Tag Archives: Palm Springs

I Was Right About Palm Springs

Did you even wonder if an important decision you made long ago was the right one? I do it all the time! Yet a recent visit provided reinforcement that I was right about Palm Springs.

Right about Palm Springs? What am I even talking about? (or, what kind of first world problem is this?)

Blogger in Palm Springs 3/21/22

Here goes: I made a decision to sell a condominium I owned (and lived in) out there in the desert in 2011 basically so that I could retire early and fund the gap between then and the time I’d be able to collect Social Security.

Great Recession

It was the end of the Great Recession awfulness and job prospects were dim, especially when you were 55, as I was that year (2010). I’d gotten laid off and I didn’t want another corporate-type job anyway, and when I weighed options on how to support myself, using this asset seemed to make the most sense.

Also, I had determined I was an urban person, not a suburban or small town guy. I wanted to go back to the big city for those social and cultural benefits.

This was the living room at my condo there.

Through the ensuing years I was happy about that part, but did miss the condominium itself — the space, the design, the patios, the complex with the pool and especially the Jacuzzi.

And that Jacuzzi is on the left here.

Missing the Desert

I also missed my friends out there. Turns out, after all was said and done is that it’s hard to make new friends, it’s hard to renew friendships that have lapsed, and I think all of this gets harder as one gets older.

All that made me wonder if I’d made the wrong decision back in 2010-2011. In the 10 years that have passed Palm Springs has become unaffordable to me, and in Los Angeles I’m locked into a rent controlled apartment. On the one hand, that’s good, because the rent is below market. Then you realize you can’t move anywhere else in town because everything is so expensive.

So I’ve joined the ranks of friends and relatives in cities like San Francisco and New York who’ve lived in the same rental apartments for 40, 50 years. And now I understand why.

I Was Right About Palm Springs

So back to Palm Springs. I recently went out there for a couple of days, for some R & R. The weather was great, very warm but not too hot, dry, and I was reminded of what I’d loved there — the stillness. That wonderful aroma of dry. The general ease of doing things.

Love the quiet up on the mountain.

But I also remembered the unease. The claustrophobia I felt living there was back right away as soon as I drove into town. The suburban ethos of the civic design — which means you need a car for basically everything. The smallness of the place itself — which I could see in total from a perch on Mt. San Jacinto during a hike.

So it turns out I was right about Palm Springs. It was not the right place. For me, anyway.

Here’s Eve Babitz, from her story “Bad Day at Palm Springs” in the book Slow Days, Fast Company:

“The peace that some claim to find in all that sand will never happen to me in Palm Springs, no matter how I hope for flat dry hot air so bloodless that I won’t even have to breathe or think.”


 

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How I Stopped Longing for Silver Lake and Learned to Love the Valley

I never planned to live in the San Fernando Valley.

And yet, I recently passed my 10th anniversary of living in a nicely rent-controlled 1963 apartment in Valley Village. How did I learn to love the valley? (Or, if not love, at least accept. . .)

Author Jim Arnold in a fedora in his home office in Southern California.

How did this happen? In 2011, I sold a condominium in Palm Springs, bored with the desert and longing for a return to urban adventures. With the real estate closing imminent and a deal for a classic Koreatown apartment falling apart, I needed a place to land. Quickly.

How it Came to Be

I had a friend who lived in Valley Village (VV), and he responded to my SOS on Facebook. A couple of days later, I looked at the empty apartment in his building and figured it would be fine as a temporary home and signed the lease.

Despite not knowing much of anything about the neighborhood, there were some major advantages: the rent, first of all, was $300 less than the place in Koreatown, and that’s even before factoring in the extra I’d have to pay for parking. So, in effect, $400 cheaper since parking was included in VV.

Amenities: an all electric 1960s joint, but at least there was a dishwasher, disposal, AC. A pool, even if it was right outside my sliders (note to any reader: NEVER rent right next to the pool, if you value quiet).

Part of my balcony garden in Valley Village

At the time I was enthralled with LA’s burgeoning public transit system and this VV apartment was right around the corner from a main artery stop (the Orange Line Rapid Bus, now also called the G Line).

