The Wonder Bread Summer (6 page)

Mike pulled off her again. “There’s a pay phone at Tambor’s. Wanna go there and call your dad for the scale?”

Tambor’s was the deli down the street. Allie nodded.

In Tambor’s, Mike walked with Allie to the alcove where the bathrooms and pay phones were. “I’m going to step into the men’s room and do a little toot,” he whispered. He backed into the door and winked before he disappeared into the bathroom.

Allie dropped a dime into the coin slot and dialed the number for her father’s restaurant. The three harmonica-sounding notes of a misdial went off and then an echo-y, fuzzy recording said the number she had dialed was no longer in service. Allie felt hollow and sad, like she had just stumbled upon an obituary for a seldom-seen friend. Then she remembered the index card with her mother’s number on it. She hit 0 and placed a collect, person-to-person, call to the number.

A voice that Allie imagined belonged to a white woman with a silk scarf knotted at her neck answered. After the operator asked if she’d accept the charges, the woman scoffed, “The queen’s not here,” and hung up. Allie was hit with a quick stab of rejection from the denied call, even though she didn’t even know whose voice was on the phone. She tried to brush it aside.

Allie dropped another dime into the phone She tried 411 next. Her father changed apartments so often (always looking for the deals—free gym membership, free first-month’s rent, free utilities for three months) that Allie had never had his home number. Besides, he was rarely home.

“There are seven Frank Dodgsons,” the operator said.

“How about Franklin Lutwidge Dodgson,” Allie said. Her heartbeat ramped up.

“I’m sorry,” the operator said. “I have Frank G. Dodgson.”

“Can you try the first one and then stay on the line until we find the right one?”

“It’s against the rules,” the operator said. “You’ll just have to pick one.”

Mike came out of the bathroom, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “There’s no one in there,” he said, and he pulled Allie’s hips toward himself and started grinding into her.

“I’ll try back later,” Allie said, to the operator, and she hung up the phone. She wanted to forget about her current status as an orphan. Mike could help with that.

“Let’s go in the bathroom together,” Mike said, and he nipped the top of Allie’s ear.

“The bathroom?” There was no way Allie would make out in a stall of the men’s restroom.

“Yeah, go get some coke from your car.” Mike stuck his hand on Allie’s crotch, over her jeans, and started rubbing. Allie pawed his hand away. “I’ll rub it into your pussy,” Mike purred.

Allie pulled her head back, shocked by the way he had used the word
pussy
. Even Marc, after months together, hadn’t used that word. “Kissing’s fine for me now,” she temporized.

“What do you mean kissing’s fine? We can’t just spend the afternoon kissing.” Mike leaned forward and sucked on Allie’s earlobe. He was humming. “Do you have really dark nipples?” He reached for her breast. “That’s the thing I love about black girls, those really dark nipples. Like eating melted chocolate.”

Allie blocked him with her forearm. Desire was fizzing away like spilled water on a hot sidewalk. “Well, my mom’s Chinese,” she answered, “and I’ve got a white grandfather on either side, so I’m not that dark.”

Mike squared his shoulders and leaned into her. “Are you black or not?” He had dropped the soothing purr.

Allie looked at Mike and wondered what was wrong with her that she had thought she was interested in him.

Before she could say anything, Mike said, “You’re not fucking black and that’s not your dad who owned that restaurant. One fucking lie after another!” He took her head into his hands and whispered into her ear, “And I don’t know where you got this coke or how you plan on selling it without a scale and without knowing how to fold a simple envelope, but you know what? You sold me about six grams of coke. Not three! Dumb fucking not-black chick!” Mike released Allie’s head, patted his breast pocket, and walked away through the dining room.

Allie stood for a moment, unsure of what her next move was. Then a flutter in her gut told her to get back to the car, back to the coke. She followed Mike out of the restaurant and down the sidewalk.

When each of them was at their own car, Mike turned around and looked at Allie. “Give me the rest of your coke,” he said, and he took two steps to the Prelude and put his hand on the passenger-side door.

“That was all I had,” Allie said. “The whole scale thing was made up so I could hang out with you. I think you’re really, super cute.” A complete lie now that Mike seemed angry and ugly. (Allie couldn’t help but think how Wai Po would be disappointed in the number of lies that had been slipping out of Allie’s mouth as easily as the air she breathed.)

“Lemme see. Open the car.” Mike’s eyes were prickly. He barely blinked.

“Yeah, okay. Just a second.” Allie was shaking as she fit the key in the door. When she got in, she hit the button on the automatic lock, then stabbed the key into the ignition. Mike pounded on the glass as Allie jerked the car into reverse, trying to get the clutch and gas synchronized. Mike leaped at the car, and even though Allie saw him do it, the thunderclap his body made as it landed on the low roof of the Prelude startled her and she let out a raspy scream.

