July 19th, 1995

## Lon

\*\*\*Posted July 20th, 1995

**7/19 4:00 pm**Joanne calls me at about 5:30 this morning. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?" I shouted. C'mon, who's original that early in the morning?

"I'm calling to help you," she tells me.

In my state of half sleep, I found a shred of bravery to confront her. "Joanne, we can't play this scene anymore. We have to get off this roller coaster relationship before we've both completely derailed."

"Are you finished with the cliché metaphors?" She responded as cool as ever.

"Uh, yeah....I guess," I replied as uncool as ever.

She began, "I have an inside tip on a national commercial you'd be perfect for. They're looking for ethnic jock types. The auditions are this morning; that's why I called so early. Are you interested?" "Uh...yeah." Man, did I feel like a fool!

The auditions were downtown. Joanne was nice enough to give me directions and the name of the casting director. Technically, you're only supposed to go on these calls if your agent sends you, but most actors in town tip each other off and crash these calls whenever possible. I signed in and sat in the waiting room with about 30 other ethnic jock types. They gave me my sides (sides are the dialogue an actor auditions with.) I never thought to ask what kind of commercial it was. Jock itch product.... alright, I can relate.

So, after signing in, they have me wait 54 minutes before acknowledging my presence. (I'm not complaining, I just thought you might be interested in the details of commercial auditions.) I stand in front of a table of several distinctly Hollywood types. The casting director, a tall attractive Asian woman, tells me to act natural and deliver my lines to the video camera.

I took a deep breath and delivered my lines: "When I play, I play to win. Otherwise, I might as well be sitting on the bench." My mind begins to whirl...my instant evaluation of my performance is that I over emphasized the "play to win" part.

A young director type whispers to the casting director. She turns and says to me "That's fine, Lon. Can you read it again, only this time, be more itchy and irritated?"

Now how does one interpret this? Do I scratch my crotch and make an irritated face while I state "Play to win?" No, my instincts tell me not to take the direction quite so literally. My instincts were wrong...after delivering my lines again, only this time a bit more "itchy and irritated", the director guy shouts "No! You have to be ITCHY and IRRITATED! So itchy and irritated, the home viewer NEEDS to scratch himself!" What was I to do? I reached into my jeans, and scratched myself while reading the lines.

The director guy smiled. I think I'm getting a call back.

Meanwhile, back at The Spot:

Britt, Carrie and I, The three blind unemployed mice, are throwing a Bon Voyage for Tara. I'm sure you've heard she's going to France for a week. Any excuse for a party, huh? We've having a meeting to discuss details tonight.

For you Daisy Diary watchers; I'm posting a piece of two Shara entries -- starting with June 12, 1967.

July 19th, 1995
## Tara

\*\*\*Posted July 20th, 1995

**7/19/95**"He sings a song and I listen to what it says..... if you want a friend, feed any animal..."

I didn't know what to do with myself last night after I made my Spot entry. I fidgeted for a while, cleaned out my desk, and finally lit a candle, turned on some Jane's Addiction and sprawled out on the floor. I used to do this as a kid (but with Zeppelin instead of Jane's). It was my own brand of meditation. This continued until the evening my father burst through the door and asked me disgustedly if I was a Witch. I was embarrassed to hell --- it would have almost been less humiliating had he caught me masturbating. My little meditation ritual felt like the most personal moments in my adolescent existence. Last night, I tried to rekindle that emotional flame within myself. I turned on the music..loud... and someone else walked in.

I was deep inside my head, breathing with the music. Didn't even notice the door ever opening, but it must have, because in the darkness, I felt a warm body stretch out next to me. I didn't have to look to know it was Jeff.

Fear paralyzed me, but only for a moment. He lay there silent. I couldn't ask what he wanted or what he was doing; it was just like the other day, with "A Clockwork Orange" -- he sat close; I could hear him breathing, but he didn't make a move. I was burning inside -- I had to do something. Even if he rejected me, I had to find out what would happen if..... I raised my head up to look at him and.... Owww! I conked my forehead on the bed frame. What an idiot. I held my head with my palm, hoping that it at least it wouldn't swell. Glad I didn't give myself a concussion. Jeff turned toward me, sitting up on one arm....and looked right into my eyes. The candlelight hit him from behind, and for the briefest of seconds, Jeff Benton looked like an angel. Then he started laughing.

