Lost Angeles

by David Louden

  Mary would kick me out of her house at 7AM as she needed to get some work done early before a dress fitting and a family lunch at her mother’s house. She was a primary school teacher and had examination questions to make up as she prepared her P7 class for the world ahead of them in secondary school. This would be the first of many 7AM kick-outs that I would experience at the hands of Mary Hanlon. I would never complain about it, Mary would never ask from me any more that I was able to give her. This I was sure of. I would discover that Mary was promised to another, it had been a long engagement. Long enough for her to realise that though she did care greatly for him and though he was a lovely man she didn’t want to take his last name and shack up forever. She seemed too nice to have that conversation, I’d get the impression that she was hoping he would call round unexpectedly to her house and catch me wrist deep in her. When that failed to occur she started instructing me on the types of photographs she wanted me to take, while inside her, and on her phone. Eventually he would find a video of her going down on me that I took one day when she called round to my house. I was off work with a stomach bug; she brought soup and a rubber nurse’s uniform. It was the closest we would ever come to a relationship.

  12

  BILLIE HEARD THE accent first. I was too enthralled in checking out her heart shaped buns as the blue denim of The Gap hugged her like it had no intention of ever letting go. She’d nudge me and with those deep, attention grabbing eyes gesture towards a couple who strolled from gift shop to gift shop along the boardwalk – briefly stopping to admire the Predator made out of scrap metal. My eyes would unlock from her and track across the battling waves of pedestrians, cyclists and rollerblades to two faces. Two pasty faces that were so far out of context they almost didn’t look familiar anymore.

  I had pushed the boat out for Kelly and our one year anniversary; trip to London, fancy room in Russell Square - the recently restored luxury hotel, West End tickets and all without an ulterior motive; though a rub and tug would have been graciously accepted, it wasn’t done with that in mind. It was out of love. Our show wasn’t until the second night, when we arrived late on the Friday our check-in was swiftly followed by a trip to the hotel’s library themed cocktail bar and the accidental crashing of a wedding reception. I looked pathetically out of place. At the best of times I don’t scrub up, though when I try I’ve been known to cut a figure of a man but more often than not I look borderline homeless. Kelly on the other hand always looked gorgeous and in order to prevent guys from hitting on her all night I nipped off to our room grabbed a ten second shower, shaved and slipped into my best Danny Ocean two piece before skilfully sliding up alongside her. She was in a figure hugging summer dress which came with two would-be suitors that smiled at her. The two wedding guests didn’t know enough to know that I hadn’t simply cock blocked them, that my moves weren’t straight out of a Bond movie. I wasn’t irresistible to women, I just knew this lady intimately.

  “Buy you are drink?” I asked as the two contesting suitors looked shocked at my arrogance.

  “Oh I don’t know about that,” she said winking at the tall dark haired one “these gentlemen were in the middle of telling me about the Rotary Club.”

  “Fascinating. I’m a master of the Dutch Rudder; would you know it by chance?” I aimed at the tall one.

  Kelly stifled a laugh but only just. As her facial contortions grabbed the two grey-suited men’s attention I pull a face at each of them individually.

  “Dutch Rudder you say?” The dark haired one spoke with a classic BBC accent.

  “Indeed.” I say gravely

  “Can’t say I’ve heard of it.”

  “You go to boarding school?” I asked.

  “Why yes.” He’d say incredulously.

  “Yet you’ve never heard of the Dutch Rudder.” Kelly offers in mock shock, having composed herself.

  “You’ve heard of it?”

  “Oh yes. I used to date a guy…” she smirked while making eye contact with me “who was quite skilled at the ol’ Dutch Rudder.”

  “He sounds quite the catch.” I offered.

  “Quite.” She agreed

  “Well endowed too I’m sure.”

  “Excuse me?” The balding one chirped up.

  “You know I think I will take that drink.” Kelly turns to each suitor individually “A pleasure gentlemen.”

