Absolutely Maybe

by Lisa Yee

  “You could fly.”

  “Maybelline, you know that the only way I would ever fly is first-class, and that’s just way too expensive.”

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “Right. Well, you could take a bus or a train, or drive— Chessy’s silence told me to shut up. We both knew that the real reason was that her fear of leaving Florida was second only to her fear of cellulite.

  My hands are the same size as Judy Garland’s. I spy Marilyn Monroe’s footprints. Their photos are both on Chessy’s Wall of Beauty.

  “Okay! I’m officially bored now,” Ted bellows. Instantly, all the tourists standing near him move away. Hollywood and I spot each other from across the courtyard and laugh.

  At Ted’s insistence, Hollywood bids Grauman’s farewell and we venture on to the mall next door. There are no malls like this in Kissimmee. This one houses the fanciest bowling alley I have ever seen. A place like this wouldn’t even let Jake through the door. If my biological father bowled, this is where he’d be. I check out every middle-aged man in the bowling alley. When one winks at me, I grab Ted and Hollywood and head out.

  There are nice stores and a huge movie theater. The restaurants look expensive. We stop in front of the Kodak Theatre. “This is where the Academy Awards take place,” Hollywood whispers reverently.

  Ted yawns.

  We walk up and down Vine Street, taking turns reading the names of the stars on the Walk of Fame. Hollywood feels the need to lecture us about each one in excruciating detail. We would move faster, but Ted seems interested in what Hollywood has to say. He keeps asking him dumb questions, like “Who pays for these?” and “Who do I need to sleep with to get my own star?”

  We pass Mickey Rooney’s star when suddenly Hollywood comes to a dead stop. Ted and I crash into him. “1719 Vine Street,” Hollywood’s voice trembles. He takes extra care cleaning the lens before turning on his camera. We all stare at James Dean’s star. The silence is broken when Ted spits on it.

  “What are you doing?” Hollywood screams, pushing Ted to the ground.

  Ted is rubbing his leg. “I was going to spit-polish it,” he yells back. “It looked like it needed some cleaning. I was going to do it for you.”

  Hollywood extends his hand. “Sorry, Ted.”

  Ted takes his hand. He has to lean on Hollywood as he hobbles to the curb to sit down. I can tell he’s faking. Ted will do anything for attention.

  Hollywood takes off his T-shirt, polishes the star, and then puts his shirt back on. It’s filthy, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  Hollywood is so hyped over the star that it takes us four blocks to calm him down. In four blocks the street has changed. There are wig stores, and dollar stores, and lots of liquor stores. The people look grungy. I wonder if they think I do too. This is not the kind of place I would expect to find my father.

  We eat dinner at a hot wings joint. Ted takes out his wallet. “Where does the money go?” he asks.

  A jolt of panic strikes me. I’m running out of cash and was counting on borrowing money from Ted. What’ll we do when our money runs out?

  It costs twelve dollars to get the Green Hornet out of the lot. The car’s not even worth twelve dollars. It’s dark by the time we get back to the dorm. At the front desk an Indian guy listens to classical music as he plays along on his invisible violin. He nods to us as we go upstairs. I want to take a shower, but we don’t have any towels or even soap.

  Hollywood lies down. There are no sheets or pillows on the bed. That stuff is in the trunk of his car, but Hollywood says, “I’m too tired to go and get it.”

  Neither Ted nor I volunteer. We’re both bushed, but Ted has enough energy left to rush to the other bed before I can get there.

  “Fine!” I say. “See if I care.”

  I use my purse as a pillow. It’s lumpy. Before long the guys are snoring. I lay awake and stare at the ceiling.

  Okay, so I’m in Los Angeles. Now what?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Hollywood’s idea of decorating is to stick his USC acceptance letter on his bulletin board. His mother packed linens for him, including a bedspread with basketballs all over it that she picked up at the flea market.

  “USC is a football school,” Ted tells him.

  “USC is a film school,” Hollywood replies.

  “Football.”

  “Film.”

  “Football.”

  “Film.”

  Ted reaches over to pat Hollywood on the back. “Poor deluded boy,” he tells him. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, do you?”

