beverly hills confidential (shhh!)

Isn’t salacious a wonderful word?  Just the way it sounds as it slithers across your tongue and through your lips, hissing, steaming as it hits the cool air in front of your face; expanding, glistening with saliva and sinister innuendo. And then, then it  beckons the person with whom you’re conversing to lean in closer so that no word that follows will escape their scrutiny, their understanding, their pleasure.   Salacious is the word that I thought of when I first started this walk.

This past week I found myself with time to kill in the flats of Beverly Hills, so I took a walk off a busy and well-known thoroughfare and in less than a half  block the city, the traffic, the congestion, of course that means automobile congestion, no one actually walks in Beverly Hills–farther than from the curb to the waiting open door of the restaurant, shop, boutique, club, or gallery they’re on their way to, fell away like a flat from a movie set pulled into the fly space above the sound stage and there now were open doors, and deep shade from eucalyptus trees lining the parkway, truly sun-dappled and secretive, and birdsong, and the occasional radio, TV, popular music drifting across my path, a snake charmer’s melody drawing me up the street.

There was much to admire, lovely potted cymbidiums drooping, drugged from a Juliette balcony; their waxy petals little flashes of light on the shady side of the street, beacons for the eye; watch, watch out.   This walk was peopled with the shades of humans.  Their touch was everywhere–windows open, eyes to the street; potted, tended plants the result of careful attention.

I was surprised by how casual even the first floor apartments were attired, open curtains to the street, a subtle signal of flirtatiousness flicked to the street like hot ash off a burning cigarette.

Everything said ‘human’ but none to be found, a pet (Maltese/Shih Tsu?) perched at the edge of open French doors on a second floor tracking my photo-taking, walking, admiring, up one side of the street & down the other, giving me little notice as it licked its nose with that little sucking sound they make while doing so.  No barking, though, which made me think that there was no one at home, no need to alert their humans of activity on the street.

And yet, other doors, coolly shut against the street, spotted by shade and sun, this blue color redolent of secrets and crimes and times past.  I have always found little stories behind the doors (my imagination set free by the closure/the denial of entrance.)  What keys open this door; whose hand turns the knob, stoops to pick up the mail, and softly, gently shuts the door behind them?  The lock clicking into place with a little snap of bone against bone.

The dark hollow of an archway encircled with plaster stonework, cool and damp, the carefully barbered shrubs stanchions holding back the world; entry guarded, a bouncer manning the line of hopeful party-goers, “You, and the pretty lady in the black mini-skirt, you’re okay, come in, come in.”   Do you not anticipate coming home in much the same way?  Your day, the heat all shrouded behind you as the still dark air takes your anxiety down, down, down and you shed your aches and stiffness and muscles relax, you’re home.

Beverly Hills, the apotheosis of all that defines southern California: the blinding sunlight, the fog in the mornings giving way to the blanket of smog during the day, always cloaking the reality, the plastic surgery, the flash and cash and Rolls Royces, Bentleys, Lamborghinis, Priuses (“I’m green!”)  I met only one person on my half-hour walk through this neighborhood.  A middle-aged woman walking her dog, a slick hunting dog.  I said “hello” as we passed each other and she completely ignored me.  I am not a bum, I was dressed in a suit and had my camera out. I smiled as she approached. I was all open and friendly. She ignored me, divinely floating past me on a cloud of superiority and condescension.  Tant pis (two can play the game.)


5 Responses to “beverly hills confidential (shhh!)”

  1. 1 Loretta
    May 16, 2010 at 11:21 am

    That was a great walk, I feel like I have been a Peeping Tom in the houses of BH. Thanks!

    • 2 robtpatrick
      May 16, 2010 at 12:56 pm

      Hi, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself–it was an odd block of open, but closed apartment buildings/homes. You could sense people everywhere, but they were just out of sight. Love those kind of days!

  2. May 17, 2010 at 6:45 am

    Love the word defining the walk! A perfect little journey – even the dogs played their part(s). 🙂

  3. 4 Linda Nygaard
    April 13, 2014 at 9:52 am

    I loved my morning walk with you! Lovely photos, Robert, and yes, I share some of the same thoughts as you when I am walking through posh neighborhoods. Even some of the doors are haughty.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Follow me on Instagram

The commute is so much better when you work from home. #benny #pacificocean #perk #rhaphiolepsis #hawthorn #workfromhome #commute #view #redallstars #kicks



Twitter Updates

Copyright notice

© Robert Patrick, and Cultivar, 2008-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts, photographs and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Robert Patrick and Cultivar with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

%d bloggers like this: