His American Classic (Part 1)

by G J Morgan

  “How many interviews you had?”

  “Including yesterday, three. I’ve got one tomorrow, so technically four.”

  “Uniform or desk job?” We both stopped at the lights.

  “Insurance company.”

  “You got experience?”

  “I got a British education, if that helps. Best in the world.”

  “What you study in?”

  “You’ll laugh.”

  “Hit me with it.”

  “American Studies, little bit of Photography but I dropped out.”

  He laughed.

  “You’re shit out of luck, pal.”

  “Just have to flirt and charm.”

  “Hey, it’s worked for me,” winking at a girl half his age as she walked past, oblivious to his gesture. “Probably best you make something up, Tom. Some bank in London that doesn’t exist.”

  “Why does everyone assume I’m from London? I’m up north, hours away.”

  “Everyone here likes you, Tom, customers like you. Even the boss likes you.”

  “I don’t think that’s enough these days. I’m glad, deep down I’m glad. This isn’t the job I’d applied for. We’re supposed to be tour guides, not vultures.”

  “Hey, it worked for Vince.”

  “How so?”

  “Sorry, Tom, I thought you knew.”

  Vince I hadn’t seen in a long while. We were briefly very good friends, very close and for a short while we spent most of our time with each other. Vince was on the same induction of new recruits as myself, we liked the same things, same movies, taught me how to drive an automatic. Taught me how to drive like an American, how to bully the road, how not to get lost. Streets go sideways, avenues up and down and all that. I liked him, but I could see why others didn’t. I even invited him over for dinner one time, him and his current girlfriend of the month. But it never happened again, Cassie didn’t much care for his company, or the company he kept. He didn’t last long as a tour guide either, the boss saw to that. Vince was never shy about his plans for world domination; he left abruptly and defiantly and our friendship ended equally as abruptly with his resignation.

  “No, last I heard he’d moved across to Pasadena to live with a cousin. So, what’s he up to? Cali Prison? Bond villain? CEO of Apple?”

  “He’s finally gone to the dark side, to the world of scandal.”

  “What, mob boss now is he? Looting?”

  “No, worse. Paparazzi.”

  “Fuck no, that is worse. Well, he always said he had it in him. How did it come about?”

  “No clue.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Obviously working for him. Saw him the other day, but he was in a hurry. He must have dropped twenty pounds, he was driving an Escalade as big as a tank.”

  “Traded in his rusty coupe.”

  “Yes, sir, he did.”

  “Thinking about it now, he mentioned the idea to me a few times. I nearly sold him my camera, but it never came about.”

  “Never know, if things don’t work out, could be a Plan B for you.”

  “That would never be a Plan B.”

  “It’s not too far removed from what we are doing now.”

  “Yes, one the reasons I’m glad I’m getting out, and so should you.”

  “Hey, man. My moral compass broke a long time ago. Four kids and real estate can do that to you. All I’m saying is, it’s an option.”

  “All I’m saying is, it’s not.”

  “Let’s agree to disagree.”

  “Let’s.”

  “So back to work. Are you sure your morality can stretch a bit longer, that queue is looking pretty darn long.”

  “Boss won’t be pleased.”

  “She never is.”

  “Come on, let’s make a move. Those celebrities won’t find themselves,” as we reached tour guide country.

  Roger later told me the real reason I was sacked, he’d heard it through Manni. The boss heard I chose not to hunt down a mother and her buggy, a customer complained apparently. Turns out all moments are in fact meant to be shared, nothing is private in the world of celebrity. I actually found it funny, indirectly Halle Berry had gotten me fired, I should have known the boss would’ve found out. I suppose she had to set an example, she couldn’t be seen to be allowing employees to break rank, defy orders, but I didn’t regret anything I’d done previously. It didn’t make me sad or happy. It just made me shrug.