  “Film,” Hollywood barks.

  I leave them to their debate and wander around campus. Some of the students tote around expensive designer handbags and look scary rich. For the most part, though, they look like regular kids, only better looking. One girl, who has a pierced lip and nose, breaks from her group and runs over to me. She hands me a flyer for a Crime fighters concert on the Sunset Strip. “Tell all your friends,” she says. “Love your hair! I thought I was the only USC student with hair like that.”

  I don’t tell her that she is.

  The days speed by as we explore L. A. We visit the zoo and several museums. Ted’s favorite place is the La Brea Tar Pits. Hollywood’s roommate is supposed to arrive this afternoon, which means that Ted and I will be homeless.

  “How much money do you have?” I ask.

  “Not enough,” Ted answers. “What about you?”

  “Even less.”

  I wander to the student union to look at the help-wanted board. My heart skips a beat, and even though the sign reads do NOT remove job postings, I slip one into my purse.

  When I return I hear three voices in Hollywood’s room. I push the door open and stand frozen as I stare at what has got to be one of the most gorgeous guys on the planet.

  “Hello!” he says, standing to greet me. “I’m Ian. You must be one of Daniel’s mates.”

  “Mates?” Ted asks.

  “Daniel?” I say.

  “That would be me,” Hollywood says a little too forcefully.

  “But your name is— “Daniel,” he says, giving me the evil eye.

  “Daniel?” Ted snorts. “You’re Hollywood.”

  “I’m Daniel!”

  “You’re Hollywood!”

  “Daniel!”

  “Hollywood!”

  As Ted and Hollywood shout at each other, I smile and tell Ian, “My name is Maybe.”

  He extends his hand and we shake. “Nice to meet you, Maybe.” His killer British accent is to die for. “Maybe?” he says, looking into my eyes.

  “Yes, Ian?” I murmur.

  “My hand.”

  “Oh, sorry!” I say, laughing nervously. I release my grip on him.

  Hollywood and Ted are now glaring at each other, but at least they are silent. I attempt to say something witty, but I’m too busy staring at Ian. His rumpled ivory linen suit with a baby blue shirt underneath sets off his creamy dark skin. His face is soft, his features almost delicate. I restrain myself from reaching out to run my fingers through his curly black hair. If this is what college boys are like, I think I may reconsider higher education.

  A throat-clearing noise fills the room and breaks the spell. It’s Hollywood. “Perhaps Ian wants to get settled,” he says.

  “You’re acting pissy, Daniel” Ted replies.

  Hollywood’s face is blank, but he is blinking rapidly. With his big brown white-person Afro, too-short running shorts, and tattered T-shirt, he looks like the complete opposite of Ian. For the first time, I notice that Hollywood’s head seems too small for his body.

  Ted is now grilling Ian about the monarchy. “Do you think Princess Diana’s death was really an accident? I have a theory. . .”

  Hollywood gestures for me to rescue Ian. “Come on, Ted,” I say. “Time to clear out.” I turn to Ian. “See you later!” I hope I sound carefree and available.

  Ian smiles and I melt. “Looking forward to it, then,” he says in that to-die
-for accent of his.

  Ted replies, “Tallyho, mate!”

  And we’re off.

  The minute Ian’s out of sight, Ted looks glum, but not me. If I could whistle, I would. “Maybelline,” Ted says, stopping in front of Tommy Trojan. “Do you realize what Ian’s arrival signals?”

  “That I have finally found love?”

  “That we’re out on the streets.”

  Geez, leave it to Ted to spoil the moment.

  “Well, I have a plan, since it’s obvious you don’t,” Ted informs me.

  “What?”

  “Dorm lounges. They’ve got couches, televisions, bathrooms. Students sleep there all the time when they’re too hung over or too stoned to find their rooms.” I nod. “We can crash lounges until we get enough money for our own place.”

  “That reminds me. Look!” I wave the job opening in front of Ted.

  “Seeking an assistant to a well-known personage in the entertainment industry,” he reads. His eyes light up. Along with The New York Times, Forbes, and Thai World Monthly, Ted gobbles up all the celebrity magazines. Where Hollywood is interested in film, Ted is interested in fame. He’s always telling me, “I am destined for great things.”