Allie burst out of the parking lot and onto Fairfax Avenue. Mike’s legs hung cartoonishly down the side window. Just as she started to speed up, the legs disappeared. Allie watched through her rearview mirror as Mike landed solidly on both feet in the breakdown lane. He ran after the car for only a moment before stopping, throwing up his right fist, and cursing her with words she couldn’t hear. Allie pulled up close to the VW Bug in front of her, tailgating, and then quickly lost sight of Mike.

Chapter 4

A
llie drove down Fairfax with her eyes continually flashing in the rearview mirror. She didn’t see any red trucks and she didn’t see police cars. Her hands had a palsied tremble and her heartbeat was so strong she thought she could hear it over Prince, whose voice was making the whole car feel like it was vibrating.

When she hit Wilshire, Allie turned left. Wilshire ran into Beverly Hills, this much she knew. And Beverly Hills bumped against Westwood, she was almost certain. And Westwood was where Allie’s only and best friend in L.A., Kathy Kruger, lived.

As a kid, Allie had gone to nine different schools in nine different parts of the city. She always made friends, but would lose touch with them within weeks of moving. No parent would brave the Los Angeles traffic to get a kid to another side of town, so once Allie was gone so were her friends. The most lasting friendship Allie had was with Kathy—they were in the same high school for half of junior year and all of senior year.

Allie came up with a new plan. She would hang out with Kathy for a while, sell enough coke to Kathy’s friends to pay her tuition bill, and then track down her mother and let her help negotiate with Jonas so Allie could get back to the Bay Area. Meantime, if her mother didn’t know where her father was, she would use Kathy’s phone to call every Frank Dodgson in the Los Angeles phone book until she had found him. Allie’s gut sucked in at the thought of the dead restaurant.
Another time
, she whispered. That was what she told herself when she needed to put off thinking about things. She had done it often as a kid and had found it a wonderfully effective way to glide through forgotten school pickups, no-show parents at parent-teacher conferences, or an after-school friend commenting on the lack of snack foods in Allie’s house.

Allie pulled into a gas station and parked the car. She checked under the front seat and pulled out the Wonder Bread bag, just to make sure it was still there. There was a phone booth outside the mini-mart. Allie took a dime from her wallet, then got out of the car, leaving the purse and the coke behind. She clicked the automatic lock with a satisfied smile.

Kathy answered on the first ring.

“Oh my god!” Allie said into the phone, “I can’t believe I’ll actually get to see you!”

“I’m in L.A. How could you possibly see me?” Kathy was always so logical. She had seemed thirty years old when she was sixteen. And she almost looked thirty, too. Tall, rigid, blond hair clipped sensibly short. Men loved her: she was like Katharine Hepburn, or Candice Bergen. A no-nonsense woman with an almost magical sex appeal.

“I’m in L.A., too!” Allie screamed. Sometimes Kathy’s steadiness made Allie whirl out of control.

“Are you at your dad’s? What are you doing here?” When Kathy was happy, her voice was as even and flat as when she was mad, or irritated, or sad. Allie assumed Kathy was glad to hear from her.

“I don’t even know where my dad is. I went to his restaurant and it was closed!”

“You mean closed for the night? Or closed down?”

“It was closed down. I mean there is no restaurant—I’m freaking out here!” It didn’t seem right to tell Kathy the accumulation of things that were freaking her out just then.

“Odd,” Kathy said. “And he didn’t call you and tell you anything about it?”

“I don’t have a phone, remember? Listen, I’m at Wilshire and Hills. Where’s your new place?”

“Oh, I’m just around the corner. But I have a date in like five minutes with this guy. He’s a lawyer.”

“A lawyer?! How old is he?”

“Forty.”

“Forty?! He’s older than my mother!”
Gross!
Allie thought. But then she remembered that only hours ago, she had her shirt off in a fitting room with a thirty-three-year-old guy.
That
was even more gross.

“I know. But he’s totally cool. Smart, handsome, the whole shebang. I swear I think I’m in love.”

Although Kathy had (unlike Allie) seemed interested in boys in high school, she never dated. She and Allie hung out in the library, quizzed each other for upcoming tests, and went to the beach and read, their bellies never getting tanned as they lay facedown in front of their books in the sand. And even now that the switch had flipped in Allie and she was suddenly boy-crazy, she had never imagined that it would happen to Kathy, too. Kathy seemed too smart for love. Like she could see how fleeting it was, how irrational these crushes were, how they came on with the force of a tidal wave that, as had happened with Marc, could leave you as damaged as a seaside shantytown.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re in love.” Allie wished she were in love. With someone new. Someone who loved her back.

“Wait, let me call him and see if you can come to dinner with us. I know he wanted to bring one of his clients along, so maybe a fourth would be good.”

“I don’t know. I’ve had a pretty crazy day and I just drove all the way down here—I probably smell.” Allie raised her arm above her head, leaned in, and sniffed.

“You’ve never smelled a day in your life,” Kathy said. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Our first double date together. Give me the number where you’re at and I’ll call you right back.”

It seemed like she was waiting for hours. Allie watched people come in and out of the gas station. She picked up the phone and listened for the dial tone to make sure it was working. She watched more people.

When Kathy finally did call back, Allie picked up the receiver before the first ring had finished. “Hey!”

“Okay, so Bud has this new client and the guy is single and Bud said you should definitely join us for dinner. This guy’s really cool. Plus he’s someone of quality.”

“Quality,” Allie said. Wai Po talked about people of quality. In third grade, when Allie was hanging out with Alice Woo, Wai Po approved, saying Alice was
VERY HIGH QUALITY. NO BARGAIN MEAT THERE.
“Okay. Sure. How old is this guy? Is he Bud’s age?” Allie was starting to feel hopeful. Maybe true love would follow what Allie now saw as one of the most regretful days of her life.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. He’s a movie producer. I think.”

“Cool! How great would it be to go out with a Hollywood producer!” Allie could feel nerves jiggling on the ends of her limbs. A date! With a real, live, grown-up movie producer! She hadn’t been on an actual date since Marc.

“Listen, we’re supposed to be there now, so swing by and pick me up and we’ll go together.”

K
athy’s apartment was less than two blocks from the gas station. Allie wanted to run in and see it, poke through Kathy’s drawers, see what kind of food she had in the fridge, but they were in a rush, according to Kathy. They had to be on time.

Allie pulled away from the curb and followed Kathy’s directions.

“Whose car is this?” Kathy said, and she looked around as if there was something more to see than just seats in the back.

“My friend Beth’s.”

“Why does it say CALL GIRL on the license plate? Beth’s kinda giving people the wrong message, don’t you think?”

“It says CAL GIRL. CAL. As in Berkeley.”

“Are you sure there aren’t two Ls on there?” Kathy seemed so confident that Allie wanted to pull the car over and look at the plate herself.

“It says CAL,” Allie said.

Kathy pulled on her seat belt. She was the only person Allie knew who regularly wore a seat belt. “I’m really happy to see you,” Kathy said, and she put an arm around Allie and hugged her in a half-touching way. Kathy had never been that affectionate in high school. Not like Beth, who liked to crawl into Allie’s bed and wrap her legs around Allie to warm up.

“You’re my only friend in L.A.,” Allie said. “There’s no one else to write letters to.”

Kathy smiled. She was the only person who knew about the fifteen-page letters Allie used to send Penny only to get back almost-formal postcards from places like Budapest or Zagreb, where people were still passionate about Mighty Zamboni.

“So why are you here? I thought you had to work in Berkeley all summer.” Kathy opened her window and adjusted the rearview mirror.

“My job was in Oakland, not Berkeley.”

“Turn right here. What’s with the Wonder Bread?” Kathy kicked the bag with the point of her black leather pump. She was wearing a short cotton skirt and a blouse. Allie thought she looked more like a secretary than a college student.

“Well, that’s sort of the reason I’m here now—”

“Left there! Quick!” Kathy pointed across Allie’s chest. “Turn into the parking lot there. Park next to the BMW. That’s Bud’s car.”

“Okay,” Allie said, turning the wheel.

“Not so close!” Kathy said. “Pull out and in again so you won’t nick his door when you get out.”

“Don’t worry.” Allie cut the engine. “I won’t nick your boyfriend’s
BMW
.”

“Sorry,” Kathy said. “I’m just not used to you driving. I was always the one with a license and a car.” Kathy unbuckled her seat belt and got out of the car.

Allie got out, held the automatic lock up at eye level, and gave it a click. It was true, Kathy had been the one in charge when they were in high school. Kathy decided what movie they’d go to, which girls they’d hang out with, what they’d eat, whose house they’d sleep at. Allie always felt like a tourist and Kathy was the confident and able insider who helped her navigate it all. But now, after going away to college and feeding herself and falling in love and losing all her money and getting her heart broken, Allie didn’t quite feel like Kathy’s tagalong. She felt almost as grown-up as Kathy had always seemed. And after having stolen a bag of pure cocaine (as well as having watched a man masturbate!), Allie felt like there were ways in which she’d even passed Kathy in the life-experience lane.

