The Black Security Guard pt. 2

  THE BLACK SECURITY GUARD PT. 2

 

*** PART 1 FLASHBACK BEFORE YOU READ PART 2 ***

(Originally posted in The Journal of Ramon Atila, 2013– ramonatila.blogspot.com )

The Black Security Guard pt. 1

by @RamonAtila

My name is Kevin and I stand six feet and seven inches tall and I'm black. People never told me I had what it takes to be a nightclub bouncer, but in those days when I would hover over the shoulders of L.A. babies lining up at the Supper Club in Hollywood I were privy. That's when I started to live for the night and left the remnants of college behind for good.

People would ask me if I witnessed fights and had to be the one to split them up and the answer was yes. This made me happy because in all my life of hearing what they say about guys like me I never saw myself like that anyway and then suddenly I did. When Persians that couldn't get any instead decided to take it out on eachother in a drunken melee out on the curb, believe me I was there. And I would be the one to have it together when the police arrived. It was a far cry from failing at school to get into tax accounting (like my Grandmother wanted)... and Lord knows it wasn't Starbucks.

When I broke up with my girl in Maryland, I'd spent long hours sprawled across my couch watching TV until one night my friend Stephen called me and said, 'Kevin, why don't you get off that couch watching infomercials all night and come spend your nights as a watchman at The Purple Candle.

 

When my brother in Oregon died of lung cancer, I headed to the West Coast to watch his kids until their mother got it together and came to pick them up. Believe me, I really didn't mind leaving behind the drug-addled girls of The Purple Candle behind me, but I just couldn't shake my newfound attraction to night living. I got a job at a paper mill as a night watchman and appreciated the quiet long hours by myself. It was a new me I never knew before.

Somehow I made my way down to Hollywood, and got that job at the Supper Club (among other places). With time I became one of the night people. I'd always thought clubgoers had their own special lingo and habits (and not to say that they don't) but I came to find out that they were for the mostpart very normal people that wanted to escape the drudgery of day living. You call night people bad; I came to learn they generally want some kind of release from all those people at their job or school that treat them bad. Hollywood has a real family atmosphere I didn't catch in Maryland. I thought I wouldn't pick it up so quickly, but I coined the term night people and was surprised when it got around. Not so many people caught my name...but I never really gave it to them. I blended in well, and that may not sound like much to you as a reader, but this is coming from a boy that stuttered until he was 19 years old, and was so shy of delivering an oral presentation in class that he'd refuse to stand up from his desk and would flunk every time. I barely had any friends growing up, and now I was a regular. 

 

Now im a body guard for celebrities and big shots visiting L.A. When I had my business card made up at Kinkos I had them put the title 'Security Guard' instead of 'Bodyguard' as a special touch. Did it work? I made killer business. I got a diamond stud in my ear like Jonah Hill in that movie, and I got several nicknames over the months. When DJ Ray Atila from Lebanon called me up to request my services he told me 'Kevin, I am fed up of these douchebags they keep sending to bodyguard me when I go to California. I need a securityguard to handle these bitches that can't keep their hands off me.'

I picked him up at LAX. He was fascinated by my height and weight. And in between going on and on about his backwards cap and hightop sneakers he couldn't stop yelling into his bluetooth about cancelling shows because all the promoters were douchebags.

He hovered over my shoulder on the 405 even though I told him not to several times. 'Can you get me some bitches tonight,' he asked. I shrugged my shoulders, annoyed. 'You know any?' he persisted. 'Well no,' I replied.

'What no?' he said, pounding the seat. 'You're a night time man, man. You should have 100 girls numbers on the phone all the time. 100 percent, baby.'

'Yeah well...' I answered, narrowly avoiding an accident. I pretended not to be embarassed by Ray's request.

He fell back into his seat behind me, tapping his thumbs on the phone. 'I guess I'll get my friend Azizi to help me in Malibu.' Then he mouthed something about me under his breath as he finished texting.

'What do you do then?' he asked, finally tossing the phone onto his backpack beside him.

'I dunno,' I said. 'When my clients are busy entertaining women or men of their own, I'm usually on my phone... playing with apps or somethin'.'

'Apps! You know, my fucking father develops apps!' Ray said. 'I'm going to put you his latest game app on your phone. You might like it - I hate it- it is called Bunga Bunga Bongos!'

The next few days guarding Ray were pretty miserable. He turned out to be a real douchebag himself.

