“There is a reason.” She shook her head. “Samuel Lesowski. My stepfather. You two didn’t exactly hit it off.”
“You’re an adult. He doesn’t have to know everything you do, does he?”
“No.” Her face brightening, she shook her head excitedly and more curls escaped.
“What do you say then? How about this? You be just you and I’ll be just me. A girl from Beverly Hills and a guy from the beach. None of the other stuff. It’s not important. I’ve got a hurdle I have to clear next week, but afterward I can come back to LA. We could meet somewhere.”
“I don’t know.” She captured and wrapped one of her curls around her finger while blinking uncertainly at me through the thick fringe of her crimson lashes.
“There’s a coffeehouse,” I plowed over her reservations. “The Cosmic Cup in Manhattan Beach. It’s by the water. Quiet. Close enough to where you live, but a fair enough distance from the bullshit of LA. How about Wednesday at ten o’clock?”
“But…”
“But nothing. You wrote that song, ‘Tomorrow Today’, right? Make every moment count. I believe that. We can’t control time, but who says we can’t manipulate it. We bumped into each other tonight for a reason. Don’t you think we owe ourselves a chance to find out what that reason is?”
Text log
- Wednesday 10:15 AM -
Fanny: Hey, Um. I’m here at the coffeehouse. The Cosmic Cup.
- 1230 PM -
Fanny: I’ve been here a while. I thought you said ten but maybe I got that wrong.
- 2:03 PM -
Fanny: Did you mean ten at night?
- 8:45 PM -
Fanny: I didn’t hear from you earlier. But I swung back by the coffee house again, you know just in case.
- 9:15 PM -
Fanny: The vanilla latte is pretty decent. So it wasn’t entirely a wasted trip.
- 10:12 PM -
Fanny: They’re closing up now.
-10:15 PM -
Fanny: Are you getting my messages?
-10:17 PM -
Fanny: If you are, but you changed your mind could you let me know?
2015
Present Day
Chapter One
Fanny
I brushed aside a long wispy strand of her strawberry blonde hair and pressed a gentle kiss to her brow. Underneath my lips her skin felt hot. And as I drew back I noticed that her spattering of freckles seemed overly prominent against her pale cheeks. Worry lined my own features. Her fever was spiking again. My little sister looked worse than she had the night before.
Oh, Hollie. On my knees, I gazed down at her. Not quite eighteen, she was the soft colors of the dawn. I was the bolder hues of the sunset, or so our mother had often described us. She appeared so childlike and frail all tangled up in her thin covers on a pallet of cardboard on the concrete floor.
My flattened lips turning into a frown, I rose from her makeshift bed, took a step backward and straightened my skirt. One more day, I told myself. I would let her ride this fever out one more day. If she didn’t get better we were going to the free clinic first thing the next morning, the risk of us being discovered be damned.
I would just have to fight him again if need be. I would do whatever it took. This time the stakes were higher than ever. My sister’s wellbeing meant more to me than my own.
Fear for her, for both of us: that was why we had run. My heart hammered thinking about the night that had started with Hollie’s panicked phone call. Though I had managed to get her away from him I knew that no distance could guarantee her safety.
Samuel Lesowski was more powerful now than he had been the day I had given up the rights and royalties to my award-winning song to be free from him. He had invested the sizeable proceeds of that acquisition into a multimedia company with a streaming service. His initial investment had grown into a formidable fortune. He could use that fortune as leverage to destroy Hollie’s hopes and dreams, or worse if I allowed my mind to go there. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t focus on the things he could do. I had to focus on what I could do. I had been in rough spots before. And I had come through.
Dig deep, Fanny Bay. My mother’s sweet voice echoed her advice inside my head. It was fainter nowadays, but I still remembered everything. Find your Zen. Sweet are the uses of adversity which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head. Yoga and Shakespeare, her two favorite philosophies. She had melded then into one uniquely her own. The sound of her voice might have faded over the years, but her memory never would. I wouldn’t allow it.
I closed my eyes and imagined her beside me. Imagined further that my feet were roots tunneling beneath the cold concrete to the nurturing soil beneath it like the ancient cedars of Cathedral Grove on Vancouver Island. The oldest in British Columbia, they stood strong through the tests of time. They had weathered many hardships. I could manage this one.
Centered, my determination restored, I opened my eyes and my other senses to the rest of my surroundings like my mother had taught me. Scent first. It had always been scent first with me. I took in the brine of the ocean and the unmistakable fragrance of Coppertone. Then the sound of the roaring waves, the cry of the gulls and the muffled shouts of the surfers outside our hut. Last, the damp humidity seeping through the cracks around the door and the slats of the louvered window and settling deep into my bones.
My heartrate slowed. The beats became steadier. My next breaths came easier though the pressure of tears still threatened.
