Often in hotels—no matter where they are in the world—a peaceful night isn’t always a given. Not so here. They had put me in a VIP suite on the top floor at the end of a hall where no one or nothing could disturb me. Even though I wasn’t able to go out on the town and enjoy Hollywood like I would have liked, it was okay. My friend, pianist Oksana, a regular performer at the Beverly Hills Hotel and less than five minutes from where I was staying, had invited me to come as her guest and hear her perform. This was the weekend the Mel Gibson story broke, and Oksana was named as one of the women that caused the breakup of Mel’s marriage. (As it turns out this Oksana is happily married to husband Alex and happens to be 4 months pregnant with their first child. The only relationship she has ever had with Mel was one of performer/guest at the Polo Lounge where she plays.) I knew the craziness surrounding her, while the media was sorting through the mess, was at a fevered pitch; so I decided to take a pass on that invitation, too. This was one of those times you just had to stick to business and save the pleasure for another day.

Saturday was here. Today was the day—the day for Joshua to ‘bring it’ and the day for Cory to capture it.

A cover is critical to any magazine. It can make or break an issue. It can make you want to open it and read what’s inside or not. Today, Cory would shoot the shot that would ultimately be chosen for the cover. I wanted it to be fabulous. I wanted the reader to see it and say, “Wow, that’s amazing.” Then, open it and read my interview—and the rest of the issue, of course! The cover and the feature story should go together like a Reese’s cup—peanut butter wrapped in chocolate—an ideal match. I wasn’t the least bit concerned. I had already discussed with the publisher the look we were trying to achieve. I had already gone over it with Cory and everyone was creatively on the same page. I had the utmost confidence in Cory’s skills and Joshua’s photogeniality to bring that vision to life. (I think I coined a new word here?)

I had been up for hours making calls, checking emails, and an occasional text—the usual tech stuff that makes you feel connected when you’re far from home. Mostly, though, I was tending to my injuries. We were now officially into day 3 of the aftermath of attack of the killer suitcase, and my leg was still showing the signs of the struggle. In fact, it was hot to the touch, something like a low-grade fever. I couldn’t afford to panic, and I sure wasn’t going to try and seek medical attention at this point, on a Saturday, when I’d made it this far and knew I’d be heading home early the next day.

This had to be a totally casual, dress-down, try and be as comfortable as you can be, day for me. There was no need for suits or fancy fair. My new pzpower baseball caps were hot off the press. They come in two colors: grey or black with black embroidery on one and fuchsia on the other. I had tossed a few in my carry-on bag and had given both Joshua and Cory hats yesterday. There was only one left. The black one with the fuchsia embroidered logo, paired with jeans and a simple neutral blouse would be my wardrobe choice. The jeans weren’t the skinny legs so they barely touched against the carefully wrapped dressing underneath, but not close enough to pull it loose. I threw on my gold hoops, a hammered gold necklace, my standard wrist wear and that was it.

Andre was due to pick me up mid-day at the hotel. He was exactly on time—an all too rare and refreshing quality. What a sweet man—classy and charming very much like Cory. I could instantly see how they could be connected. Being friends and photographers in L.A., he had worked together with Cory on countless projects in the past. This was a shoot where Cory wanted his participation and Andre was happy to oblige.

Andre was familiar with the best route to Cory’s house and lucky for us the chaotic L.A. traffic was shy of chaotic and just starting to build. We managed to zip our way through with no backups or problems. No sooner were we in the door when my Blackberry dinged and it was Joshua saying, “Almost there.” I held the phone down so Cory could read the message. He and Andre got busy setting up the space for this specific shoot.

The studio was the most welcoming atmosphere, and I knew Joshua would be able to shine in this environment.

I’ve been on a lot of photo shoots—some for others, some for me. Every one is different. Every photographer works differently from another. Some shoots are fun and some are a pain. Some are serious and some are seriously a disaster. There are times a photographer can take hundreds of shots and there won’t be a good one in the bunch. Other times you have difficulty choosing because so many are stunning. I was wishing for some stunners.

Everything was in place and ready to go when Joshua came through the open front door. The subject for any cover shoot has to bring their personality and energy to the shoot so when the camera clicks the photographer gets something worth sharing with the world. Joshua is the current champion of So You Think You Can Dance and is known for his incredible hip hop moves and his inspiring story. Natural Muscle is a magazine that reaches an audience of health and fitness enthusiasts. I am a motivational writer with a message of empowerment. To put Joshua on this cover represents my message, a fit and fabulous artist, and a symbol of the American dream in action. Cory’s job is to capture that philosophy. Joshua’s job is to give him something to capture.

