The Informers
Well, everything out here is interesting and stimulating. L.A. (as usual) is a lot of fun. I’ve been really getting into the social life. (Met Duran Duran out here! It was so exciting I could have died—right.) I’ve been seeing a lot of really nice English boys. (There are a lot of English boys out here—don’t ask why.) They’re all really young and tan and work at stores on Melrose. Randy’s friends with a lot of them. One of them in particular that Randy hangs out with is Scotty, whom I met over at Randy’s place one day. He’s 17 and psychic and works at Flip and is energetic and possibly the best-looking person I have ever seen. We’re already planning to go down to the beach and go to the Springs and to some parties.
I’m also friends with Scotty’s girlfriend, Christie (who Randy doesn’t like; Christie doesn’t like Randy either), who is a model (she’s been in five Levi jeans commercials and a ZZ Top video—she’s gorgeous—you’d recognize her if you saw her). Christie spends a lot of time in L.A. and in New York (she’s basically bicoastal). She’s half German and very, very sweet. And then there’s Carlos, who is Randy’s “confidante.” He’s about 18 and fascinating and models swimwear for International Male. He’s always drunk and trying to tell jokes. He’s basically a riot. Carlos is becoming one of the people I am closest to out here. Plus he thinks I make an incredible blond and has a lot of Valium and he practices a new kind of voodoo he picked up in Bakersfield.
Anyway I’m very busy. I go to this aerobics class with Christie in the morning and I’ve also been going to the beach a lot, working on my tan. I really haven’t been to the studio too much. I’ve also been dancing and trying to do stuff.
Yesterday, Randy was really bummed out for some reason and so we took his Ferrari down to the Springs and he was really talking about offing himself, you know? He said to me, “I just want to die—I want it to end,” and stuff like that. Well, I showed him some new leotards I bought and cheered him up and everything’s okay now, but it kind of freaked me out. Well, we came back to L.A. and went to the beach and watched the sunset and everything was okay. Randy’s stopped talking about how he feels that he’s disintegrating. (Yeah, disintegrating—weird, huh?) Please, please, I’m begging you—write me? Okay, Sean?
Love,
Anne
Dec 5 1983
Dear Sean,
I bet you can’t guess who is writing to you once more. Yes, it’s me again. D’ya mind? I just had a very full day and I need to unwind a little. I don’t feel like reading or being creative. I just want to sorta pour out my thoughts.
Typical Saturday. I got up late and shared a joint with Randy and Scotty who both slept outside together—while I slept upstairs in Randy’s bed. Then we watched MTV for a long time and then we went to the beach and after that we went and watched the filming of this new Adam Ant video in Malibu—the English Prices were there. It was wild. Then I had an aerobics class and then Randy and I had a couple of drinks and watched some more MTV. And then we tried to go to sleep. Some nights we play all the new records Randy gets in the mail. He gets all these promotional copies to every damn record pressed. It’s wild. And we listen to those sometimes. Anything to get Randy off his suicide kick. He’s back on it, Sean. It scares me. Well, time to go to aerobics again in half an hour. Write me please.
Love,
Anne
Dec 7 1983
Dear Sean,
It rained for the first time since I’ve been here. The temperature dropped to about sixty-five and it rained. Randy and I laid around the house and I read some scripts and watched some MTV. Met Michael Jackson at a party in Encino. It wasn’t that great. I’m still worried about Randy. Randy thinks that I’m going to leave him. He keeps talking about how everyone out here is just passing through, that no one has specific reasons for being here. Randy beat up Scotty and will only let Carlos (who is now his astrologer) and me into his house. I seem to be staying here all the time now. My grandparents don’t seem to notice or mind. This sounds like I’m not too thrilled. But I am. It’s still fun out here. Write me. I haven’t gotten one letter from you, Sean. Please write.
Love,
Anne
Dec 10 1983
Dear Sean,
So once again I’ve been tempted to write a letter to someone back East. At the moment I am laying in Randy’s bed because it’s too f**king hot to do anything else. Smoking some really good grass and watching videos. So what else is new, right? But I like days like this. I hope it stays this way forever. December is the best month for parties (or so I’ve heard) in L.A. The end of the year is coming nearer, with all the promise and hope of a whole other year to come. Think of how much things can change after only a year. Jesus Christ. When I think about what I was doing last December and compare it to now, it’s hard to imagine that that person was me. Thank God time passes.