Mostly, when people get on him about something he'd blame me. If they'd ask him, 'Hey, Ray, how come you're late?' He'd say, 'I don't know! We left early but it seems my security guard doesn't know where he's going!'

Or when they asked why he brought the wrong champagne to a friend's home he said, 'I don't know! I trusted my security guard to get the right bottle for me but he's simply clueless. I suppose I know for next time to only trust myself to get the right bottle!'

You probably think standing almost seven feet tall means I don't get my feelings hurt but I do. Especially when it involves rich kids talking down to me cause that's a sensitive area for me. It could really ruin the experience for me when a client is being rude and Ray was doing just that. His friends in Malibu weren't so great neither.

I needed to take the piss of a lifetime when I pulled up into the driveway of this giant white palace that made me want to kill myself. Ray was attending his friend Yusef's birthday party on the second or third night of my job with him. I imagined the house belonged to Yusef's parents and he was just spoiled, but nope- it was this 25 year old kid's house. There were balloons tied to the mail box and glittering streams of tinsel hanging from the tree on the lawn.

I got the 'who the hell are you?' eye from the partygoers as we walked up to the door. When Yusef opened the door and welcomed Ray, I started walking into the foyer with them and was cut short. Yusef blocked the doorway with his skinny arm. I almost knocked into it with my face. 'Where are you going?' he asked. Ray didn't even turn around.

‘Just need a quick restroom break,’ I told him.

'Kevin, this is my friend's place. I don't want just anybody walking into his restroom and mucking up the carpet tracking in mud.'

I scraped my soles against the pavement as best I could and looked up at Ray. ‘There's mud because I had to climb the neighbors’ fence,’ I said.

‘The neighbors’ fence!’ Ray cried. ‘But why!’

‘I had to retrieve the car keys. You told your friend to toss my keys over the fence.’

‘Oh. Ha! Ha!’ Ray laughed. ‘Get out of here, Kevin. You are so ridiculous, man.’ And he pushed me out of the foyer onto the front steps, as more people shoved me to get through.

‘Goddamnit. That man!’ I could hear Ray say on the other side of the closed door.

‘What was that about?’ a female voice asked him.

‘Just my security guard,’ Ray replied. ‘Giving me troubles.’

‘Oh. Ha! Ha!’ she laughed. ‘He’s black!’

I never said this to Ray, but holding in my rage around him for so long got on my nerves so bad that a sharp pain shot up my left arm. I had a pinch in the left side of my back that wouldn’t go away. When Ray’s young crowd of friends would insult me the pain would increase. When they would laugh heartedly afterwards the knife would cut deeper into my arm and I never felt so unhealthy working a job. I never had to control my temper for so long.

It would get scary sometimes. Sometimes my left arm would go numb and I would have to sneak away to a clear spot to catch my breath. This case was similar. I couldn’t use my big hands to shove kids’ heads out of the way. I had to sneak to the side of the house to some rose bushes to piss without arousing any commotion.

Unfortunately, solitude was hard to come by on the side of the house. Three girls sat by a tiled fireplace sharing a beer. Their noses were red. I prayed I could get my fly unzipped before they tagged me and the urine would get stuck in my bladder.

They're laughing and joking, I thought. They needed to leave the inside of that stuffy place full of snobs and have a real conversation. Thank God, I thought. They’re leaving me alone, and I could piss in peace. I didn’t go unnoticed, however. The girls lowered their tone until it became awkward. I didn’t want them to tell on me and get me in trouble.

I walked over to them slowly with my best charming smile and they stopped giggling and looked up at me. 'Evening, ladies,' I said, tipping my chauffeur hat. "Am I interupting anything?"

'Hello,' they said awkwardly. The girl on the left didn't say a word. She was a white girl with long red hair and pouty lips. She kind of reminded me of Lana del Rey. "Things are really crazy in the front over there. Mind  if I join you girls in whatever?"

'Like what? You wanna fuck the three of us?'

I was stunned. All I could say was, 'Uhh...Umm.'

The brunette with large breasts stroked my pant leg. 'We can go inside the car. You can take us if you want,' she said in a soft voice.

'Show us your cock,' she demanded.

'Amy!' the red-headed Lana del Rey girl said, elbowing her friend.

'Whip out your fuckin' dick and I put it in my mouth!' the brunette said quickly. She put a hand on my crotch. 'Ooh, you're getting fat!' she said, and pulled down my zipper. The Lana del Rey covered her faced in shame. 'Oh my God,' she said.