“Come on.” Kathy turned toward the door of Manuel’s Taqueria. She waited for Allie to catch up.

“Do I look okay?” Allie asked.

“Of course,” Kathy said, and Allie knew it must be true. Kathy had never been one for false flattery. “By the way,” Kathy said, her hand poised on the giant bar-like door pull, “don’t tell Bud that you’ve smoked pot.”

“I did it twice,” Allie protested. If only Kathy knew that that was the least of Allie’s transgressions!

“I know,” Kathy said, “but he’s
totally
against drugs. It’s one of his things.”

“Well it’s not like I’m FOR drugs. I’ve just tried them. And believe me, my experience with them hasn’t really turned out well.”

Kathy paused, her hand still on the door pull. “Did you try anything other than pot?”

“I tried coke,” Allie confessed. “It was awful. That’s sort of why I’m here.”

“Cocaine?” Kathy shook her head in a way that made Allie regret telling her. “That’s hard-core.” And then she finally pulled open the door and stepped into the restaurant ahead of Allie.

It was dark inside. There were strings of glowing chili peppers draped across the ceiling like clotheslines, and the walls were covered with straw hats, Mexican flags, and what Allie guessed where burro blankets. Tinny-sounding Mexican music came out of randomly placed speakers. Kathy seemed to know where she was going; she picked up speed as she approached a far corner table. A slender man in a suit stood and kissed her on the cheek. As Allie got closer she saw that yes, indeed, this was a full-grown, forty-year-old man with creases radiating around his eyes and tufts of gray popping up behind each ear. But he also appeared fit and didn’t have a lecherous look to him. Maybe, like everything else in life, Kathy knew how to pick guys, too.

Across the table from Bud was an overweight, middle-aged, glossy-faced man in a wheelchair. He had a thick, almost-wet, blondish mustache, which gave him a walrus-like look. His hair was long and straight, with a yarmulke of baldness on the crown of his head. There was a pointer with a rubber tip attached to his forehead and a board somewhat like an Ouija board across the arms of his chair. He was grinning, his head rocking back with what appeared to be excitement. Allie tried to catch Kathy’s eye, but Kathy wouldn’t look at her.

“Allie!” Bud said, and he stuck out his hand. Allie shook it without taking her eyes off the man in the wheelchair. “This is my friend and client, Roger.” He pronounced it Roe-Jay. “He’s from Paris.”

“You’re a French major, this should be easy for you,” Kathy said. She toward Roger. “I’m Kathy, by the way.” Then she leaned forward to shake Roger’s hand. Before she could get there, his arm spasmed. Kathy chased the hand across the board, trapped it, held it for the amount of time a shake would have taken, and released it. She was wearing her polite, nervous smile. Allie had seen it thousands of times over the years; it popped up frequently in front of teachers and parents. It reminded Allie of a pencil drawing: a single horizontal line to indicate a mouth.

“Have a seat,” Bud said, and he pulled out the chair beside him for Kathy, then pointed at the chair in the corner for Allie. The wheelchair was blocking access, so Allie grabbed the two handles and tried to pull Roger back. Roger made a long, low squeal.

“Brakes,” Bud said, “you need to release the brakes.”

“Oh.” Allie tried not to laugh. When she looked toward Kathy, Kathy jolted her head away as if to indicate she would have no part in making fun of this incident. Beth would want to talk about this, Allie thought wistfully. Beth loved to laugh about everything she and Allie encountered in Berkeley: the bearded guy who wore dresses, lived in a tree on Telegraph Avenue, and shouted down to pedestrians, “Jesus hates you!”; the Gertrude Stein–looking woman in the black judicial robe, who wandered around campus blowing bubbles from a pink plastic bubble-maker; or Polka Dot Man, who silently held yoga poses for hours in Dwinelle Plaza, wearing his white polka-dot jumpsuit. And then Allie remembered Beth’s car, Jonas, Vice Versa, and the fact that she was supposed to have been back at Beth’s apartment with the coke hours ago.
Another time
, Allie said in her head, and she longed for some unimaginable future where there were no terrifying or uncomfortable thoughts she needed to banish.

Allie looked down to the back wheels of the chair, saw a little red lever, and kicked it up with her foot. She rolled the chair back, got into her seat, and pulled the chair forward by the armrests. “I guess I can’t lock it from where I’m sitting.” She tilted her head to make her eyes even with Roger’s falling head. A loose lank of tin-blond hair jerked across his face. “Do you think you’ll be okay?”