No. 2: 🍸🎨🏄🏼‍♂️

You learn an overwhelming number of terms on the set of your first movie.

“Put her on an apple,” means, “Stand her on a wooden apple crate to elevate her height.”
”I’m escorting her 10-1,” means a production assistant is taking you to the bathroom and will bring you back to set ASAP—actors can’t be trusted not to disappear after peeing, you suppose.
”Martini shot,” means you are about to film the very last shot of the day, and can then wrap and have martinis! But no one brings out martinis and you’re too young to drink one anyhow.

A red laser pierces your eye and its neon dot settles on your chest. Then it darts to the center of your forehead. Your heart pounds, your eyes scan frantically for an assassin hiding in the canopy of studio walkways and rafters. “Hold still,” the assistant camera operator tells you. “I’m just lining up the focus.” And you realize that’s what the red laser beam dot is. Not an assisted crosshair aim. No one tells you these things.

You meet Henri twisted into a yoga pretzel outside your Honey Wagon trailer. Frankly, you didn’t know men could do the splits, or that Brad Pitt had a pescatarian doppelganger who surfed. But this boy is brotherly to you, familiar in a way that makes you feel safe. His kiss will taste like tequila and you will never kiss again.

You don’t tell Henri he was your first kiss—first outside of an acting job, that is. Partly because you’re embarrassed of your inexperience and partly because you don’t want him to feel bad for sneaking it up on you, even if it was in the cutest of ways and even if there was next to no chemistry despite the fact that you both go out for the jock and cheerleader roles. You will help each other move, mend broken hearts with wine, and paint with children’s watercolors in Los Feliz like the tender young artists you are. You love watching Henri and all of the other little dots in the sea carve through blue froth at La Piedra, followed by quesadillas at Howdy’s. You won’t be able to count how many afternoons you do this. You’ll always remember that it was Henri who introduced you to Paul McCartney’s solo stuff and “Little Willow” will be your favorite.

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Alice in Hollywoodland is a memoirette series started on Instagram by Alice Greczyn, written with creative liberties such as changed names and timeline forgetfulness, alternately thought of as Los Angeles & Me: Two Decades in the City of Angels. All rights reserved by Alice Greczyn.