rustbelter

She corrals the boys out the door. Left in the room is her main posse, a distinctly weird mix of 22-year-old girls who could be the ensemble cast of a TV show about misfit teens. There’s Avian, her soft-voiced childhood neighbor, positioned across the pillows, head propped up by her dark skinny arm, like she’s posing for a cheesecake pinup. Kreay’s personal assistant and roommate, Isabel, a giggly Filipina wearing a gigantic sun hat keeps looking in the mirror and proclaiming herself “sooo L.A.” Then there’s a Mohawked videographer in an oversize jeans jacket, Lady Tragik (not her given name), who I probably could have guessed was a lesbian, but she also screamed, “I’m gay and I love Jesus Christ!” down in the hotel lobby earlier. She’s just inserted a giant gold grille over her top front teeth and keeps shining her camera light directly in my eyes asking, “Does this hurt?” It does.