Leaving Unknown (25 page)

“Try barrel shaped, with an accent of pear,” Jacob called.

“…and I can’t find the wrong shape that fits with me. Though if I look for a string-bean-shaped num-num-head in a tiresome eighties goth T-shirt, I might be close.”

It made sense to me. I was pretty wrong. It was easier to
contemplate working with my flaws than trying to magically become perfect. The thought felt like a band releasing. “I’m looking for Mr. Wrong.”

“Not just any Mr. Wrong. The one you look at with love and think, ‘This is the problem I want to have for the rest of my life, that I want to be my first and last problem of every day.’”

“I’m touched,” Jacob said. “And I mean that in a very salt-touching-my-open-wound kind of way.”

“I suppose the problem I want to live with for the rest of my life will be a little more complicated than not being able to find the remote,” I conceded.

Marion shot an affectionate look toward Jacob. “I’ll say.”

“Hey Marion. Who’s on first?”

“What?”

“Gotcha.” Heh.

Marion and I were wandering around Costco when it happened. I’d begged him to take me along. I loved Costco. You could dine on a buffet of samples, and return home with giant blocks of cheese, tubs of spinach dip, and supersized vitamin bottles. Marion had been lured into the clothing section by a giant pack-o-undies. I didn’t want the visual of Marion in his underwear, so I wandered to the vitamins. I was out of flax oil, vitamin B, and dandelion root. I’d gotten slack on my regimen in Unknown. My health seemed to be holding just fine, but I thought I’d replenish. Laura’s apartment was a breeding ground if I ever saw one.

I rounded the aisle, and froze. In front of bottles of nutritional supplement bigger than my head stood a fragile creature, scarf poorly concealing her baldness. She was probably in her late thirties, arms folded to her chest like useless baby-bird wings. I fought an urge to bolt.

The woman had the vulnerability of a newborn. It’s the per
ception of cradling yourself. She was rubbing her clavicle. Her port, probably. I took in her careful movements, her pallor, her fatigue. I guessed today was treatment day, and she’d steeled herself to stop on the way home to collect what she needed before losing all her remaining energy. I’d never had to do that alone.

I walked up.

“I like the Ensure brand.” I nodded toward the drinks. “It bothered my stomach the least.”

She looked up, too tired to be surprised.

I smiled. “Today’s Thursday, huh?”

Comprehension flashed. I was a member of “the Club.”

“You?” she asked.

“A long time ago.” I raised my hands and smiled, shrugging. “I got better.” I wasn’t sure how she’d react.

She nodded. “I’m glad.”

I put my hand on her shoulder and gave a little squeeze. “Can I help you?”

She nodded again. I knew that exhaustion. I took her basket and said, “I’m Maeve.” And it was true. Not Old Maeve or New Maeve. Just one Maeve, as wrong as she was.

I
was irritable as I jogged back to Laura-Lola’s (as I now thought of her) place. My run had been very unsatisfactory. My heart had jerked alarmingly no less than three times, adrenaline shooting through my system as the corner of my eye saw one man with a back identical to Noah’s working out on the rings, another with Noah’s stride crossing the board-
walk to the Waterfront Café, and a third pulling Noah’s truck into the Reed and Ocean parking lot. I’d never gotten into a rhythm, distracted by fool’s gold sightings and the irregular heartbeats they prompted.

“This is ridiculous,” I cursed, blowing out my bangs. “Why am I obsessing about someone six hundred miles away who drives me mad?” It’d been over a month. I tried to recapture the outrage I’d felt pulling out of Unknown, but it eluded me. I couldn’t even remember the reason I’d been angry, which, of course, made me angry. I’d worked myself into an excellent state by the time I walked in the door.

Laura-Lola, it seemed, had too. Hers appeared to be one of exuberance. She was hopping excitedly around the living room to Britney Spears, which meant she was in her Happy Place.

“What’s up, duck?” I asked her curiously, forcing the Grouch back into his trash can.