There were other advantages either in walking distance or a short bike ride or drive: a Gold’s Gym, a Public Library, two Parks, two major groceries and a few smaller markets, Rite Aid, Starbucks, a yoga studio (since closed, now another gym), many restaurants, even gay bars and a OMG! — a gay bathhouse.

In a nutshell, probably the most convenient neighborhood I’ve ever lived in.

And yet, I was not happy there.

The Valley is Like Another City Entirely

The line of hills (ancient crumbling mountains, really) that separate the LA Basin from the San Fernando Valley are more than just a physical barrier. They are also a psychological one.

For instance, say I’m 8 miles away from my nearest friend (which is actually true) on the other side of the hill in Hollywood. Now let’s imagine I lived in Los Feliz, and my nearest friend is also 8 miles away but in Carthay Square (near La Cienega/Olympic). I’d call that “across town,” but the former is “over the hill.”

The geographic barrier makes it seem qualitatively different even though the actual distance is about the same.

Part of Fryman Canyon, in the hills separating the Valley from LA Basin.

For Angelenos, it’s a much heavier lift to “go over the hill to the valley (and vice versa)” than it is to “drive across town.”

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So back to my premise of it being a separate city entirely, even though that is likely more a perception than reality.

Mourning Being Priced Out of Silver Lake as Hyperion ex-Royalty

During this period of discontent, I’d look at listings in the general Silver Lake-Los Feliz area (my favorite part of LA and where I lived previously for many years) and to my chagrin rent prices just kept rising. Eventually prices in those neighborhoods went so high that I, like so many others, was priced out of where I lived rather simply as a callow twentysomething.

How could this be? I was proud that I’d lived in what was a legendary gay neighborhood and felt very much part of it for so long. And then I moved away, and tried to move back, and it wasn’t happening. As another friend said, “I couldn’t get LA back.”

He meant, of course, the LA he knew. Places change, people change. Another friend asked, “Why do you want to move to Silver Lake? It’s not like the place you remember from the 80s or 90s.” He was right, too. It is different. Different people, different buildings, an entirely different vibe. So gentrified. So “straight.” (Not that there’s anything wrong with “straight” — if you’re straight.)

Silver Lake hills. You can see the Griffith Park Observatory on the hill near the top center of the photo.

It was a highly bohemian area but now the bohemians can’t really afford it. So what’s left, then? A veneer of past coolness?

Perhaps that’s all an illusion and folks that lived in Silver Lake in the 1950s or 60s lamented what it had become by the time I arrived in the 80s. We always remember the places where we were the happiest. And I realized that was what I was chasing.

Bloom Where You Are Planted

For the longest time my mother had this cheesy little plaque above the doorway in their kitchen that had some cute flowers and the legend “Bloom Where You Are Planted.”

I had internalized that as a kid and always thought it was good advice. And I was trying, trying my hardest, to like the Valley, to feel at home, to try and make friends that were closer than 8 miles.

Which happened — over the course of 10 years, many other people I knew got “priced out” of where they had been living in the LA Basin and also moved to Valley areas. And yet it still seemed “off” to me.

I realized that I had my identity all wrapped up in what my personal definition of Los Angeles was – which was where I was originally “plunked,” right there in Echo Park-Silver Lake, my first impression, if you will, which quickly became my lasting definition.

Which is, of course, subjective and not based on anything other than my own youthful experience.

Looking at My Environment with Different Eyes

So I realized I had better learn acceptance around my circumstances. What I had was valuable and was something people would kill for – an under-market and rent controlled apartment in a great and hugely convenient neighborhood.

I saw the advantages of all that convenience and other things I came to appreciate: less traffic, wider streets, flat bike lanes, the diversity I loved about LA, quirky locations, unique businesses.

Living with a multitude of schools that made mid-afternoon traffic more of a nightmare than was usual even for LA. Getting used to all the kids around. They’re the future, right? Better get used to it.

Now it’s an easy truce. I’ve lived here longer than any place in my entire life. It’s my neighborhood, now. And I’m grateful. Maybe I am learning to love the valley – most days, anyway.

