Cinderella - Part 4

NY was just one of  many incredible men that God put in my life to show me that not all men were bad and to point me to Him.  When I was 25, I was baptized in the holy ghost and then discipled by my musical hero.  That is another story, for another time.

I left off in my last post where I had said goodnight to NY and gone to bed.  The night was still and peaceful, as I lay surrounded by the fluffy white feather bed that was like a cloud compared to my mattress back home.  I could not keep my mind from replaying all of the amazing things that had happened in the last 12 hours.  Eventually, I dozed off and got some rest.  I woke up to the light clinking and clanking of a bachelor’s breakfast, but lay in bed a while longer, trying to soak in the euphoria I felt.  I came out of my room and wondered if NY had any boundaries in his kitchen that I would find out about the hard way.  There was only one way to find out, so I tip toed in that direction.  NY was by now nearly done with a bowl of some sort of health cereal.  He informally looked up and gave me a gangster nod that I took to mean I was not in a no go zone.  Apparently saying, “Good morning, did you sleep well?” would have been too human for him.  The one and only thing I did not like about my time with NY was that he had an air about him that he was super human.  There was a separation between him and normal people, like an invisible chalk line on the ground that he let very few people cross.  And even the ones who could cross the line had very clear restrictions.  Most of the very successful or famous people I have met have had a similar vibe, but to me, we are all the same flesh and blood that will live, and someday die.  I didn’t see why any one person should get such special treatment, other than the respect one would give their boss or the President.  I could never figure out where the chalk line existed between NY and I, but like the emotional dare devil that I was, I did my best to test it out.  I sat at the breakfast table in a pair of sweats and a wife beater as NY put his dishes in the dishwasher, feeling too tired and in a daze to eat.

 -Dreams are as fragile as a soap bubble -

We hung around the house for a while and then went into Hollywood to have lunch with Abercrombie.  It was a very nice place and we were seated in an area that was slightly elevated in the middle of the restaurant and it made me feel like we were on a stage.   We ordered, and then NY and Abercrombie began to talk about casual business.  As they talked, I tried to get clues about my purpose there.  NY had not been specific about how long he wanted me in LA.  When I would ask him, he would just say, “let’s wait and see.”  I did not understand, but assumed he was trying to learn more about me before making any definite promises or deadlines.  I knew vaguely that NY wanted to use my music on his second indie film that he directed, produced, and starred in.  The first film he made premiered at Sundance and got him cast in his first major motion picture.  I loved that he was self-made and his desires to always reach above what was expected and leave a lasting mark on the industry were apparent.

As we ate, NY and Abercrombie told me that I had a lot of talent and that I had something very special and rare.  I excitedly told them some of my ideas for songs and videos and they were impressed with my detailed thoughts and complimented the faith I had to see big things come to pass.  I was at home among these two visionaries and they did not mind having another dreamer at the table.  I was in heaven as they let me share and affirmed every desire I had in my heart with excitement.  NY had just shot his second major motion picture, and had already made an impressive deal for his third, and Abercrombie was a successful actor, model, and businessman.  Why were they so enthusiastic about my silly dreams?  I knew there must be a God because all of this was too good to be true and too divine to be an accident.

At the time, I felt very stylish in my hand me down jeans, fitted Tee, and black leather biker boots.  I wanted to look tough to mask the frailty I was trying to hide.  Looking back, I was so homely compared to the ostentatious LA girls that I saw everywhere.  I never wanted to be like them though and fought against NY every time he made suggestions about my looks.  I didn’t know who I was, but I definitely knew I wasn’t an LA girl with long fake nails and a dog the size of a rat in her purse.  After lunch, NY and I went to the Grocery store.  It’s funny how something so trivial can be so endearing, but now that I think about it, grocery shopping is very personal. 

He wore his signature olive industrial cargo pants that fit loosely, a cream long sleeved thermal, and boots.  I loved his simple style and find it to this day to be the most attractive.  Clothes never make a man, it’s the man that makes the clothes, and this was especially true with NY.  His gargantuan frame and striking features needed no ornamentation and his days prior to fame had kept him humble enough not to need to be flashy all the time.  NY selected a bunch of very specific health foods in the store.  First, some gluten free toaster waffles, then some fresh salsa and low sodium tortilla chips, and a few other random items.  He asked me what I wanted and I recommended a few items I could make him and he picked from my list of suggestions.  He was delighted that I wanted to cook for him and I could not wait to try a few recopies out on him.  I bought some hair gel and a pair of tweezers that I insisted on paying for myself, afraid of looking like a mooch.  Since I subconsciously looked for a father in every man I encountered, the trip to the store, and the food he bought us made me feel cared for and increased the growing affection I felt for him.  Later that night after we got ready for bed, NY asked me to kiss him goodnight while I stood in his room doorway.  I said, "Don't toy with me", in a plain voice and went to bed.

     

The next day NY left for film re-shoots in Mexico after I made him breakfast.  I made him toaster waffles upon request and fanned peach slices around the edge of his plate.  I also set the table perfectly and he liked it so much he took a photo.  He could not work it out for me to go to Mexico with him without a passport, but told me he would be back in a few days.  He drove off and I felt a sense of relief to have a few days to absorb this amazing experience, without the pressure of doing something stupid in front of him.   NY gave me instructions to stay in the house and I figured he didn’t want my blood on his hands if anything happened to me while he was not there to look after me.  The first day I slept in and ate all day like spring break in high school.  The next day I was invited to a club by Abercrombie’s black producer friend I will call “Hills”.  NY had told me not to go anywhere, but I had cabin fever so I agreed to go if he promised to have me back early.  He picked me up with a car full of guys and we headed to the club.  I was in my own world, humming along to the radio and looking out the car window.  Hills was in his mid thirties and had a hefty build, not overweight, but not cut up either.  He was average height and wore baggy designer jeans, sneakers, a ball cap, and a black leather coat over a sports jersey.  I wondered what his place was in NY’s crew and why he seemed so interested in impressing me.   Hills asked me who my favorite artists were and I told him my top five at the time.  Stevie Wonder, Michael Jackson, Etta James, Harry Connick Jr., and Jonny Lang.  He told me some of his favorites and we went back and forth naming our favorite songs from various genres.  He told me that he wanted to produce for me that he had a business proposal for me.

