In Los Angeles your status is dictated by the kind of vehicle you zip around town in.
Sad, but true!
Makes sense, then, that when you pull up in front of "The Villa" - and a swarm of ravenous paparazzi descend on 'ya - that your Beamer, Benz, or boxy Volvo gleams under the light of the silvery moon.
God forbid you should be busted for a DUI in a late model sedan with a nick or two in the door and a swirl of dead leaves decaying beneath the windshield wipers.
At Santa Palm Car Wash in West Hollywood, a crew of uniformed experts is prepared to slap that auto into tip-top shape, but the detailing will cost you extra!
First time I heard the term - "detailing" - I shook my head.
Say what?
It's an anal retentive's ideal approach to a "car wash" - with an emphasis on painstaking nerve-racking attention - to the essential nitty-gritty. At Santa Palm, for instance, a gang of veritable whiz kids add sparkle to the chrome grill, luster to the interior headrests, and a dash of spit-and-polish to set off those hub-caps.
Yeah, no crevice, crack, or crawl space goes unchecked!
In a nutshell, it's a Hollywood-style fancy-smantzy way to extract a few extra bucks from the tony elite!
But, Santa Palm Car Wash stands out from the others - if only for its celebrated clientele - who swear by the foo-foo experience.
In fact, many of the glittering elite snap up a glossy still from their portfolio before they head out to the popular scrub joint, sign a heartfelt note to "Sam" (the owner), then mingle among the other notables out front as the minions work magic on their precious glide mobiles.
In the old days - when I first sauntered into Tinsel town with stars in my eyes - quite a few of the local merchants were inclined to tack up a dog-eared publicity still or two at the entrance of their establishment.
It was great for stirring up a bit of idle chit-chat - and a much-needed distraction - as the customers lolled about and waited patiently for the cashier to rustle up the dry cleaning or discreetly pack up and tally the liquor tab.
At Santa Palm the tradition is a class act!
At "Sam's", each keepsake is a veritable treasure; framed under pressed glass on a custom-made wall that stretches all along one side of the scrubbing paraphernalia.
The collection is quite amazing and includes: a dashing Dudley Moore astride a pristine Roll Royce; a perky Shirley Jones beaming a winning smile (a dead moth managed to settle inside the frame of her mug shot, somehow); a faded shot of Ann Miller (with a boa constricting her); a chubby-faced Rock Hudson lookin' a little worse for wear (must have been in the "McMillan and Wife days". That catered food will pack on the pounds, fer sure!), and one of my faves, actress Ann Gillian (I acted in "This Wife for Hire" with the sexy talented woman a few years back).
In addition to the actors, mixed in for good measure, are a handful of celebs from the music biz; The Temptations, in a snazzy band shot; Kiss, dolled up in a ghoulish, signature get-up; Cher, with her foot resting on a barbell, of all things (must have been in the days when she was into bagel boys, I guess); and Edgar Winter caressing his horn.
Some photos are faded, others poorly lit. A few are slick and professional, with the names of Managers and Agents stylishly etched on the edges, for easy reference. 'Ya never know, the exposure may land a bookin'.
On occasion, the personalities peer out like old friends from the past; for example, Sally Struthers posing in her thin days; gorgeous Farrah Fawcett enticing gawkers with a publicity still taken at the height of her poster power (when teen-age boys pined for her as a Charlie's Angel); Jimmy Connors spinning a winning ball; while a weathered mug of Columbo comforts, as he tokes on a crusty cigar.
Holy cheese whiz, Batman! There's Robin in his kitschy get-up, too.
So many stars in the great firmament.
And a mug or two that faded away into oblivion.
Maybe memory doesn't serve me well, but there appears to be a face - and a name or two - that just don't jangle any bells.
Don Blanton? Blair Ashley? And who the heck is the male fitness model - with just one name - Sebastian?
Speaking of one name-wonders...Angelina didn't make the cut, doesn't grace the wall; but, Fabio does - go figure!
Yup, pecker - um - pec power goes a long way in Tinsel town.
Ah, all the stars that never were, are pumping gas and parking cars?
Then, there are the "Tony Orlandos", plugging weight-loss programs for suburbanites, waiting for the fickle finger of fate to turn around.
Heh, come backs are big in Hollywood.
Hold on to that memorabilia; it may be worth big bucks one day!