“I miss you, Mom,” I whispered, longing to see her one more time, to be held by her one more time. But it was just me and my sister inside the small, ten-by-ten-foot pumping station we had been hiding in for the past several weeks. Weeks we hadn’t intended. Time we had planned to spend on the other side of the border farther from Samuel Lesowski’s reach. But Mexico wasn’t an option anymore. Not since my purse, along with our passports and every bit of our money had been stolen. We had to regroup. Once Hollie was better we would find another way.
“I’m going out,” I said out loud, firming my shoulders. “I’ll be back soon.”
“M-kay,” Hollie mumbled a groggy reply. My leaving each morning was part of the routine now. She was more recognizable. We had agreed at the beginning that I was the one who had to go out. Her fever complicated things. I’d had it, too, but I had gotten over it quickly. As it lingered on in her so did my worries. My brow creased as I watched her turn over, pulling the measly blanket I had salvaged from a dumpster up over her head. “But turn up the heat before you go, Fanny. It’s cold.”
There wasn’t any heat. No electricity. No running water. No food. None of the necessities beyond a case of bottled water someone had left behind on the beach, which I had dragged up here. Going without basics wasn’t a completely novel experience for me, the way it was for Hollie. Our house in Beverly Hills, the nannies, chauffeurs, a chef. That posh life was all she had ever known.
But thinking about what we once had wasn’t going to get us what we now lacked. I grabbed a bottle from the case, loosened the cap and left the water nearby so she could find it easily when she awoke.
Time to get going. No use stalling, though a large part of that stalling was hesitance about leaving Hollie alone when she was so weak.
1. Food.
2. A drink with electrolytes.
3. Pain relievers.
4. Getting Hollie better.
My current list. Priorities. Broken down. Manageable. To that end I needed chicken soup, Gatorade, Tylenol and cash to purchase them. Beyond those items and a more difficult task to achieve, I had to find someone to go into the Rite Aid to get them for me. I couldn’t do it myself. Even with a knit Lakers cap covering my distinctive hair, and a thick layer of grime blurring my features, there was a chance someone would recognize me.
Another obstacle.
But I had the will. The motivation. Hollie needed me to be strong. I would find a way.
Opening the heavy metal
door a smidgen, I stuck my head out and glanced around checking to make sure the coast was clear before widening the gap and slipping through it. Outside the building, I pressed my back to the closed door and scanned my surroundings. The sub-pump structure was at the far end of the public parking lot, and the lot was full of vehicles. The property of the early morning crew of surfers, at least twenty out on the water today. Nearly that many already peeling off their wetsuits underneath beach towels that functioned as dressing rooms. A few locals and some strangers I didn’t recognize were sitting on the low concrete wall that bordered the sand. Some were drinking coffee out of paper cups, the steam rising in the crisp early spring air. Others had their hands shoved in their jacket pockets as they stared out at the water. But whether they were locals, strangers or just interlopers like me, we all had a bottom line commonality. We all paused at the sand where the land met the sea to acknowledge the majesty of the ocean.
I took my own moment. The ocean churned today like my thoughts. Lighter blue in the shallows, but darker where it became deeper. Reminding me of…well, I had to let go of that otherwise I wouldn’t be able to find the peace I sought. The surfers bobbed on the rolling waves in their dark wetsuits like sea lions. The concrete pier jutted out like an arrow pointing to the vastness of the waters. The rhythmic sound of the surf lapped the shore.
Tempting, it was so tempting to rest and commune. I was so weary, so hungry. But moments could turn into hours and entire days could be lost here.
Get a move on, Fanny. This isn’t some vacation. Everything you need isn’t going to conveniently fall into your hands. I had learned that lesson at a very young age. If you wanted something, you had to work for it. Often sacrifice to defend it. And as hard as you tried, sometimes you didn’t get what you wanted but only what you needed to get by.
~ ~ ~
Ashland
Sun bright against the back of my eyelids, I gave up trying to sleep any longer and rolled out of bed.
I liked—no, loved—the view of the water. The OB pier and the horizon of blue beyond it out my penthouse windows could have cost me tens of millions to procure. But the building that housed it had been vacant so long and required so much work to bring it up to code that I had gotten the entire apartment, including the offices downstairs for Outside, at a fraction of its worth.
My only regret—ok, I had a shit ton of them to be honest—but my most pressing one regarding the apartment was the absence of retractable blinds. They were currently on back order. I couldn’t wait for them to arrive so I could sleep a little later than the butt crack of dawn.
Abandoning my bed and the sheets I had tangled shifting restlessly back and forth during the night, I shuffled into the attached master bath and took care of my morning business: pissed, washed my hands and shaved. I dried my face with a hand towel and clasped the counter as I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
You’ve got a good life, Ashland Keys. Set the what-ifs and the other bullshit aside that fucks up your brain at night. Live in the moment. Count your blessings. Your glass is half-full not half-empty. Your physical needs are met. Emotional ones, too. Linc. Simone. Your parents, Ramon and Karen. Everyone you love and who loves you are nearby. That other something more that couples have, it’s not for you. You have your part to play. You’re the loyal son. You’re the one who stands strong for your friends. You’re the one who keeps a level head when all hell breaks loose for everyone else.
A flash of purple and a delicate but intriguing dirty face beneath it came immediately to mind. Ok, so maybe my head wasn’t entirely level when it came to the Lakers Girl. But only because she was a mystery I had yet to solve.
Why did she always run? What was she so scared of? She was afraid of me in particular that much was obvious. She often paused and listened when the others spoke to her. But not me. Those unusual purple high-tops of hers that Ramon had mistaken for Converse practically kicked up fire when I got near her. But why?
I shook my head. There were no answers in the mirror to solve the mystery of the homeless girl. No answer to what ailed me, either.
Today, I reminded myself. Not tomorrows. Just today.
Refocused, I reentered the bedroom. I dropped my boxers and pulled on my running gear. After I laced my shoes, I stood and grabbed my favorite OB ball cap from the dresser, turned it backward so the brim was out of the way and headed straight to the kitchen. Simone would be here soon and besides it was time to take my medication.
A few quick strides down the short hall and to the left brought me into an open galley style kitchen, with all the amenities. Six-burner gas stovetop. Cool hammered copper hood. Seafoam and terra cotta hand painted Mexican tile backsplashes. Wrought iron fixtures. Black granite countertops. The previous owners had started a remodel that gave the entire apartment cream colored walls and dark hardwood floors for a knock your socks off understated Southern California Spanish Mediterranean vibe but then abandoned it when their funds had run out. Outfacing floor to ceiling windows framed the sunrise that had woken me while the back wall of the kitchen was lined with distressed wood cabinets of varying size. I opened one and reached for the bottle. Same pill. Same time every day. Miss a dose and the infection could come roaring back. This was my life, the reality I woke to every morning since my diagnosis. A routine I had come to uneasy terms with.
A knock sounded on the outside door. My running partner had arrived. Monday, Wednesday and Friday each week. Just she and I whenever we were both in town, less a given now with her revived singing career and with me out scouting the SoCal coast for new talent for Outside.
In a couple of steps I was out of the kitchen and through the adjoining living room. My previous melancholy dissipated as soon as I opened the door and saw her.
“Hey, Mona.” I leaned in and gave the curvy brunette a quick kiss on the cheek. The only type I gave, and they were only for her.
“Hey, Ash.” Her amber eyes glittering, she lit up the dingy outer hallway with her beautiful smile. “Ready?”
“I’m always ready,” I returned, holding up my apartment key. “But I gave you one of these. You don’t have to knock like a stranger. You can just let yourself in.”
“I know. But what if someone’s with you?” she asked, her brow creasing. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt anything.”
Ah, so that was it. I captured her chin before she could drop it. “No one spends the night, Simone.”
“No one ever?” Her expression was incredulous, her eyes now wide.
“Never. Not my scene. There’s only one girl I ever would consider inviting for a sleepover and she’s taken. Yeah?”
“Yes.” She nodded. She knew that girl was her. “But…”
“But nothing. I’ve got my life just the way I want it.” I didn’t much care for the troubled look on her face. “You’re not feeling sorry for me, are you?”
“No of course not.” She shook her head. “It’s just that with Linc and me together now, and Ramon and Karen…”
“You’ve been thinking I’m the odd man out.” I filled in for her stumble.
“Yes, I guess. If not for yourself, think of your nephew Chulo,” she gently chided, trying to lighten the mood. Chulo was Mona’s adorable, fourteen-pound, fluffy canine companion. “He could use an aunt at some time in the future. You know how he is. The only thing better for Chulo than one person petting him is two. And you’ve got so much to give Ash. If it weren’t for Linc…”
“Don’t feel sorry for me. I get it regularly, Simone.” She paled beneath her golden tan. I had been too blatant, too abrupt. I softened my tone. “What I mean is that I’m content with my life the way it is.”
“Just content?” The crease between her eyes deepened.
“Content, yes.” I wasn’t going to lie to her. She was a friend. She could have been more. There remained that undercurrent between us, but I would never act upon it. I loved her too much to give her less than the best of my affection. “A state of peaceful happiness is a good
place to be.” A much better place than I had been after the diagnosis. Under water. Drowning. The crash that hadn’t really been an accident. My prized self-control lost for a time. The long arduous rebuild of my life without the worst of my coping mechanisms. “But enough of this.” I took her arm and turned her, steering her out into the exterior hallway. “I think you’re stalling. Today’s the stairs at Narragansett at the end of our run. You lose and you’re buying breakfast. And just to let you know upfront it’ll cost you. I’m starving.”
Chapter Two
Fanny
Ducking my chin to my chest, I quickly scurried past the police trailer in the middle of the lot.
Pretend you belong and slow down, I reminded myself. In a second-hand broom skirt and a zippered hoodie from the thrift store, I blended in for the most part with the others who made the streets of Ocean Beach their home.
Oceanside Page 3