Once inside the club, the guys dispersed.  I stood by myself most of the time as they talked to people they knew and tried to look like big shots.  It was a hip-hop club somewhere out of the city and if it was a hot spot, tonight was an off night.  There were very few people there and this made it awkward when a good song came on and I wanted to dance.  I loved the music though and did a few knee bobs when I could not resist.  That night, Hills tried to convince me to record with him and not to sign anything that NY gave me.  He said that he would be able to do much more with my career and that he could feel my music and wanted to record it.  He also downplayed NY and the opportunity he had offered to put my music on his independent film soundtrack.  On the drive home he talked about the parties he claimed to have attended, held by Michael Jackson.  I guess he felt like it would sway me since I had mentioned I was a fan.  After talking about how close to MJ he was for 20 minutes, he said maybe he would take me to meet him sometime.  I gave a polite smile, but inwardly was leery of his claims.  I wondered if Hill’s warnings about NY had any merit and whom I should trust.  I thanked them for the night out and went back to NY’s to crash.   I did not understand what NY wanted from me, or what Hills wanted from me, but I figured I must be valuable because they both seemed to want something I had.  I wasn’t used to being valuable to anyone, especially high profile people such as them.  But my past had equipped me with adaptability so I was able to make the jump from unemployed Office Manager to sought after singer/songwriter in the 4 short days I had been there.    I did my best to hold my head high and play the part that matched the value they placed on me.  I drifted to sleep pondering the possibilities success would allow; what it would be like to play at the Grammy’s, what I would name my first album, how I would reinvent my look with a bigger budget, and whom I would thank in my Grammy acceptance speech.

Though my life had become a living dream, there were many things I had buried internally that would hold me back.  If you were to wake up tomorrow, and all of your dreams had come true, would you fit in the picture?  Abuse had done 3 major things to me, confused my identity, robbed me of value or self worth, and caused me not to trust men in a severe way.  This was a bad combination when opportunities came knocking.  Despite my many quirks, NY continued to try to work with me and help me develop as a person and an artist.  I bet many people like him for his fame and fortune, but I liked him for his integrity that he stood on more firmly than a freight train maintains its course.  I wanted him to protect me and be there for me more than I wanted his offers to make me a star.  Underneath his facade, he had a heart of gold and his kindness to me burned a mark on my heart that will never fade.

I wanted a father subconsciously, NY wanted to develop me as an artist to build his growing empire.  Would I push him and the opportunity away in fear and brokenness?  Would he let me in, past the walls that he put up so I could trust him to lead my career? 

To be continued.... 

Still to come:
Private piano showcase & dinner with NY and his closest friends
Jaleel White (Urkel) hits on me and NY saves me from a strip club
The embrace and the offer
The Escalade incident
The night I never came home and never called

Cinderella - Part 3

Cinderella – Part 3

Part 3 of my Cinderella story picks up with NY and his crew leaving Beyonce’s birthday party and headed to another Hollywood hot spot.  NY’s crew consisted of Abercrombie, his black producer friend, an Ashton Kutcher type white guy, a Hispanic version of Fabio who I will call Romeo, the two girls dressed in black, and a few others that escape my memory.  We piled into two vehicles and headed to the Ritz Carlton for drinks in their Jazz bar.  No one in the group was buzzed or obnoxious, and the conversation in the car was light as Dido played softly from the stereo.  We pulled up to the grand entrance as valet drivers in crisp matching uniforms opened the car doors.  Once inside, I followed the group to a table while a middle aged man dressed in a tuxedo crooned mellow Jazz standards from a black baby grand in the corner of the elegant room.

My Cinderella Moments

A few drinks were ordered and after a while, NY said that I should play everyone a song.   Being brave, I said that I didn’t mind but that I did not want to interrupt the house entertainment that was in the middle of his set.  I wasn’t sure if he was joking, testing my ability to perform on the fly, or just wanting to give me an opportunity to be heard.  Before any further discussion, NY excused himself and had a word with the pianist as he concluded a song and the gentleman consented to his request without hesitation and then invited me to his seat behind the piano.   Flipping through my very limited repertoire in my head, I decided quickly on a classical infused blues song I had written called “Rhythm” and began to play the intro that sounded much like the music that plays when you open a ballerina jewelry box.   I was a much better player back then since I had a piano in my loft apartment that I played every day, but I still could not read music very well and only knew the songs that I had written by memory.  I had practiced my songs over and over, dreaming of the day I would play them for a captive audience like this one.  I knew which notes I liked best sung over each chord and I covered my average piano playing with great timing and dynamic vocals that started small, waiting for the “Coup De Grace” high note in the end.  

In my second verse, a well-dressed man I assumed to be the night Manager approached NY’s table and politely informed him that they have a policy that only the staff musicians are allowed to play in the club.  His mannerisms and hand gestures were slightly feminine and he persisted to explain the policy as NY challenged his ruling.   Not wanting to cause any more of a scene, I stopped playing and went back to the table.  The Manager continued to explain that the rule has been strictly enforced due to the drunkards who insist that they can play and then run off the customers with their sloppy songs.  NY motioned us to wait outside as he discussed the matter with him further.  I would give anything to know what was said in that brief exchange.  My heart soared to unfathomable heights knowing how far he went out of his way to defend my right to play that night.  I completely understood the Manager’s reasoning and weather NY was just trying to get his way, or just handling the situation like the born leader he was, I felt for the first time in my life what it was like to have a friend in your corner who had your back.   It felt more soothing and affirming than winning the Nobel Peace Prize, Mrs. America, and the lottery simultaneously.  I was a modern Cinderella who had been magically plucked from the low class suburbs, and placed into a dream world where anything was possible.  After a few minutes, NY’s Hercules frame appeared out of the glow that lit up the exquisite hotel entrance.  He walked towards us from the hotel lobby and said nothing about his conversation.   Instead, he peeled a few bills off a modest stash in his pocket for the valet driver and we all went home. 