From behind me a booming male voice called out, 'What the fuck are you doing with my girl, bro!'

I stepped back in fear. Behind me, I spotted two tall fratboys in cashmere sweaters with the sleeves rolled up past their bulging muscular forarms. The fratboy in front spotted my hand as I was pulling up my zipper. His eyes rolled up with my hand until they joined my terrified eyes in an angry glare.

'I..uhh..' I was too nervous to say anything. The fratboys walked over to me. 'Look who's in trouble!' the brunette cooed.

'Who cares! He's just some black driver!'

The Lana Del Rey girl didn't say a word. She kept on walking with her friend until they disappeared into the house. I stood there by myself under the street lamp and sighed. Hours later, I was sitting on my hood watching the milky moon above when Ray exited with his friend Troy and several sweaty girls. I tried to stall them by pointing Ray to some partygoers that wanted to tell him goodnight. But as the Malibu was being vacated by all those rich kids, maybe I was distracted by the lot of them because I couldn't even catch a glimpse of my Lana Del Rey girl. The ride back to Chateau Marmont was excrutiating. I got kicked in the head by the stiletto of a fat girl Ray was going down on. We almost got into an accident.

By the time I let Ray out I was exhausted. The drive down Sunset was depressing. I reconsidered my previous feelings about what I considered to be my Hollywood family. The clubbers went out of their way to badmouth me and call me names when I stopped at red lights. Why! I wondered. I imagined the people I was tight with encountering these mean kids and the kids badmouthing this black security guard and the people I was tight with going along with it like they never were my friend to begin with. I was getting real depressed. Maybe more depressed then my nights lounging around the apartment in Maryland. Hollywood showed me her ugly side.

Maybe it was me. Maybe my time with DJ Ray Atila brought this stink about me that people could smell from a mile away because everyone stood at a distance from me. It was like I had some disease. I almost imagined I would have no more business because I was getting less calls to schedule clients. Some even cancelled on me. I was beginning to feel like the depressed guy. Don't tell me word doesn't get around fast in Hollywood. I had little doubt texts about this 'black security guard that brings the vibe down' were being sent around at a rapid pace.

I always knew LA could get really cruel real quickly (who doesn't?) but feeling it is a different story. Now I know why so many people wear sunglasses at night. People suddenly push their sunglasses up the bridge of their nose real quickly with you. The night of Ray's last performance in Hollywood I was feeling lonely.

The Black Security Guard pt. 2: The Real Lana Del Rey

I was feeling lonelier than ever. The city that once felt like a family now felt like a cold, judgmental stranger. I dropped Ray off at the venue, a trendy spot on the Sunset Strip, and parked the car a few blocks away. I didn’t want to be near him or his entourage anymore. The constant belittling, the snide remarks, the way he treated me like I was invisible—it was all too much. I needed a break, even if it was just for a few minutes.

I wandered into a small, dimly lit café a couple of blocks from the venue. The place was quiet, with only a few patrons scattered around. I ordered a black coffee and sat in the corner, trying to clear my head. That’s when I saw her.

She was sitting alone at a table by the window, her long red hair cascading over her shoulders, her face partially hidden by oversized sunglasses. She looked exactly like the girl from the party—the one who reminded me of Lana Del Rey. But this time, something was different. She wasn’t surrounded by rowdy friends or drunk frat boys. She was just… there. Alone. And she looked sad.

I hesitated for a moment, then decided to approach her. What did I have to lose? My reputation in Hollywood was already in the gutter. If she rejected me, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Hey,” I said softly, standing a few feet away from her table. “Do you mind if I sit?”

She looked up at me, her eyes hidden behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then she nodded slightly and gestured to the chair across from her.

“Thanks,” I said, sitting down. “I’m Kevin.”

She didn’t respond right away. She just sipped her tea, her gaze fixed on the window. The silence was awkward, but I didn’t mind. I was used to awkward silences.

“You look familiar,” I said finally, breaking the silence. “Were you at that party in Malibu a few nights ago? The one with the tinsel and the balloons?”

She turned to look at me, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she removed her sunglasses. My breath caught in my throat. It was her. The Lana Del Rey girl. But there was something different about her now. She looked… real. Not like the caricature of herself I’d seen at the party.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I was there.”

Her voice was soft, almost fragile. It didn’t match the bold, confident persona I’d seen at the party. I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” I said after a moment. “Your friend… she was kind of out of line.”

