Finding Jordan Catalano

So Lonely

“In this theatre that I call my soul, I always play the starring role…”

So Lonely

The Police

What if Jared Leto is a robot? I’ve had 3 encounters with the actor during my Hollywood party days and more evidence than not, points to yes.

The first encounter was at Amber Valletta the supermodel’s house. I think it was a party for Demi Moore’s birthday. I remember Demi’s hair cascading down her back, shining in the twilight. Ashton was beside her, attentive, doting.

I sat with my good friend Ali who’d invited me. She knew cool people, and she brought me along cause she knew I could somewhat behave. I complimented a woman at our table on the diamond ring adorning her right hand. She told me she’d just bought it for herself as a divorce present. I asked her the dreaded LA question of “What do you do?” She told me she was Mariah Carey’s stylist.

She was deep into her cups and added, “That bitch ruined my career,” she slurred kicking back more chardonnay. “I’d get her dressed and then later I’d see photos of her on the red carpet in jean shorts and a tube top.”

I often think about this woman and her fated, discarded styled looks. I hope she’s doing ok.

I eventually made my way into the house and the kitchen. I noticed a chocolate cake. I was about to cut myself a slice when Jared Leto walked in.

Being a child of the 1980’s meant I was a teen of the 90’s. The decade in which the greatest show on television would only run for one meager season…My So Called Life. Starring Claire Danes as the wistfully troubled American teen, Angela Chase, I was obsessed with this show. I even did a high school report on it.

The premise of the show was teen angst to the maximum. Angela Chase was in love with the high school heartthrob / mean-boy, Jordan Catalano played by none other than Jared Leto.

He was a lean, mean make-out machine. This character set up a generation of women to chase guys that treated them like garbage.

So back to the kitchen at the supermodels house. This was my chance. My big moment with Catalano. I can’t remember how it went really, but something like me saying to him, “Do you want some cake?”

He just looked at me with his blank Catalano stare. “It’s Vegan.”

How the fuck do you respond to that? I just stared back at him. THANKFULLY Rose McGowan came into the kitchen and literally pulled him away from me.

I headed back out to the patio where a gentleman approached me. He introduced himself, then pointed to another man across the yard.

“Do you know who that is?” he said pointing to a grey haired rocker type looking over at us with a shy demeanor.

I knew who it was. It was the guitarist from The Police, Andy Summers. I answered, “Yeah I know who he is.”

“Well he’d like you to go home with him,” the wing man stated. I laughed. Usually being the nice Canadian I am, I’d play along, make up an excuse and save the man’s ego. But at the time he was probably like around 65 years old.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I respond. “That shit might have worked in the 80’s but it won’t work with me.” I swigged my drink. “And lame… he can’t even talk to me himself? How gauche.”

I don’t think I’d ever used the term gauche before but it seemed fitting to address two old brits with no game.

The second encounter with the Bot / Leto was at the Roosevelt Hotel. He’d go a lot and kind of just linger by himself in corners, leaning on walls and doing who knows what. I guess things that robots do at parties. My friends and I would mingle in the lobby of the hotel and then go back into the club for drinks. I think we were still able to smoke cigarettes inside at that point but who knows really. Maybe we just smoked and didn’t give a fuck.

We’d wear the tightest dresses, the highest heels, the cheapest lashes and the reddest lips. The walking definition of hot mess.

Said Hot Messes

I’d spotted Leto a few weekends at the hotel, and I decided this was my night to redeem myself from the vegan cake fiasco. I mustered up all the courage my mini dress could handle and stumbled over to him. He was alone, as he always was. I hadn’t planned on what I would say so when I approached him, I panicked.

“Your new music video is off the hook,” I said. Instantly horrified.

“Thanks” he responded. Deadpan. Vacant cerulean.

I can see why he was cast as Catalano. He probably did the same thing to the casting director in the 90’s and she’s still wondering what went wrong with them 30 years later.

As I hadn’t planned my attack, I left it at that. Literally just spun my heels and walked back to my friends praying they didn’t see this interaction.

They saw.

“What did you say to Leto?” they ask.

I hung my head in shame.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” my friend Danielle asks again.

“Ugh, I told him his new music video was (ahem) Off the Hook.” (Might I mention that the video was about 3 years old, and his band 30 Seconds to Mars is an acquired taste in which I don’t have the palate for)

“Jesus” Danielle said, a look of sheer horror on her classic Hollywood siren face.

SHEER HORROR I TELL YOU.

“I know” I reply. I had fucked UP.

The encounter thrice was once again at our old haunt, the Roosevelt. This time outside at the pool bar and again with my partner in crime, Danielle. Knowing how I’d failed so many times before she decided to get in on the action.

“There’s Leto again” she said pointing to him. Standing unaccompanied next to a palm tree, adorned in all white denim. His azure eyes reflecting like silver lined pools in the moonlight.

“I’m gonna go talk to him for you” she decided.

“No please don’t, I’m so trashed tonite,” I say.

“We’re always trashed,” she said.

She had a point and immediately stormed towards Leto with determination.

I see her doing her famous drunken arm grabbing, pointing at me, while spilling her gin & tonic on the pool deck.

“Oh god this is bad,” I think to myself. He looks my way and I want to die. DIE.

She walks back over to me and says “I handled it…. told him my friend who’s a total babe wants to talk to him.”

OMG No. You didn’t.

She smiles at me like a devil in her blue dress and walks away.

Oh fuck… here he comes.

Leto centers himself square in my face. I don’t know if I smiled or just gave him back the same deceased robot stare.

He takes a beat, like any actor would / should.

“So… you must be the babe,” he says with any lack of human or even extraterrestrial emotion.

I know in that moment that this isn’t for me. I’m too drunk to live. I must escape.

“Yeahhhhhhh.” I moan and hightail out of there, leaving Leto alone in my dust.

At least high school me would be impressed.

There’s still a good possibility that he’s a bot though.