In The Red Of The Night, Part I

In the beginning there was Kelly, and she was good. 

Upon graduating college and moving back to L.A., I quickly began experiencing a crushing, melancholic stress, due to a number of factors, amongst them: working at a talent agency, my ex-boyfriend's new, earthy girlfriend he'd moved into his grad student dorm after I turned down his offer to live there and communally shower with excessively hairy engineering students, and my first-floor apartment, which was driving me fucking crazy because it offered pedestrians on the sidewalk a clear view of me, crying into my rabbit's fur.

Trying to calm myself down-- and give my rabbit time to dry off-- very late one night, I maniacally flipped through my hundreds of TV channels, searching for an image of instantaneous solace.  I came upon Kelly, redheaded overnight HSN host.  She was selling strands of pearls.  She was describing all the tens of things you could do with this strand (a scene which I originally put in my second book, but I believe it either got shortened or cut).  I sat on the edge of my bed, mouth maybe open a little.  Nerves remarkably soothed.  Sharp edges dulled.  Kelly had the voice of butterfly wings tied to little bells.  She had a spunky elfin buzz cut.  But what was best about her was that she had a vulnerability she made no attempt to hide; she was, as they like to say, a big-boned girl.

Nearly every time she sold clothing, even the Storybook sweaters (if you don't know the line: shapeless cardigans more shamelessly themed than a Newport Beach Bat Mitzvah.  For example, the "Rock-a-Bye Baby" design features a stork, carriage, stuffed bear, toy blocks, rocking horse, crib mobile, stars, and other embellishments I can't make out in the photo.  Interestingly, the brand has the nerve to call only some of their offerings "novelty" sweaters.), she would bring up her size, which was often attached to a mention of her desire or recent failure to lose weight.  She reminded me of my weight-struggling sixth grade teacher who, while sitting and opening holiday presents, wearing an apron that had been gifted earlier, was secretly tied to her chair with the aforementioned apron's strings by some, uh, bad kids. 

Kelly had that same chipper surface that never convinced. And when selling shoes, Kelly would talk about how shoes always fit, no matter what you ate.    And when selling jewelry, she would talk about how maybe you should buy yourself a ring, even if maybe you weren't bikini material, because you're beautiful and you should love yourself no matter what.  The mouth smiled; the eyes didn't. 

Her free-floating melancholy kind of saved my life during that time, and when my life needed saving again earlier this year, I turned out all of my lights and turned to HSN, long unwatched.  But the channel gives it overnight shifts to newer hosts, still training, then moves them out to more wakeful hours once they establish technique and a following.  I discovered that Kelly had been lost to the day.

But then there was Rachel, and Rachel was better.

(to be continued.)

Comments

[Ryan Leaf]

I wouldn't mind bustin' a nut in Rachel's grill.

[Valeri]

What really upsets me about HSN is they talk to you in this soothing upbeat voice and it's like being hypnotized. After a good 20 minutes I'm convince I need - yes, need- that Fourth of July themed sweater. Because nothing is hotter than a giant flag and tiny knit stars plastered on a 27 year old.