She squealed excitedly. “You’re not going to believe it!” Oliver chirped irritably at Laura-Lola’s decibel level. Or in protest to Britney. Who knew? Laura-Lola didn’t speak bird, so she sailed past the insult, working in an extra happy hop to her “I’m a Slave” dance.

Hope flared briefly. Had she managed to get me a job? Her next words, and my recollection that Laura-Lola never did anything that didn’t directly benefit Laura-Lola, squelched such fancy.

“I just found out that Perez Hilton is going to be at the Lisa Kline spring-line launch party tonight at her store on Robinson,
and I’m going to be there too
! Minka got on the list through her uncle!” She beamed at me expectantly. Minka’s real name was Miriam.

“Oh.” I struggled for a response. Laura-Lola’s brow began knitting together. “
Wow
.” I upped my tone.

“
I know!
” Good humor restored, her pitch elicited another
avian rebuke. “Gawd, it’s
so excitin’
.” Her detested Texas twang sneaked out when she was too overwrought to adopt her Gwyn-nth-iation, as I dubbed her affected pronunciations. “It’s gonna be
perfect
.” She clapped her hands. “I need your help, Maeve. You’re good with style.” Her lips involuntarily twitched downward before she recovered them. It was wrong in Laura-Lola’s eyes that people complimented my style over her (garish) selections. I was a hick from North Carolina who hadn’t bought a thing on Robinson
or
Melrose. It affronted her devout commitment to the church of LA. Apparently self-interest overcame injustice. “My outfit has to be
perfect
. Sexy and stylish. We’ll use my clothes of course, but you can tell me what you think. Something attention getting, yet…classy.”

I surveyed the assorted litter of feather boas, fishnet stockings, vinyl miniskirts, and platform shoes. Classy wasn’t what leaped to mind. Clothes were strewn everywhere, including an eyelet sweater draped over Oliver’s cage that he was happily pulling apart. My bed was barely visible under a pile of garments in season-inappropriate colors, reminding me that it wasn’t my bed, but her futon, and I needed to make Laura-Lola happy.

“Sure.” I slid over to Oliver’s cage, casually lifting away the sweater. Oliver squawked in indignation. Laura-Lola was, thankfully, oblivious.

“Maeve, this is it. I know Perez and I are meant to be.” She sighed, her eyes in a far-off place I hadn’t seen since she’d been on hold with KROQ to win front-row concert tickets to Justin Timberlake. I’d had to leave the house when she’d found out she wasn’t the fifteenth caller. We’d bought a new phone at Costco the next day. “Once we meet, Perez will instantly recognize the depth of our connection. It’s going to be beautiful.”

I boggled over Laura-Lola’s disconnect with reality. Perez
Hilton was so openly gay that Elton John was jealous. “You’re talking about Perez Hilton, the
Queen
of Media.” It’s true. Even I read his blog.

“Yes. He is so
insightful
about celebrities and how they really feel. He only insults the ones that are shallow and mean or on drugs. And he helps a lot of people. He features undiscovered bands on his website all the time. And they get popular, because so many people listen to Perez.” She was earnest.

“Mmm-hmm. Doesn’t he out a lot of gay actors as well? I think he’s pretty friendly with Lance Bass.” I tried a more direct tack.

“He’s committed to honesty in the industry.” Laura-Lola sounded reverent. Perez was her Obama.

Recognizing that I wasn’t getting anywhere with reality, I wavered between begging to go with her to see the comedy unfold, and trying to get her dressed and out the door as soon as possible so I could settle down to the Food Network. I settled for the latter.

“Let’s get you ready, betty. You’ve got a big night out.” I scanned the floor.

“Oh, yeah, about that,” Laura-Lola said, without any real concern. “You need to find someplace else to crash tonight. I don’t know Perez’s situation, so we could end up coming back here.”

I boggled again. “Are you serious?”