  Ted whips out his cell phone. His fingers fly as he dials. “Good afternoon,” he says. His voice sounds even deeper than usual. I lean in. He shoves me away and mouths, “Do you mind?”

  I walk away and study Tommy Trojan. He’s very muscular, like Ian. Then I head to the library to use the bathroom. There’s no toilet paper, so I have to ask the person in the stall next to me to hand me some. She does.

  We both come out at the same time. She looks me up and down. It feels like high school. I wash my hands for a long time. When she leaves I glance in the mirror. My eyeliner is all smudged and I have purple lipstick on my teeth. There is a wicked stain on my T-shirt.

  This is what Hollywood’s to-die-for roommate saw? Why didn’t someone tell me? I wash off my makeup and reapply my liner and lipstick. There’s nothing I can do for the stain.

  As I head back toward Tommy Trojan, Ted comes bounding toward me. “I’m in!”

  “You got the job?”

  “Nope, I got the interview. Once I do that, I’ll have the job. Who wouldn’t hire me? What about you? Was there anything for you on the board?”

  “Nothing good. I’ll probably end up applying at Burger King.”

  Ted and I kill the rest of the day by checking out all the dorm lounges. We decide it would draw too much attention if we stay in the same one. I decide on Birnkrant Hall—they have a nice couch setup facing the television. Ted selects the international dormitory. He is hoping to run into some students from Thailand and dazzle them with his knowledge of their native culture.

  With that settled, all I have left to do is get a job, find a permanent place to live, locate my father, and live happily ever after.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  It’s one thing to accidentally fall asleep in public, and another to know you are pretending to accidentally fall asleep in public. I wish Ted were here. At night the lounge is pretty empty. The students walking through hardly glance at me. Still, I feel like everyone knows I don’t have a place to sleep. Does that classify me as homeless?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  How much?” I ask again. Maybe I’ve heard wrong. “Ninety dollars,” the pawnbroker says. His arms are totally tattooed.

  “But these are nice,” I insist. “Real gold and diamonds!”

  “This one’s fake,” he says, holding up the ring from Upton Sinclair. “Listen”—he chews on a toothpick and eyes me—“I’m not asking where you got them, and I’m giving you a good deal. Take it or leave it.”

  I look at the cluster of Chessy’s wedding rings on the counter and let out a sigh. I take one ring back and push the rest toward him. “How much without this one?”

  “Sixty-five.”

  As he counts out the cash in the palm of my hand, I can’t help but think, Sixty-five dollars. That’s the return rate on four of Chessy’s six marriages.

  I stroll through the University Village, a cluster of stores and food places I can’t afford, when I spot a homeless lady pushing a shopping cart. She’s wearing a dirty brown coat even though it’s boiling outside. Her eyes are wet, like if she were to blink, tears would come pouring out. When she sees me staring, she says, “I have no illusions about my looks. I think my face is funny bunny!”

  I give her a weak smile and hurry away.

  Back at the dorm, a couple of kids sit on the couch across from me and start to make out. I feel like yelling, “Get a room!” until I realize that’s actually my goal. So instead, I take refuge in the bathroom.

  It smells like cleaning fluid. I suppose it could be worse. After what seems like hours, the kissy couple leaves. It is past midnight. A security guard is roaming around. His shoes make a squeaking sound, like there’s water in them. There’s a textbook on the floor, science or something, and I bury my nose in it every time he comes near. After he passes I sneak a good look at him. He has an Afro like Hollywood, only his looks normal on him.

  On his second pass of the night, he nods at me and I nod back. “My roommate has company,” I hear myself explaining, even though he hasn’t asked. My voice sounds weird, like it’s not mine. “So I prefer to study here. You know, for privacy.”

  “I didn’t know summer school started.” The security guard points something at me and I flinch, thinking he’s going to shoot. “Life Saver?” he asks.

  Cherry’s the next one up. My favorite. “Thank you. I’m getting a jump on my studies.” I hold up the book as proof.

