The Ghost of Grauman's

When you live somewhere big, sometimes friends come to visit. Of course, they come to the city to see you, but they also come to see the city through your eyes. You'll show them the Los Angeles you know. You'll present the city you think is worth seeing.

And, if you have a chance to spice it up, or offer something special to the days of landmarks and oddities, you do. Because that's what you do.

You can offer half a bed in the sunny little studio you love. The big windows face south, and in the eastern corner, three neon crosses light up the night sky. All of your friends should make the journey just to see that private little calvary. It keeps you company while your friends live far away from you.

In Los Angeles, you've become accustomed to free tickets. You see shows, you're in the audience, you happen onto performances. This time, just in time, you're given two tickets to the biggest night in the music industry. Your friend flies in. You spend the day showing him your Los Angeles. Then, an hour before you're supposed to leave, to take the subway downtown to the event, you both sit in your studio and contemplate forgoing.

"Do we have to?" you whine.

He sighs. "We could just hang out here," he suggests.

"Would we regret it?" you ask.

"Probably," he says and sinks deeper into the chair.

In the end, you get up. You get made up. You stomp to the subway where you witness a mugging and are almost assaulted yourself. Then you arrive at the biggest night in the music industry. You see celebrities. You watch performances. You applaud and you yawn.

"We could have watched this on television," you say.

"And not risk bodily harm," he says.

With the tickets, you were given access to an after party and free drinks. In Hollywood. You went all over the city that day, but not to Hollywood. Not yet. You save the boulevard for last.

In a nightclub on the top floor of a prestigious building, you gaze south over the city and marvel at the shimmer. The glow. The city's nerve endings on fire.

"Let's go," you say.

You walk the walk. Of fame. You stop on stars and say their names in unison. And in front of the grand Chinese theater, you linger. It's quite on the boulevard hours after midnight. No one is around but your shadows. You've entered the area full of hand prints. All the actors who pressed their palms in the mud. Their collected lifelines on display for eternity.

Out of a dark corner comes a stranger. His hair is wild, but his eyes are kind.

"I'm the Ghost of Grauman's," he says.

You freeze. You've already made it through one altercation tonight. You don't have the patience for another.

"I know every hand here," the ghost says. And you see his intent. He wants to put on a show for you. In the heart of Hollywood. You can't say no. Who would you be?

He points at your hand hanging by your hip. You lift it up for him to examine. He gives you a name, and leads you to her square. You sink your hands into the space where Joan Crawford commemorated her career. You feel a kinship for the woman. You feel a new compassion. There must have been more to her than bad mothering. Although, you realize that women aren't allowed to be bad at that. That is the one thing they must get right. No matter their other talents.

Your hands feel heavy and you pull them back quickly. The ghost smiles, as if he's seen that behavior before.

He turns toward your friend, who is more skeptical than even you. The ghost glances at his hands and says, "Tom Hanks." Together, you scoff. You walk over, lean down, and watch your friend's fingers slide into place.

"Like a glove," the ghost says.

He vaporizes. Folds himself back into the shadows. Tomorrow, tourists will come. They'll press their hands into the cement. They'll giggle over the novelty and give the ghost a bill or two.

There are worse ways to earn your keep in town, you think. The ghost knows his ground. You go back to your's, where the calvary burns up the corner of your view. You count the three crosses, you point them out to your friend. You can't look out the window and miss them. They sizzle in the periphery. You received the view for free with your little studio. They put on a show you no doubt will attend.