, guitar
lessons & held small auctions of her art work. But fame, like we all know,
is not for everyone.
She borrowed 5
dollars for the bus from me, one day, and I wondered if she had run out
change. ‘I am broke, my dear little doc, i am so so broke!!!’ ,
and to top it all , ‘ I hate being broke, Isha, but this is
show business.’ Well that explained it.
But it didnot stop
her, from trying, day after day & shoot after shoot.
My charming little roommate was thirty seven, single, with no
cash, her apartment lease was running out, her car was broke, but...she could not for a moment stop dreaming.
About the stage, the crowd, the music, and her very own
song.
My sincere wish, is to be part of the crowd as she performs
her very first grand show.
But in this world of
glamour it does n’t take long to ‘go down, to a very dark place,’ like Maria put it. ‘When things go wrong, you don’t have a job, you don’t have any
support, your dream is shattered, your bills are pending, many big people give
up and let go.’ She told me about her previous manager, who had managed
Madonna, for a long time, but due to reasons gotten into a drugs habit and
finally committed suicide.
‘Thats what they always say about Hollywood, but does this
happen a lot ? ‘ I wondered.
‘ Senioreta, I can tell you, a story a day, about the people
who I knew personally, giving up like this..’ she winked. ‘ But that would not
make for good dinner time conversation . Would it?’
‘So before you lose your appetite, lemme change the
subject.’ And, then she went on to tell me about her shoot that day, and how
the male lead was a pretty handsome guy, and also famous in a way, and how he
would crack naughty jokes, flirt around and be a gentleman & pull chairs for
the ladies. She showed me pictures of the shoot,that she took on her own camera.
Apparently there was a lot of food on the sets at all times.
Maria would have some , and smuggle a piece of cake or a small sandwich for
me , everyday. So at dinner we had some of that with my amateur Indian curry,
and Mexican tortillas which she absolutely loved. And over dinner we would chat
for a few minutes about random things. I would tell her about Indian culture,
food, my family and you guys.
She would talk about her shoot, and how things work, how the
actors get ready, how the takes are arranged, and how crappy some of these
people are, off the camera.
Boy o Boy !!!
On one of the
evenings, Maria had a off day, and so all three of us (Olive also went
with us) decided to walk to the coffee shop at the corner to catch some fresh
air. We got there, and took seats in the outdoor area, ordered a Moroccan tea
each and started our work. I was reading for CS and she was ‘researching’ for
her next shoot.
We sat close to the entry of the coffee shop. A few minute
later, a girl walked by. She was tall, thin.. no, emaciated would be the right
words, short hair. She looked pale, and had big dark circles under her eyes,
and puffed nervously on the last bits of a cigarette, before she entered the
shop. (it was no smoking shop). To me she looked like a book case of anorexia
nervosa.
Maria waved to her. She walked up to our table hurriedly.
‘Hi! I am a Maria. I work as stylist. I couldnot help
notice your skirt. It is really good.’
They both shook hands. ‘ I am Lisbeth’
Lisbeth’s hands were
shaking profusely all this time. In her
trembling voice she said ‘ well,i designed it myself, hope to be a designer one
day.’ She gave a sheepish little smile.
‘That’s great, well, do you have a card, may be we can work
together some day.’
The girl scribbled her email id on the paper tissue. As she
left, Maria said to me, ‘ That’s how small artists like us find work, my
dear!’ ‘ She seems to be talented but donno know if she has it in her to
survive our big bad world..’ she
added with her crocked smile. I had my doubts.
On the way back home, we took a little detour, to walk in
front of what is called the Pacific Design Center. Maria wanted to show me
how the workers were busy putting it together for the ‘Post Oscars Party.’
The coming weekend was The Oscars Night. And I learned that,
after the show is over at the Kodak theaters the stars drive up to a different
location for The Post Oscars Bash, touted as ‘the grandest, most amazing party
of showbiz!’ as Maria put it. The Pacific Design Center had been chosen for
this year’s party. And it was a 5 minute walk, by watch from our place!!
We were not able to enter the arena for security reasons. So
we just stood at a distance for a few minutes and watched as half a dozen florists carried what seemed like a
million orchids from a truck and started to arrange them by the fountain and
the water pool at the entrance. ‘ Oh god ! A pink-purple theme !’ Maria said in a hushed voice, she cupped her hands over her face, and I could see her
eyes welling up with tears. She was so excited.
They were also testing the lighting. They were using soft purple spot lights that lit what was
suppose to be the entrance. And some of the spots had been turned upwards to
outline the building, that in itself was a marvellous structure, about 5
stories high, with glass panels arranged at different angles to reflect the
light.
It was amazing! and It was perfect! It looked in many ways,
like a modern castle, magical almost!
It seemed so appropriate. The victors of the most
prestigious movie awards would dawn upon these very gates, two days from now,
while mortals like us would stand behind the barricades trying to catch a glimpse.
Boy o boy .... this is Hollywood!
I have not had my bollywood experience yet. But i wonder if
both of these work the same way. A few weeks into either of them, and many have
stars in their eyes and crack up their nose.
In the last few days in LA I would spend a lot of time at
home, and therefore would often browse the TV channels.
Without doubt there is one guy who is splashed all over
American television these days.. the self proclaimed ‘more famous than Obama’
guy...Charlie Sheen. Now, I could go on and on about Charlie and what he calls
it ‘his winning ways’, but I’d rather you catch him complete with his two
goddesses and twin sons, all exclusive
only on ABC/ CNN!! (even though its on every damn channel 25 hrs of the day.)
This guy is so funny, but in a dark scary way. It seems, he
has left ‘Charlie’ the character of ‘Two and half men’ far behind as he himself
admits to have done all that the character was shown to be ‘doing’ , and much
more, for real. God bless him!
Finally March 2nd came, I drove to the exam centre
in a cab, went through the 8 hours of nerve wrecking, they call step -2
clinical skills, and took the bus back home. I had to pack, the next day was my
flight out to Omaha.
In the evening, with all my bags repacked, I sat on the
couch, for the very last time, with Olive on my lap and maria on the phone
arguing with her not so efficient and equally broke new manager, I turned on
the TV to yet again listen to Charlie (who I believe in surely hypo-maniac at
this time)rattle on, .. about how he
took drugs in amounts no one could tolerate& how he indulged in tiger’s
blood (for god’s sake !! Charlie ...) & how, now he wanted to be there for
his little twin boys, but at the same time was not ashamed of his drug habit.
Instead he was just bored of drugging and so wanted to try something new (like
trying be a primary caregiver for his children, does he think it is joke!) . I
turned off the TV a few minutes later. I had had my daily dose of showbiz
associated drama.
I have always had a soft spot for the stage and the crowd.
And as I stared at the dark TV screen for a a little longer, I could not help
but think, that despite having seen and heard about all the irregularities, the
suicides and the wild drugged super stars, slowly but surely Hollywood had
found a place inside me.
Like many more before me, I was addicted!