  “Good for you!” he says before moving on. “I think it’s great when kids take the initiative.”

  That reminds me. I’m supposed to be looking for my father.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I wake up.

  It’s 10:30 a.m.

  I sit up and rub my eyes. My back hurts. Where am I?

  Oh yeah.

  My mouth tastes bitter. I remember that my toothbrush is in Hollywood’s room. My clothes too, not that I brought a lot of them. I reach for my purse. It’s gone. I look under the couch. I dig under the cushions. I race to the bathroom. Maybe I left it there.

  It’s not there.

  I rush to the front desk and clutch the counter. “My purse!” My voice is shrill. “My purse is missing.”

  The guy’s eyes are bloodshot and he has stubble on his face. His elbows are on the desk and he holds his head between his hands like Chessy does when she’s hung over.

  “My purse is missing,” I say, louder this time.

  “Let me look in lost and found,” he says, standing up in slow motion. “What color is it?”

  “Black. Canvas. Black canvas.”

  He comes back with a pink backpack. “Is this it?”

  “No, a black canvas purse. Not a backpack. It has buttons and patches all over it.”

  He disappears again. “Nothing,” he yells from behind a door. He returns and slides a paper across the counter and hands me a pen.

  “Fill this out. If we find it we’ll call you.”

  I stare at the form. Name, dorm, student ID#. . .

  I push it back at him.

  “Forget it,” I mutter. “Just forget it.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says sarcastically. “Have a happy day.”

  I head to Hollywood’s dorm. Ian opens the door. He’s only wearing boxers. Plaid. “Pardon me,” he says, shutting the door. I stand still, wondering if I should leave. A half second later the door opens again. This time Ian has a robe on. “Sorry about that.”

  “Is Hollywood here?”

  “He’s at work.”

  “My purse got stolen,” I blurt out.

  “I am so sorry,” he says. He really does look sorry. “Is there anything I can do?”

  You could go back to just wearing your boxers, I want to tell him. Instead, I just shake my head. “Daniel has some of my stuff here, so I thought I
’d get it.”

  He steps aside and lets me in. I gape. Hollywood’s side of the room looks the same, with his stupid acceptance letter still tacked on his bulletin board, but lan’s side looks homey. Photos cover his bulletin board, including one of a beauty pageant contestant. His desk is stocked with pens and monogrammed pads of paper. He even has a candy jar set out. He’s been here, what? Less than twenty-four hours and already made himself at home.

  “Mint?”

  I cover my mouth with my hand and try to smell my own breath. “Oh, thanks.” I pop the mint into my mouth before my breath can kill him. I point to the photo of the girl. “Nice crown,” I say sarcastically.

  “That’s my girlfriend. The crown’s been in her family for generations. Her father is first cousin to a minor royal.”

  Without knocking, Ted comes bursting through the door. “I GOT THE JOB! Where’s Daniel? Congratulate me! You are looking at the new personal assistant to Gloria de la Tour, actress of stage and screen.”

  “The star of Find My Way?” Ian asks. Find My Way is a classic. Hollywood tells us that all the time.

  Ted nods and does one of those Irish dances where his feet fly but he keeps his hands and arms tightly at his side. Ian looks confused. I grab Ted’s arm and yell, “I lost my purse!”

  “Gee, Maybe, that’s too bad,” Ted says, still dancing. “But let’s talk about me. I got the job!”

  Hollywood doesn’t get off of work for a couple hours, so Ted and I bum around as I listen to him talk nonstop about Gloria de la Tour. I visit the bathroom just to get away from him. When I scrub my face, my makeup turns the water gray. I watch it swirl down the drain. I feel naked.

  “You look funny,” Ted says when I finally emerge.

  “So do you. Let’s stop at the drugstore. I need some stuff.”

  I pick up some black eyeliner and find a cheap deep purple lipstick on sale.

  “Can I have some money?”

  “No.”

  “Please,” I beg. “It won’t be that much.”

  “No. I won’t get paid until I’ve worked a full week.”

  I go into the next aisle and look around. Nobody’s near. I slip the makeup into my pocket.