by Anna Dorn
He’s right, but I’m afraid of the truth. What if I hooked up with Beau that night? What if I did something worse?
“What you don’t know can’t hurt you,” I say.
“Of course it can!” he shouts. “My aunt had a lump in her breast for seven months, she kept refusing to get it checked out. And guess where she is now?”
“Where?” I ask.
“Dead!” he says. “She’s dead, Prue.”
I want to feel sympathetic, but I’m pretty sure Jake made this up.
“Good thing these puppies are lump-free,” I say, then clutch my chest.
“Please don’t call your breasts ‘puppies,’” he says. “It’s vile.”
“Please don’t call my puppies ‘breasts,’” I say, then shimmy up in his face.
“You’re impossible,” Jake says as he backs away. He turns his body completely away from me and we sit in silence for a few seconds. I stare at the geyser spewing water in the middle of the lake. The color is a bright turquoise, unnatural looking, probably dyed.
“How was seeing your parents?” Jake Perez asks finally, seeming to realize I’m not going to join him in his rage over my being exploited. I’m fine with being exploited. My entire existence screams “exploit me.” I was born with so much privilege I squander, the world deserves to get something back.
“Bleak,” I say.
Just as the birds are starting to waddle off, Jake throws another piece of bread in their direction and I want to slap him.
“Venus conjunct Pluto is a master of projection,” he says.
And then I do slap him, hard on the leg. His squeal scares the geese and they scatter.
I go to the Kingdom that evening as ordered.
The sky outside the windows is a cool blue, which infiltrates the apartment and makes everything seem relaxed and holy.
“Vagaaaa,” Jax calls from behind the panes. He comes over to give me a hug. He’s wearing a black silk tunic and I’m flattered that he’s jacking my style. A large crystal pendant hangs around his neck on a gold chain. Leopard-print socks. No shoes. A focused expression.
Pilar follows closely behind him. Just as she kisses the air beside my cheek, there’s a knock on the door. As Jax goes to get it, Pilar and I are left alone. My stomach begins to clench and I ask about her day to fill the silence. She starts venting about something that happened at work and I try to make the appropriate facial expressions, but I’m just thinking about how stern she was the other day and how she called me “sketch.”
Jax comes back into the room with Yumiko. Pilar goes silent. And I swallow.
“Can I have a quick word with you guys outside?” Yumiko asks.
“Sure,” says Jax, “but make it quick. We have work to do.”
Yumiko goes out to the fire escape and we all follow. It’s decorated with candles and crystals, like a small shrine, and I realize I don’t know if this is Jax’s or Yumiko’s handiwork.
A breeze hits and I watch the palms sway. It feels nice, and Jax lights a Marlboro Red and Pilar lights one of her skinny blue cigarettes. To fit in, I light a Parliament. The smoke burns my throat and I cough. I’m not used to smoking sober.
“I just wanted to apologize for the other night,” Yumiko says finally. “It was a serious misjudgment on my part—”
“Misjudgment?” Pilar interrupts. “A misjudgment is driving after you’ve had a few drinks, not pulling a gun on your friends.”
“I didn’t pull a gun on you,” Yumiko says, and as her lawyer, I’m proud of her careful use of language. “I was just trying to show you.”
“Jesus, that’s what Prue said,” Pilar says. “What kind of weird camp did you go to? Was it for aspiring criminals?”
“Look, Prue has nothing to do with this,” Yumiko says. “This was all me. I really thought you would think it was cool… I misju—I was really, monumentally stupid.”
Pilar nods, seeming satisfied with this explanation. Jax is dragging and staring at the trees, clearly elsewhere. I feel bonded to him.
“You put us in danger,” Pilar says.
“The safety was on,” Yumiko says. Her expression gets serious. “I want you all to know I really value our friendship and our art.”
Jax turns his gaze back to her on the word “art.” I pull my cigarette to my lips and take care not to inhale this time.
“Meeting you guys has been the best thing to happen to me in a while, and I would never do anything to jeopardize that.”
Pilar nods. I wonder if she still thinks I’m “sketch.” Maybe she just said that in the heat of the moment. I’m no stranger to saying rude things I don’t mean when emotionally charged. It’s human nature. That’s why I’ve never really vibed with “the law.” It assumes we’re rational, and we just aren’t.
“The safety was on?” Pilar asks, tapping her cigarette on the metal ledge. “So it couldn’t have gone off by accident?”
“Nope,” says Yumiko. “I’m very responsible with my guns.” She looks at me and I swallow. “But if you all aren’t comfortable, I completely respect that.”
“You have to,” says Pilar. “I just can’t be in a situation like that again.” She ashes her cigarette. “I’m not twenty-four anymore.”
“I understand.” Yumiko looks up at the sky, pauses. “Also, I unexpectedly saw an ex that night. I know I have a tendency to scare people when I’m feeling powerless. I’m working on it in therapy.” I’m surprised Yumiko is in therapy, then I remember it was court mandated; it’s in the record. She looks at me with her big, watery blue eyes. “But that’s no excuse,” she says.
Soon, Yumiko and Pilar are hugging. And Jax and I are just staring at the trees, likely thinking about our art to avoid the emotional intimacy beside us. When Yumiko and Pilar release, Jax announces we need to “get cracking.” Pilar follows him through the window back inside, and just when I’m about to join, Yumiko grabs my hand.
“I’m sorry again,” she says. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me. I’m so embarrassed.”
I feel guilty. Yumiko has just been this character in my mind, a manic cartoon to entertain me. I’ve broken ethical rules and exploited her.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I hardly remember it anyway.”
Inside, Pilar sits beside Beau, who has just appeared, as he does. Jax is standing opposite them on the other side of the coffee table, as though he’s the teacher and they’re his students. Yumiko and I sit on opposite sides of the couch, perched on its edges.
“Okay,” Jax says. He leans over and puts out his cigarette on the tin ashtray on the table. His crystal pendant hits the coffee table and it dings, and I notice for the first time that no music is playing. A first for the Kingdom. The silence makes me nervous. I become conscious of the fact that I’m breathing, and I try to breathe more quietly. The breath has always been a source of anxiety for me. Just like airplanes, breathing will never not be weird to me. We have to suck air in and out of us every few seconds in order to stay alive. Nothing about bodies isn’t weird. Nothing about being alive isn’t weird. I try not to think about it, instead focus on Jax.
“I know you all know Party Jax,” he says. “But I’d like you to meet Business Jax.” He taps his leopard-print sock on the floor. Pilar lets out an airy little Gemini giggle, and Jax shoots her a not now Leo look. She promptly shuts up, then takes a sip of clear liquid from a gold-rimmed glass.
“Wicked Ice wants an EP from us,” he says with a serious tone I’ve never heard from him before. “This is a big deal. A huge opportunity. Something I’ve wanted my whole life, and I assume you feel the same.”
Beau elbows me in the rib and I’m mad that he’s here. I had a dream that I confronted Jax about Beau under the Kingdom’s neon-lit tin ceiling. “Why is Beau getting a free ride?” I asked, grabbing the collar of his pink flannel. Jax’s eyes just got really big and bulgy, and I felt like he was about to hit me and then I woke up.
As far as I can tell, Beau just provides dru
gs and takes questionable photos of us. I guess every musical group has someone like this. I guess I wouldn’t know. I’m not used to working with others. All my other shit was just me in my bedroom on Garage-Band, my cats screaming outside the door. Actually I started making raps even before I had cats: 2007 was the year M.I.A. released Kala and Kanye released Graduation and Vagablonde created a SoundCloud page.
Jax is still talking. I nod fiercely to prove I’m paying attention. I sip my PBR.
“I want to put us on a tight deadline,” he says. “It’s going to be tough, but we have no choice.”
I swallow. I’m starting to get a little scared.
“What’s happened to us is the type of thing musicians wait their whole lives for. This is when everything changes.”
I don’t love change. I stare out the window and become mesmerized by a palm tree that seems to sway with the cadence of Jax’s speech.
