Red (10 page)

Los Angeles, California
1984

B
ecky Lynn stood in the center of the biggest, busiest bus terminal she had ever seen, frozen to the spot in terror. She didn't know which way to go or what to do next. People, strange-looking people of all colors and in all kinds of dress, wove their way around her. All with purpose, all seeming to have someone to meet or someplace to go. Many shot her angry glances for blocking the way, a few bumped into her as they passed, then continued on their way without a murmur of apology or regret.

She clutched her duffel bag to her chest, afraid someone might try to snatch it. A woman on the last bus had warned her of that possibility and to be careful.

Becky Lynn drew in a deep, fortifying breath. This wasn't what she had expected but then, so far, nothing about her journey had been—from the one hundred and forty-five dollars the one-way ticket had cost her to the alternating fear and relief she had felt during the course of the two-day trip. With a shudder of apprehension, she wondered what other surprises awaited her.

Taking another deep breath, she started blindly forward,
moving with the crowd. She couldn't stand in one spot forever, no matter how reassuring it felt.

She caught sight of an information counter and angled toward it. She stopped in front of the counter and waited. The woman on the other side didn't look up from her magazine. Becky Lynn cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”

The woman lifted her gaze. Her eyes widened a bit, as if in horror, then her expression melted back into one of jaded disinterest. “Yeah? Can I help you?”

“Could you please tell me how I get to…” Becky Lynn's voice trailed off. Where did she want to go? She couldn't point at the woman's magazine, opened to a sunny ad and say,
“How do I get there?”

“Can I help you?” the woman said again, impatiently.

“Hollywood,” Becky Lynn said. “How do I get to Hollywood?”

The woman narrowed her eyes, fringed with thick, dark lashes, and moved them over Becky Lynn. “Honey, you're a long way from home, aren't you?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The woman shook her head, as if in resignation. “Your best bet is a city bus.” She reached under the counter and produced a map and schedule. She slid it across to Becky Lynn, circling a place on the map with a red pencil. “Catch it here. It's a dollar-ten, exact fare.”

“Thank you.” Becky Lynn scooped up the map. “Oh, and which way is the ladies' room?”

Attention already shifted back to her magazine, the woman indicated the general direction without looking up. Becky Lynn followed and within moments stood before the bathroom mirror.

She gazed at her reflection, her stomach turning. No
wonder the woman behind the counter had looked at her that way, no wonder people on the bus had averted their gaze from her. She looked awful. She looked like what she was, a runaway, a victim of violence.

She moved her gaze over her reflected image. After forty-eight hours on or between buses, her hair was snarled and ready for a scrubbing. Her jaw, swollen and a bluish green, stood out in stark contrast to her unnaturally pale skin. Her eyes were hollow and dark from sleeplessness, her clothes dirty and rumpled.

Her vision blurred, and she grabbed the edge of the sink, light-headed. Except for the half of a bologna sandwich and Oreo cookie that the woman riding beside her between Dallas and Los Angeles had given her, and the few things she'd gotten from vending machines along the route before that, she'd had nothing to eat since leaving Bend.

She sucked in a deep breath, pain mixing with hunger. She hurt so bad, the bruises on her face, the ones on her body, inside her body. She hadn't wanted to eat, but had known if she didn't, she would collapse.

Becky Lynn fished in her pocket for the small bottle of aspirin the same woman who had shared her food had given her. The woman had seen her grimace and shudder in pain, and had given her all that she had. Becky Lynn had been touched by her kindness.

Becky Lynn uncapped the bottle and spilled the contents onto her palm. Only two left. She would have to buy more, and soon. Even though they only cut the pain, she didn't know what she would have done without them. The pain would have been unbearable.

She popped the tablets into her mouth, turned on the
water and bent to catch some in her cupped palms. Her hands shook so badly it took three tries to get the water to her mouth, and the aspirins partially melted on her tongue. She gagged, her empty stomach clenching at the bitter taste.

A woman herded her two small children into the bathroom. She caught sight of Becky Lynn, grabbed her children by their collars and steered them away from her. As if Becky Lynn had some sort of disease, she thought. As if being near her would contaminate them. The older of the two children whispered something Becky Lynn couldn't catch, and the mother hushed her.

Becky Lynn watched them hurry toward the row of stalls, tears stinging her eyes. It hurt, though she couldn't blame the mother for protecting her children. Lord knew, she wished her own mother had tried to protect her.

She thought of her mother, of the weeping she had heard when she left the house. The tears welled up and she blinked against them. Her mother hadn't been asleep. Her mother had known she was running away, and had let her daughter go.

Her tears dried. Leaving had been the right decision; she hadn't had any other choice. Her mother had seen that as clearly as Becky Lynn had. That's why she hadn't stopped her.