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I’m Starting a Monthly Newsletter

One of the things self-published authors and other “content” creators struggle with is the constant need to feed the publicity machine. So, in addition to the usual social media outlets of Instagram, a Facebook Page, and this blog – I’m Starting a Monthly Newsletter.

One of those things where you have to opt-in and actually request it. (Here’s a link right here.)

A writer in the morning, wondering what he’ll dream up.

To (hopefully) prime that pump and quite frankly, bribe you to sign up is a free gift. (Wait, is that an oxymoron, aren’t gifts by definition, free?) In this case, it’s the original (and award-winning) screenplay of Kept, which is a yet-unmade movie I wrote about love, lust and real estate scams in Palm Springs.

This screenplay is also totally the basis for my novel Kept. So I’m hoping that if folks read the script – a fairly quick read of an hour or so — they might want to read other things I’ve written.

Ah, downtown Palm Springs, shown here at Gay Pride in 2013.

What will be in the Newsletter?

I’ll talk about current projects, novel-in-progress, that sort of thing, of course. I’ll remind readers of my books already written – Benediction, Benefits, The Forest Dark, Kept — and that salty memoir Wanderslut 1996: A Gay Road Trip Across America.

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Along with that, I’ll cover any ancillary writing things like events, books I’m reading or might recommend, writers I particularly like.

Filling the Well

Additionally, I hope to elaborate on what I do to “fill the well,” that is, fill my level of life experience that a writer needs to sustain imagination. I find that’s a constant challenge for me, to go out into the world and experience all that’s there and all that’s new for me personally (especially in the ongoing, and seeming never-ending, pandemic).

Perhaps I’ll throw in a recipe or two (if Mr. Bouie can do it. . .). And of course, there will be loads of photos, maybe even a few videos if I get thusly inspired.

So I hope you’ll sign up to get this monthly missive. Promise that you won’t hear from me more often than that, unless a book launch is imminent.

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Kept Teaser Trailer!

Here’s a little teaser trailer for the book, “Kept,” which is still scheduled to debut March 20. I used some shots of Palm Springs that figure heavily in the narrative — the tram to Mt. San Jacinto, windmill farms, palm trees and washes, etc., along with themes from the book.

Over the top and oh-so-dramatic! That’s the point, right? Hope you enjoy this 45 seconds. You can order/pre-order KEPT here.
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“Kept” reading inspiration: “Where Eagles Dare” Cable Car Fight 

Ever since I saw this movie “Where Eagles Dare” (as a tiny child of course, in 1968, starring Richard Burton, among others), I’ve been fascinated with the idea of writing a version of a gondola or cable car fight. When you set a novel in Palm Springs, well, you get your chance.

I’m reading a selection from my novel-in-progress “Kept” on Thursday night (7:30 p.m. May 21, Stories Books and Cafe, 1716 Sunset Boulevard, Echo Park) at Hank Henderson’s homo-centric reading series. So, you can see how I re-imagined this idea for 21st century denizens of the desert. Also reading that night are Albert Serna, Jr. and George Snyder. Hope to see you there!

(for some reason lost the cable car fight scene that was on youtube. Here’s the movie trailer, below)

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Living in Palm Springs: The Cons

3207753043_c5ea4dfb41_oTold you it was coming, where there’s Pros, there are also Cons. So here’s the list, again unique to my own circumstances. I made these lists when planning to move to or stay in Palm Springs – both of which I’ve done now more than once!

So, the cons:

    • Not good for entertainment industry contacts, and no networking possibilities, or fewer of them.
    • Can be somewhat isolating – or is that just me? I found it very claustrophobic, especially in the summer, when I felt like I was living in a cave I dare not leave – or be fried.
    • Does not have an urban “edge” – there’s an absence of any kind of urbane cultured group. You have to make road trips to L.A. for that.