Once home, I changed into sweats and brushed my teeth in the guest bathroom.  NY’s bathroom was just down the hall and we chatted from a distance.  Still brushing, I walked over to his bathroom to hear him better and he sternly told me that he required more space to do his night routine.  Embarrassed of his unpredictable boundary, I asked him to let me know of any other things I should be aware of.   With nothing more to add off the top of his head, I left him to his brushing and returned to my quarters.  A few minutes later he called to me once again and I walked to his doorway as he peeled back the covers and got in bed.  He told me once again that his favorite song of mine was “Spin” and asked me to sing it to him.  I shyly discouraged his idea but he kept pushing so I sang a few lines, not really feeling in the moment.  I wished him goodnight and before I could walk away he said dryly, “Aren’t you going to tuck me in?”  I was so underdeveloped sexually from being abused as a child and was not at all comfortable in intimate settings.  I also barely knew him and was more interested in his friendship and respect as a fellow artist and music lover than his body.  Maybe I wasn’t the only one with issues, because after all, he was a very fully grown man asking me for something very maternal and juvenile it seemed for our brief acquaintance.  Overall, I think he was just curious about me and how I would react, much like a cat playing with a mouse.  I responded to his comment by walking over to him and very innocently pecking him on the forehead and resetting the blankets around him.  Though he was a fascinating creature, unlike any I had ever seen or met, I longed to get inside his head and heart, not into his bed.

The Spell Wares Off...

I nestled into the white down blankets and feather bed in the guest room and had unexplainable joy and excitement, wondering what amazing things the next day would unfold.  I had learned early on that no one was going to believe in me and support me except for me, but for the first time in my life, I was not the only one who believed in my talent.  I thought for the first time that maybe I WAS good enough to make it.  NY was not a simple guy and if he liked my music, it must be good!  Though it was late, I found it hard to sleep as I pondered the possibility that all of my dreams could be real and that I was as special as the voice inside my heart whispered to me in my darkest hours.  For that night, I was the unexpected stranger that had appeared out of nowhere at the ball and danced with the Prince.  But just like Cinderella, I feared that my midnight would strike, and I would be found in rags again.  How could I keep this fairytale alive?

To be continued...

Cinderella - Part 2, Birthday Girl

I left off in my last post where I had returned to Denver after a weekend in Los Angeles of dead leads in regards to music opportunities.  I had received 6 phone messages while I was in flight, several of which were from Abercrombie who I had lunch with the previous day and had shot me down politely.  He was now asking me to fly back to LA that night to meet with a friend of his who was interested in my music.  I called him back and agreed to get on a plane he had already booked for me later that night and meet with his friend who just so happened to be a huge Hollywood Actor and Film Producer who I will call "New York".  Though I was not particularly familiar with his work since most of my interests involved music, I was excited to meet him and was honored that he heard potential in my music.  My heart was soaring and I thought that surely my moment had come.  I went home and got cleaned up, repacked my bags and headed to Los Angeles once again.  With my boss' blessing, his Platinum American Express card that had no limit (for emergencies), a hand full of cash since I had no bank account, and a little pep in my step, I boarded my plane.  The two hour flight felt like 2 minutes as I delightfully pondered all of my dreams falling into place so magically through this new opportunity.  I knew at first glance I was a nobody with a crummy low budget demo, but now the small voice that whispered to my soul that I was special and called to greatness didn't seem so silly.  I had dreamed of a big break like this my whole life and so I hoped and prayed (though I did not know God) that the real me under my fake tan would not show up and blow it for me.

When I had lunch with Abercrombie the day before, he was a man of few words.  His friend who was a producer did most of the talking.  That made everything Abercrombie did say more interesting, which is probably a common strategy in "Big Shot" training 101.  I found it fascinating though that he never bragged about his friendship with such a huge Hollywood Actor and I was instantly charmed by his all American Abercrombie build and smile.  (Hence the nick name...)  I did not take him as a music guy, but definitely a sharp and savvy business man.  I was also intrigued by the fact that he had shot me down the day before, and how quickly the tables had turned.  He was very professional and thorough in his instructions to me about the trip and I got the feeling he was more than just New York's right hand man, and I was right.  Abercrombie has built himself quite the empire over the last 10 years since I have seen him in film and music producing, including a private Jet service for only the most elite clientele.  His business profile lists the following excerpt that echos ancient Chinese philosophy:

"Those with the 8 Life Path are gifted with natural leadership and the capacity to accumulate great wealth. You have a great talent for management in all areas of life, especially in business and financial matters. You understand the material world; you intuitively know what makes virtually any enterprise work. Your talent lies not with the bookkeeping or petty management, but with greater vision, its purpose and its long-range goals." -Author unknown

I do not relate to Abercrombie's passion to acquire wealth, but he was still a very smart and driven individual who I admired very much.  From my observations, Abercrombie was exactly the kind of excellent person that New York liked to keep around his business endeavors.  In my times with NY and his crew, I developed a little secret crush on Abercrombie.  He just seemed safer than NY since he wasn't a celebrity actor with girls throwing themselves at his feet everywhere he went.  I had somehow offended him early on and he had a very tough exterior that did not welcome me at all.  I talked to NY about it and he told me to handle it as if to test my ability to problem solve.  I was able to turn Abercrombie's Titanic heart around and get him to warm up to me, but I was never brave enough to let him know I liked him.  He may have seemed safer than NY, but I later found that he had just as many girls swarming around him like bees to honey and I did not see how a girl living next door to the girl next door like me could ever keep his interest.  And though Abercrombie appeared to have every luxury at his disposal, my heart is now wrenched, wondering if he will ever understand that its all vanity and vexation of spirit.