I’ve got to say, Joshua was not 100% when Cory began. The initial photos were not “keepers” and Cory knew his subject was capable of much more than what he was giving. He seemed a little distracted, a little tired, and a little something that I’m not quite sure what it was. In my own unique style, I pointed out to Joshua what I was seeing. He told me he was getting over a professional disappointment that had recently occurred and was mad with himself for letting it get him down and a little out of his game. I reminded him what producer Nigel Lythgoe had told him and the top 6 dancers towards the end of the show. He said that they would face rejection—all dancers do, all people do—but he would have to be prepared and remain strong and carry on.

I told him he needed to really ‘bring it’ and focus solely on Cory and the moment. I reminded him how lucky and blessed he was to have someone of Cory’s caliber taking such an interest in him and going the extra mile that so many other photographers wouldn’t. It wasn’t long before he shifted into another gear and everything changed.

The shoot was quite an experience. Joshua took every direction and hit every mark time and again. Andre and Cory were in awe with every click as the movement they were attempting to catch was caught at its peak. I was there. I saw the poetry in motion. I saw the seemingly effortless effort Joshua exerted over and over. I’m not sure Joshua knows how wonderful he is. I’m not sure he has had the experience yet in his young career to know how far he can actually go. I’m not sure Cory knows how wonderful he is, either. I stood behind him with my little Cannon Power Shot and took my own set of pictures—the anatomy of a photo shoot. I was in awe of both of them.

In the end, we got the shots we wanted. The only thing I didn’t have was a shot of me with Joshua. On a good day, I’m not particularly photogenic. I don’t take good pictures—never have. Having said that, you can imagine how hard it was for me to agree to have my picture taken with Joshua feeling so ill-prepared? But, I couldn’t let this trip end without some small photo record that it happened. Reluctantly, I let Cory click off five shots—only five. That was enough. That would have to do.

Cory had opened his home and his studio to us for hours. He and Andre were the perfect host of a photo shoot that wasn’t typical by any means. I hope someday Joshua will have enough shoots under his hip hop hat to look back and realize was a special day this was.

Joshua packed his outfits and loaded them in his cute little sports car. He yelled goodbye again as he got in the car and headed down the road to take on the rest of his life. I was ready to head back to the hotel and Andre was ready to see I got there safe and in tact. I made Cory promise that when my next book was finished that I would come back and he would shoot me. He promised he would. I gave Cory a hug and we departed. There’s more to tell, but I think I’ll stop here.

Since my trip I’ve had time to reflect. The magazine is out, the cover is designed, the story is written, and it all came together as I hoped it would. My leg is still not okay, but I’m okay. I love what I do and am privileged to know my purpose in life. I went to L.A. to interview a young man with a dream who is living that dream. I didn’t let the events that could have gotten in the way get in the way. I didn’t let vanity or injury stop me from showing up and getting the job done. I met some incredible new faces along the way. I’m encouraged by the giving spirit of human beings in the midst of such trying times.

So yes, I am glad I went. I am glad I met Joshua. It was worth it. He is such a gem. I hope he enjoyed our time together as much as I did. I hope he remains in touch. I hope someday we can hook-up when he’s an even bigger star. I hope he remains humble and grateful and true to everything that he believed when his journey began. I hope you enjoy the cover and the story and appreciate what it took to bring it to you.

Pz~

Read the Interview!

Here was the plan: I’d arranged for Joshua to come to the hotel suite in the morning, Friday, around 11am and I’d conduct the interview first. Cory, the very cool and talented photographer, had graciously agreed to come afterward and shoot some lifestyle shots, saving the cover shoot for, Saturday, the following day at a different location.

Getting dressed was a chore. I decided to wear a basic black and white ensemble with vest, scarf, and a grey trusty newsboy cap. (I love hats and don them often, so it had nothing to do with trying to camouflage my bruised face.) The end result wasn’t great but it wasn’t horrible either.

So now that I’ve managed to make myself reasonably presentable it was time to take on the day. There was prep work to set the room up for the interview. My mandatory tape recorder would sit on the table between the couch and the sofa. Problem was, there was no outlet close enough to accommodate the cord length. I called Delores at the front desk and asked it the hotel could please provide an extension cord. Within 15 minutes a sweet, happy-go-lucky guy named Juan was knocking. In no time flat, the furniture was moved, the cord in place, and the hook up ready to go. Juan refused my efforts to give him a tip stating it was his pleasure to assist and if I needed anything else to ring him up immediately.

