by Carrie Asai
“Good thinking,” Hiro said.
“Thanks! Anyway, I threw that over me and crawled down the hall to the bedroom, then sort of dropped out the window into the bushes.”
“Were the fire trucks already there?” I asked.
“Yeah. But I didn’t stick around. I went over to a friend’s house. I just thought it might not be the best thing if people started asking questions, you know? I mean, I thought you guys might have been ambushed or something!”
“No—we came home after picking up my bag from Vibe, and that’s when we saw that the house was on fire. The whole place was surrounded by police and firemen, so we figured they had it under control.” I ruffled Cheryl’s hair. “I’m so glad you’re okay!” I said, feeling the tears pricking behind my eyes again. “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d been hurt…or…”
“Cut it out, you,” Cheryl said. “You’re going to make me cry and it’s going to screw up my makeup.”
“But you lost everything…,” I said, guilt washing over me.
“Don’t worry about that,” Cheryl said, grinning. “It was all crap anyway. What happened next was the crazy part!”
Cheryl’s French toast arrived, and when I smelled it, my appetite came back with a vengeance. I took a big bite of my cheeseburger.
“Can I have a fry?” Cheryl said, grabbing one off my plate. She dunked it into the puddle of syrup around her French toast. “Mmm, gooey,” she purred. “So where have you guys been? Where did you go after you saw the fire?”
“But wait—what happened next?” I asked.
“Later,” Cheryl said. “Come on, I’m dying to know where you guys have been.”
“I put Heaven on a bus for Vegas,” Hiro said.
“No way!” Cheryl yelped. “That’s so awesome. Did you, like, go undercover?”
“Kind of…,” I said. I studied Cheryl’s face as she picked at her meal. Something was a bit different about her—a hardness around the mouth? A frantic look in the eye? The signs weren’t adding up to anything I could understand. She was the same old Cheryl, but like Cheryl times ten. I wondered if she was on something.
“So? Spit it out,” Cheryl prodded.
I decided it was best to tell her everything that had happened. There was no reason not to, really. It might be dangerous for her to be seen with us, but there was nothing I could tell her about my “Vegas vacation” that the people who were out to get us didn’t know already. For the second time that night Hiro and I explained what had happened. Only this time Cheryl interrupted frequently. When I told her about how Hiro had come to Joshua Tree and we’d decided to start a new life together in Europe, she let out another high-pitched squeal.
“No way! You guys are totally going out now?”
I blushed. People at the booths around us were staring at Hiro and me as if they expected us to start making out right there.
“Cheryl…shhh…,” I said.
“Sorry,” she hissed in a stage whisper only slightly quieter than her normal voice. “It’s just—I can’t believe it! It’s so perfect!” Cheryl launched into an assessment of our relationship. It was so typical, I had to laugh.
“You are so beyond,” I said. “After everything we’ve told you, that’s all you can think about?”
Cheryl’s face fell for the second time since she’d sat down, but again she quickly recovered. “I’m sorry, you guys—everything you’ve had to go through just sucks so bad—I’m trying to look at the positive side of things.”
“I know you are,” I said.
“So now what?” Cheryl asked.
“Well,” Hiro said, “we hadn’t really discussed it. But we’re probably going to get out of L.A. tomorrow morning. Drive back down to Las Vegas, maybe, and figure out our next step.”
“It’s too great!” Cheryl said. “You have to come stay in my kick-ass sublet.”
Hiro looked taken aback. “You found a new place already?” he said, glancing at me. I’d been thinking exactly the same thing.
“Yeah—like I said, everything really turned out for the best.” Cheryl’s face fell. “Heaven,” she said, turning to me and grabbing my hand. “There’s something I have to tell you.” Her eyes were wide, and she was chewing nervously on the nails of her free hand.
“What is it?” I asked gently, taking her hand again. Maybe she was about to tell me the thing I had sensed but couldn’t name.
“Well, remember how I told you my family didn’t have any money? And how I was always talking about how you needed to learn to fend for yourself?”
