Save Me_Yours Truly, Razberry Sweet

by Megan Linski

  Chapter 9 - The Real Side of LA

  I throw on my black leather jacket, ruffle up my hair, and make sure my glasses are clean. I look good. I look good, right? I’ll fit in at this party.

  Or maybe I’m just fooling myself and I look ridiculous.

  I run out the door and down the street, away from The Glamour. As I look around to appreciate all the lights and sounds, people jostle and push me aside. I have to force my way through the crowd in order to get where I’m going.

  The house party is in Beverly Hills. As I enter the district, my jaw drops. There are houses here bigger than my school, with privacy fences that reach up to the sky, pools that are shaped in artistic designs, and elaborate gardens. I knew houses could be this beautiful and expensive, but seeing them in real life makes it seem unreal.

  When I’ve walked around for about a half hour or so I hear music, LOUD music, thrumming throughout the streets. I turn the corner. A giant mansion, one that’s bigger than most of the others, is lit up like a Christmas tree. Even from this distance I can see hundreds of teenagers swarming inside. As I draw closer, I try to be cool. I blend in with the rest of the crowd, flash the bouncer my invitation and slip inside.

  The marble floor is a virtual mirror of the extravagance, elegance, and pure money that oozes from the walls. The house looks like it popped straight out of a billionaire’s magazine. One closet in this place probably costs more than my whole house back in Limesville.

  Not that anybody here cares, of course. People are breaking things left and right, either on purpose or by accident. I have a feeling I’ve walked in right when the party is starting to get out of control. A vase tips over and shatters on the floor as a bunch of idiots on the stairs try to grab onto the chandelier and swing from it above me. Bottles and cigarette butts lie everywhere. Everybody here is either really drunk or stoned out of their mind. I’d start up a conversation with one of them, if the music wasn’t so loud.

  Maybe if I get further in I’ll find some cool (or at least sober) people. I slink out of the entryway and into the spacious, million dollar living room, which is dark save for the dance lights flashing everywhere. It’s ridiculously hot in here... I regret that I wore a jacket now.

  I try to find a spot where I can enter the dance floor. I’ve hardly felt more out of place. Even in Tinyork I was part of the scenery. The people there knew I was a freak, but here… I feel so small and insignificant.

  Then I see her. My mouth drops open in shock. What is she doing here? Both hands are in the pockets of her skinny jeans and her face is tilted down toward the floor. Her eyes are covered by a black fedora that compliments her pink camisole. She looks about as out of place at this party as I am, but in a different way, like she’s been to events like this one too many times and is just about sick of them.

  Maymee. This makes absolutely no sense.

  Maybe it isn’t her, just someone that looks like her. Trying to appear casual, I go toward the punch bowl to try and get a closer look, but I still can’t tell. Wanting to know for sure, I start heading directly toward her.

  Of course, I trip.

  “Watch where you’re going!” a guy shouts as I knock his cup of alcoholic punch out of his hand and all over the expensive hardwood.

  “Sorry,” I say, my face going red. “I’ll uh… clean that up.”

  “Don’t bother,” he says, and he gives me a bigoted glare. “Just… watch what you’re doing.”

  “Sorry.” I maneuver around him and find myself face to face with none other than Maymee. It really is her.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask. My face spreads into a smile.

  “I followed you from the hotel. I’m staying at The Glamour, too. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to talk to you with Puppy around,” Maymee says. She looks down.

  “No, I mean, why are you in LA, millions of miles away from home?” I ask.

  “I got the scholarship as well.” She shrugs. “For makeup and costume design.”

  “Your name wasn’t in the newspaper for accepting the award,” I say, baffled.

  “I asked the committee that put it together to keep it private. I’m not too popular at school these days, and if everybody knew I was going to Hollywood on a scholarship they would’ve bitched about it.” She sighs.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve all flown together.” My eyebrows knit together.

  “You know Puppy didn’t want me hanging with you guys. It’s been hard enough avoiding her in the same hotel.”

  I lean on the wall next to her. “Had any luck with auditions?”

  “I’m not here for auditions, I’m touring colleges. I want to be a makeup artist. I finally know what I wanna be, all thanks to you. I had no clue before the movie.” Her smile is soft. Almost loving.

  “Your parents must be really proud. I’m surprised they let you out of your room tonight after touring colleges all day,” I say, surprised.

  “My parents didn’t come. Couldn’t afford to take off work.”

  “Oh.” I look at her. “So… you’ve been alone here all this time?”

  “Yep.” She nods. “I mean, my uncle lives in the area, but mostly I’ve been alone.”

  There’s an awkward pause, the thudding of the bass in the background. She tilts her head and asks, “You wanna get out of here? Go get a breakfast sandwich?”

  I blink. “But it’s nine at night.”

  “So?”

  “Why in the world do you want to go get a… what, breakfast sandwich now?”

  “I’ve got a craving for it.”

  “Aren’t you afraid you’ll miss the party?” Not that there’s a lot to miss, I think as I look around.

  “There’s always another party to go to. Believe me. Back home there’s one every weekend.” She nibbles on her lower lip. “They’re nothing special.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “You never get told.”

  “Oh.” I blush. “I guess it’s obvious why, huh?”

  “Well, you can make up your own mind. I’m going with or without you.” The way she stands, with her hands on her hips boldly, tells me that she’s trying not to care.

  But by the sad look in her eyes I know that she doesn’t want to go alone. I’ve seen the same lonesome look in the mirror enough to know.

  In all reality, I’m relieved. “Nah, I’m with you. This place is lame.”

  Her movements don’t soften but her eyes do. “Then let’s go.”

  We slip out the glass sliding door. After navigating around the pool, we decide to climb the large wooden fence behind it— the other guests are too drunk to notice what we’re doing.

  Maymee is up the fence instantly. I struggle to follow her. My upper body strength sucks. I’m struggling to pull myself up to the top.

  “Why didn’t we just take the front door?” I huff.

  My grip slips and I nearly fall into the pool, but I refuse to let go. I vault over the top and slide over the other side to my feet.

  But when Maymee goes to slip over the other side, her camisole catches on the top of the fence. She gives a tiny scream and it slips off of her as she falls to the ground.

  “Oh my gosh, are you okay?” I exclaim as I rush forward. I grab her arm and pull her up, hoping she didn’t break anything.

  She flips her hair out of her face quickly and grabs her hat. “I’m fine. Just a hard fall.”

  Now that I’m assured she’s okay, another factor hits me like a whirlwind. Maymee’s pink and green polka dot bra is staring me straight in the face.

  “Sorry, I’m sort of clumsy,” she apologizes.

  Kinda like me, huh?

  I rip my gaze away, determined not to look at the bra again. “That’s totally cool. I am, too.”

  She notices that she’s not wearing anything and says, “Oh. Sorry about that. I’ll just...” She turns and tries to jump up to nab her camisole, but it’s out of her reach.

  “Hold on, I’m taller. I’ll
get it.” NOT looking at her boobs, I stride up to the fence, leap up, and snatch the shirt. It comes off freely and cleanly.

  “Thanks,” she says as I toss it back to her blindly. She slips it back on and I bring my eyes back up to her face. “Looks like I picked the right day to wear cute underwear.” She laughs.

  “Yeah, I wish they made it like that for guys.” I laugh, then I mentally punch myself for making such a stupid comment.

  She laughs too, though. “Wow. I didn’t have a top on and all you can say is that you wish they made cute underwear for guys?”

  “It’s just like you’re wearing a bikini top or something. It’s no biggie,” I blab, feeling like a total idiot.

  She tips her head. “It’s really nice that you didn’t say some sort of perverted comment. Most guys would’ve.”

  “I’m just not gonna make a big deal about your boobs, you know? Sort of rude.”

  Crap. Did I really just make a reference to her chest? Smooth.

  But she actually smiles at me. “Well, that’s sweet. Some people can be real assholes even with my shirt on. At least you’re polite.”

  “Yeah.” My throat’s choked up with embarrassment. “That’s me. I’m a real sweetheart. That’s why they call me Razberry Sweet.”

  Please stop talking.

  Now that we’re free from the party, Maymee lights up. “Come on! Let’s go!”

  Without waiting to see if I’m going to protest, she breaks into a run. I follow her and try to avoid tripping over my own feet.

  “How far is it to wherever we’re going?” I pant, already starting to feel tired.

  “A mile,” she beams. “We’ll get tons of exercise!”

  “Wonderful,” I grumble. But I don’t let her hear. She’s having too good of a time for me to ruin it.

  “I… can’t… breathe!” I gasp about twenty minutes later, ready to collapse.

  “But we’re almost there!” Maymee whines. She’s running backwards. “Come on now, you can do it!”

  I swear, with every step she takes she gets more energetic. Before I know it I’m stumbling through the doors of a fast food joint. I lean up against the wall with one arm and run a hand through my hair with the other.

  “You need to get into shape,” she says, looking at me in amusement. “Actors have to be physically fit if they want a part.”

  “I’m no Arnold.” I nearly gag.

  She proceeds to the front counter without hesitation. The place is empty. Besides me and Maymee, the only human being in here is a teenage cashier who looks so bored that I’m surprised drool doesn’t leak out of his mouth.

  “Are you ready to order?” he asks, snapping the gum in his mouth.

  “I want a double egg and sausage biscuit, with syrup in the middle and two hash browns. Throw in a small orange juice,” Maymee demands. “On second thought, make that three hash browns.”

  Wow, I think. That’s a lot of food. I’ve never seen Maymee eat so much before… in fact, I’ve never seen her eat ever. This is odd behavior.

  “We stop serving breakfast at 10:30 AM,” the cashier says dully.

  “Extra cheese,” she demands, not backing down. Her stare is impenetrable.

