Lost in LA

by Amy Craig

  Wylie smiled as she opened the back door of the truck to admit the employee. “Did your pressing engagement have pink hair?”

  The Brazilian laughed and reached for hand sanitizer and work gear. “Now it’s purple.”

  Wylie handed over the ladle and set to work organizing the cheese and chopped onions that would pepper the food. She slid past Nolan and set a bottle of hot sauce next to the stack of napkins on the sill. “What? Some people like it hot.” When he laughed, she scanned the growing crowd and spotted her friend’s tanned skin and sun-streaked brown hair among the crowd. “Penny Lane!”

  Several heads turned in her direction and Wylie swallowed, hoping the woman would roll with being singled out. She climbed down from the truck and came around the front to greet her friend amid the stagnant air and asphalt fumes of the parking lot. “Hey! I hope you don’t mind we brought dinner.”

  The woman smiled, but she glanced over her shoulder, rocking on her feet with nervous energy. “We’re not used to getting this much attention. That aid group showed up with a load of donations, but they’re unwilling to hand out the gear until they identify the addicts and find out who’s been stealing supplies.” She shuddered. “They’re not like the EMS, social workers and housing counselors who come to visit. They’ve got an agenda.”

  “Well, we brought unconditional food.”

  Penny Lane smiled. “People will be glad to get it.” She waved to a friend and nodded at the woman’s unspoken questions. “Do you want to meet some of the people you’ll be helping?”

  Nolan’s request hovered in Wylie’s subconscious. “I should probably stay by the truck since I came to help them out.”

  “Who’s paying for the food?”

  “The owner wants to get feedback on his menu before he opens a healthy, low-cost chain.”

  Penny Lane laughed. “Is that why the man hasn’t taken his eyes off you?”

  “Possibly,” Wylie said with a smile.

  A woman with coarse braids approached Penny Lane and jutted her chin toward Wylie. “Who’s your friend?”

  Wylie met the woman’s inquisitive greeting with a warm smile. “Hi! I’m Wylie. Modesto is a new concept for food service. Low prices, no guilt, no empty stomachs.” The catchphrase seemed to solidify each time she said it. She attempted to channel Antonia’s enthusiasm. “Right now, we’re adjusting the menu and looking for feedback on the food. It’s like a popup.”

  The woman eyed the truck’s wood siding and scratched her head. “It’s free food?”

  Wylie laughed. “Yep, and you don’t even have to smile, pretend you like it or pretend to listen to a sermon. Just give us your honest thoughts.”

  “Bunch of rich white folks come to do their penance,” the woman said. “You going to sleep better at night knowing you gave away some free food?”

  Wylie’s smile faltered. No. I’m going to sleep better at night knowing I did something to make the world a better place. Seven or eight billion people live on this planet, but at least I’ll go to sleep knowing I tried to do something good. “Do you like cornbread and chili?”

  The woman’s gaze narrowed. “Are you profiling me?”

  “No.” Wylie swallowed. “I’m just trying to support people who want to help you and others like you.”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Others like me. You think you can just parachute into this camp and make a difference with a bowl full of beans and rice? You workin’ with those dicks in the red shirts?” She scanned the parking lot. “I swear, if this a publicity stunt with a hidden camera, I’m not signing no release.”

  “I had no idea they would be here.”

  “Shit. If I wanted this kind of crap, I’d have gone to the shelter.”

  “She’s good, Lori. I vouch for her,” Penny Lane said.

  “Who said your vote counts? You come and go as you please. Where were you when times were tough? Holed up on the beach or playing house in your la-de-dah apartment.” She spat. “Someone call me when Social Services turns up with real help!”

  Penny Lane linked arms with the woman and started singing If I Fell.

  Lori seemingly tried to resist the soothing lyrics, but the familiarity of Penny Lane’s voice won her over. She glared at Nolan and Wylie. “You gonna be brave enough to bring us the chili?”

  “You want cheese with that?” Wylie asked, trying to smother a grin.

  Lori wrinkled her nose and returned to the perimeter of the encampment in the company of Penny Lane.

  “I’ll take them some bowls,” Nolan said. “Why don’t we make up a whole tray and I’ll bring it out into the camp?”

  “I’ll take it.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  She frowned. “Why not?”

  “Because I’m nervous and the chances of something going wrong escalates with proximity. I’d rather be in the middle of it than worry about what’s happening to you.”

  Wylie put her hands on her hip. “Who would hurt me? Who would hit a girl?”

  “You expect the best from everyone. Everyone makes mistakes.”

  She swallowed and changed tactics, determined to take ownership of the tense situation. “Nolan, I appreciate your intention, but you’re not the only one who wants to feel good about what they’re doing. You have everything. Let me have this moment.”

  Nolan tipped her chin and kissed her, stealing her breath. “I don’t have everything. You did a good thing, Wylie. You pushed me to test the boundaries of my business plan. I don’t know whether my original designs will work out or if I need to spend time reconfiguring them. Either way, you’ve done your part to encourage my dream. You’re still doing it.”

  “So you’re going to keep me on lockdown, far away from danger?”

  He scanned the crowd, shifting with tension as he pitted his wants and needs against the agenda of the red-shirted workers. “Not lockdown, but not exposed to every threat.”

  She cupped her hand, feeling the connection between them. “But I want to do more, Nolan.”

  “Rikard was wrong about you,” he whispered. “You do belong in this world and so do I.”

  “So you’ll let me bring the food?”

  He shook his head, laughter sparkling in the green of his eyes. “No way. I paid for it and I own it.”

  “You’re a bully,” she said.

  “And you like it.”

  She dropped her hand. What if I love it?

  Penny Lane returned, humming a tune Wylie failed to recognize. She turned to smile at her friend, determined to shelve her feelings for Nolan and use Penny Lane’s presence like an armed accompaniment.

  A man on a light blue bicycle fitted with a string of lights began to circle the aid workers’ truck. His wheelies and tricks might have delighted a teenage crowd, but a worker in a red shirt broke from the pack and shooed him off, yelling as he waved his hands in the air. “Hey! Get away from the truck.”

  “That’s just Dougie,” Penny Lane said with a smile. “He’s harmless.”

  Wylie’s skin prickled as the aid worker and the bicyclist exchanged words. “It’s not him I’m worried about.”

  Penny Lane shook her head. “Sometimes we squabble over donated items, but the arguments don’t swell into serious violence.”

  “I think Dougie needs to back off from the truck.”

  Penny Lane frowned. “We’re a community. He’s just trying to break the tension.”

  Two more aid workers abandoned the group and strode toward the aid truck. Their peer had started yelling at Dougie and the whole encampment went silent when he ripped the string of lights off Dougie’s bike. “Is this how you treat your benefactors? Parading around like a circus freak with what little you’ve got.”

  Dougie held up his hands. “Whoa, man. I was just horsing around. Give me back my stuff. I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Then get away from the truck!”

  “Wylie,” Nolan said from the window, “bring Penny Lane around back and show her the kitchen.”r />
  Wylie shook her head, mesmerized by the violence simmering below the surface of the confrontation. She knew what it felt like to hold back her anger then finally let it rip. The arrogance and acknowledgment she had seen in Cynthia’s eyes told her that the woman had known it too. Will these men take the high ground or sink to her level?

  Dougie lunged for the lights, but the aid worker’s peers mistook his intent and the echoing blast of a gunshot ricocheted through the community. The world seemed to stand still as Wylie braced for a second shot. Newsreels of active shooter coverage flipped through her consciousness like the wheels of a faceless slot machine. Had her time come? When silence reigned over the parking lot, she scanned the camp and the workers. Dougie lay on the ground, clutching his leg. Blood soaked his jeans. The steady drum of traffic obscured his moans, but she saw his face contort, wrinkling his weathered skin. His eyes clenched in pain.

  Penny Lane screamed, ran toward Dougie and collapsed on the black asphalt ground “No! I can’t lose another friend.”

  Bile rose in Wylie’s throat. She shook her head and covered her mouth as the severity of the moment punctured her disbelief. She scanned the assemble, but both groups had closed ranks. Who fired?

  In the moment of crisis, she remained rooted to the spot, unable to choose a side. She felt the pressure of an asthma attack starting to build, but she ignored it, chastising her cowardice as she scanned the crowd for the gun owner and weighed her safety against her desire to run toward Penny Lane and her blood-soaked friend. Nolan gripped her arm, his hold an anchor that refused to release her. “Esther’s calling nine-one-one,” he said. “Stay out of it.”

  “He’s a nice guy!” Penny Lane’s wail released the residents of the encampment. Half of them ran to her aid and half turned on the aid workers. “He doesn’t deserve to die like this! Nobody does!”

  Esther climbed down from the food truck and Nolan shook his head. “This is a line we don’t cross. I’m telling you that as your boss and as your friend.”

  Wylie pulled against his grip as her vision blurred. The sense of disbelief and breathlessness that had underpinned the situation suddenly got worse. She gasped, struggling to draw in a breath of air laden with fear and mobile fumes. “Inhaler.” The shortness of breath constrained her words to terse phrases. “It’s in my purse.”

  “Call nine-one-one again,” Nolan yelled. He helped her to the ground, cradling her head like she might lose consciousness at any moment.

  Wylie wheezed and reached for him, her hand braced against his chest. “No! Take me to the ER. Prednisone. Nebulizer treatment or both. We’ve got plenty of time.”

  “Your fingertips are turning blue,” he said.

  Wylie closed her eyes, waiting for the sweet release of the rescue inhaler.

  “I can’t find it!” Esther stumbled from the truck and loosened a stream of Portuguese profanities before she turned on the operator who had taken her second call. “Send another ambulance.” She described Wylie’s condition and listened, turning to Nolan. “The regional nine-one-one operator has to route the call to the local police to send help. She’s a screener. She can’t do it herself.”

  “Can’t afford it.” Wylie gasped. The thought of financial ruin sent her panic into overdrive, accelerating her asthma attack as the muscles in her airway tightened and restricted her airflow. “Take the car.”

  Nolan shook his head and rubbed her back. “I can afford it. People die from asthma attacks. You’re not going to be one of them.”

  You’re not responsible for me. She tried to form the words, but her vision blurred and she blacked out.

  * * * *

  The upright gurney bounced and shook as the ambulance driver pushed the vehicle through the rough streets of Los Angeles. In the back of the cab, the lead paramedic administered a nebulized bronchodilator to open Wylie’s airways. She blinked and focused on the man, trusting his uniform above all else. He nodded as the mask over her mouth clouded and she strained to pull in the life-saving medication that would open her airways.

  This is ridiculous. She felt the tension in her chest begin to ease. Her body ached, but each breath gave her relief as the beeps and alarms of the emergency equipment gave proof of her condition. They wouldn’t have taken me if I hadn’t needed it.

  “Your boyfriend looked worried sick,” the paramedic said as the medication stabilized her system. “We had to listen to your lung sounds, measure oxygen levels and take a peak flow reading before we could load you.” He glanced at the small window separating them from the driver. “Most of the time we just have to worry about overprotective pets.”

  He’s not my boyfriend.

  “Gave you an adrenaline injection to open the airways first. If your heart had stopped beating, the attack could have starved your brain of oxygen.” The paramedic shook his head. “That was a severe attack, but your man almost passed out too. I don’t think he’s a big fan of needles.”

  Wylie closed her eyes as the narrative eclipsed her financial reserves. Living in her SUV had seemed like a low point, but selling the vehicle to cover her medical expenses would feel so much worse. She registered the ambulance sirens and drew in the life-saving medication. Life is a series of emergencies when you don’t have any money. How long before I can teach again?

  “You’re lucky someone was with you. The GPS coordinates provided by your friend’s cellphone carrier gave us an approximate location, but fifty to three-hundred meters is a big area to search.”

  She struggled to open her eyes and respond.

  He shook his head and placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Relax and trust the nebulizer.”

  This is worse than the dental hygienist. She wanted to thank the man for his professional intervention, but the mask constrained her response. When was the last time I even visited a dentist?

  The paramedic sighed. “Emergency infrastructure hasn’t adapted fast enough to deal with our wireless world. What would have happened if you’d been out in the desert?” He shook his head. “You’re lucky we’re all familiar with that homeless encampment.”

  She straightened, desperate to know what had happened to Dougie.

  “The older man’s going to be okay,” the paramedic said.

  “I can’t say the same for that aid worker. Who brings a gun to a charity mission?” The driver asked from the front seat.

  Someone who’s afraid.

  “Imagine…shooting Dougie. His sister tried to find him a place to live and get him off the streets, but he said living outdoors felt like home and he never wanted to leave.” The ambulance came to a stop and the paramedic released the restraints. “An attack like that’s going to hurt for a while, but you’ll be on your feet again soon enough.”

  Wylie squeezed his grip on the side of the bed rail, hoping her gesture conveyed her gratitude. When the hospital staff opened the back of the ambulance, she blinked against the intrusion of bright sunlight and struggled to get her bearings. Amid the onslaught of practiced procedures, she took comfort in the worried expression on Nolan’s face. He’d ridden to the hospital with her and stayed by her side through thick and thin. If that isn’t love, what is?

  She closed her eyes and remembered Penny Lane’s scream as she ran toward her injured friend. How many times has Penny seen blood during her time on the streets? How many times has she worried for her safety? She had lived with Larry for a few years and called him her best friend, but then claimed they had never had a relationship. ‘I’m more of a caregiver without the right credentials.’ Is she too afraid to admit she loved and lost him or too afraid it might happen again?

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Even though your symptoms responded to the medications, we want to keep you in the ER for a few hours to make sure your symptoms stay under control,” the doctor on call told Wylie.

  She shifted on the emergency room bed, anticipating the cost of an extended stay. At least they’re not going to admit me.

  “I’m mainly worried ab
out your oxygen levels. Your lung test results are still a little low and you had so much trouble breathing that I’m worried it exhausted you. We’ll have the nurses monitor your progress and ensure you won’t go into lung failure when you get home.”

  She swallowed. “I’ll take my medications like a champ. What are you sending me home with? Corticosteroids?” The doctor raised his eyebrows. “It’s amazing what kind of medical knowledge you pick up when you’re managing a chronic condition.” Nolan peeked into the room and she nodded to admit him. “My roommate will help me stay on top of the medication.”

  The two men exchanged glances and Nolan smiled. “She’s downplaying our relationship. I won’t let her leave my bed.”

  “That’s inappropriate,” Wylie said.

  “You want to come home with me or stay in the hospital for a few more days?”

  She considered a range of outraged responses, but the creeping exhaustion of the attack stole her will to fight back against his display of possessiveness. “I appreciate your help.”

  He smiled. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

  The doctor cleared his throat. “The best way to prevent another severe attack is to follow your asthma action plan and avoid the things that trigger your attacks. Do you know what set you off? For many people, it’s dust, smoke, cold weather, exercise or viruses.”

  She thought about the preceding week. Dottie’s eviction, the tow truck and her shift at the food truck had tightened her airways, but her body’s response had paled in comparison to this attack. “What about stress?”

  The doctor glanced up from his chart. “Stress can do it too. Add a dose of irritants and you can understand why it’s so important to carry your rescue inhaler.”

  She exhaled and shook her head. “I must have ten of them stashed in purses and pockets. It was a careless error.” And it’s going to cost me. She sat up straight and projected the last of her strength into a smile. “I’ll rest better in his bed than in the hospital.”