When I landed in Los Angeles, there was a man waiting for me with one of those white rectangular signs that had my last name on it and he took my bags for me and loaded them into a shiny black Lincoln town car.  The ride to NY's house seemed to take forever and I got car sick with all of the curves and turns in the Hollywood Hills.  It was well after 9:00pm now and after the flight, my business outfit was not as crisp, and I hoped it was appropriate for the unknown setting I was about to walk into.  I chose a tailored crisp white business shirt, tucked into gray satin business slacks with a cuff at mid calf, accented by choker pearls and a pair of Burgundy patent leather penny loafer heels.  My hair was pulled up on the sides casually, and extra frizzy from the humid California air.  I took a deep breath in preparation of my confident grand entrance as the car slowed and pulled into NY's driveway.  The driver helped me in with my bags and Abercrombie was at the door to greet me.  He told me NY would be right out and I waited for a moment wondering which hall or doorway his gigantic frame would appear out of.

While I waited, I scoped out his place.  He lived on a corner in the Hills surrounded by lush tropical greenery that served as a privacy wall around the side of the house and back  yard.  It was a white Spanish stucco house with brick colored tile roofing, rich dark wood floors, and Spanish tile bathrooms and kitchen.  His home furnishings were elegantly simple, a white linen Pottery Barn style couch, a rugged dark wood dining table, and a few large edgy paintings, one of which was a post apocalyptic woman with a weapon in place of her missing leg.  After 5 minutes, I heard clunky footsteps from a hall behind the living room I was facing from the doorway.  A 6 foot 2" character appeared out of the shadows and walked towards me.  He was wearing a black turtle neck sweater, brown leather pants, and rugged brown boots and he somewhat nervously approached me as Abercrombie introduced us.  (Can you believe he was a bit shaky when we met?  This guy had been around the world and back, but truly welcomed me as a guest and a creative equal.  I will be forever honored!)  As I said previously, I was not a follower of his acting career and would not have considered myself a fan.  But everything about his regal posture and presence drew me to him uncontrollably and I was instantly converted from a disinterested diva in the making to a #1 groupie in a split second.  I shook his hand and he gave a very sexy smirk and apologized in his deep mellifluous voice for being stuck on a phone call when I arrived.  All I kept thinking was how is this happening to me and what in the world did he want from me to fly me out here so suddenly?

NY invited me to sit down and we chatted a bit about why he had flown me out.  He complimented my sense of music and told me that he liked the song "Spin" on my demo.  He said that he heard a true artist behind the roughly sketched songs and wanted to use some of my music for an indie film he had self produced and directed.  He offered to let me stay in his guest room as we worked out the details and I told him I was perfectly fine getting a hotel, but he insisted that I stay with him since he was leaving in a few days for re-shoots for his recent film in Mexico and saw no reason for me to incur the expense when his place was safe and suitable.  He then asked me if I had my passport to accompany him to Mexico but I did not have one.  He said he would check into it and get back to me if it was still a possibility.  After chatting about our favorite musicians, and muscle cars, NY offered to let me retire, or head to a birthday party in Hollywood with him and a few friends.  He said he was obligated to be there, but that I was welcome to stay or go.  I agreed to go and he said I had time to change and freshen up.  I put on a knee length Sherbet orange silk spaghetti strapped dress and nude strappy heels.  When I came out of the guest room, NY politely asked if I was sure I wanted to wear a dress since it was a more casual crowd and I boldly insisted on my choice with a little humor and sass.  Looking back, I would have been wise to welcome more of his advice and not be so hard headed.  I was so used to being controlled and manipulated by men that his good advice felt like chains instead of the wings his words could have provided.  After all, he knew his world much better than me.  I am still not sure what he saw in me, if anything, or why I did not accept his many generous offers to come under his wing and learn to fly.

We left NY's house for the birthday party in his black Escalade.  I sat in the back seat, feeling like a wanna be Prom Queen in my dress and wishing I had taken NY's advice to change.  Trying to think positively, I was glad I looked classy and had stood my ground so that I did not seem weak or subservient.  20 minutes later we arrived to a club in Hollywood and valet parked in front.  I followed NY and his small entourage in feeling more out of place than a ballet dancer in a boxing rink.  I stood up straight and walked in like I had seen models do on TV, trying to make the $76.00 dress look like a million bucks.  Hilariously enough, because I was there with NY, I could have been wearing a gown of live mice tied together with their tails and been excitedly greeted and welcomed by each party guest, swooning over my new fashion trend.  In this fake world I was in, status was everything, and I mean everything.  NY had earned his status, and he had so much influence and fame that the people around him were mostly "yes" men, agreeing with everything he said and did, including Abercrombie who had shot me down just 24 hours ago, but was now somehow my biggest fan.  Not because he was two faced though, he just knew that it was his job to back NY when he needed him.  Also, in Abercrombie's defense, there was absolutely nothing good about my demo and it is a miracle that NY heard even a shred of potential on the CD that would have been better off as a coaster.  But talent or no talent, if I was valuable enough to NY to be there, I was magically valuable to everyone else and it was something I never embraced or exploited, though I could have.