  * * *

  Me and Cassie had not been getting on great either since I found out I was being let go, a constant series of shit to deal with, nothing big, just broken kitchen appliances, bills we hadn’t expected. That, together with me keeping my unemployment secret and lack of sleep, meant either me or Cassie were always on different extremes, either going hell for leather, or giving each other the silent treatment.

  After another big fight, I found myself grabbing the keys off the side again, took myself on a drive, further and higher, towards a more palatable view, parked the car, opened a pack of smokes, looked out across the valley. I checked the clock, it was gone one.

  England had never boasted horizons, too flat – well, that wasn’t fair, London’s skyline was equally as grand, even my mum’s village sometimes, but it was a view that wasn’t accessible, not for people like me. In London you looked up and it made you feel small, whilst in Los Angeles you had the means to reach the top, which gave you the ability to look down and attempt to grab some perspective. American views always brought me out in hope, made me reflect. Cassie joked it was the place I went to get all deep and meaningful and she was right. Cassie joked a lot, it was her way of dealing with things I suppose, dealing with Molly. I just worried one day the hurt would build and build and would have to eventually spill out. Till then she kept up the smiles, we both did, we both felt that was what our daughter needed more than lab results and hospital corridors.

  I was in the mood for pot. I did smoke some pot up here once. Me and Vince, it was his idea, never again, it got way too deep and meaningful, even for me, there was talk of the cosmos, the afterlife. But San Fernando valley can do that to you, take you off somewhere, make you look at things on a grand scale. The city lit up for miles to see.

  February just gone Cassie bought me a camera for my birthday, said it would be nice to see all those skies I told her about so much. It actually wasn’t a bad camera, but I’d never used it, took a few shots of her and Mollie over at Griffith Park when I first tested it out and it’s sat in the glovebox since. Still got the photo though, pride of place in my wallet, the three of us together, my two girls and me. To look at it now I never knew what she saw in me, bad teeth, a lobster in shades. Mum had the same photo, she said I looked like a musician, although I’m guessing it wasn’t meant to be a compliment.

  We’ve had our ups and down, me and Cassie, mostly ups. We nearly split up once, stayed on a friend’s floor for two nights, we made up, things went back to normal, then she got get pregnant. When I met her of course there was instant attraction, a physical one, it is hard to resist a girl like Cassie, an electric combination of blonde and tan. We never had anything in common as such, different tastes in music and film, different opinions on the world. But what I loved and still love most about Cassie is her energy, her spontaneity, she was reckless. Molly changed that.

  Don’t get me wrong, Molly changed us both, and I’m not dumb enough to think that having a child doesn’t impact spontaneity and without a shadow of a doubt removes any thought of recklessness. But she was changing even before Molly – the longer we were together, the more she wanted stability, a structure, and all that free spirit Cassie had before was replaced with just settling. Settling rather than chasing.

  I didn’t know if I was explaining it right, I couldn’t quite put words on it. The only way I could describe it is, I don’t think we would have be
en together if we hadn’t had Molly. We actually talked about it once, I think we both knew it, and we both accepted that it was most probably true. We loved each other, and we would never choose to split up, but because of Molly and not for ourselves. I don’t know if that was wrong or right, but for us it was the only way at the time. So, it was love, the biggest love, just not the love that would last forever, just the kind of love we felt Molly needed. I told her I loved her every day, and her back. And we both meant it, truly meant it. You can love someone for the wrong reasons, can’t you? As long as it’s love then surely that was OK? That’s what I thought.

  What me and Cassie really needed was a date, some time for ourselves, get drunk and talk about anything apart from parenthood. Though a babysitter was unlikely, family were an aeroplane journey away and our friends weren’t quite trustworthy enough to care for a child, too busy being young and spontaneous to be sat staring at a cackling baby monitor. So, until then we were on our own, surviving, being OK parents and an OK couple, taking both for granted and not particularly enjoying either.

  I lit another smoke. It was gone in seconds, put my head back and closed my eyes, tried to free my head of all the noise.

  * * *

  I don’t know exactly when but I must’ve fallen asleep as I sat at the wheel, the sound of tyre on gravel made me come around. I don’t know how long I’d been out for, all I remembered was being cold and thirsty.