  • PS can be surprisingly redneck — depending on what neighborhood you’re in.
  • Public transport is limited, especially for commuting to L.A. and back. There is a bus system, but it mainly runs during the day and not often. There are cabs (now, I think, there’s even Uber there). Also, there’s a link to Metrolink in Riverside for train trips to the city, but that’s so time consuming and complicated it makes more sense to rent a car for the trip.
  • Suburban, or small town layout and plan. Car dependent culture. Has very few walkable neighborhoods. You could live car-lite there, but it would be a real challenge to be car-free. Yet guys at the bike shop would tell me about people who were.
  • Palm Springs can be boring – there’s limited options. That also brings up fewer distractions.
  • My perception (that for gay men) it is all about being retired, being in a couple or a retired couple – leaving fewer possibilities for someone not in that demographic. However, I see that changing — there’s a lot of gay men in their 50s and older who are single and involved with work or with the community.
  • Finally, there’s the summer – Palm Springs is in the desert, and it really does have several months (at least four – June, July, August, September) where it’s uncomfortable EVERY DAY to be outside because it’s too hot. But you can get used to it.
  • Added 10/30/15: Bugs. I was just reminded of this over the weekend, when I was out in PS. The desert is full of large cockroaches, which they call “Date Palm Beetles” but there’s no such things. They are disgusting American cockroaches, and they’re more prevalent during the really hot weather. Sorry, I’m not a roach fan.
  • Added 2/1/2016: It’s an “end up” kind of place. You know, where people finally, finally “end up.” Are you ready to end up somewhere? You may be, many people are ready to make that final move. But maybe you’re not quite ready for that. Something to consider.
  • Added 4/30/2019: The San Andreas Fault runs through the Coachella Valley, basically parallel to the 10 Freeway. Look it up! Most “Big One” scenarios have the giant earthquake actually happening in the Salton Sea area and spreading throughout Southern California. So the potential for giant earthquakes there is pretty high. It seemed to me that the vast majority of construction in the desert was single story homes, which tend to fare pretty well, especially when constructed fairly recently to take advantage of earthquake-cognizant building codes. But I would check before renting or buying anything out there.

Do you have cons? What do you dislike about Palm Springs?

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Living in Palm Springs: The Pros

124115163_fc436ccd4d_mThe last few days have seen the monsoon return to Southern California desert areas, and I’ve seen a lot of pictures and video of rain (and flash flooding, too) on social media.

Reminded me that many in my cohort (Middle-aged Gay Men) as well as many other folks of all stripes think of moving to the Palm Springs area all the time. I put together pros and cons lists – as I do for so many things, and did this several years ago for that particular place. I hope someone finds it useful! Today the pros — the cons are coming in a day or so.

Pros of living in Palm Springs (from my very particular perspective as someone comparing it to Los Angeles):

    • Uncrowded gyms for elaborate workouts – and it’s less crowded and much friendlier (the gym, that is)
    • Great bike trails that are perfect for a workout all by themselves (such as the PS city loop)

  • Biking is safer. Much much safer. That’s because there’s less traffic and there are many off-road bike paths. (That is, when it’s not too hot to bike)
  • There are fantastic hiking trails in local mountains, accessibly from the valley floor or by taking the tram to the top of Mt. San Jacinto.
  • There is a unique hush in the warmer, hotter weather. I love the silence!
  • So easy to sleep there (see hush, above).
  • No car traffic, comparatively, to Los Angeles – especially in the off-season, the summer.
  • No lines in stores. Shopping, chores are easy! This goes for movies, too.
  • It’s easier to meet friendly people – are they just more relaxed? It does seem friendlier than the big bad city.
  • It’s easier to meet guys of my age (over 50).
  • Palm Springs is so small, you can walk to downtown.
  • It’s easy to get around.
  • The desert has arthouse cinema: the Camelot and the Palm D’Or.
  • Prices of some things (restaurants, movies, etc) are cheaper. (Also, there’s all the senior specials, lower car insurance, lower rent)
  • The spring weather and fall weather are absolutely heavenly.
  • Slow pace and uncomplicated lifestyle make it easy
  • Most days begin with sunshine
  • Infrastructure is adapted to the extreme heat
  • You see people on the street or in shops or restaurants, and you know them: that nice small town feel.
  • Good amount of cultural offerings for a small town on the periphery of a huge city, including a great museum and concert series
  • Outstanding 12-Step Recovery Community
  • Parking is never a problem
  • Breathtaking views of mountains from practically anywhere
  • Lots of entrepreneurs
  • If you live in Palm Springs or Cathedral City, the airport is only a few minutes away. E-Z.
  • And last but not least: Casinos, baby.

