Secret LaLaLand

Our City of (Fallen) Angels holds infinite secrets, even for natives, especially for naives such as myself.

Last night I was out with my (native Angeleno, mind you) friend S., who has some secrets of his own (a hankering for bacon-wrapped hotdogs, which, Jewish as he is, he honors after only two drinks); I devirginized him to old-school photo booths at the one in the Shortstop; and others ...

L.A. is a hush-hush Mecca.

Our night last night was marked by young people. But these young people were in the know, you know? At the Shortstop, we played pool with bi-curious D., a beautiful Black man. Turns out he was 22. Almost 23, he said. S. almost told D. about the party he had recently attended with his non-girlfriend girlfriend, where tawdry things had happened, tawdry things I can't handle anymore, at least not without a partner I trust very, very deeply. Maybe that was the first "secret L.A." story that inspired me to blog this blog today.

After hitting up our respective bad-for-you food stands, which a secret undocumented Guatemalan husband and wife own, we meandered to the Gold Room for their unadvertised $4 tequila shot and beer deal. We toasted Zen (tequila with a beer back was his poison of choice - well, one of them), and sat down next to a young cute couple on a first date.

Immediately we adopted a secret set of personas. We squished together as if we were a non-couple couple, and the girl leaned over and asked us why we weren't engaged. I told her it was because I was a lesbian and S. told her ... wait, what did he say? Something to the effect of having just come out of an abusive relationship. I love pretending to be someone else. It was obvious that her date was uncomfortable, but he was soooo cute, that I comforted him, desquished from S., and began to whisper secretly to him. S. pretended to be jealous of this, and he countered by asking the girl, quite loudly, if she knew of any secret sex clubs in the area.

She didn't flinch. I had her pegged for a prude, admittedly because of her hair, which S. said he didn't judge people by. I do - head hair AND facial hair, but that's another blog. S. began to ask further tawdry, even dirty, questions, which flustered the boy and gave me an additional "in." Too bad I don't go for younger men. Yet another blog.

Girl surprised the crap out of me when she said she didn't know about secret sex clubs - which I wouldn't attend anyway, trust me - but mentioned the nearby secret "Alvarado House," which opens after the bars close, serves alcohol, and generally hosts a large number of people who want to dance in a run-down mansion. I know where it is, and I think she exaggerated its prowess. I googled it just now and only found one possibly relevant web site, so I think I'm safe in outing this L.A. secret scene without getting it shut down.

L.A. has many secret gems like the Alvarado House - some formal-ish, some so covert that I can't write about them at all. L.A. resembles Amsterdam in many ways, because if you have a prescription, you can legally partake in secret underground hash parties. We have illicit warehouse parties unlike the ones I've visited in most other cities. At the secret R Bar, you have to know a secret password to get in. It seems contrived, but I think it's kind of fun. They have no sign in front, and seeing the restored copper ceiling and interior space, with secret booths where you can make out, is worth the trouble. I belong to a group called the Ghetto Gourmet - we host secret dinner parties in secret locations where, if the Health Department found us, we'd get big ol' fines. The food is usually worth it, as is the tingle of community sneakiness.

I think that's what it's about - harmless community sneakiness. To me, participating in all the examples I provided above feel sexy - though not literally. Again, I veer away from attending the sorts of secret venues S. was in the mood to attend last night. But I always enjoyed playing Hide and Seek as a child, and this feels like the $5 cover version for adults. Maybe I'll host a secret Hide and Seek party sometime soon.

Ultimately it feels like the charm of L.A. will never wear off, and even though we're professionals now, we can be who we want, wear costumes, and no one cares, or knows.