Through the sheers I could see a bright sunny sky and knew the L.A. weather was cooperating in a big way. I put my shades on under my comfy hat and made my way down to the lobby and the valet stand. The two men on duty, Mario and Worku, already knew I was expecting guests and assured me they would provide red carpet service every step of the way. It’s always nice to make people feel special and welcome and I knew I had no worries for when Joshua and Cory arrived. The word had gotten around, too, about my injury and Mario inquired if I wished to seek medical service or did I need anything from the CVS that was up on Sunset Blvd? I graciously said I didn’t need either, at the moment, thanked him and Worku for being so considerate, and made my way back upstairs to relax and wait. (Ahh, this place—I love this place—the people, so very, very nice!)

As it turned out, we moved Joshua’s arrival time up and decided to have Cory do his thing first, and I’d do the interview on the end of the shoot. That way Joshua would be comfortable and know me a little better and Cory would be done in a reasonable time and could enjoy the rest of his Friday evening. It was a win-win. Ironically, both guys showed up at the hotel almost the same time. Mario rang and told me Joshua was on his way up while Cory called to say he was just pulling in outside and would be up straight away.

Finally, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find a guy I didn’t know, but felt like I knew, standing there smiling, cuter and more adorable in person than I could have imagined. Television does not do him justice and ladies, I’ve gotta tell you, he is just so damn cute. Although we had talked and exchanged text messages over the course of months, Joshua and I had never met—until now.

We hugged and laughed and exchanged pleasantries. With Cory soon to arrive there was no time to sit and get better acquainted. I wanted Joshua to get his outfits laid out and ready so Cory could choose and they could get started with the shoot. As he began to pull out tops and pants and vests and hats and shoes I couldn’t help but observe him during those first few minutes. He seemed friendly, extremely friendly, but cautious—I think living in L.A. has toughened him a bit—in a good way. By that I mean, for his own good. I realized he doesn’t know me—really know me—and isn’t exactly sure what to expect from me and our time together. Naturally, he would be cautious but I sensed, too, he was sizing up the situation and me.

Before long Cory Sorensen was at the door—camera and equipment in hand—ready and raring to go. Everybody greeted everybody and I was glad that there was noticeably good chemistry in the room—we were off to a great start.

(The suite, as it turned out, was perfect and the walls and layout of the room perfect—what good fortune. Cory couldn’t have been more pleased about the backdrop. Debbie Baigrie—owner of Natural Muscle Magazine—and I had given a lot of time and thought to selecting the right location to stay in Hollywood and this was a real hit. )

Now Cory calmly and methodically orchestrated Joshua through the shoot pointing to a shirt or jacket or cap or chain, directing him within the walls of the hotel suite to make some magic with the camera. And the shoes. . .there were yellow shoes and fushia shoes and so many colors of shoes. I was the side kick—reminding Joshua of funny moments from the show and contributed to bringing out the best in him—which doesn’t take much coaxing. He is a natural and a wonderful subject for any photographer. Cory, having taken pictures of many people—famous and not so famous—gave Joshua the star treatment with such deliberate care. I was thrilled to see how much he seemed to be enjoying our time together.

The kitchen was stocked with a basket of goodies and snacks and the fridge had the usual choice of beverages. At this point, Joshua had exerted a lot of energy and needed some nourishment. He asked if the stuff in the basket was okay to eat. He munched on a granola bar and some chips and grabbed a bottle of punch from the fridge. Cory clicked and clicked and clicked some more. Joshua changed into a combination of his most comfortable but cool outfits and posed and posed and posed some more. After over 3 hours we called it a wrap. Cory gave Joshua some instructions for Saturday, gave him directions to his studio, and told him what a great job he did. He then packed up his equipment and headed out. This shoot was designated the lifestyle shoot and tomorrow we would shoot the cover at a different spot—Cory’s studio at his home. I walked Cory to the door and sincerely thanked him for the attention he gave to this shoot. He told me he would be sending his friend and sometime assistant Andres to pick me up tomorrow at around noon and we’d converge with Joshua.

With Cory gone it was time to get down to business. There are certain givens I always do when interviewing: I always tape my interviews—keeps everyone honest and you never have to worry about misquoting or misstating information. I always have my questions written out on a yellow tablet—just something that works for me. I always ask more than I need. I always do extensive research. I’m always prepared as much as possible. I always give it my all—my complete and undivided attention. Joshua grabbed another cold drink and we began. He sat in the big oversized chair. I sat on the couch yellow pad in hand and tape recorder running.