What are your favorite pros about living in Palm Springs?

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Top Ten Things I Miss About Living in Palm Springs

124115163_fc436ccd4d_mWell, it’s Spring, and a young man’s fancy turns to . . . hot desert nights. Not that I’m, um, young or particularly fancy, but you know. . . This time of year it’s the height of the spring season out there, with the White Party and Spring Break and all the other stuff about to climax before the beastly summer heat settles in.

So I’ve been thinking about the desert recently and the things I miss. Here are ten, in no particular order:

  1. The Hot Summer Nights. Seriously. As in seriously hot. I loved not ever having to worry about taking a sweater along (unless it was to a movie, then you needed one because they crank the AC up so much) cause you know the temperature isn’t going to go down lower than 86-88. And that’s at the “coldest” point just before dawn. And of course, perfect weather for walking around without a stitch on.
  2. Koffi. I’m writing this blog right now in a coffeehouse in Studio City, also a great place, but there’s nothing quite like Koffi for atmosphere–not to mention the two fab locations, downtown and the south end. Different vibes and both very suited to writing. I’ve always found a spot to open up the laptop at either place. I also got a lot of writing done at (believe it or not) Starbucks at Sunny Dunes.
  3. The Blessed Stillness. Is there another place on earth where it’s more blissfully quiet to sleep? Or is the quiet of a place like Palm Springs just the way it is if you don’t live in a huge noisy city? Whatever it is, I found it particularly conducive to a good night’s sleep. Those inky black nights.
  4. The Camelot — movie house. Where they play unusual and art films in the middle of a low-population desert. I love that they continue to do this kind of programming there, even in the summer, when the houses are practically empty. It’s got to be losing money at that time of the year, so clearly it’s a labor of love. (This may be the real #1 on my list.)
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  6. The Farmer’s Market (actually it’s right outside The Camelot)– Small enough to be manageable and the farmers were local, so that was really enjoyable to get to know where your food was grown (on the mountain behind you!). Only drawback to this Farmer Market is that it closes in the summer. Guess it gets too hot to grow anything!
  7. Fresh & Easy — There’s lots of opinions about this store but it always worked for me. From their already cut up and washed fruit and veggies to the ready-to-eat entrees, and, of course, they had the bargain aisle where they’d sell totally good food a day past the expiration for basically peanuts. I hear since the chain itself went under, this location may have new owners. . .
  8. Eddy’s Frozen Yogurt– Eddy has great froyo and toppings — if you’re in a healthy mood, there’s the fresh fruit, if not, there’s the chocolate and peanut butter cups and all the other bad sugary things. But the best part really is sitting and enjoying your frozen treat watching the comings and goings of the nearly naked men at Hunter’s next door. A favorite summer night excursion, for sure.
  9. World Gym Palm Springs–at the corner of Sunrise and Vista Chino–one of the best gyms I’ve ever been member of. They have miles of equipment, it seems, and it never appears crowded there. Great friendly staff and instructors — I liked that exercise and yoga classes were included with the membership. Come here to find out what’s going on in Palm Springs. I found this an easy place to go to get fit – easy because it was so pleasant and non-stressful.
  10. Mount San Jacinto–ah, the mountain. Avid hiker that I am, I loved going up the tram, especially during the horrendously hot summer days, and spending the day up on top of the mountain hiking in the magnificent forests that are up there. The last time I was there during the summer I got a pass for $60 – a great value if you plan on going up on the mountain even just a few times during the summer months.
  11. Where Everybody Knows Your Name — which seems to be every restaurant, every bar, every store. I guess I liked this aspect of small town living — that when you go out, half the people in any one establishment are people you know. I thought that was a lot of fun. Not like that at all in the big city, where anonymity seems to rule. Sometimes that’s nice, sometimes it’s just sad.

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Writer’s Workshop: A bit of “Kept”

2365800428_0cc260e6a8Here’s a little excerpt from the new book I’m working on, called “Kept.” It’s a sexy, crime ridden, over-the-top melodrama set out in my favorite decadent dry spot, Palm Springs. Enjoy! Please post comments if you have them. 