She frowned. “Of course I’m serious. It’s
my
house, isn’t it?”

“House” was a stretch. But even on the dangerous fringes of her temper I couldn’t help arguing, driven by a balloon of panic.

“I’ve got nowhere to go.” Desperation tinged my tone.

“Can’t you go visit Madelynn or whoever?” her tone was disinterested as she sifted through a pile of clothes.

“It’s Marion, and I can’t just show up asking to stay!”

“Why not?” She threw over her shoulder the genuinely sur
prised look of the sublimely selfish. In Laura-Lola’s world, everything revolves around her, so supporting actors like Marion don’t spring to life until she enters their space, ergo they should be happy, no,
grateful
if she turns up demanding service. Unfortunately, it didn’t work that way in Maeve’s world.

“Laura, Perez Hilton is gay,” I yelled.

Laura-Lola’s back to me froze. Slowly she turned, face like a raptor.

“My…name…is…
Lola
,” she pinched out. “And I would expect better from you than petty jealousy and character slurs, Maeve. Perez is a catch admittedly out of your league, but there is no need to cast aspirations on his character.”

I swallowed a hysterical giggle blending disbelief over her delusions, laughter at her malapropism and panic over where I’d spend the night.

“Lola, I’m sorry. But please. I have nowhere to go. I’ll sleep in the bathtub!” I begged.

“I think you should leave now. I’ll dress myself. I won’t expect you back tonight. In fact, since you can’t be nice about Perez, I think you need to leave your key. There’s no telling how long he’ll stay and I can’t risk you being rude to him tomorrow. You can come back tomorrow night. I’ll leave an update on the door. If Perez is still here I expect you to act with civility. He’s going to be my boyfriend after all, so you’ll have to learn to get along.” She gave me a “steely and strong” look stolen from your pick of Jodie Foster movies.

“Road trip, don’t forget the bird,” said Oliver, the tension in the room making him anxious. My personal alarm multiplied when I thought about my bird.

Laura-Lola sensed my near hysteria and rolled her eyes. “Oliver can stay.” She gave a let’s-be-pals-again half laugh. “Don’t worry about your bird. I kind of like him. He’s always telling me I look thinner.”

“Are you thinner?” Oliver dutifully mimicked, and Laura-Lola laughed.

My agitation subsided. I silently thanked Oliver for his uncanny ability to say the right thing. His well-being was paramount. Since I’d left Unknown, he was the only family I had. Wait, I shook myself. I didn’t have
family
in Unknown. What a weird thought.
Anyway
, Oliver’s safety being settled, my temporary homelessness didn’t seem like that big a deal. I didn’t want to push it with Laura-Lola. The truth was she was letting me stay even though I wasn’t yet pulling my weight. One night adrift was better than being totally kicked out. I’d slept in Elsie before. And odds were I could come back later, because Perez Hilton sure as shit wasn’t going to spend the night unless Laura brought David Beckham as bait.

“Okay.” I sighed. “Let me grab a duffle and my sleeping bag. And a shower.” I was still stinky from my run.

She gave a terse nod, and returned to her perusal of some mesh panties and a tuxedo dickie.

I left before the horror of Laura-Lola’s outfit materialized, stowing my camping gear in Elsie just in case. It was after six when I hit the boardwalk and the sun was staring to slant lower in the sky in that way that makes everyone attractive and golden. My mood had lifted, as sunshine can do no matter the odds. That and watching a little skate-dancing on the circle. The Rollerblade guy in a Speedo was my favorite. He really jived to Kool and The Band. My step was light as I wandered down to Do You Tattoo to see Marion. Maybe today I might be able to convince him to give me a tattoo lesson—after all, in Maeve’s New World, bad luck should be balanced by good, right? But I skipped up to a dark store and a dismissive “Closed. We Went Camping” sign.