  The cashier sighs and says, “I’ll check in back. What’ll it be for you?”

  He looks at me expectantly. I hate the way my cheeks redden. I shake my head. “Nothing. I’m good.”

  My stomach decides to betray me and it gives a loud grumble. Maymee gives me the longest stare she has all night (which still isn’t long, I’ll tell you) and says, “I’ll pay for me and Mr. Fabulous here. What do you want?”

  “No—”

  “Triple cheeseburger with extra pickles, no ketchup and a dab of mustard. Add in some onion rings and give him a strawberry milkshake,” she orders.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I grumble, but secretly, I’m pleased. She nailed all my favorites, right down to the extra pickles.

  The guy gives her the food within a few minutes and she picks up the loaded tray, taking it to the far corner near the play area.

  We slide into the booth, her on one side and me on the other, and begin eating in silence. When we’re about halfway through our meal, she asks, “So… been to any auditions lately?”

  At the mention of the word I let out a moan. “Yeah. I messed them all up, but I don’t want to go home empty handed. I don’t want to disappoint my family.” Or myself.

  “I hear you,” Maymee says, and she takes a huge bite out of her biscuit. “It’s not fun when you’re struggling to be discovered. Most people out here wait tables and baby-sit to get by.”

  “I wouldn’t mind it,” I say. “So long as it paid off eventually. You know the comedian, Bill Rarell?”

  “I’ve heard of him.”

  “He moved to LA when he was twenty years old and didn’t get discovered until he was forty-two. I’d be willing to do that.”

  “Your determination is awesome, Raz. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

  I eat another onion ring and nearly knock over my drink while trying to grab it. I swear to God, I’m getting worse by the day.

  “You’re a sloppy eater,” she observes, and hands me a napkin. “This is the second time you’ve spilled something when I’ve eaten with you.”

  “I usually spill something every time,” I reply. “It’s a Raz thing.”

  Soft music is coming from the speakers above. It’s a rock song I’ve heard about a thousand times before.

  And when you’re feeling down and out of place

  Slose your eyes baby, it’ll be okay…

  “Oh wow, I haven’t heard this song in forever,” Maymee says as she throws our trash away. I get up to follow her to the door, but she extends her han and says, “Dance with me?”

  “What?” I look at her outstretched hand.

  “Don’t you like dancing?” she asks as she brushes a lock of hair behind her ear.

  “Well, yeah—”

  “Then come on! It’s a great song!” She grabs my hand and then steps on top of the nearest table, yanking me right up with her. “Raz, come on!”

  “Maymee, are you crazy? Get down,” I hiss, pulling on her arm.

  “No! Learn to have a little fun” She practically lifts me onto the table. I step up and soon the both of us are swaying back and forth on the rickety plastic.

  Maymee starts to sing along with the music.

  “When there’s nowhere else to go, and you’re feeling all alone

  Slose your eyes baby and fall into my arms

  Forever and ever I’ll keep you safe…

  “You’re crazier than I am…” I mumble, but keep dancing with her anyway.

  Maymee grabs my hands and places them on her hips, and places her own on my shoulders, and pretty soon we’re dancing back and forth, moving in quick time to the music.

  I realize that I’m dancing with a girl for the first time ever on top of a table in a fast food restaurant and wonder if I’ve finally lost it.

  “Hey! You can’t do that in here! Get off the table, people eat on that!” The cashier runs up to the both of us, a spray bottle raised in his hand as if to squirt us in the face like bad dogs.

  Maymee doesn’t even give him a second glance. The cashier points the spray bottle higher, threatening.

  “Follow me!” Maymee grabs my hand again and then we’re bouncing up and down on the booth seats. The cashier, confused and powerless, watches us, wondering what to do.

  “Maymee, come on, we’re not kids—”

  “Sing!” she demands, and she squeezes my hand as the guitar solo ends. Both of us open our mouths and sing the chorus together, badly and off-tune. High School Musical we are not.

  Throughout the rest of the song, Maymee and I sing and dance all around the restaurant. We’re both sweating as we fall against the door on the way out as the song ends.

  “That was… wild,” I say, and I shake my head. I notice that Maymee and I are still holding hands.r />
  I draw my hand away from hers quickly and shove both of them in my pockets to hide their shaking. Even though Puppy and I aren’t technically dating, it still feels like cheating to hold Maymee’s hand.

  “It never lasts.” Now that we’re outside and into the warm California air, Maymee’s mood has changed, from completely sporadic to melancholy. She’s staring straight ahead, the smile already faded from her face.

  “What do you mean by that?” I say, confused. It was such an abrupt change… a total high to a canyon-like low.

  “It’s all just a temporary fix. Nothing lasts forever.” She walks on ahead.

  Without a word, I follow her. She leads me like a ghost through the iron gates of a nearby graveyard.

  We walk through the cemetery and observe all the names, some famous but most not. Many graves have ornaments, flowers, or wreaths strung across them. Others have nothing, or have been buried under a oppression of leaves or thorns. