Therapist Exposes the Reality of the Beverly Hills Mindset

April 29th, 2026, 3:57 pm 

I had been out of a relationship in Los Angeles for about six years so it felt like a breakthrough to meet a woman who seemed responsive.

Montana.

Big Eyes from a Big Sky; her beauty, disturbing the peace; it was even hard for me to make eye contact; I kept my glances quick, furtive; I wasn’t in control; I felt captured by an alien beam of of alien beauty - it made me feel weak, foolish even; and superficial too. “Focus, Louis. Tell the story.” That's what the internal monologue said.

She had moved to New York to pursue her potential as an actress.

“The people I met,” she said. “None of them ever made it in the business. Do you know anyone who ever made it?”

“I know a woman,” I said. “Who became the mother of the Wizards of Waverly Place,” I said. 

She laughed. “I’m familiar,” she said. 

“She married a friend of mine named David Barrera when I worked at UCLA doing research on homeless people.” 

“You did research?” 

“Yeah,” I said. “I used to go into Compton and put homeless people in my car,” I explained. “First real job out of college so I wouldn't have to move back to Sacramento.”

“What was that like?”

“Some homeless people smell like feces,” I said. “Intense.” 

She laughed, “Why in your car?”

“We had to track homeless people for two years, and sometimes that meant driving through Compton in back alleys, and dumpsters.”

“In Compton?”

“It’s actually gotten worse form the nineties,” I said. “Back when I did the study, being homeless was kind of a novelty - very niche. Now, it’s mainstream.”

She giggled, “So you would find homeless people in Compton?” 

“Yes,” I said. “One time I got in trouble for it.” 

“You did?” 

“My boss, Michelle Parra - this lady getting her PhD at UCLA called me into her office one day and explained that it was statistically impossible for me to find all the homeless people I did. She said that they had incidents where research assistants had pocketed the research money and made up data, and she wanted to go through the list of my participants to make sure I had really found them.” 

“Did you?” she asked me, very curious. 

“I went through the list with her, and she wanted a detailed story about how I had found each participant.” 

“How did it go?”

“She repeated that it was statistically impossible to find homeless people like I had,” I told her. “And she wanted to apologize for doubting my narrative. She asked me how I found one of the guys no one else could find; and I told her that I had to look through the prison database to find him, and that eventually I convinced a prison guard to help me convince him to do an interview. Eventually, I got him on the phone; when I was done with the interview he told me he couldn’t accept the money so he asked me to send him Dean Koontz’s latest novel. 

“So you obviously talked to him?” My boss asked me. 

“Yes,” I said. 

“The problem, Louis, is that my boss who applies for all of these grants has to have credible data in this population segment, and the computer is showing that it's statistically impossible - the rate at which you found these homeless individuals.”

”Statistically impossible?”

”My boss, Dr. Rotheram, wants me to go through all of your data to make sure you didn’t make it up,” she explained. “I’m sorry,” she said. “She’s a world-renowned, and I told her I know you well. She thinks the person behind this data made it up."

“Did you make any of it up?” My date asked me. 

“I walked her through the list, and I how I had found every homeless person on the list,” I said. “She couldn't believe the lengths I had went to..."

“You did all that to find him?” 

“Yeah,” I told her. “I found one of the actors from Different Strokes - Todd Bridges - inside a half-way house in Venice at Lincoln and Venice.”

”You did?” 

“It made me sad," I told her. "It was kind of surprising to see him living in those conditions.” I told her. "On Different Strokes he was rich."

”I saw Todd Bridges, but I've also seen Gary Coleman,” I told my date.

"Really?"

”Yeah,” I said. “Can you believe it?”

“So, what happened? Did your boss give you an award for finding the most homeless people?”

”Actually, it felt like I got in trouble," I said.

”Why?”

”Because I never mailed the guy the book,” I said.

"Why not?"  

“It wasn't my job to go to the post office,” I said. "But I did feel like I was too good at my job. After that, I tried less."

”What?” She said, laughing. 

“Yeah,” I said. “It was just a survival job. I wasn't trying to attract too much attention.

She laughed, “You're kinda of a bad ass,” she said. 

“Huh?”

”The way you found all those people ,” she said, repeating, deeper, slower. Her energy had shifted. I could tell that the scarier I made the story, the more she would like it...I decided just to tell her the truth...tell her everything...maybe she would enjoy it...and not think I was strange.

Her anticipation made me feel giddy, excited to tell a story.

It's never quite happened for me this way before...the very last date I had in Los Angeles...would be one that I would never forget.

Did you say you would_

[No, but I listened…to the request.

I just never mailed him a oil.

 Did you tell you r

obss_sh never asked me. She just wanted to know fi the interviews I had done were real. 

“Do you ever do anything wrong on purpose?” 

I paused, looking at her kind of funny. “Do you ever do anything wrong on purpose?”

“Yeah,” she said with a buoyant smile. 

“On purpose?” 

“Yeah,” she repeated. 

“I don’t think I do anything wrong on purpose,” I told her. “Why would I do that?”

She giggled out loud, “I just wanted to ask you that,” she said. “You’re very funny.” 

I paused, wondering if maybe she was being sarcastic and I couldn’t detect it.

The lady arrived with the appetizer.

She looked at the dish, like she had been waiting for it…she was hungry. It was obvious. “Are we going to share this?” 

“I”m going to eat your left overs,” I told her. 

She giggled. “I want us to share.”

When she said “us” it felt like the conversation had shifted; her energy had suddenly changed, she was laughing more. She hadn’t even ordered wine yet. “I”ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time,” she told me. “You’re very patient.” 

I stayed quiet. 

“I’ve made you go through a lot to me in person,” she admitted. “This city is full of creeps,” she told me. 

“It is?”

She thought that was funny too, “Yes, she said. I talk to a lot of them.” 

“You do?”

“I’ve been offered lots of money to have sex with my clients.”

“Really?” 

“Millions of dollars. Cash money on the table.” 

“Really?” 

“This town is crazy, Louis.” 

“It is?” 

Somehow, she thought that was funny too. “So…this interactive story of yours. How many characters do I get to be?” 

“Three max,” I told her. “But that doesn’t include yourself.”

She thought that was funny too. 

“How does the story begin?” she asked. 

“Right here. Right now,” I told her. “You and I are in a story right now.”

“What are we doing in this story?”

“Figuring out if we’re a Ying and a Yang,” I said. 

“A Ying and a Yang?”

“And Adam and Eve,” I said 

“How?”

“We’ll spend time together talking, telling stories, doing activities.” 

“What kind of activities?” 

“We’ll pretend,” I said. 

“Pretend what?” she insisted. 

“It’s all choices,” I explained. “You get to make a bunch of choices that will determine if maybe we’re each others Adam and Eve…and we will will leave one another with the knowledge of whether or not we belong together.” 

“We will?”

“Yes,” I said. 

“How are you so sure?”

“Because,” I said. “I’m a good scientist. I don’t want to take your time from you; but I want to see if we’re a match - our frequency.” 

“How are you going to do that?” 

“It’s a story, like a choose your own adventure.” 

She paused, wide-eyed - as if the roller coaster was about to descend, “Okay,” she said. “It’s like a story with games,” she said. “I like it.” 

And that’s when maybe I realized that she might be exactly my type. 

Adventurous. 

Playful. 

Curious. 

Brave. 

I began to get feelings of unworthiness - she seemed excessively charismatic in her way, her demeanor was infectious - she maybe laughed to much at what I said - and she was responsive to my every word, like she listened to the world as it fell from my mouth…and I have to admit…no one has ever listened to me like that…no one…and I was wondering…why out of all people…it was her…