I sucked in a breath. Despite my protestations to Laura-Lola, I
had
been going to see if I could inveigle a sleepover invita
tion from Marion and Jacob. I’d had visions of the three of us staying up late watching a
Queer As Folk
marathon and sharing popcorn on the couch. I was all bravado about sleeping in Elsie. I didn’t want to. There were lots of weird people who lurked around Venice Beach. I felt stung by Marion’s defection, as if it was personal.

“What if today was the day I decided to get my tattoo?” I demanded churlishly of the locked door. “This could have been the
one
day.” The door was impervious to my censure.

“Fine.” I turned away, stalking off to…where? I didn’t know. Somehow being homeless on the boardwalk made me feel too close to the seedy people with goat-shit dreads who lived in old VW vans filled with newspaper stacks, the exterior of which had been transformed into nonsensical anti-establishment rants in cramped script spreading from bumper to wheel, mirror to running board. The only deviance from the rant was the occasional peace sign, daisy, or anti-Bush bumper sticker. I wasn’t up for the alternatives of livid self-righteous liberals or smelly pot-smoking slackers. I turned east, toward Main Street.

I didn’t know where I was going when I passed O’Brien’s Pub. The patio was rollicking with happy, lively people in groups of three and five. They annoyed me. My party of one kept walking. The World Café, Joe’s Diner, even the Coffee Bean were hopping. The Library Alehouse seemed less packed, so I braved my way in. There were cluster groups of four and six at the door, but I spotted one lonely stool at the bar. I elbowed through and grabbed it.

“Waiting for someone?” gleamed the resident bartender-actor, or “bactor.”

“Johnny Depp will be here any minute.” I pasted on a fake smile. “Can I have the Racer 5 IPA?” I ordered my favorite beer.

He winked good-naturedly and turned to get my drink,
making me feel like a jerk. LA people were really happy. Maybe it wasn’t the place for me.

“Aren’t people in LA so fucking happy you can’t stand it?” said the guy next to me.

I tensed, on the defensive against a pervert or time-sucking dweeb, and checked him out. He was about my height, skinny, and had a face you liked. Open brown eyes and a grin that said, “I get it and I was about to make the same joke.”

“To tell the truth, it sort of makes me feel inadequate that I’m not happy all the time. What are
they
drinking?” I demanded.

“Well, it sure as hell doesn’t have calories or taste like this.” He raised his pint of beer. On cue, Smiley-Muscles-Bactor-Man returned with mine. I clinked my new friend.

“I’m Judd Wooten.” He wiped foam from his mustache/beard and held out a hand. I figured it was like a spit oath, and we’d be fast friends after. I grasped his paw firmly.

“I’m Maeve Connelly. My delusional roommate kicked me out for the night because
she
thinks
she’s
going to seduce Perez Hilton at the Lisa Kline spring-launch party.”

Judd let out a guffaw. “New to LA?”

“A month,” I admitted.

“In town for good?”

“I expect to be here a while, but I’m not generally that good.”

“God, I’m glad you’re sitting next to me.” He clinked my glass again. “Does she seriously think she’s going to pull Perez Hilton?”

“Dude, she seriously thinks he’s going to fall in love with her.”

“Ah, the myopia of young dreams.” Judd sighed, signaling Smiley. “TJ, another Alaskan Amber for me and whatever the lady is drinking.”

“I’m still full,” I protested, gesturing to my beer.

“I’m not going anywhere, and you’ve got nowhere to go.”
Judd dismissed my protest. “Do a jaded veteran a favor, stay, breathe fresh air over me.”

“I’m from North Carolina,” I said, as if it was a liability I needed to disclose.

Judd looked thoughtful. “After ten years in LA you really aren’t from anywhere else anymore. But I used to be from Upstate New York. I don’t even remember it. Why did you come here?”

“I had cancer.” The words came out. “I had leukemia when I was in college. It surprised everyone when I beat it.” I savored the special note of pride in my voice when I said “beat it.” Practice
was
helping. “I thought it’d be easier to start over somewhere far away.”