From Chapter 2:

Connor Hurst should have washed the truck before rolling up to the Jones home. A more professional, polished look is what he continually strove for each and every day, but this morning it was just not coming together the way it usually did.

The shitty, dusty, red Greco & Greco logos on the silver truck doors were chipped along their edges. Not a good look for the town’s best, if not largest, remodeling outfit, he thought. Better if they were clean and smooth.

On the other hand, Connor looked just fine. He looked so Irish he might have been a Celtic warrior or a leering priest in some other, less ordinary life. He told everybody he was black Irish, though nobody really knew what that meant; even he wasn’t really sure. He guessed his dark hair, so brown it read black, and the blue eyes were evidence enough, and his looks had stunned enough women—and men—over the last few years to make further explanation unnecessary.

Connor and Jacy Martin fell out of the pickup into the 115 degree heat of the fresh, late morning asphalt, its chemical odor signaling what Connor liked to think of as a sign of industrial progress: they were making some headway, their actions had consequences.

And they made quite a pair. Dark, Native American and short, squirrely Jacy’s role was always sidekick to the regal Connor: the shadow side, Lone Ranger and Tonto.

Jacy wasn’t the type to trust too much; he was the type to check behind himself before he spoke. Just in case. But even Connor knew it wasn’t good that Jacy told stories of their tribal chief shooting and killing protected sheep, even if it was on the res, on their own land, in their own fucking nation.

That kind of thing got around.

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Jacy spat on the red gravel oval at the center of the Jones’ circular drive, just missing a perfectly round blue barrel cactus. Connor would ignore this. He’d do the same, but never with anybody around. I mean, come on. He figured the Joneses had to be the richest African-American family in town. They had to be. Look at this place.

The low, Spanish style house loomed substantial from the street, but even that was deceiving. It stood at the top of a small rise, then spread out slowly in back, rooms tumbling down to a pool and a fucking tennis court where the landscape leveled off.

As dark as Alice Jones was, Connor wondered if she needed sunscreen at the pool. She told him she never played tennis. Her son had, though, and quite well, so the court was good luck and they kept it up.

She opened the finely distressed heavy oak door with just one hand—which, of course, showed off her diamond and gold wedding rings, as well as a totally separate emerald on her index finger.

The pounding hammers of the other Greco & Greco workers already inside rose up, as did Jacy’s panting, which reminded him of a nervous dog. Then there was Alice Jones, holding the door wide open, wearing one of her green and black caftans from Africa.  Her tits jiggled. No bra today. She knew he was coming.

Jacy was used to the drill. He entered first after a clipped “Ma’am” to Alice, heading straight for the guys who were finishing up new drywall in the media room, which was next to the library, which was down from the dining room.

Far enough away from Alice’s bedroom which was the only important location.

She clutched Connor by the forearm and led him down the hallway, a gallery where they’d positioned spotlights to hit the artwork at precise sweet spots dictated by a professional curator flown in all the way from New York.

“Mr. Hurst, can you come with me?” she asked. “I’ve got some problems to show you in the back.”

He threw Jacy a smirk, though the smaller man was already out of sight. Small problems in the back, yeah right Alice, I bet you have them, Alice!

At the end of the long hallway a door closed, blocking out the daylight—as so many of these desert homes seemed designed to do. Probably better when you had things to hide.

Outside, in the brilliant sun, white-haired Bernard Jones inched his way up the Camino del Monte cul de sac and saw not just one but two Greco & Greco trucks in his driveway, parked on that almost imperceptible incline. So he had to park on the street. He didn’t like the idea of having to walk the forty or so extra paces to his door. It was hard enough getting out of the 911.

Jacy watched from the media room window, conveniently located at the front of the house, a window, which would soon be fitted with a custom removable blackout shade for movie nights. But today it was still just an empty window.

This is gonna be some trouble. Just what Connor Hurst has coming to him. White boy gets away with too damn much, about time someone kicked his ass! Jacy chuckled into his fist, a spasm of delight racing up his spine, making him jump.