She shrugged, looking down at her tea. “Amy’s always like that. She doesn’t mean anything by it. She just… doesn’t think.”

I nodded again, unsure of how to respond. The conversation was stilted, but I didn’t want to leave. There was something about her that drew me in, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said suddenly, her eyes meeting mine.

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

“At the party… you seemed so… I don’t know. Tough. Intimidating. But now… you’re different.”

I chuckled softly. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m full of surprises.”

She smiled faintly, and for the first time, I felt like I was seeing the real her. Not the party girl, not the Lana Del Rey lookalike, but the person underneath.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Liz.”

“Liz,” I repeated. “Nice to meet you.”

We sat in silence for a while, sipping our drinks and watching the world outside the window. It was peaceful, in a way I hadn’t experienced in a long time. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe.

“You know,” she said after a while, “you’re not what people say you are.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What do people say I am?”

She shrugged. “Just… you know. The big, scary black security guard. The guy who ruins the vibe.”

I laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

“But you’re not like that,” she said, her voice firm. “You’re… kind. And patient. And… I don’t know. You’re different.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I’d spent so long trying to fit into the Hollywood scene, trying to be the person everyone expected me to be. But now, sitting here with Liz, I realized that maybe I didn’t have to be that person anymore.

“Thanks,” I said finally. “That means a lot.”

She smiled again, and this time, it reached her eyes. “You’re welcome.”

We talked for a while longer, about everything and nothing. She told me about her life, her struggles, her dreams. And I told her about mine. For the first time in a long time, I felt like someone actually understood me.

As the night wore on, I realized that I didn’t want it to end. But eventually, she glanced at her watch and sighed.

“I should probably go,” she said reluctantly. “I have an early morning.”

I nodded, feeling a pang of disappointment. “Yeah, me too.”

We stood up and walked to the door together. Outside, the city was quiet, the streets empty except for the occasional passing car.

“Can I see you again?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

She looked at me, her eyes searching mine. Then she smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

We exchanged numbers, and she walked away, disappearing into the night. I stood there for a moment, watching her go, feeling a strange mix of emotions. Relief. Hope. And something else I couldn’t quite name.

As I walked back to my car, I realized that maybe Hollywood wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe it wasn’t the city that was the problem. Maybe it was just the people I’d been surrounding myself with. And maybe I’d finally found someone who saw me for who I really was.

---

The next few days were a blur. I didn’t hear from Liz, and I didn’t want to push her. I figured she’d reach out when she was ready. In the meantime, I focused on my work, trying to shake off the negativity that had been weighing me down.

Then, one night, as I was leaving a gig, my phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number.

Hey, it’s Liz. Are you free tonight?

I smiled and quickly typed back. Yeah, I’m free. What’s up?

Meet me at the Chateau Marmont. I have something to show you.

I didn’t know what to expect, but I wasn’t about to pass up the chance to see her again. I drove to the Chateau, my heart racing with anticipation.

When I arrived, she was waiting for me in the lobby, dressed in a simple black dress and heels. She looked stunning.

“Hey,” she said, smiling as I approached.

“Hey,” I replied, trying to keep my cool. “What’s going on?”

“Come with me,” she said, taking my hand and leading me to the elevator.

We rode up to the top floor in silence, the tension between us palpable. When the doors opened, she led me down the hall to a suite at the end of the corridor.

She opened the door and gestured for me to go inside. I stepped in, my eyes widening as I took in the scene. The room was filled with candles, their soft glow illuminating the space. A record player sat in the corner, playing a hauntingly beautiful melody.

“What’s all this?” I asked, turning to her.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling. “I wanted to show you something.”

She walked over to the record player and lifted the needle, stopping the music. Then she turned to me and took a deep breath.

“My name isn’t Liz,” she said softly. “It’s Lana. Lana Del Rey.”

I stared at her, my mind racing. “Wait… what?”

She nodded, her expression serious. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I just… I wanted to get to know you without all the… you know. The fame. The persona. I wanted to see if you’d like me for me.”

I was speechless. The girl I’d been talking to, the girl I’d felt such a connection with… she was Lana Del Rey. The real Lana Del Rey.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” I stammered.

She stepped closer, her eyes searching mine. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… be here with me.”

And so I was. We spent the rest of the night talking, laughing, and sharing stories. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

As the sun rose over Hollywood, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I’d found my place in this crazy city after all. And it wasn’t as a security guard or a bodyguard or any of the other roles I’d been playing.

It was as me. Just me.

To be continued….

AtilA