Ted called me the next morning.
"So, did you check out Susan Ellen's site? What did you think?"
I came to the assumption that Thirty-Third Star was some kind of diet pill company. Hilarious.
I wasn't going to burn any bridges at this point in my Hollywood career. I thought this was the route to get ahead. I faked interest. Like most American girls, I used to be obsessed with Hydroxycut when my ballet instructor gave me body dysmorphic disorder. Maybe if I could recall my insecurities to help me get into character…
"Seems interesting," I said, "Maybe Susan Ellen can help me get a better body."
"Rebecca! Don't be silly. If you lost any more weight you’d be a q-tip with eyeballs."
As much work as I did learning to "love and accept my body", at this moment, I completely fell in love with Ted. My gaydar shifted into full gear, and I sincerely wished he could be my new fag to hag.
An hour later Ted called again.
"Susan Ellen wants to know if you can come in right now. Do you think you can get there in a half an hour?"
"I don't think I can," I answered. "I'm located in Silver Lake."
And she works with celebrities and I'm not showered and all of my nice-in-case-I-ever-meet-a-celebrity-clothing is lodged in the back of my closet.
How come I know more about Hollywood traffic and logistics more than a gay man who has been here years longer than me? Something was up...
I told Ted I'd get there in an hour and a half. There was no time to shower. I pulled out a pair of black leggings and put on a loose blouse. I put a belt around the blouse and threw on a pair of black heels. As I put on my over sized sunglasses to truly try and blend in with the fashion of working girls in Hollywood, I realized that every piece of clothing was from Good Will.
Whatever. I thought I looked great. Susan Ellen, here I come.