It was quiet at first, his laughter. Almost under his breath. Then, as the music crescendoed, he got louder, more sinister. I was confused; hitting my head could not have been all that funny. My head was aching and all I wanted was for Jeff to stop being so cruel. I moved in closer and touched his cheek. Jeff flinched. And then he uncoiled my arm and pushed me away.

"I'm singing in the rain......" This was no Gene Kelly in my midst. With the look Jeff had in his eye, I thought he just might hurt me.

"So how's your project going, Tara?"

"Huh?" I said.

"Heard you've got the whole world tuning in. Quite an accomplishment.....did you really hurt your head? Well," he said, "what comes around goes around. I'm sure you know all about that. Do you know what I heard?"

I thought he was patronizing me. I was trembling now; unsure which of my invasions of his privacy he had found out about.

"Isn't your own life interesting enough?" he said.

His parents! Oh God... "Jeff....what can I say to you? I'm sorry. I was wrong. I'm not an evil person, I just wanted you to...."

"I told you in confidence!" His voice broke for a second, then the fury came right back. "You couldn't have just expected me not to find out. I may not be part of your little computer world, but I do live in this house.... "

Who betrayed my trust, I wondered? Was it one of my house mates, or a visitor? Was it one of you?

"I may keep to myself, Tara, but I still know what's going on with every single one of you. Lon and his human octopus, Carrie and Han -- her boss..."

Jeff made the slightest attempt to cover his knuckles, without ever looking away from me. I gave his hand a glance; it was bruised.

"Jeff.....?"

The C.D. played "No one Is Leaving" and then stopped cold. My bedroom fell silent.

"I know it was you...." I said to Jeff. I was regaining my strength. "You're the one who did that to Hank."

He softened again and started tracing the outline of my now swelling forehead with his rough fingers. I shuddered.

"No, Tara. I could never do a thing like that." He smiled and kissed my forehead. "You really hurt your head."

Too much was happening all at once. Jeff had beat up Hank because of what Hank had done to Carrie. What do I make of that? And about his parents...I felt really horrible. I closed my eyes, and Jeff lifted my arms above my head and kissed me. Suddenly, all the snooping, spying....all of it was stepping stones for this moment. Was this what I had wanted? He grabbed my hands, clasping them in his, then slowly pulled himself on top of me. He was unusually tender in his ferocity.

Jeff left in the morning, just as I was waking...the room still smells like him and it's already afternoon.

"I want you to be part of The Spot project. A real part of it." I said. I was feeling bolder now; he was now slightly less of a mystery.

"I have nothing to say," he said. "Nothing I want the world to know."

"You don't have to reveal your personal secrets if you don't want to. Just post something that's important to you."

He kissed me softly, and walked out of my room.

Now the whole issue of feelings comes into play. I am more confused than ever. Sex for women often becomes a wellspring for every emotion -- all directed toward the object of their affections. And now sitting here alone, I don't know what to make of what happened. Especially with a man as closed off from the world as Jeff.

Hold on -- Lon is calling me. Gotta save real quick (nobody here knows about this, obviously.)

I'M BACK!

Lon just brought me downstairs to have a little house pow wow -- he, Carrie, Britt, and Michelle were apparently discussing Friday's party, when Michelle practically burst into tears about her brother coming to visit. I think Lon thinks I am Superwoman....he asked me to come and save the day (or was that Mighty Mouse?) I tried my best. Michelle seems to have some dark past involving her brother, and what I got from what she said (which was extremely non-specific) she wants us to give him the cold shoulder when he comes in tomorrow. I wonder why he's visiting if things are so rotten between them. We all have our secrets. Mine alone are multiplying by the second. ; )

Tara

**July 19th, 1995**
## Michelle

\*\*\*Posted July 20th, 1995

**7/19**Get ready to meet the man who won't take no for an answer. That's right, Teddy Foster, world importer, will be landing at The Spot on Friday.

How did this happen you ask? Teddy called me yet again last night, looking to "finalize" plans for staying here this weekend. I tried every excuse in the book, but he kept plowing ahead, oblivious as hell. I closed the subject by me saying, "Why don't you call me on Thursday?" We started talking about other things: my modeling career, life at The Spot and the weather.