  The noise of tyre on gravel was a Mustang that had parked a few spaces across from me. I couldn’t make out the colour or the front as it was dark and parked at an angle away from mine. It was beautiful though, the car, and it had been looked after, had money spent on it. There were two of them inside, a man and a woman. Oblivious and certainly not quiet, they drank from champagne bottles like no one was watching. With my lights out, they probably thought my car was one that had been abandoned or broken down.

  I recognized the girl. Not entirely sure where from.

  Valley girl. That was my first reaction, took me a while to remember who she was, get a glimpse of her face. When I did, I knew who she was instantly.

  Amanda Lebowitz.

  Actress, made a handful of forgettable teen comedies back in the late nineties, since then she’d been on the decline, physically and emotionally. Bad movie decisions, surgical mistakes too. I couldn’t quite make out what was happening in that car, but it looked like it involved unzipping the driver’s fly, putting things in her mouth.

  I shouldn’t have continued to watch. Watching them didn’t feel exciting, I wasn’t turned on. I felt nothing but curiosity about the situation, not excited or pulsated. I just felt tired, still cold, and ready for home. I went to twist the car keys, but I stopped.

  My heart raced and in a mad moment I grabbed my camera from the glovebox and aimed the lens towards them.

  * * *

  When I woke up that next morning, as Cassie cuddled her coffee and daughter, I decided to tell her about me being fired. I just came out with it. I told her what money we had left, told her about my mum sending me money, told her I would keep looking for work, no matter what it was, told her I loved her, told her I was sorry.

  Cassie just smiled, said we would all be fine, gave me a kiss followed by demands for Spongebob and congee. I told her she was taking advantage of me, I only cooked congee on very special occasions, birthdays and Valentine’s. It turned out losing my job was now an occasion too. That was our relationship, nose to nose, romance then rage. That was why I would never leave her, no matter how bad it got, there was always too much good to ever want to let go, even if it meant putting myself last.

  I never did tell her about what happened the night before though, when I was in the Jeep. Because at the time it didn’t feel like a big thing. If anything it felt embarrassing and an incident I wanted to forget quickly and erase from my memory. Once or twice I thought about the money it could’ve made, there were people out there who would pay big money for the photos I’d taken, but it didn’t sit right. The money would be tainted and anything it funded would be tainted too. The camera stayed in the glovebox till I had to return the Jeep, and I shoved it in the back of the closet.

  * * *

  Not long after, it turned out I did get that job for the insurance company, don’t know how I ever managed it – luck, I assumed. I can’t tell you how relieved I was, and although the excitement was for the security rather than the job itself, it gave us all a lift – it wasn’t a job for me, it was a job for us. I took us all out to celebrate at our favourite coffee shop, omelette cheese sandwiches all round, a belated birthday stack of cookies for Molly. Cassie even presented me with a new tie, warned me not to become the next Gordon Gecko, said she finally got the husband who wore a tie to work.

  It was a great day, we talked about a house of our own, pets, having another baby came up again and I agreed we should start trying. We even shook hands on finally going to Coachella next year rather than listening to it on the radio. We talked about visiting her folks over in Clearwater – they’ve only seen Molly the once when she was first born. I agreed, once I’d passed my probation at work, we would book a surprise flight for the following summer. Mickey Mouse-land here we come. I’d ask her to marry me there, that was the plan. I would ask her dad first, surprise her, do it right, with a real ring this time.

  With the rest of Mum’s money, I even ended up buying myself a new car, nothing fancy, out-of-state plates, an old ’91 Wagoneer, dependable, mostly; just affordable. Gave back the Jeep, cleaned it out of all the suncreams, 7 Eleven receipts, magazines, Advil. Handed the boss the keys, she apologized, which I didn’t expect, wished me luck. I’d miss her, weirdly enough.

  But hey, life went on and things returned to relative calm. My new boss was OK; the average age of my office was mid-fifties, it was quiet, repetitive, but I wasn’t complaining. At home Molly wasn’t getting any worse, but she wasn’t getting any better, me and Cassie were much the same. Things were normal, the arguing didn’t stop, got worse in fact, no matter what we did it always ended with slammed doors and the rattle of my car keys.

  End of October we decided to head down to the coast for a few days, just the three of us. We’d had a big chat about where things were going wrong, agreed things had to change, we fought too much about big things and silly things, agreed it wasn’t a good environment for Molly. It was much needed and we both agreed that we both could do things differently, treat each other better, try to remember the people we were before, be more selfish with our free time, go on dates, hold hands more, take it in turns to have Molly, trust I could be a parent without worrying I’d do something wrong. Felt good to get things off our chests, say some home truths, put all the cards on the table, it wasn’t an easy conversation, but it was one that had to be had. The little holiday was a fresh start and although I felt a little pressure, knowing it had that make-or-break finality to it, the mood as we packed up the car was all positive. Felt like how me and Cassie were when we first met, she had that look in her eye again, like she was ready for adventure, the look that made me fall for her the first time.

  * * *

  On the way there, an oncoming pickup truck hit us at speed off San Diego Freeway. I don’t remember anything about the crash. The car rolled, I had to be cut out, so I’m told. I remember, moments before, Molly singing ‘Oranges and Lemons’, Cassie’s hand on my lap as she talked bathroom colours. After that, it was screams and sirens. After that, things went dark. And stayed dark.

  2

  Most people have probably never heard of Peg Entwistle, unless you’d been on my tour. If you had, you definitely knew, she had a whole two minutes dedicated to her. Every tour, same time, delivered on the approach, the gasps as Mount Lee comes into sight, as I told them all about Hollywood land, Holy weed, Holywood, all its various names, before they’d all rush off with their cameras to have their photos taken and I could have five minutes to stretch my legs, tak
e a few sips of water, stop talking.

  Peg Entwistle was a sad one – escaped the grey of England like myself, dreamt of making it big on stage and screen. In a last-ditch attempt for fame and notoriety she jumped off the big H. She achieved that at least, became a name and a story. Still sad.

  She was twenty-four, two years younger than me, no age to give up.

  Funny what those nine big letters on a hill could represent. Drives people to do the grandest of things.

  * * *

  The letterbox woke me up. Took me a while to come around, stretching and yawning. Felt like morning, but it clearly wasn’t. Outside the window I could see them feeding ducks in their coats and hats, my little Californian surf girl. Don’t think she’d ever known such cold. The pond looked icy, but I’d seen it icier, I’d seen it frozen over, I’d seen men walk across it, my dad included.

  I could hear them both through the glass, laughing and shouting. I promised Mum I’d try to stop sleeping downstairs, it wasn’t fair to Molly to have to play in silence, or have to go outside, especially in weather so cold and sharp. I needed coffee, something to get me warm, it was a house full of draughts and gaps. Floorboards and fireplaces, windows so thin they wobbled, it was a fucking igloo. I spent most of my time by the fire, watching it, or stoking it, adding coal or wood, making sure it was always at a roar or spit. Mum would curse, charging around sleeveless in a permanent state of summer, calling me a sissy, in the only American accent she had in her vocabulary.

  After two days of being back, I very quickly realized that my American wardrobe wasn’t suitable. I ended up wearing Dad’s old sweaters till I made the trip across town to buy all things thermal. Everything was so far away here, I’d forgotten how remote and isolated we were. I was used to life being on my doorstep, here it involved petrol, it involved forward planning, buying in bulk.

  I heard giggles through the glass, Molly looked so happy out there and so settled. She’d taken to village life and the drop in temperature better than I ever thought possible. This was her little adventure, her winter vacation. Air travel was an experience, she wasn’t fond of take-off, same with landing, and mid-air wasn’t much better. She cried or slept or ate, the pattern for most of the thirteen-hour journey from one front door to another.