Though Bernard Jones was a short old fart. Would they take it out to the pool, or maybe down to that tennis court? No, Mr. Jones wouldn’t want to get into it that way. He’d have a gun, probably close at hand. Probably had several, look at all this art in here. Plus, there weren’t many around Palm Springs who looked like the Joneses.

But sometimes loyalty trumps the desire one feels for right and wrong. Or maybe it was pure practicality, having to get along with your co-workers no matter who they were. Even if they were Connor Hurst. So Jacy moved into the hallway, a cheerful Indian ready to intercept the rich American.

Meantime Connor had got Alice up on all fours on her big bed, which was covered with a taut, blue-green abstract duvet with contrasting tan-black striped pillows, one of which her head was now buried in.

Her caftan was still partly on, bunched up in folds covering her shoulders and her neck, covering her face. Her beautiful cocoa ass pointed up toward the ceiling. Connor had just entered her, leaning over to whisper, “you like ‘em young, don’t you, Alice, you like ‘em white, too!”

Her voice was muffled by the pillows. “I like ‘em hard,” he thought he heard her say. He wasn’t exactly sure because there was commotion, activity unplanned and unwanted, somewhere not too far outside the bedroom door.

Bernard Jones was now in the hallway, the hallway gallery, where their important and expensive works of art had been positioned by the New York decorator with custom track lighting that had to be redone four times before Alice would approve it.

The heavy, dark wooden door at the end of the hallway, the door to his bedroom, was closed.

Bernard Jones headed toward it.

A short Indian was in the way. “We marked places in the sheetrock where your speakers will go, let me show you Mr. Jones,” the little man said, positioning himself directly in front of Bernard Jones, blocking his advance, trying to turn him around, then again, not trying too hard. “Let me show you the media room, man.”

“Get out of here, you fucking little bug! Alice?”

But Connor had already put it together. He was off poor old Alice, grabbing his pants, his Greco & Greco workshirt, his shoes, looking up to the ceiling for an instant, asking if she’d ever considered some “nice regal crown molding,” then easing himself behind the lux drapes and out the slider door. But not before Alice tossed him a couple of Benjamins—as well as his socks.

“Go!” she whispered, blowing him a kiss, already examining herself in the mirror, arranging the caftan back to its correct matronly order.

*   *   *

 

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New Project I’m Working On: Kept

2365800428_0cc260e6a8 The new book I’m working on – at least at this point I think it’ll be a book — is a rework of a movie script I’d written a few years ago, called “Kept.” As in, a “kept” woman or in this case, a “kept” man.

As this photo suggests to those who know some Southern California desert geography, the story does indeed take place in Palm Springs (thank you, unknown Flickr photographer, for sharing this great shot). There’s even a confrontational scene amongst the windmills out there.

What is the process of adapting a screenplay to a novel? I’m finding that some things which work in one art form definitely don’t translate that well to another. For instance, there’s a lot of action in “Kept,” which I assumed in a movie would be covered by editing, special effects, and perhaps a really healthy dose of suspension of disbelief. This won’t work on the novel page too well, if, let’s say, something’s not exactly believable, or is a real stretch.

That’s where some research has come in, to try to find some basis in reality for the actions these characters go through. One definite plus to the novel form is that you’ve got a lot more space to explain things. I think that’s more fun for the writer, too.

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Some of the themes to be explored in the novel “Kept” are, in no particular order: Hubris, Lust (both straight and gay), Greed, and these memes: Crime Doesn’t Pay. Passion is a Deadly Trap. Things Are Not Often What They Seem.

Some of it might be a bit noir-ish. After Dark, My Sweet, the 1990 James Foley film starring Jason Patric, Rachel Ward and Bruce Dern, which is based on a Jim Thompson  novel, was a big influence on me in the development of the script. (It’s also set in the desert, and features a major shootout at the Palm Springs Airport – see it if you haven’t. It also majorly stars Jason Patric’s well-formed ass, but I digress. . .)

My story is updated and centers on real estate crimes and is inclusive – meaning it covers the gamut of desert-y characters you’d find out there today: retired men and women, casino-owning Native Americans, Mexican immigrants, gays, WASP Republican politicians, drug dealers, US Marines, tourists, etc.

I hope to have it done next year. Questions?

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