Lost in LA

by Amy Craig

  Pulling out her phone, she searched for extended-stay apartments and temporary solutions to get her out of a crisis state. The action felt reassuring and positive, but the social media listings looked like scams and the preludes to money wire requests. She found a cluster of weekly rentals on the other side of the valley that met her budget, but she shook her head, knowing the cost of the commute would eat up her funds. Dejected, she closed the browser application and wondered whether Oregon might be a better solution in the long run. At least when I’m there, someone else will be pumping my gas—she rolled her eyes—if I can afford it.

  Her stomach rumbled and she thought about the days when her parents had footed the bills for her favorite fast-casual restaurant serving barbecue and grilled foods. Garlic rolls, a Caesar salad with salt and pepper chicken and a can of natural-essence sparkling water sounded delicious, but she knew independence came with concessions and sacrifices. I want to find a way to make this life work on my terms. Given my situation, splurging on a twenty-dollar meal would be as irresponsible as skipping the water bill to pay for false eyelashes. That’s one of the problems with living in LA. You’re surrounded by luxury and hot people, but you don’t know who’s legit and who’s hoping you won’t see through their façade. What’s the difference between necessity and prep work?

  She found a ballpoint and ran the numbers on the back of the deposit envelope. The five-hundred-dollar refund and the April rent sitting in her bank account fell short of the amount she knew she needed for a place of her own. Desperate for solutions, she thought of the yoga instructor overseeing her certification and wondered if Cynthia would play mother hen to a yoga chick in need. If that doesn’t work out, I’ll just live in my spacious SUV until I scrape together enough cash to put down a deposit and find a roommate of my own. She put the vehicle in gear and navigated toward Cynthia’s big-name yoga studio that catered to the Silicon Beach set in Playa Vista. Two weeks, max. Even I can do that.

  She pulled into the faultless parking lot of Cynthia’s studio and wondered how many hours of sweat equity separated a beachside practice from the bricks-and-mortar achievement of a studio. Beyond offering three types of yoga, Cynthia taught the two-hundred-hour certification class Wylie needed to land a job with health insurance.

  The woman spends more time taking selfies than improving her practice, but I’ve already completed forty online hours and finished the first half of the studio work required for my accreditation. If this morning proved anything, it proved I need a way to manage my asthma. If Cynthia won’t house me, maybe she’ll fast-track my accreditation or serve as an employment reference. I mean, I could teach her class blindfolded—she turned off the ignition. Who am I kidding? I’m just trying to get by right now.

  The class ended at one o’clock and Cynthia clapped her hands for attention. “I’m going to grab lunch at the Modesto food truck. Feel free to stick around if you have any unanswered questions.”

  Wylie peered through the studio’s windows and saw a food truck with horizontal wood panels. Positioned near the street corner, the truck’s multicolored prayer flags and painted bistro sets created a park-let and a final destination for a long line of customers waiting to place their orders. It must be pretty good. Her stomach growled.

  Realizing she had left all her food in Dottie’s apartment, she hurried to catch up to Cynthia. The woman had the toned arms of a lifelong yoga practitioner and the honed polish of an athlete. Her white teeth sparkled with the uniform shine of veneers and her dyed bob remained as black as her yoga pants.

  They stood in line and surveyed the menu.

  Wylie shifted her balance, searching for common ground before she encroached on their professional relationship with a litany of personal requests. “So what do you like to eat here?”

  “The veggie wraps are amazing. I don’t know what they put in the sauce, but it makes you forget to count calories and just believe in happily ever after.”

  Wylie raised her eyebrows and scanned Modesto’s menu with more interest. The food truck’s offerings focused on seasonal produce, lean protein and hot grains, but she wondered why the proprietor had named it after a town in the central valley. “I guess they’re not selling hamburgers today?”

  Cynthia rolled her eyes. “Ew. Who would eat a hamburger these days?”

  Wylie inhaled, figuring her chances of crashing on the woman’s floor had fallen a notch. She took a deep breath. “Do you have any other accreditation classes I could attend in the next few weeks? I’m super interested in wrapping up the coursework and finding a permanent position. Like, let’s get this done as soon as possible.”

  “Are you going to keep your beachside practice?”

  So you do pay attention. Wylie decided to hedge her response and shield her desperation. “Yeah, I just realized that I need to get benefits or earn more money to survive in this town.”

  Cynthia nodded. “My accreditation program is a good starting place, and you’ve got good form.”

  “But?”

  “You can’t rush these things. Develop a little patience. It will improve your practice and your daily life.”

  Wylie thought of the long, dark hours awaiting her if she could not find an alternative to sleeping in her SUV. “I’m not sure patience is the only thing I need.”

  Cynthia looked at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Um, my roommate kicked me out.”

  The instructor raised her eyebrows. “What’d you do?”

  Nothing! Wylie wanted to scream, but she exhaled. “What can I do? She’s letting her cousin move in, like, today.”

  “That’s a bummer,” Cynthia said like someone who wanted a paleo cookie from the pool’s snack bar. “There’s only so much you can control.”

  She waited for the woman to caveat her statement with a note of empathy. That’s a bummer, but you can stay with me for a few weeks. That’s a bummer, but I know a few women who could put you up for a spell. That’s a bummer, but… It’s not my problem.

  “I’d like to control her into a dose of common sense.”

  Instead of coming to her rescue, Cynthia laughed and scanned the food truck’s menu. “Take it from me, Wylie. There are only so many factors you can control.”

  A vendor in his early thirties leaned out of the window and asked for their orders.

  Cynthia moved forward until she stood directly beneath him. “I’ll have the veggie wrap and a side of sweet potato fries.”

  The man smiled. “Big calorie splurge, Cindy?”

  Cynthia looked at Wylie and smiled. “Isn’t it cute how he calls me Cindy?” Without waiting for a response, she turned back to the vendor. “It’s in honor of my friend, Wylie. She’s reminding me what it’s like to be young, ambitious and impulsive.” The woman winked. “I just hope my metabolism is on board with this plan.”

  Wylie swallowed as the vendor glanced at her with bright green eyes, but he dismissed her and focused on the customer at the front of his line. “Oh, I think you could take her down.”

  Cynthia laughed and handed the man a credit card to pay for her meal. “That’s why people keep coming back to you, Nolan. Your food’s good, but your sense of humor is even better.”

  “It must not be a high bar,” Wylie said. She kicked a piece of gravel near the curb and thought about how she would spend the remainder of her day.

  The vendor laughed.

  She looked up, meeting his bright green gaze. Shit, that snide comment came out louder than I thought. Embarrassed by her retort, she blushed, intending to apologize for being rude. Common courtesy—your mother taught you to be polite to strangers. The words stalled in her throat.

  His charming grin and lively gaze hummed with amusement.

  The longer she stared at the man, the more she feared they would remain strangers.

  Raising his eyebrow, he broke the connection and scanned her body.

  She stood proud, knowing she looked good in her athletic gear. His appraisal would take in the swel
l of her breasts and the neat indentation of her waist. Remembering to raise her chin, she let her smile grow. Yoga pays off, doesn’t it? Have you decided I’m more than another customer? Do you see something here you want?

  The vendor met her gaze and bit his lip.

  Smiling, she tried to ignore the warmth spreading through her chest. The man’s unique eyes caught her attention, but his style choices and elevated physique gave her a reason to linger. His neat fade suggested a standing appointment with a barber and mimicked the hip street aesthetic of the food truck, but a small line of skin separated his beard from his sideburns. Did you flinch at your last appointment or did your barber have a problem making the ends meet?

  “Like what you see?” Nolan asked.

  She stopped admiring the strong lines of his jaw and grinned. “It’s an interesting menu.”

  He laughed and stood up straight, spreading his arms to encompass the food truck and healthy menu. “We aim to please.”

  “Looks like you’ve got a line today,” Cynthia said, clearing her throat and vying for the vendor’s attention.

  “Good thing,” Nolan said. “Humor won’t keep us out of the red.”

  The instructor dropped a five-dollar bill in the tip jar. “Maybe you just need another gig.” She raised her eyebrows.

  Wylie coughed and bit her lip at the innuendo, trying not to laugh at the thought of the yoga instructor propositioning the younger man like a typecast cougar. A trickle of laughter slipped passed her defenses and she clapped her hand tight against her lips, pretending to clear an errant cough from her throat. What happened to the mascot from the tiki lounge?

  They both turned to stare at her, his eyebrows raised and her eyebrows frozen from one too many injections.

  She widened her eyes and tried to look innocent. “What? We all have our strengths.”

  Cynthia’s brow twitched.

  “You said Modesto makes good food, so let’s do it.”

  Nolan’s finger hovered over a mobile dashboard and a credit card reader meant to obviate daily trips to the bank. “So, what will you have?”

  She stared at the menu and pondered which combination of dishes would keep her stomach full the longest. Moisture pooled in her mouth and she swallowed her spit, wondering how people managed the pain of chronic hunger when the country had so much food it spoiled and grocers threw it out. “How about a deal?” she said, focusing on Nolan. “I’ll promote your truck on social media in exchange for a free lunch of your choice.”

  “What?” Cynthia mumbled about the right way to do business and shook her head. “He has my card. Just order a wrap.” She waved at the men in their Friday shirts.

  Wylie watched her leave and focused on Nolan, who was responding to an issue within the food truck. We might be interested adults, but until I put my life back together, the only booty call that I’m making is a midday visit to a public restroom.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, “but no-go on the promotion deal. I could retire if I had a dollar for every social media influencer who wanted a free meal. Let me guess… You have, like, thousands of followers?”

  “Something like that.” She smiled. “I teach a beachfront yoga class at Palisades Park and my clientele would love your menu.” Blink. Blink.

  “Great. Tell them about Modesto the next time you want to do a good deed for a budding entrepreneur.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t look like you need free food.”

  She blinked and looked at the waiting line of customers clutching credit cards. She winced, realizing her offer pitted a slim upside against the nourishing reality of free food. For a moment, she considered twirling her hair and wondered if Cynthia’s brand of flirtatious humor would have gotten her further with the man. Stick to your principles. She took a deep breath. “So no free lunch?”

  He crossed his arms and looked down at her. “This is like the story of my life. People see what I have and they want a piece of it.”

  She glanced at the menu. “Well, you’re selling food.”

  The obvious comment elicited a laugh and defused his defensive posture. “I’m just stating the facts. My menu’s good enough to cultivate a loyal social media following without your added exposure. I’d run out of food if I gave my goods away to everyone who asked for a handout.”

  “Well, at least you’d have friends.”

  “Hardly. I’d have dependents.”

  Isn’t that my greatest fear? Hanging out in my parents’ basement, unable to support myself while the rest of the world gets ahead? She blew out her breath. “Fine. Your loss. Just remember, reviews can go both ways.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Are you threatening me?”

  She smiled. “No. I was offering to take a chance on you. My reputation for your food. The least you could do is to return the favor.”

  The man leaned on the stainless-steel shelf holding his mobile dashboard. “You want to be partners? How about this? You pay for your meal and I’ll give you a promo code. If your followers track down my truck and place an order within the next week, you can have ten percent of the profits.”

  “What do they get for mentioning the code?”

  “Ten percent off their order. You and I are splitting the proceeds.”

  Wylie considered the potential payout of their deal. The reality of living without showers and laundry facilities had begun to sink in, but this man did not need to know that fact. She wondered if he could see the desperation beneath her athletic gear and clean blonde hair. How long before this patina wears off? Visibility made her feel vulnerable.

  A woman coughed behind her.

  She shook off her insecurities and decided she had nothing to lose. “What’s the code?”

  Nolan cocked his head and looked at her like a rare ingredient, then he smiled and winked. “Mini Mako.”

  “Excuse me?” she asked, knowing their conversation straddled a fine line between flirtation and schoolyard banter.

  “Oh, you know the song. Bay-bee…”

  She shut her eyes and frowned as a K-pop children’s song wormed its way into her subconsciousness. Before the song had taken over every preschool in the nation, it had endured as a simple camp song with a gruesome ending. She thought about the years she had spent on dusty SoCal campuses where summer childcare masqueraded as noble summer camp.

  I’m nothing like a mako shark. They’re large, fast and decisive. I’m…peaceable and intentional? She scanned the impromptu nickname for a shred of truth, but the song’s lyrics drowned out her objections and she involuntarily tapped her foot, indulging in the simple melody before adult reality roared through her consciousness like a sneaker wave. She opened her eyes and stared at the man, shaking her head to clear the annoying rhythm. “You did that on purpose.”

  His smile widened. “It’s memorable, just like you.”

  I’m going to see this man again. The realization heightened her awareness of how she stood and she straightened her shoulders. Why him?

  Nolan matched her posture and straightened to his full height. If he felt the same awareness she did, he hid it behind the casual friendliness that seasoned his food. A prep cook called out a question and he answered it without breaking her gaze. Ten people stood in line behind her, but Wylie leaned forward, wondering what might be on the chef’s menu.

  He swallowed, his throat working like he had encountered an unexpected morsel. “Mini Mako? It’s an easy promo code to remember and I want you to come back.”

  She shook off her awareness of their mutual attraction and reminded herself that she no longer had the luxury of flirting with handsome men. “I’m not an idiot. Why don’t you go with something more uplifting? Like ‘FreshToFit’?”

  “Mini Mako.”

  “My name is Wylie.”

  He repeated her name and seemed to taste the sounds. Then he eyed the line of people waiting to place their orders. “Take it or leave it.”

  “Fine.” She sighed, wondering if ‘Mini Mako�
� would elicit anything more than a few laughs on social media. Haven’t they ever seen Jaws?

  “So what will you have?”

  She scanned the prices on the menu. “Lentil soup.”

  He nodded at the cheap selection, but she couldn’t tell if he approved of her choice or recognized the budget decision.

  “Small or large?”

  “Large.” She let the frustration of the day seep into her voice.

  His finger hovered over the mobile dashboard. “Anything else, Wylie Coyote?”

  “Just Wylie.”

  He smiled and typed her name. “That’ll be six dollars.”

  She handed the man her credit card, thankful that the delayed billing cycle would buy her time to balance her finances. She knew the money would have gone further in a supermarket, but the splurge had been worth it to get more face time with Cynthia.

  Nolan looked up. “I’ll throw in some sweet potato fries to sweeten the deal.”

  “Aren’t you generous?”

  He smiled and winked at her. “The orange color will brighten up your post.”

  Twenty minutes later, Wylie sat in the shade of a sycamore tree and finished her lentil soup. She savored the quiet satisfaction of a full stomach before she arranged the empty soup container on a bed of large green leaves. My followers won’t know it’s empty. Can I make a haphazard stack of sweet potato fries look like art?

  Her phone’s camera brought the truck’s logo into focus and let the vehicle’s horizontal wood panels and painted bistro sets fade into the background. She considered a series of captions before she began to type.

  Delicious find in Playa Vista. Seasonal produce, lean protein and hot grains. No upcharge for a handsome proprietor and somewhere to rest your ass. Mention ‘Mini Mako’ this week for ten percent off your order.