Then, as we were saying our final good-byes , Teddy says "Great, see you tomorrow," and hung up. Just like Teddy.

So he's coming. I went to my house mates for support.

Carrie, Lon and Britt had called a house meeting to discuss the party on Friday night. Carrie, Lon and Britt showed up. They were discussing the pros and cons of streamers when I walked into the living room. I explained the problem of my "unwanted house guest," and asked for support. They prodded me for specific gripes against my brother. They probed and probed and couldn't get past the fact that I felt too awkward to talk about it. I started to get upset. They looked at each other, not knowing what to do, so Lon went to get Tara. It was like having to talk to "mom." I didn't want my private life to be an "event" at The Spot.

They thought I should just be honest with my brother. But I could never do that. We don't have that kind of relationship. I don't have that kind of authority over him. Tara said that they would be around the house to support me once he showed up. I guess that is the best that I am going to get.

Other news: I was on the phone trying to make "cemetery" plans with Steven. Britt overheard me and came over. I was expecting a slew of sarcastic remarks. Instead, she seemed intrigued by the ghost. We talked for a while. She was very knowledgeable of "Paranormal Behavior," which makes sense. Her relationship with Carrie is getting more and more "paranormal."

July 19th, 1995
## Carrie

\*\*\*Posted July 20th, 1995

**7/19/95**
Can you say, "Party!?"

We'll need noisemakers, hats, pin the tail on the donkey and lots and lots of frosty cake. You'd think that's what I was suggesting.

**Spot Meeting:**

* 7/19/95

* 4:32 PM

**Attendees:**

* Lon Oliver

* Britt Allen

* Carrie Seaver

* with a special appearance by: Tara Hartwick

**Here for her Group Therapy: Michelle Foster**

**No shows:** Jeff Benton (who would've guessed)

**Meeting Minutes:**

If you've been reading my entries so far, you probably know that I'm not the type to brag or take credit where credit isn't due... so you'll know I'm being honest when I say, the Party was my idea and I called the meeting to discuss it. Don't let anyone tell you different.

Here was my plan: We keep it intimate and informal, invite close friends, relatives, have some wine and cheese, sit by the fireplace and share our European dreams. I thought we should build a paper mache model of the Eiffel tower and hang a sign on it that said, "Bon Voyage" Tara.

Lon and Britt stared at me like I was trapped in a Garland/Rooney musical

"Come on, guys, it'll be fun!" I tried.

Lon began... "Carrie, dear, darling, sweety. This is The Spot. The Spot does not have small intimate gatherings. The Spot has massive, booze guzzling, sex inducing, cat fight promoting, senseless bashes that end up with police pumping the keg, parties!"

"But..." Then Michelle burst into tears, "I can't even think about a party now."

"What's the matter, Michelle." we chimed together.

"He can't come here!"

"Who Michelle" we asked in unison.

"My brother, the monster! I don't want him staying here, not after everything he did to me!"

"What'd he do, Michelle?" we droned as one.

"Trust me, you don't want to know! He just can't come here."

She dropped to the floor and cried. Britt flashed me a smile. Lon tried to comfort her, realized he was out of his league and quickly ran to get Tara.

Whatever had happened between Michelle and her brother, one thing was sure... our party meeting was over and our Michelle meeting had begun.

I like Michelle and I'm glad to talk to her and try and help her out. But two things I just don't buy...

1. ﻿﻿﻿Obviously waiting for our meeting in order to turn the attention to herself.
2. ﻿﻿﻿Creating enigma's around her problems that the rest of us have to solve before we can even try and help her.

When Michelle said, "You don't want to know," I had half a mind to say,

"You're right, I don't."

"Come on, Michelle. Tell us all about it and we'll see if we can work this out together." Is what I actually said.

Tara was able to calm Michelle down, but was equally unsuccessful at mining any more facts. We never did find out what was so hideous about Michelle's brother. And we never did finish planning the party. It seems the only thing I've managed to salvage from my original plan was the Eiffel tower... sort of. Everyone agreed on a cake with Eiffel tower icing.

July 19th, 1995
## External links

* Lon's entry
* Tara's entry
* Michelle's entry
* Carrie's entry