  I whisked her out of ear shot before she erupted into spasmodic fits of laughter. She clung to my arm in her sculpted outfit, beautiful – all eyes, chest, hips and hair. We took up two spots by the hard wood back lit bar. Golden light danced in Kelly’s eyes as I ordered her Rosé and my two fingers of scotch. She watched the newly weds intently. Focused, day dreaming, soaking up the love emanating from the vintage white gown. I handed Kelly her glass before resting my free hand on the crook in the small of her back.

  “I don’t think you should be doing that.” She said “I have a boyfriend and he’ll be back soon.”

  “He mustn’t love you that much to leave you such easy prey.”

  “I think he does.”

  “Just think?”

  “Maybe a little more.”

  “So what does this boyfriend look like?”

  “Dark hair, sad eyes…”

  “Sounds familiar,” I interrupted “look a bit homeless?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I would. Management escorted him out you’re stuck with me lady.”

  “No way!” She played along.

  “Way. Caught him pissing in a potted plant, seriously some people.”

  Kelly laughed lighting up the entire room.

  “Dutch Rudder huh? You dirty bastard!” She said with a smile.

  “You look gorgeous.”

  “Thank you. You look pretty damn good yourself.”

  “Cheers lady.”

  “She looks beautiful doesn’t she?!” Kelly was staring at the bride. I agreed. “You think that’ll ever be us?”

  “I think that’ll probably be us.” I countered pointing to an elderly couple. The woman watching on gleefully at the new Mr. & Mrs. Whoever taking a once around the dance floor while the man nodded off with a drink in his hand.

  I hadn’t intended it to be but for Kelly it was the sweetest thing I could have possibly said. This old couple represented everything she could see for her own future. It was love, children, grandchildren and a partner that knows you inside out, someone with whom you can grow old with in ways that compliment your own aging. A hand that fits yours perfectly. She kissed me before taking my face in her hands and staring dreamily in my eyes. I could feel the eyes of the jilted Rotary Club burn deep into the back of my head. It only made me smile more. Finishing our drinks I’d take Kelly by the hand and lead her out on to the dance floor for a slow number. “Left foot right foot, right?” I’d ask. It was uncoordinated and clunky, nowhere near as cool as it appeared in my head but it was close enough to perfect for the both of us. We spent most of the night that way.

  When we got back to Belfast on Monday morning we were met by Kelly’s friend Amber and my pal Scott. They had been two of the main reasons for separate friends as they seemingly fought the peace out when they got within ten feet of one another. Clearly that tension brewed more than annoyance as two months prior they had inexplicably started secretly dating and now in our Stranmillis kitchen they appear side by side, only slightly giving the game away that they’re not trying to strangle each other. I dropped our luggage into the bedroom before lighting a cigarette and taking a seat at the kitchen table. Kelly was wearing her glasses; when she wasn’t reading she only really wore them when she was tired. It had been a busy weekend. Scott and Amber stood staring at us, almost daring the other to speak first in an awkward silence game of chicken.

  “Wow…well that was really interesting, thanks for stopping by.” I spewed sarcastically.

  “Yeah… ok so…” Scott began unsuccessfully “so here’s the thing…”

  “You guys are da
ting right? Or at least fucking.” I offered a hand.

  Kelly slapped my arm.

  “We’ve kinda been secretly dating for a bit yeah.” confessed Scott embarrassed.

  Kelly looked genuinely shocked and then a little hurt that Amber was able to keep this under her hat.

  “How long is a bit?” Kelly inquired.

  “Two months.” Said Amber.

  “That’s awesome, we can double date,” Kelly was excited it was clear on her face “I don’t get it what’s with the family meeting and…”

  “We’re getting married!” Amber exploded.

  “What?!” Kelly couldn’t control her volume.

  “You splash a little drain water up there?” I fire at Scott.

  “I’m not pregnant!” Amber quickly shouts

  “I proposed,” Scott helps out “while you guys were away and we love each other.”

  “…and then we got to thinking,” now Amber was assisting.

  “Yeah and people spend thousands on a wedding and work three jobs and never see each other and then end up miserable cos they’re lumbered with all that debt.” said Scott.

  “So we’re doing it today.”

  “What?!” now neither Kelly nor I could control our volume.

  “I had a friend at City Hall pull a few strings and he’s booked us in for two thirty.” nodded Scott.

  “And we need witnesses.”

  “And a best man.”

  “And a maid of honour.”

  The room fell silent for a moment as Kelly and I tried to process the fact that not only were two of our feuding friends an item now but they had seemingly lapped us in the relationship race. Kelly ejected from her seat and straight into Amber’s arms.

  “Congratulations Am…oh my god we need to get you a dress!”

  Kelly grabbed Amber and with her free hand her purse on the way out of the apartment. As the door closed I lit another cigarette and looked at Scott. He looked like Scott, he dressed like Scott but he was different. He was fearless, he really wanted this. I wanted to try and talk him out of it. He’d been in relationships before and had charged forward head first and they had ended with him eating shit pie. But I didn’t. I knew anything I said would only make me the bad guy. The stupid son-of-a-bitch was in love.

  The next few hours were spent with Scott trying on suits from the wardrobe of our friend Ryan – the best dressed man in Belfast. We had to find something that fit and looked sufficiently adult that a registrar would marry him; I tipped him a nod of approval all the while phoning bars and clubs to pull together a last minute reception. Eventually The Mermaid in the centre of town picked up the challenge of doing a wedding reception with three hours notice. The drive to City Hall was a nervous one. Not because Scott was nervous, he was chomping at the bit to get hitched. I was nervous for me, nervous because I knew that Kelly would expect us to be next.

  The service was small, short, uncomplicated, everything you don’t want your wedding or marriage to be, but there was love. It was the first time all of our friends had been under the one roof since many of them realised they couldn’t stand one another. The Mermaid outdid any expectation. Situated up one of the High Street’s many narrow alleys the owner had opened up the bar’s entire accordion like French windows and hung fairy lights across the small red brick enclosure of the outside seating area. As the City darkened we were lit by a blanket of perfect little stars that would have put any Mediterranean evening to shame. Guinness and Magners flowed like a river of eternal pleasure. I was wearing the same suit as Friday, Kelly having grabbed the first thing that was appropriate ended up in the same dress too. The weekend had become book ended by a sliding scale of weddings. The second more romantic, touching and enjoyable than the organisers of the first could possibly ever imagine. Downing my pint I reached down to Kelly, who’d taken a seat in the corner on The Mermaid’s plastic patio furniture. I took her by the hand and led her to some space as the music became slow, thoughtful again. “It was only a matter of time before The Pogues came on again,” I considered “best make the most of it”. As we danced Kelly put her head on my shoulder.

  “Quite the weekend huh?” I started

  “It’s been beautiful.” Kelly sighed dream like.

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “About what?” She said quizzically

  “You know Scott and Amber and all this.” I fished.

  “I’m happy for them. It was weird for a bit but look…”

  We took a moment to soak up the change in the landscape of our friendships. Scott stood tall, proud in Ryan’s three piece stone grey suit. Amber a gorgeous princess in an ivory dress that worked as a wedding dress but was mainly one that Kelly had coveted for herself on a number of occasions recently in town.

  “You know I love you, right?” I said shattering the moment.

  “I do sweetheart.”

  “And you know that when…” Kelly kissed me, shutting me up.

  “I know,” she said before adding “all this is very sweet. You did a really great job.” She said sating me.

  We remained locked to one another’s side the rest of the night.

  The pasty faces had been such a shock to the constructed reality I was now living in Venice Beach that I hadn’t considered whether they would even recognise me. My brain was swept away in a raging sea of thoughts as Amber and Scott stood before me on the Boardwalk, oblivious to what they’ve done. Oblivious to the fact that they were part of a past that I had carefully and meticulously severed myself from before placing it inside a box marked ‘Never Open’. They’d made a mockery of my efforts and they were turning, almost in slow motion, to face me.

  “Doug?!” A stunned Scott blurted out alerting his wife.

  “Doug! Wow fancy seein’ you!”

  “Of all the places…shit man how are you?”

  I nod; it’s about all I can muster. My stomach is still sick from the head on collision of worlds.

  “Man you look like you’ve been enjoying California.” Scott says, sizing me up.

  “I am Scotty…Amber you look all kinds of hot.” I paper over the cracks the best I can.

  “Thanks Doug…wow I can’t believe the odds.”

  “You can’t!” I blurt out.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Billie getting more and more curious as to who these Paddy’s are and why we all seem to know each other.

  “Who’s your lady friend?”

  “Billie this is Amber and Scott.”

  The three exchange hellos.

  “So I don’t mean to be rude but we’ve got that thing Billie and I’d hate to keep the Mitchellsteins late.” Internally I kick myself for the worst made-up surname ever.

  “Yes!” Billie says without missing a beat “You know how Martha gets with a couple of gins in her.”

  “Martha Mitchellstein” I say to Billie with a look that says “what a stupid name” instead “Riotous…completely riotous!” comes out of my mouth like an upper class toff.

  “Oh ok.” I’ve offended Scott but I don’t care. I can’t be near Amber.

  “Yeah so we’d best be heading we’ve gotta get to Fairfax super quick but wow lovely seeing you both.” I wrap up.

  “Maybe we could do dinner, we’re in LA for another couple of days.” Amber all but pleads.

  “Lovely. We’d love to!” Billie offers, she can see I’m about to be sick.

  Scott writes their hotel name and room number on the back of a receipt and hands it to me. I give them both a hug; Billie kisses Amber before I rush off dragging the confused Miss Galligan with me. Around the corner, out of sight of my friends I crumple the receipt up before tossing it in a trash can. Billie, to her credit, doesn’t ask. I don’t offer an explanation either. I just smile and reset my calm as Billie links my arm walking me towards Beach Avenue.

  “C’mon back to my place and we’ll get drunk,” she says “we can toast Martha Mitchellstein.”

  13

  TAKUMA SAT on the cu
rb next to me as night raged in Los Angeles around us. The blue and red light from the roof of the LAPD squad car flashed as two officers attempted to disperse the crowd of drunken onlookers. They would eventually help us to our feet and feed us into the back of their caged vehicle and the criminal justice system of the west coast. Looking at Takuma, drunk and fatigued – too much of both to keep his eyes open I promise myself that if someone has to gobble the prison meat it’ll be him. It had been a crazy week, a week that had slowly gotten more and more out of hand and uncontrollable. It seemed inevitable, fitting even, that this week would result in my incarceration.

  Seven days prior to my curb side arrest some forty yards from the front step of Lost Angeles I had met Simon, a Kenyan-American Chef de Partie at one of my favourite beach facing eateries. The building in which he was living had recently been raided by a drugs task force, eliminating seventy percent of the recreational fun by the Pacific and leaving Simon looking for somewhere with a door with two hinges. He had checked into Lost Angeles for one night that was three weeks before I met him. Serving up at the communal kitchen island I got to chatting with the chef about life and work. It was the usual shit you chin wag about when you don’t know someone, only to discover that Simon had served in the armed forces. The following night would mark his one year anniversary out of camouflage and a perfect opportunity for us all to get well and truly annihilated on cheer, booze and pills cut with weed killer. Our group had grown mightily in the past few evenings as all types of waifs and strays pledged allegiance to nothing and cared for little other than good times and nocturnal hedonism. Aside from Carl, Frank, Bret, Hayden and Oscar we had collected Takuma, a Japanese art student who had been “sent away” by his parents. We never really knew the exact reasons but the general understanding would become crystal clear over the course of the week.