“I remember,” I said. I’d felt so guilty when I couldn’t make rent on our house. I knew Cheryl didn’t get any support—financial or otherwise—from her family.
“Well…” Cheryl took a deep breath. Then, in a rush, “It was a lie. The whole thing. My family lives in Santa Cruz. My dad is an entertainment lawyer and my mother comes from money. A lot of money. It’s true that I was supporting myself, but they’ve always given me plenty of cash whenever I needed it. They didn’t exactly understand why I was living the way I was, but they accepted it. They just hoped I’d get tired of the working life and decide to go to college.” Cheryl looked at me pleadingly. “I’m just so sorry I lied to you.”
“Cheryl,” I said, giving her a hug. “I totally understand. Believe me, I understand that it’s hard letting people know you come from that kind of privilege.”
“Really? You’re not mad?”
I shook my head. “Nope. I just wish that you’d felt comfortable letting me in on your little secret.”
Cheryl sighed. “Believe me, I wanted to. It’s just—I’d gotten so used to it being a secret, know what I mean?”
I nodded. Boy, did I ever.
“So your parents sublet a place for you?” Hiro asked.
Cheryl wiped her eyes. “Kind of. It turned out that some good friends of theirs needed a house sitter for a few months. They went off to the south of France for the summer.” Cheryl grinned. “The place rocks!”
“That’s great!” I said. “So cool of your parents to let you stay in L.A. Where is it?”
“Studio City. Come on,” Cheryl wheedled, totally back to her spastic self. She never could stay down for long. “You guys will love it. It’s a duplex with four whole bedrooms, a pool in the building, health club—the works.”
“You won’t get in trouble for having guests, will you?” Hiro asked cautiously.
“In trouble? No way! The people I’m sitting for are, like, so mellow. As long as no one breaks their weird sculpture collection.” Cheryl giggled. “It’s not like I’m having a mad party or anything—I’m saving that for later.”
“Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind…,” I said.
“Listen,” Cheryl said. “It’s just too easy. We’ll go return your rental so you can at least not get as totally ripped off as you would if you kept it for another couple of days, and then you can take my car down to Vegas.”
“What will you drive?” Hiro asked, running his hand through his hair.
“I’ve got a sporty little convertible that comes with the house. I’m driving it right now. See?” Cheryl pointed to the parking lot, where a gold BMW sat diagonally across two spots.
“Great parking job,” I said, laughing.
“Hey—I’m just getting used to it! Besides, I thought I’d only be in here for a minute!”
“You are too much,” I said.
“I know, I know,” she said, dragging her handbag out from under the table. “Listen—you guys think about it while I go to the bathroom. Here’s some money for the check.”
Cheryl threw a fifty down on the table and headed for the bathroom.
“I’m so happy for Cheryl,” I said, looking at Hiro. I was glad we had something else to talk about besides what I’d learned earlier at Yoji’s.
“Yes,” Hiro answered. “But don’t you think she’s acting a little…” He paused, searching for the word. “Hyper?”
“Well
, she was talking a mile a minute,” I said, glancing around to make sure Cheryl wasn’t behind me.
“And did you notice how glassy her eyes were?”
“Yes. And she only ate about two bites of her food,” I added, staring at her plate of drooping French toast. “I think it might be drugs.”
Hiro frowned. “That’s not good.”
“I know,” I said. “But she’s been through a lot. Maybe we’re just reading too much into her behavior.” I wasn’t about to tell Hiro that, knowing the way Cheryl could drink, I wouldn’t exactly have been shocked if she’d moved on to some other substance.
“Well, you know her better than I do…,” Hiro said.
I sighed. I felt like I was always being critical of Cheryl’s behavior…which was pretty lame of me, considering how generous Cheryl had always been.
“You know what?” I said. “I think we should go. After all, where else are we going to stay tonight? And as for borrowing her car—it’s probably a good idea.”
“You’re right,” Hiro said. “No doubt they’ve got the license number of the rental down by heart at this point. And it’s only one night.”
“Fine,” I answered. “We’ll do it.” I was tired from the effort of noticing every little thing that went on around me, and the cheeseburger had made me want to curl up right there in the booth and pass out. One thing I knew was that since the night of the wedding, it had always been Cheryl who’d helped me out of tight spots. And she’d almost gotten killed doing it. Plus she’d never lied to me. Not like some people. I studied Hiro’s face.
“Heaven,” he said, his voice soft.
“No,” I said. “I’m not ready yet.” I slid out of the booth and stretched. Just for tonight, I was going to relax. Tomorrow would come soon enough.
Besides, I was psyched to see Cheryl’s phat pad.
I knew Heaven wasn’t dead. Why should she be? I was the one who got stuck in the house, who got sent back there alone even though I’d screwed up my ankle and had no idea what the hell was going on.
Damn, this bathroom is cold! Would it kill them to turn down the air-conditioning a little bit? I mean, come on, just because it’s hot out doesn’t mean it has to be subzero in here. My ass is freezing. For once I’m almost glad I’m wearing long pants.
Deep breath. Inhale. There. Just a few bumps until we get back to the apartment and Heaven and her boy toy settle in. Then I can indulge as I please. Wipe the nose, wait for that bitter trickle down the back of my throat. There. I saw Heaven giving me that “mom” look earlier. She probably can’t help it, but it’s a little disappointing she didn’t learn how to loosen up a bit more when she was working at Vibe. I think she suspects I might be “indulging” a little. But she won’t say anything, I think. Not in the next few hours, anyway, and that’s all that matters. Oh God, the thought of some kind of “intervention” from her makes me feel nauseated. Miss Good Girl. A lecture is exactly what I don’t need—especially from her.
After tonight I’ll give up the coke for good anyway. Get my hands on some of the real good stuff for the pain. Some of those high-grade pharmaceuticals. Because it hurts. The doctors said the burns would heal soon, that they were deep but small enough not to have to worry too much about. Just a bit of scarring. I’ll have to go see a specialist about that.
Freaking fantastic. One day I’m out with the hottest guy I’ve ever dated, the next minute I’m elephant girl, forced to dress in some wack Eileen Fisher ensemble like a forty-year-old hippie from Marin.
Another bump. Aaah, that’s good. It makes everything so much easier. The planning, the talking. Getting through the night.
When Heaven and Hiro are gone, I’m packing my bags and moving out. Up to Santa Cruz, maybe, or even Big Sur. I’ve got the funds, and soon I’ll have even more cash, so why not live a little? I’ll come back in a few months when everything blows over—open my own shop, maybe. Or how about New York City? That might be the place for me. Forget this California bullshit. I could rent a place on the lower East Side with all the dough, hang at the cool clubs, get known on the scene.
My face looks a little pale in the bathroom mirror. I splash some water on it, make sure there’s no blow left on my nose. Deep sniff. Good. My teeth are numb, love that. Spike up the hair. Not sure how I feel about this red, but it’s kind of growing on me. Clothes—disaster, as previously mentioned. Now that I think about it, the look is a little Beyond Thunderdome. Oh, well, I’ll buy new threads soon. Just have to bide my time.
Heaven’s hair looks great, of course. She’d look good bald and wearing a paper bag. Some people are just lucky. They have everything handed to them on a plate. She’ll be fine. Nothing’s going to happen to her.
They promised me that.
Cheryl
9
We cruised into the underground parking lot in Cheryl’s building, tires squealing as she veered into a parking space marked Reserved. Cheryl drove like she did just about everything else—fast and with very little thought. Hiro let out his breath and relaxed his death grip on the arm of the car door. Attacks by ninjas? No problem. But put someone else at the wheel and it drove Hiro crazy.
The elevator from the parking garage opened directly into Cheryl’s sublet.
“Wow,” I breathed as I stepped into a space that looked like it had been ripped directly from the pages of Architectural Digest. “This is amazing.”
Directly in front of us, a brushed metal circular staircase wound its way up to the second level. One wall of the apartment was all glass, and we could see outside to where a balcony looked out at the lights of the city. Dotted around the room was a series of abstract sculptures, all forged out of a dark, heavy metal—at first they looked like human figures, but when I got up close, I could see they were more like birds or animals. A few modernist leather sofas and chairs sat in the larger room in front of a huge fireplace. The effect was cold but stunning.
“Beautiful,” Hiro said appreciatively.
“Isn’t it awesome?” Cheryl threw her keys on a glass coffee table that wound around itself in a spiral shape. Very avant-garde. “This is one of four or five properties the Reeses—that’s their name—have. A house in the south of France, something in London, I think, and New York City.” Cheryl walked into the kitchen, a study in modern decor, and opened the Sub-Zero fridge.
“Whiskey? Or how about a beer?”
“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m feeling a little tired.”
“Hiro?” Cheryl asked, dumping ice cubes into a glass and walking over to the bar that lined the other side of the room, which was stocked with top-shelf liquor.
“No, thank you.”
“Guess I’m drinking alone, then, ha ha.” Cheryl poured whiskey over the ice cubes. She toasted us, then took a gulp.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just that it’s been a really long day.” It was as if Cheryl hadn’t even heard any of the stuff we’d told her earlier, like she just wanted to forget it all and party down.
“Sorry? Don’t be sorry,” Cheryl said, leaning against the bar. “You guys probably just want to crash, huh? I mean, I would certainly want to hit the hay if I were you. But I can show you around if you want.”
“Cool,” I said, not wanting Cheryl to think we were just using her for a crash pad. I was still feeling pretty sensitive about that.
Cheryl knelt down by the fireplace and lit a match, and in just one second a fire was burning in the grate. “Gas fire,” she explained. “Totally idiotproof.” Cheryl lit a cigarette and threw herself onto the leather sofa. “Go grab yourself a soda or something and we can relax.”
“I’ll get us some water,” Hiro said, stepping back into the kitchen. I sat down next to Cheryl on the couch.
“You smoke now?” I asked, then instantly regretted it. I hadn’t meant to nag.
“Oh, I’m not really a smoker,” Cheryl said, puffing happily on her butt. “You know, not like those old ladies you see who always have a cigarette jammed between their
lips from first thing in the morning until last thing at night. The ones who fall asleep smoking and light their houses on fire.”
I nodded. Cheryl was definitely on something. Her eyes darted back and forth, and it was almost as if her brain was programming words down to her mouth without any thought involved. She just couldn’t stop talking.
“No, just here and there,” she continued. “I’m tellin’ ya, it’s been kinda harsh this last week, you know? I mean, the Marcus thing and the fire. I need to totally relax and chill and figure out what to do next.” Cheryl sipped her whiskey. “So this just helps a bit,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward her drink and her smoke. “For now.”
“I understand,” I said. While she talked, describing the details of the apartment, how four people could fit in the bathtubs, how the showers had “rain shower” heads, and how the curving staircase had been designed by a French architect named Baptiste, I only half listened to what was coming out of her mouth, turning my attention instead to the sound of her voice, the way her body moved. She gestured jerkily with her hands, and her lips were dry and cracked. All the signs only added up to what I already knew—she was doing drugs. It was as simple as that. I hoped her parents would check in on her once in a while, because there was no way I could confront her about this right now.
Cheryl jumped up. “Come on, guys,” she said, grabbing her keys. “You have to see the pool before bed. It’s on the roof, and you get the greatest view of the city from up there.”
Hiro and I followed Cheryl back to the elevator. She was right. The pool was magnificent. Fountains tinkled along its edges. Muted lights showed how clear and clean the water was and didn’t detract at all from the view Cheryl had promised. The three of us leaned against the railing. A cool breeze was blowing in from the desert, and the city lay peacefully beneath us. It was easy to imagine a celebrity party up there—Hiro and me holding glasses of champagne and wandering along the sides of the pool, maybe taking a break on one of the stone benches that lined the rooftop, each one nestled in its own grove of hibiscus flowers. “Doesn’t Reese look precious tonight?” I’d say. “She and Ryan are really a lovely couple.”