I walked Joshua through a series of questions. We covered a ton of topics: his childhood, his time during the auditions, his time on the show, the dances, the dancers, the choreographers, winning, the tour, the time since the tour, and the future. He was open and forthright with his answers. Some questions I asked were personal—real personal—and I promised him I wouldn’t use those questions in the story, but I was interested simply for myself. He believed me and answered those questions honestly. Sorry, but I won’t share those with you here, either!

I believe he was somewhat taken at my vast knowledge about him and the details I knew and remembered. (For anyone who knows how I work, it’s who I am, so this is nothing out of the ordinary or unusual.)

It was fun for me to see his expression or when he relived a moment or was reminded of something he had all but forgotten. It was also a kick when I was able to tell him something he didn’t know or give him a perspective on something from the show that he hadn’t realized. Our talk lasted almost three hours. At this stage, it had been a long day, and I was running out of steam. I had done a pretty good job at ignoring the pain thus far but my leg was beginning to really bother me and it was time to stop. Originally, I had wanted to offer to take Joshua to dinner, but I knew that would have to wait for another time and another trip. I needed to say my goodbyes, let him get on his way, and tend to by boo boo leg. Tomorrow would be here before you know it, and I’d be seeing him again at Cory’s for the big cover shoot. One down and one to go. So, am I glad I came? Has it been worth it in spite of all the complications?

Suddenly at 3am I awoke—a Mother Nature call. Returning to a darkened room, I decided, maybe, I should double-check the alarm that was on a table away from my bed on the other wall. Not that I needed to worry, I had my trusty Blackberry as a back-up but my brain wasn’t working at full capacity. I walked groggy and half asleep in the direction of the clock, forgetting my opened suitcase on the floor directly in my path. Next thing I knew I stubbed both toes into the case and toppled directly down inside. With no light it was impossible to know my left leg was headed straight for disaster. You see, that hard plastic forked-like attachment with the strap that you use to hook one suitcase on top of the other was sitting straight up exposed at the top of my bag. Of course, it was totally dark so as I went to try and break my fall I rammed my leg directly into the 3 points of the pronged end, puncturing first, then scraping second, If that wasn’t enough, as I toppled to the right, the side of my face banged hard into my armoire.

Talk about wake-up—now I’m awake. It’s amazing how quickly we can react when crisis strikes. Within seconds I stumbled to the kitchen and just that quickly my leg had swollen to the size of a softball, blood spurting out from the puncture, skin hanging off the size of my palm from the scrape, the colors of black and blue and red already visible. My Bounty roll of paper towels never came in so handy. I pulled off a long stream and twisted them around and around creating a quick makeshift tourniquet. I thought if I could wrap it tightly around my ankle just below the wound I could stop the bleeding. All the while I plucked a medium sized cold pack from the freezer and slapped it right on top of my shinbone where most of the damage was obvious to help minimize the increased swelling. So there I was—blood everywhere, leg laying open, swelling and bruising already kicking in, and my face, OMG. In a mirror that hangs over the sink, I could see my face and the bruising around my eye orbit all the way into my cheek. But luckily the skin wasn’t broken and I wasn’t bleeding from that area of my body. My leg was the priority. What do I do? Do I call 911? Do I call my neighbor, my sister, my friends? Do I try and drive myself to the hospital? Do I cancel this trip? Is interviewing Joshua worth all this?

I decided I would do none of it and figure it out on my own. So, I did. I stayed up ALL night. With leg elevated, I used towels and icepacks and Neosporin and gauze pads for the swelling and the bleeding and the bruising. I told myself, I wasn’t going to let this accident keep me from the trip. After hours upon hours of nursing the wounds, I finally got the bleeding curtailed and was able to amply wrap it in gauze. But now I had to shower and pack. My ride was coming shortly and I wasn’t ready. I had one hell of a time hobbling around figuring out what I needed to pack that I wouldn’t have needed if not for the fall.

Even my pants were a problem. Every pair I tried grabbed hold of the gauze underneath and dislodged it, opening the wound again. I ended up opting to wear a rather hip pair of black tights that assisted in holding the bandages in place—the perfect solution. Makeup seemed to successfully cover the bruising on my face and the icepacks had worked initially keeping the damage to a minimum—at least for the time being. In the end, I made it to the airport with a little time to spare. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a direct flight. Changing planes is not high on my list of things to do, but the only direct flights left either way too early or way too late. My friend insisted he park his car and escorted me into the airport. He realized I was out of sorts so he figured I could use a drink. Since Carrabbas was conveniently located not far from my gate, he told the waiter to bring me a top-shelf Margarita in hopes it would help calm my nerves for the 2 flights ahead. He said I didn’t look like I felt—which was nice to hear, but his well-meaning compliments didn’t help much. Luckily, Southwest allowed me to board early, before the masses, so I got the best seat in the house for my Tampa to San Antonio leg of the journey.