Birthday Girl

Lights flashed through the dimly lit club as techno music thundered from the DJ booth.  There were a few girls dancing like "Fly Girls" from the show In Living Color on the dance floor, surrounded by tables of guest drinking and trying too look too cool to stare at Vin and his crew, but failing.  I sat with NY's friends and he disappeared into the crowd.  I instantly connected with two girls in his circle who were exotic model types who also did acting and dancing.  One was skinny with proportionate C cup breast implants that were unnaturally perky and aimed at me like two loaded guns.  The other was also slender but a little shorter and had a very sculpted and natural dancer's frame.   They both wore all black tight pants and tops with messy hair in their face and smokey eye makeup.  They acted very excited to meet me and told me that I was lucky to have entered into NY's group and told me that I would be well taken care of.  They talked about other parts of the Hollywood scene that would not have been safe for me to stumble upon and told me that none of the drugs and weird stuff existed in NY's crew and that everyone was down to earth and professional.  I was shocked to look up and see a huge banner that read, "Happy Birthday Beyonce" as the sultry birthday girl paraded by surrounded by a group of girls who were drinking and laughing.  We did not stay long since NY was not into celebrity hang outs and just wanted to pay his respects.  But the night was still young so we moved onto our next adventure.

To be continued.....

Cinderella - Part I

I started a series of blog posts a few months ago after a sermon my Pastor preached that touched my heart.  I called them "My Love Affair With God", Part 1, 2, and 3.  I am still on this journey, trying to understand God's love more completely and seeking healing in certain areas of my life.  I have found writing to be very helpful and so I am continuing, but not just about my love affair with God.  I want to share some of the amazing things that God has brought me through and some of the blessings that He planted throughout my life to show me He was real, even when I denied His existence.  I base my rants on a scripture God woke me up in the middle of the night with in 2004 when I was pregnant.  It must have been God because what else could have interrupted the unshakable slumber of a moody and overworked woman with a child in her belly, sucking all of the nutrients and energy from her to sustain its precious life?  I was so annoyed when I opened up my Bible that night and could not decipher the text:

Then they that feared the Lord spake often one to another: and the Lord hearkened, and heard it, and a book of remembrance was written before him for them that feared the Lord, and that thought upon his name.
-Malachi 3:16

I still do not understand the purpose behind God sending me to this portion of scripture.  Maybe He will reveal it to me through these rants, or maybe I will have to wait until He brings me back to Him.  Either way, I am driven to write for the sake of my own sanity and documenting my mostly unknown history.

The first story I want to share is about my Cinderella experience with a well known actor, director, and writer who I will leave nameless for the sake of his privacy. This story has never been told to any person in its entirety,  partly because people don't really enjoy hearing you talk about yourself.  I can understand this, and I am guilty of it too.  I also don't enjoy talking about it because I truly despise our star struck culture that thrives on celebrity gossip and photos.  Anywhere I go where someone has heard that I once met this person always brings it up.  I could have an axe in the side of my head and be engulfed in flames and the first and only thing a person will say to me is, "Did you really meet so and so?"  I would bleed to death and set off every smoke alarm in a square mile until I satisfied their curiosity and vulturistic craving to peck at the crumbs of my life that have mingled with "important people".  I always respond briefly, and politely because my Pastor said that famous people are intriguing - that's what draws people to them, and that I should not be so offended.  But all I see is big fat IDOLATRY, and I am sure it is my own issue.

In the year of 2001, I was 23, and living in Downtown Denver in the Rio Grand lofts right off 16th street.  I had a successful local Swing/Blues band called "The V Band", and I had just been fired from my Office Management job because my passion for my band was overtly unequal to my passion for my job.  This has been a very shameful trend in my life and it is only by the grace of God that I am currently employed, and earning a decent living today.  One of the Executives at my work had been to a few of my shows and said that he really believed in my talent.  He was an older gentleman in his late 50's who had a lot of money and had been recently divorced.  When he heard that I was fired, he offered me $2,500 a month to work for him as his assistant.  He told me that he wanted me to have time and money to pursue my dreams.  Being that it was double what I was used to making, and that he said he believed in my talent, it was an offer I could not refuse.  He took me shopping to buy me work clothes and I felt like "Pretty Woman", without the prostitute part of course.  He bought me a $5,000 Armani evening suit that I still have to this day and several other elegant items.  I never slept with him because I was never that kind of girl, but looking back, I know that was his motive.  In my nievity back then, I actually thought he believed in my talent and wanted to help see my dreams come true, out of the goodness of his heart.

With money in my pocket, and a my new open work schedule, I began weeding through my music contacts to try to shop my demo around and get my music career going.  I had been considered for a movie role by a local film writer who had a bunch of contacts in the entertainment industry.  The movie never got funding, but I had kept all of the names and numbers I had collected throughout the project, and called them one by one.  The first appointment I was able to book was with a guy I will call "Abercrombie".  He was somehow affiliated with the movie project I was working with the film writer on, but I had never met him or spoke to him in person.  He agreed to have lunch with me in Los Angeles where he lived and so I booked a flight out to LA.  The man I was working for took me to the airport and helped me with my travel details and hotel.  I flew in on Friday and stayed in a lovely Rits hotel and set up a lunch meeting at Cafe Med on Sunset strip for Saturday at noon.  I had a friend who lived in LA and he was kind enough to drive me to the appointment because I was not old enough to rent a car.  I was not familiar with the restaurant so it took me a while to find it.  I wore my hair down, a melon colored sundress, and nude strappy heels.  On my way to find the place, a casually dressed Hispanic guy in his late twenties complimented my figure and gave me a business card that had  Playboy logo on it.  I was not flattered or interested in whatever shallow opportunity he had to offer, but was impressed with how polite and professionally he had offered me his slice of scum pie.