When I zone back in, Jax is asking us about our schedules. “Pilar, I know you work Tuesday and Thursday nights.” He’s writing things down on a notepad, very serious. Pilar complains about her manager constantly. His name is Rodger. She does the best impression of him. I have no idea where she works, but I do know her entire birth chart. “Prue, you told me you could take some time off from cases.” I nod dutifully, and then I can’t help but smile. “We need Beau for listening sessions, but he’s always available.” Jax unleashes a laugh, and everyone else laughs too, excited for a release. I worry I’m laughing too hard so I sip my PBR.
“Yumiko,” he says, “I don’t really know your schedule. We’ll need you I’d say two to three hours a day for your vocals, but more for your energy.”
“I’m all yours,” Yumiko says. She smiles big and her gold tooth flickers.
Jax unleashes a warm smile, which warms me. “The most work is going to be between me and Prue,” he says. “Obviously.”
I inhale sharply. I can do this, I think. I can handle a challenge. I passed the California Bar Exam.
“I’m thinking like three P.M. to six A.M. for us every day for the next two weeks,” he says. He’s smiling like he’s happy, but these hours seem insane. “The first few hours will be about getting into a vibe, getting the energy right.” He clutches his crystal. “We probably won’t start recording until the sun goes down”— he smiles—”as we do.” Then he laughs, and I laugh too, again too hard. I inhale sharply again. I can handle this. I’ll just change my sleep schedule. And no more new cases!
“Perfect,” I say, then force a smile.
ELEVEN
I go to brunch with Nina the next morning. It’s the first day of what Jax called “Shiny Season.” I try to sleep in, but one of the cats wakes me at seven A.M. I don’t know where the other one is. I try to remember the last time I saw her. A few days ago? One time one of the cats left for around seven days, pretty soon after I got them, so I’m not super concerned. Cats are tough. I decide the one with me is Missy. “Ennui” was always hard to say.
We eat at this place called Winsome on the south end of Echo Park, toward downtown, under this weird apartment building I’ve always wanted to live in because it’s basically all glass. Nina’s wearing a loose white T-shirt and vintage black Levi’s.
We’re seated in the back corner in a camel leather booth, beneath teal wallpaper. Our waitress looks like she’s about to die, but in a pretty way. She’s so thin, like she might float away. I assume she’s on some kind of raw diet.
I order grains and eggs, my favorite on the menu. I’m not really a foodie, I mean my favorite food is Domino’s. But this shit is good. Crispy grains covered in cool green cilantro-yogurt sauce and fried eggs with runny yolks.
Nina orders a burger, which I respect. And we both order Bloody Marys.
“I notice you rap a lot about your hair,” Nina says after sipping hers.
“Sherlock Holmes,” I say.
She rolls her eyes at me.
“What? You think I should be rapping about, like, global warming? Gun control? Peace in the Middle East?” I throw up a peace sign.
“You make being politically conscious sound like a bad thing,” she says.
“Hair is political!” I accidentally yell, and someone in the booth beside us turns to stare. I lower my voice a bit. “Look, I have no business speaking to how countries should be governed or how to save our rapidly crumbling planet.” I watch Nina’s face to see if she’s buying it. “Some people might find the topic of hair trivial, but I’d argue that women don’t really have the luxury of not caring about our hair.” I pull the celery stick from my drink and take a bite. “So I guess you could say my work is a radically honest portrayal of the crushing weight of gender performance.”
Nina’s expression remains inscrutable, and I don’t blame her—I don’t really buy what I’m saying either. I just love my hair!
“You seemed pretty fixated on your hair in Palm Springs,” she says, “in a way that seemed kinda, I don’t know… “
“Vain?” I attack myself before she can. “They aren’t mutually exclusive. Politics and vanity, that is.”
Nina picks up her burger. “When did you start rapping?” she asks, then dives in for a ravenous bite. It’s sexy.
“Um,” I say. “End of college.”
“Where did you go?”
I poke my dish, which seems off somehow, with my fork. I normally like the sauce, but at this moment I’m just focused on how unnaturally green it is. Neon almost, like nothing anyone should ever eat. Like poison. I look up. “Wait, is this for a story?”
Nina wipes her mouth. Her freckles scrunch. “I’m getting to know you.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “Either way I’m cool with it.”
The waitress floats over and asks if we’re okay. Everything’s great.
“I went to Cal,” I say. “And, no, I did not study science.”
Nina laughs, then straightens her expression. “What did you major in?”
“Rhetoric,” I say. “But I believe your original question pertained to my rap career.”
“Yeah,” she says. She licks some burger juice from her top lip and I fantasize about biting it.
“It was my junior year of college,” I say. I take a mini sip of my Bloody, try to look cute. “I had recently discovered the magical elixir that is cannabis.”
Nina laughs again, sips her Bloody. “Bless,” she says. “Wait. You didn’t smoke weed until you were a junior in college?”
“False,” I say. “I just hadn’t discovered its magic.” I cut into the egg and yolk pours over the grains and bleeds onto the plate. “Can I finish, writer girl?”
“Please,” she says.
I force myself to take a bite, not because I want to, but because I know Nina cares about my answer, and I want to make her wait. Her dark brown eyes watch me chew with curiosity. I pretend I’m enjoying my food, but I’m not.
“I was deep in the midst of my first spiritual high, surrounded by my undergrad crew—a gaggle of beautiful gay men.” I sip again for dramatic effect, then I feel a bit drunk. “We went to this party on Haste Street, where all the frat stars lived. These idiot lacrosse players started to battle rap to MF Doom.”
“Doom forever,” Nina says. I smile, but I’m also annoyed at her for interrupting my story.
“I was overcome with intense anger,” I say. “Rage, really. How dare these idiots defame Doom? I had a good buzz on at this point, so I jumped in the circle. I started up a freestyle of my own, interrupting one of these idiots.”
Now Nina is giggling. “Was it good?”
“No!” I laugh. I am drunk. I need to find some stimulants before I record tonight. I guess that’s what Beau is for. “But that was my first taste,” I say. “I felt adrenaline. That rush. The high.” I scoop some runny egg on my fork, then put it back on the plate. “And I’ve been chasing it ever since.”
Nina kisses me when she drops me off at the Kingdom. It gives me a little butterfly, but I quickly suppress it. I’m being insane, gettin
g romantic with this girl—woman, journalist—right after ending the best relationship of my life. I should be focusing on my art anyway.
No one answers when I ring the doorbell. I check my phone: 3:03 P.M. Jax said 3:00, right? I check my Google Calendar. Maybe I wrote it down wrong.
Finally Beau opens the door, almost running me over.
“Oh, hey, Vaga,” he says. I don’t like him calling me this.
“Where’s Jax?” I ask.
“Sleeping,” he says. “You can come in, though.”
He lets me in. I’m annoyed at him letting me in as though it’s some favor. This is my project. I am Shiny AF. But I’m impressed by what a diva I’m being. When Jake read my tarot cards a few months ago, he told me this would happen when I got famous.
I walk down the hallway and see Yumiko sitting on the couch.
“Hey, Vaga,” she says. I guess this is my name now.
“Hi,” I say, now shy.
She pats the space next to her on the couch. I obey. There is some music I’ve never heard before on the speakers—something raucous and stringent, no hints of R&B. Must be Yumiko’s doing.
“So Jax said,” she says, lowering her voice to a whisper, I assume because Jax is sleeping. “Jax said that you aren’t taking any more cases. Does this mean you passed mine off to someone else?”
“No, no,” I say. She looks so sad it breaks my heart. “I already filed your brief!” I can’t remember ever having sounded this enthusiastic about law.
“Oh, good,” she says, looking relieved. She puts her parka around me. I’ve seen Yumiko only in a parka. I’ve never seen her arms. “I don’t normally trust lawyers,” she says, and I back away slightly. “But I trust you.”
I smile.
It’s dark out when Jax finally emerges from his bedroom. I’m pretty drunk at this point, and whatever else. I’m French braiding Pilar’s hair. I’m really good at French braiding. I used to be convinced this was the only reason I had friends. It still might be.
Jax stretches his arms and blue light hits his translucent kimono. “Okay, leggo,” he says. I drop Pilar’s hair and we both rise, like his loyal army. Pilar’s hair falls out of the braid. Her hair is shiny and slippery, not the best for braiding. Too beautiful, almost. Yumiko appears from the fire escape. I think about checking my phone for the time, but I don’t. It’s best not to know.