My seatmate, turned out, was a character named Jason, a.k.a. J-Keeze. He got the biggest kick out of me when he learned my name was Pz and I had a leg I affectionately referred to as my boo boo leg. Ironically, J-Keeze was an ironworker/rapper who was on his way to Texas to sign a record deal. He promised he would write a tune about me –Pz and her boo boo leg, and he’d make sure I’d get credit on the liner notes. It was all in good fun, but J-Keeze seemed unsure of the deal awaiting him, afraid the producers might not give him what he believed he was worth. He promised me he wouldn’t just roll over and if there wasn’t a meeting of the minds he would go back to his life as an ironworker with no regrets. When I changed planes in Texas, J-Keeze was headed off for his date with rap-music destiny. He has my business card, so I’d better hear, eventually, whether his deal went through as he’d hoped or he changed his mind. (One flight down. One to go.)

By the time I got on the next flight the pain and throbbing in both my leg and face were in full swing. Again, I boarded early and was lucky again to get a great seatmate named Beth. Her son sat in the window seat and she was in the middle. She and her 2 sons and husband were on their way home to L.A. from their recent vacation. Beth was originally from the Philippines and came to America some years back with relatives when her parents divorced. We passed the time talking everything from the troubled mortgage crisis—her expertise– to my new book to my impending interview with Joshua to her life in L.A. and how much her family loved living in America. I couldn’t leave out the condition of my leg since it was obvious I was in a bit of discomfort and Beth couldn’t have been more concerned.

Finally, we arrived on time and safely on the ground. Soon we found ourselves at the conveyor belt awaiting our luggage. The black bag that had been the culprit in my accident was the one I had checked in Tampa and had a red handkerchief tied around the handle for easy identification. Hoping it had survived both legs of the flight I stood there with Beth and her family—positioned close to the conveyor among the crowd– holding my breath. (There’s nothing worse than arriving at your destination only to find your luggage didn’t arrive along with you.) Only about 10 minutes passed when the belt starting moving and we were on the lookout. Almost immediately, there it was. Beth’s husband saw the now infamous bag as it appeared, red handkerchief in tact, and quickly snatched it from the moving belt, saving me from having to tax my leg in the retrieval process. He attached my checkered Betsy Johnson carry-on bag to the top of the larger suitcase with that damn attachment that had attacked me only hours before. This way I could easily roll the two and still comfortably carry my purse on my shoulder. Beth, husband and boys, walked with me outside to the cab stand and we said our goodbyes. What a sweet and considerate family, and I felt so lucky to have met them.

When the attendant opened the door for me to enter the cab the driver jumped out and placed my luggage in the trunk. I fumbled in my purse to find a five spot for the doorman and he seemed genuinely surprised when I placed it in his hand for his simple gesture. (I got the impression tipping has fallen off lately, just by the reaction of gratitude I got every time I gave someone some money.) Living in Las Vegas, I’ve always been a big tipper and cognizant that some jobs pay very little and depend on the generosity of others. My cabby was Sasha—a Russian immigrant who had been in the U.S. for about 7 years. His English, although a bit fractured, was good enough for me to communicate. I got the feeling, too, that Sasha understood a lot more than he first led on. I gave him my destination and we were off. He took the best direct path to the hotel and didn’t try to prolong or milk the ride as some cabbies often do. We made a plan that Sasha would come on Sunday morning to pick me up for my return to LAX. He scribbled his name and private cell number on a card and asked that I would check in with him on Saturday to confirm.

When we pulled up at Le Parc Suites we were greeted by a most elegant attendant. I had fifty dollars in my hand when he turned off the meter. As I exited from the cab I showed Sasha the money and inquired was it enough. He seemed more than pleased. I looked at my watch in the bright light streaming from the hotel entrance. It read 9:35pm and I was here. I made it. My body, still on east coast time was beginning to feel the effects of no sleep, but it didn’t matter. I was here and I had until tomorrow to try and rest and regroup for Joshua. Maybe it would all be worth it. Maybe I would be glad I came. I’d have to wait and see…