Becky Lynn turned back to the sink and the running water. She washed her face. That done, she dug her comb, toothbrush and toothpaste out of her duffel. She brushed, combed, then fashioned her hair into a tidy braid, using a rubber band she found on the floor.

After using the facilities and making sure she had all her belongings, she headed back out into the busy terminal, then out to the street.

Her first glimpse of Los Angeles took her breath away. Everywhere she looked, she saw buildings, huge, taller than she had ever seen before, ones made of concrete and steel and mirrors.

She'd never been farther than Greenwood and had never seen a skyscraper. She tipped her head back and stared up at their tops and the perfect Easter-egg blue sky. The height of these buildings dizzied her, the reflection off their mirrored sides caught the bright sun and shone, blindingly white.

She swiveled her head from left to right, taking in everything she could, stunned and astounded and exhilarated. Cars, there were hundreds of them. She had never seen so many in one place, had never seen so many kinds before. Most of them looked expensive, real expensive. They had fancy hood ornaments and gleamed like the one-carat diamond ring Lurline Gentry had flashed around down at the Cut ‘n Curl until everyone had been sick to death of it.

Becky Lynn gawked as a limousine rolled past, brilliant white and as long as two pickup trucks. What would it be like to ride in one of those? she wondered, catching sight of another expensive-looking car, the driver talking on the phone while driving.

She shook her head and turned her attention to the people rushing by her. They looked so different from the people of Bend. In Bend, people were either black or white, rich or poor. Not here. Here, she saw people of all colors, from all walks of life. Many dressed strangely and wore their hair in bizarre colors and styles. Becky Lynn gaped as a man and woman strolled past, both dressed in leather and chains, their hair shaved on the sides and spiked high in front and on top.

Nobody else paid the pair any undue attention.

She wouldn't be a freak here.
Becky Lynn smiled, optimism and excitement moving through her. Here, she wouldn't stand out as different. Everybody was different. Here, no one would know she was Becky Lynn Lee, poor white trash and outcast of Bend, Mississippi. She could start over, forge a fresh identity, a new life. Just as she had hoped.

She found the bus stop, just as the bus pulled up to the stop. She paid her fare and climbed aboard, smiling to herself.
No doubt about it, her luck had begun to change.

W
hen the sun set, the streets of Hollywood changed. The tourists went in, businesses closed. The bars and clubs opened and the night people came out. During the afternoon, Becky Lynn had enjoyed the warm, exhaust-scented breeze, the gleam of uninterrupted sun on the sidewalks and buildings, the rush of humanity. She hadn't felt alone or threatened.

Now, the gleam of sunlight had been replaced by the unnatural glare of neon and by dense, black shadows. Now she felt absolutely alone, and every dark corner, every recessed doorway, threatened.

She had to find a place to stay.

Becky Lynn curved her arms around herself, clutching her duffel bag to her chest. She had wasted precious time this afternoon strolling, seeing the sights, breathing in her freedom. She had stopped at Denny's and splurged on a real meal, ordering more than she had any business buying, stuffing herself until her stomach hurt. Only then, as the sun had begun to set, had she thought about finding shelter for the night.

How could she have been so careless? she wondered, turning onto Sunset. How could she have been so stupid? She had tried several motels, but none had been cheap enough. At several, one night would have cost more than she even had left.

Forty-five dollars.

She took a deep breath. Not enough, not nearly. If she blew everything she had on one night, what would she do for every other night? She had to be smart; she had to keep her head. If she acted out of fear or desperation, she would be lost.

“Hey, sweet thing.” A frightening-looking man sauntered toward her. He had long, stringy hair and wore tight black jeans and a black leather jacket, open to the waist to reveal his bare chest. “Wanna score some dust?”

She shook her head and scurried around him, her heart pounding.

He swung around and fell into step beside her. “I can fix you up. Just tell Johnny what you need.”

“I don't need anything,” she said, voice shaking. “Just leave me alone!”

She started to run, remembering the last time she had run like this, remembering being knocked flat, being dragged off the road. Fear choked her, and even as she told herself not to look back, she did.

The sidewalk was empty behind her.

Becky Lynn whimpered with relief. He hadn't followed her.
She was safe. For the moment, safe.
She slowed to a brisk walk, even though each breath hurt, even though her legs ached and her head throbbed.

She couldn't stop. She wouldn't. Becky Lynn forced away thoughts of her pain and fatigue and concentrated instead on putting one foot in front of the other, block after block.

Up ahead, a motel's pink neon sign flashed.
unset otel.
Both the
S
and the
M
were burned out, the sign flashed at irregular intervals, as if each time about to flash its last.

As she neared the motel, she saw that it was small and seedy, but infinitely better than the street. And maybe, she thought, daring to hope, just maybe, affordable.

Becky Lynn reached the motel and stepped inside. The lobby stank. Of day-old sausage, sweat and cigar smoke. The latter came from behind the registration counter. Clamped between the clerk's teeth was the stub of a fat, green cigar.

Becky Lynn wrinkled her nose and crossed to the desk. The man dragged his gaze from the small TV on the floor behind the counter. “Yeah?” He didn't try to hide his irritation at being disturbed.

“Could you tell me your rates, please?”

“Twenty-two a night, fifty a week.” He spoke around the cigar. “In advance.”

She could afford that, even though it would make a frightening dent in her meager funds—but not nearly as frightening as the idea of sleeping on the street. She dropped her duffel to the floor, weak with relief. “I'll take a room. Just for tonight.”

“Can't you read?” The desk clerk jerked his thumb in the direction of the glass doors and the flashing neon sign beyond. “No vacancies.”

“No vacancies?” she repeated hollowly, looking over her shoulder at the sign. She turned back to him, pleading. “But…don't you have…anything? Please. I have no place to sleep.”

“Sorry, kid. Come back in the morning.” He took the cigar out of his mouth. Ashes floated down to join others on the front of his once-white T-shirt. “By this time of night, we're full up with hookers, dealers and folks just too messed up to make it home. Come back tomorrow.”

He returned his attention to the television, and she stared at him. “Please,” she whispered. “Anything.”

The man didn't look up, and gaze swimming, Becky Lynn bent for her duffel. She lifted it to her shoulder and crossed the room, dragging her feet, loath to leave the light and safety of the shabby lobby behind.

She let herself out, but stopped in the lit doorway. Where should she go now? she wondered, shivering. What should she do?

Immobilized by fear and indecision, she did nothing. Minutes passed. A car full of young men honked and shouted an obscenity, another slowed down as if to take a look at her, then drove on.

The clerk opened the door. He'd exchanged the stub for a fresh cigar. He scowled at her. “Listen, kid, you've got to move it. You look like you're hustling, and you're going to bring the cops down on my ass.”

She looked at him, her eyes swimming. “But I don't have anywhere to go.”

“That's not my problem, kid.” He made a sound of frustration. “There's a police station up the street. They'll take care of you. Clear outta here.”

He shut the door in her face, then stood on the other side of the glass door, glaring at her. He jerked his thumb, and she picked up her duffel and headed back out onto the street.

The police station. Right.
They would call her parents, first thing. Becky Lynn set her mouth in determination. She wasn't going back to Bend, not ever.

She walked. Minutes became hours; her duffel bag grew heavier, her legs more leaden. Fatigue and desperation became a quiet hysteria. She couldn't go on. She had
to stop, to rest. She came upon a narrow side street, lined with deeply recessed doorways.

Becky Lynn stared at the street, at the doorways, trembling with exhaustion. In one of those doorways, she wouldn't be visible from the street. She could sleep there. The thought of sleep, of stopping and closing her eyes, pulled at her. If she could rest for just a little while, she would be able to figure out what to do. She would be able to go on.

Even as she crossed to the first doorway, her every instinct warned her from it. She stopped before it, searching the darkness, fearing that someone, or something, hid in its depths. Carefully, slowly, she inched her foot into the shadows, heart thundering, certain that at any moment a hand would circle her ankle and drag her to the ground.

Nothing happened. No clawlike hand grabbed at her; the doorway was empty. Looking quickly to her sides and behind her, she ducked into the shadowed doorway, and sank to the concrete. She pressed herself into the corner, drawing her knees tightly to her chest.

For long moments, she sat that way, heart pounding, waiting for some sort of alarm to go off, afraid to relax or shut her eyes.

If she made it to morning, she thought, fatigue overcoming her, everything would be all right.

In her dream, Ricky stood over her, yelling at her. He had trapped her, and terrified, she pressed herself deeper into the corner of the steel cage. As Ricky yelled, he poked at her with his penis, which was long and hard and hurt her.

“Get up! You hear me? Get up! I've got a business to run.”

Becky Lynn moaned and stirred. Ricky swore, and nudged her viciously with his penis.

“You can't sleep in my doorway. Come on, get up.” He swore again, loudly and with disgust. “You kids, every night it's another one of you.”

“Stop,” Becky Lynn muttered. “Stop…please.” She lifted her head, her arms with it, ready to ward off a blow. She blinked as light stung her eyes. A man stood above her. Not Ricky, but a stranger. Dressed in a long white apron, he held a broom, handle down, pointed at her. With his thick white hair and beard, he looked like Santa Claus. She stared at him, confused, disoriented.

The man's expression changed, pity replacing the disgust and annoyance of a second ago. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, kid, but you've got to go. I've gotta open up.”

She blinked again and looked around her, her dream evaporating. She remembered: the street, dark and frightening, populated by strange people, her exhaustion, this doorway.

Sunlight. Morning. She had made it.

“Look, kid, do I have to call the cops?”

She shook her head mutely and pulled herself to her feet. Her back and shoulders screamed in protest at having been contorted so long; her legs and head ached.

She winced as she picked up her duffel, and fought to get it to her shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she whispered, darting a glance at the man, then shifting her gaze to her feet. “I had nowhere to go.”

He said nothing—she hadn't expected him to reply—and she started for the street.

The man let out a long breath, then muttered an oath. “Here, kid.”

Becky Lynn stopped and looked back at him. He held out a twenty-dollar bill. She stared at it, heart thundering.
Twenty dollars. A fortune. A miracle.

She crossed to him and reached for the money, hand shaking. Instead of letting it go when her fingers closed around it, he drew back a fraction. She met his eyes, startled.

“If I find out you used this for drugs, I swear I'll…” He glared ferociously at her, but she saw the kindness in his eyes, anyway. “I'll kick your butt. Got that?”

“I won't,” she murmured. “And I'll repay you someday. I promise.”

“Sure, kid.” He let go of the bill, and she drew her arm away and stuffed it into her pocket. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something else, then shook his head, turned and went into his store.

Becky Lynn returned to the Sunset Motel. She almost cried with relief when she saw the
no vacancies
light had been turned off. By the light of day, it looked even shabbier than the night before. The place could be teeming with rats and roaches, for all she cared; the creatures on the street frightened her much more.

She paid for a week in advance. That left her less than twenty dollars for food. How long would that last her? she wondered, staring bleakly at the assortment of bills and coins she piled in the middle of the faded bedspread. Not long.

She had to find a job, and quickly. But who would hire her, looking the way she did? Everyone she had come into contact with had either looked at her in horror, disgust or pity. Just the kind of freak an employer wanted to hire.

Stop it, she told herself, squeezing her eyes shut. If she
started thinking that way, she would never find a job. And she would find one. She had to. Tomorrow.

She gathered together the money, folded the bills neatly and tucked them into her shoe, dropped the coins into her change purse. She pulled back the covers and crawled under them, curling into a tight ball.

She closed her eyes and the image of her mother's face filled her head. She heard her voice, those times when it had been just the two of them, when her mother had run the big brush rhythmically, lovingly, through her hair.

You're special, Becky Lynn. You're smart. You could make something of yourself.

Becky Lynn pressed her face into the pillow, holding on to that thought, those words, her chest tight with tears. She missed her mother so much. She wished she could touch her, wished she could hold her for a moment.

Even though her mother had been unable to be a real mother, the way one should be, she was the only one Becky Lynn had ever known. And in her own way, as best she could, she had loved her daughter.

Tears squeezed from the corners of Becky Lynn's closed eyes. Her mother had wanted her to go, to escape. Her decision to run away had been the right one, the only one she could have made.

If only it didn't feel so wrong.

Becky Lynn slept for twenty-four hours. When she awakened, she ventured cautiously out. The new day looked exactly like the old one, nothing had changed but the faces on the street. Famished, she went in search of a grocery and found one a couple blocks down, on the corner.

She bought a carton of milk, a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread. That small purchase used almost half her money. She paid the cashier, struggling to keep her distress from showing. As he bagged her items, she asked if he had any job openings. He said no without even looking at her.

At least she had asked, she thought, fighting discouragement. At least she had tried. All it had cost her was a sliver of her confidence.

Becky Lynn reached the motel and let herself into her room, then bolted the door behind her. She made herself a sandwich and gobbled the first half down. She ate like a pig, stuffing the food into her mouth, licking her fingers and the knife, picking crumbs off the bedspread. She consumed the last half more slowly, trying to pace herself. She wanted another, her stomach screamed for it, but she held off, her mouth watering. She had to ration her food.

Somewhat sated, she sat cross-legged on the bed and assessed her situation. She had a roof over her head and food in her belly. Two days ago, she'd had neither. She thought of Ricky and Tommy, of her father and brother. Three days ago, she had been at their mercy. Now they couldn't touch her, they couldn't take what wasn't theirs, couldn't belittle and demean her. And although people looked at her with disgust and pity, they didn't hate her. They didn't want to hurt her for being nothing more than herself.

She leaned her head back against the headrest and gazed up at the cracked and peeling ceiling. In a way, she fit in here, in Hollywood. The street was populated with other outcasts; she blended in. She had never blended in before, had never known what it was like to be one of many rather than singled out and different.