Once at the restaurant I met Abercrombie and his friend who was a black guy in his twenties who produced music.  I had sent them my demo and was interested in their feedback and any possible contacts they could refer me to in the music industry.  As we ate lunch, they very informally told me that I should keep recording and keep writing, but that they didn't see anything interesting in my demo and did not have any ideas where I could shop  it.   I took their feedback with good manners, though I was internally shattered, then paid for our lunch with a crisp one hundred dollar bill, leaving a lovely tip.  I knew guys like them were used to pretty girls expecting a free lunch and they were shocked, but willing to take advantage of my chivalry.  Once back at the hotel, I packed my things and prepared for my ride to the airport the next afternoon.  My boss had a friend, and business colleague in LA who picked me up and drove me to the airport in one and a half hours of LA traffic.  It was way to much time for this older man to sit with me in silence, pondering why a girl my age was flying to Los Angeles on his friend's dime.  I let him believe the worst of me and answered his few probing questions with simple evasive answers.  My mind was on booking my next appointment and recording new, better songs.

When my plane landed, I turned my phone on and found six voice mails had come through while my phone was off.  This was unusual for me since I had no one who regularly checked in on me so I was anxious to hear the messages.  I figured my boss wanted to hear about my trip or something.  To my surprise, Abercrombie had called, and he brought me the best news I had heard in my life!  He had played my music for his friend who was looking for music for an independent film soundtrack and his friend wanted to fly me back to LA to meet me!  He left several messages, apologizing for not seeing anything in my music, and trying to arrange flight details. The friend he was talking about was an amazing actor and film producer!  I was elated and agreed to get back on a plane later that night that they had booked for me.

To be continued.....

Love Affair, Part IV: Identity Theft

I have heard it said that in order to get rid of bad fruit, you must first identify the root.  This thought caused me to do some soul searching.  My problem is that I have many different kinds of bad fruit so there is a maze of roots like cafeteria spaghetti to sort through and it can be a bit exhausting, but so worth it.  One of the bad fruits at the top of my list of elimination is my inability to appropriately relate to men.  Here is what my searching has uncovered.

As a child, I wanted my father's attention more than anything, but when I could not get it, I began to search elsewhere.  I watched my father and other men very carefully, trying to see what it was that would capture their attention.  The only thing I found that men were paying attention to was seductive beauty.  I saw it on TV, in magazines, and in the everyday interactions of the men in the world around me.  At age of 4, feeling so powerless, I wanted this power more than anything.  I remember being ashamed that my undeveloped body did not win me this attention men were so freely giving grown up women.  While other 4 year old girls were dreaming of doll houses and ballerina outfits, I was already praying for a bigger bust.  This made it awkward to form friendships as you can imagine and it's part of the reason I don't have many close friends today.

My first memory of abuse was at a party when I was 5.  While the adults drank and smoke downstairs, an older kid was responsible for watching a group of younger kids in an upstairs bed room.  There was about 8 of us and we played for a while.  An older boy took my under the bed and pulled the blankets down so we were hidden underneath.  He did strange things to me, but I did not mind because all of his attention was on me.  I remember thinking that this boy was going to marry me and take care of me now, like I had seen in movies.  For the first time in my life, I felt special and valuable, feelings that my home life had never provided me before.  Soon after, the other kids in the room lifted up the blankets and started laughing and calling me names.  I was just frozen, imprisoned by the shame of their words, and the control this boy had over me because I wanted his attention, no matter what disgusting form it was in.

I was abused next at age 9 by an uncle, and then again at age 13 by two older boys.  I had developed a psychotic crush on a Senior named Greg, who was very popular and drove a low rider truck he had customized.  In my desperate search for self worth, I had internally decided that capturing the heart of someone that everyone valued would automatically give me value.  I literally stalked this guy, observing what friends he had, what parties he went to, and even going as far as stealing his attendance records from the school office.  That last one got me beat up by Greg's best friend who was actually meaner that he was and so I gave it back.  Apparently he was absent so much that he was accused of stealing it to wipe out his bad attendance record and they would not let him graduate without it.  I stole it because it was as close as I could get to him at the time.  The abuse happened after a party I went to because I knew Greg would be there.  I was living in foster care at the time and had snuck out and taken the bus to be at the party.  Everyone else had friends to go with, but I was a vagabond and the friends I had who were strange enough to like me would just get in the way of my quest to conquer the impossibility of Greg choosing me.  I did not drink very much at the party and tried to be casual and fit it.  I tried to find a ride home, but as everyone began to leave and Greg's options got limited, he asked me to stay and hang out.  After everyone was gone, he and his friend made me drink hard liquor, then took turns doing things I would not expect High School aged boys to even be interested in.  They threatened me each time I resisted and put a bucket in front of me when I got sick from all of the alcohol.  Many hours later they took me outside and dropped me in the street in front of one of the other boys house while his parents were asleep inside.  They spit on me and told me that if I told anyone what happened that they would say I wanted it and tell the whole school that I was a slut.  I was so sick that I passed out for a while.  When I came to, I walked to a gas station and had no money and no one to call.  The family who ran the foster home who I had known for about a week would surely not drive this far to pick me up at this hour, and I feared calling my Dad who I was not on good terms with more than I feared the threat from the two boys of forever slandering my reputation to the whole school.  Nonetheless, I called my Dad because he was biologically obligated to pick me up and I knew sleeping on the street was a dangerous option that I was too tired to brave.  The things he said to me as we drove home were worse than the previous events. 

The lie that sexual abuse had seared on my soul early on was that I was nothing more than an object to gratify the lusts of men.  I don't remember exactly when this lie entered my subconscious mind, but I felt the lie present as a very small child.  Since I felt like nothing, this lie was the something I had to hold on to.  I lived out this lie all to well for the first 25 years of my life.  I am proud to say that I don't live this lie anymore, all thanks to God. I believe that the devil unlike God, is very unoriginal.  In his defense, he doesn't have to be original since we fall in the same silly traps so easily, over and over again.  In our culture, parents are too busy and too self consumed to consider how the words they speak over their kids will play out over time.  The devil sets up traps of rejection, and abuse in early childhood that forever rob many of their true identity.  That is why the song Israel wrote called, "I know Who I Am" speaks to me so deeply.  If you know who you are, and what you are worth, you will not accept any less than what you deserve.  If you do not know who you are, or what you are worth, you will accept far less than you deserve.  For this reason, the devil robbed my identity early on and I am still trying to figure out exactly who I am.  But I know that I am NOT the girl I was, and that is a start.

I hope what I have shared helps someone else who has been robbed of their identity realize the truth of who they are through the power of the love and forgiving mercy of God.  If He can forgive me for the wretched life I have lived, he can forgive you.  If He can heal me of all the pain I have carried, He can and will heal you.  God is the only person who accepted me at my worst and I will never forget what He has brought me out of.  This is why  I am pursuing a love affair with God.

-V-
 

Love Affiar, Part III

Psalms 26:2-3
2 Test me, O LORD, and try me, examine my heart and my mind; 3 for your love is ever before me, and I walk continually in your truth.

Psalms 31:7
7 I will be glad and rejoice in your love, for you saw my affliction and knew the anguish of my soul.

Psalms 31:16
16 Let your face shine on your servant; save me in your unfailing love.

Psalms 33:5
5 The LORD loves righteousness and justice; the earth is full of his unfailing love.

When I read Psalms, I am amazed to know that King David wrote most of them.  He was a man of great purpose and position, and yet he could be found in his quite chambers, writing love letters to his God.  I can't imagine any men in such a high position doing this in our day.  That is not to say there isn't some phenomenal man writing his heart down for God as we speak.  I just can't imagine it's very common, especially in the political and economic realm that David was in.  David was far from perfect, and I love that God allowed us to know the dark, hidden parts of David's life that most story tellers leave out.  We have a hard time knowing our heroes have fallen and are human like we are for some reason.  Do you ever wonder why God allowed the intimate details of David's sin to be recorded for all human history to read in the Bible?  I think there is more there than just a simple example of God's forgiveness and mercy.  Perhaps God wants us to write down what we have been redeemed from, and rescued out of.  What if your story could turn just one lost soul to God?  I believe we need to preserve our experiences with God for future generations.  If God moves, it ought to be recorded, just like a tornado.  No one would let a tornado go by without broadcasting it globally.  Why then does God blow past us only to have us return to our pews silently?  Maybe He would bust in our churches and shake us up more often if He knew we were going to tell everyone we knew what had happened.

It has been 21 days since I got convicted to seek more understanding on God's love.  I have not yet felt anything new in my heart and still feel quite empty and confused.  But there is something in me that just won't settle for anything less than receiving everything God has promised in His word.  If the Bible says that His love is all consuming, then I won't rest until I am consumed.  And if the word says that I need to love God with all of my heart, soul, and strength, then I have a very long way to go.

I had an interesting day dream this week.  I imagined that I had been invited to perform at the Emmy Music Awards.  I saw all of the important people walking the red carpet in elaborate costumes, with photographers and cinematographers all in their places to capture every moment.  I saw myself backstage with other musicians who did not recognize me, nor care for my polite refusal to blend with their cultural preferences.  I heard the MC announce me, and after a casual applause, I took the stage to reinvent the entertainment world forever.  I saw that every detail of my performance was infused with God's Spirit and anointing.  The song started out telling a dark story of where I had been and some of the dancers in front of me got enticed by the dark creatures dressed in black that came from out in the audience.  (Other actors/dancers)  The dark creatures were dressed to impress and were beautiful to the eye.  The song then moved into a simple lyric that gave all glory to God and the holy spirit began to move around the auditorium and people began to feel His presence.  The band did not miss a beat and there were dancers with movements unlike anything that anyone had ever seen.  The stage became 3 dimensional like some of the Vegas shows and me and a few dancers were elevated on wires for a portion of the music/drama.  As God's presence filled the room completely, a man in a white robe with brass armor and shin coverings descends from above slowly with his arms outstretched.  The dancers and I fell to our knees in silent amazement as the man walked to the front of the stage and reaches down the the dark creatures still tormenting the dancers that were drawn to them.  As the man approaches, the dark creatures are overtaken with fear as he reaches down for the lost victims.  He pulls them up, one by one, with one arm and as the last one is lifted, I saw the filthy rags she was in and she collapses in his arms.  Then, with one swipe of his arm, the dark creatures become their true ugly selves, and then evaporate into ashes and smoke.  The woman he is holding is suddenly transformed and in beautiful white garments, and he lowers her so she can stand on her own.  The music has built to a crescendo and I begin to sing, thanking him for his mercy and lifting up His name.  The whole audience erupts into applause and praise and people begin speaking in other tongues as the Spirit gave them utterance.

Right in the middle of a live TV broadcast, God takes over and every celebrity and person of influence is being filmed crying and praying in an unknown language, flapping their arms, and even passed out on the floor.  A stray MC who tries to make sense of this experience begins to narrate for the viewers at home and before he can explain what is happening, he begins praying in an unknown tongue with a confused expression on his face.  The band continues to play a repeat chorus and I begin to lead some of the people in the front mosh pit to a place of repentance as they lift their hands to God.  The camera man pans around the auditorium to see where the chaos ends, but finds more of the same.  Beyonce is praying loudly and crying large black streaks of mascara down her face as she lays her hand on Jay Z's forehead and he begins to cry and tremble.  Lady GaGa is floored by the power of God and is convulsing on the floor as a team of my roadies begin to deliver her.  Brittany Spears, Maroon 5, Justin Bieber, Jessica Simpson, Miley Cirus, Michael Buble, Queen Latifa, Will Smith, and other stars are all crying out to God.  It is a sight that will not leave my mind.  Then I saw a team of end time Pastors and leaders teaching bible studies to all of these influential people and the storm of tabloids to follow about another converted rock star or actress.  It sweeps the nation, and the world in the weeks and months following and there are miracles signs and wonders to follow each Apostolic encounter with God. The Bible says every knee shall bow, and every tongue confess!  He is raising up a whole new kind of endtime kingdom worker and I believe we are living in a very special time.  I pray you would dream your biggest dreams today and pursue them with reckless abandon in Jesus' name!

Take my life and make it yours God.

V

My Love Affair, Part Deuce

It has been 3 days since my new commitment to God and I am infused with new purpose.  My days are still filled with the tedious work demands, impossible scheduling challenges that require magician like multi-tasking, and when all my work is done, I come home and do more work.  Laundry, dinner, homework, bath time, dishes, fill out JoJo's school papers, remember to wash and dry the "red" shirt per JoJo, and then hope to have some time left over for other church and social commitments.  Day in and day out, I mark invisible check lists in my mind of tasks and duties needing fulfilled and it takes a ton of vision and faith to find any meaning in my life.  Underneath the heaping pile of stuff that junks up my life, there is a glimmering spec of purpose that calls me out of the monotony and into my dreams, a place of endless possibilities.

When I was 4, I recall a strange vision I had while daydreaming in the back seat of my father's old Galaxy 500.  Car seats were not yet mandatory so I was strapped into the driver's side back seat with a lap belt that could have fit 7 of me side by side.  I was looking up at the sky as we drove down a long stretch of Arizona highway playing a mind game to pass the time.  I would think of a bunch of things, my favorite cartoon, a barbie I wanted, a cookie, a key, my brother's smile, an airplane, and then I would go backwards and recall each object in the opposite order I thought of them until I could think of the very first item that I started with.  I played this game often and found innocent delight when I was able to trace my thought back to the original item.  Then I would let the thought take a celebratory solo ride on the Ferris wheel of my mind as one would savor a fine wine on their pallet.  As I was day dreaming, I looked up at the sky streaked with misty clouds.  I imagined the stars beyond the sky, and the endless black of galactic mass that surrounds us.  I saw solar systems, swirling gasses, and then I saw myself hovering in the midst of this nothingness, that was also everything.  As I tried to distinguish my features, they would distort.   I looked up at my hand, and it was so big that I could not fathom it.  I tried to picture my head, and it was also too big for my body and made no sense.  Then I felt the nearness of the creator of the heavens and earth.  I was unchurched,  but somehow I naturally understood that God was all powerful and that I was subject to His authority.  I felt Him speak purpose into my soul.  Because I was so young, I did not think in sentences yet.  I interpreted what He spoke through a feeling.  I felt He said something about the many hard things I had been through, and would have to go through in the future.  I remember in my bedtime prayers asking God why He put me in such a strange and difficult place in the world and I ached for an answer to that question more than anything.  I felt as if God was saying that He knew what He was doing in placing me where I was, and that compared to its purpose, the pain was insignificant.  Then I saw myself again, and when my features became disproportionate, I felt something.  As I would try to focus on me or my situation, suddenly the big picture overwhelmed my point of view so much so that the details were undetectable.  I got the feeling that God was saying that in the grand scheme of things, if I could see eternity backwards and forwards as He could, then I would understand how insignificant my suffering was and accept my role in His design.  I felt like God was also saying that the purpose behind my pain would make it all worthwhile and He whispered assurance into my heart that with this understanding, I would survive it and it would not harm me.  I have so few childhood memories and it astounds me how clear this one is.

I crave honesty like most people crave the avoidance of it.  I spent so many years living out lies I built up like a house made of playing cards, destined to come crashing down, and did, over and over again.  I rowed my boat of sanity so far from the shore that I no longer want to wade in white lies that most people feel totally safe in.  The Lord has blessed me with an interesting gift that keeps me anchored to Him that makes me incapacitated by nausea if I ever venture too far from the shore where His will is.  I used to wonder why I would get this strange and unexplainable ailment, but after studying each incident, I am convinced it is spiritually initiated.  You've been so good to me Lord, and shepherded me very lovingly, knowing my weaknesses and self-deception.

I once confronted my Grandfather who is a devout Zen Buddhist, converted from Catholicism, why he never acknowledged my birthdays or called me to ask me how I was doing.  He was raised in Nicaraguan boarding school and has made a great living as a photographer and now an ESL school teacher.  When I was younger he said he would not take my picture because I did not have any "light", or sparkle in my eyes.  He spoke to me as if I was an adult at the age of 8 and should be held accountable for my lack of expression.  His explanation for never developing a relationship with me was that he never knew I was interested in one and he offered me a strange proposal.  He said that he would match any of my efforts equally with his effort. I  did not think I should have to earn his time or interest in me and thought that he should instinctively want to know about me and my life.  I felt that his offer was so insincere and too much like a business transaction.  "I will give to you exactly what you give me, no more, no less, end of deal."  I haven't contacted him much since then, but I do get a $25 check in the mail every year, dated with my birth date, however, postmarked a month earlier.  His militant upbringing has allowed him to develop organizational skills I could not reproduce if I were at gunpoint.  I truly do admire his diligence, but it all seems wasted because it is void of true love, compassion, and intimacy from what I can see.  Maybe God feels the same way about us sometimes.  Maybe we negotiate with Him internally and give him only what we feel we are getting back.  Maybe what He really wants from us more than anything else is what I wanted from my Grandfather, his sincere and unconditional time and attention.

Lord, I count my many blessings tonight and appreciate the purpose you have branded into my soul.  I pray you help me move forward and grow in you.  I pray you would remake me as you intended me to be and help me take every thought captive into the obedience of Jesus Christ.  I want to know more of you and what you are doing in these last days.  Help me hear your voice.


Yours,
V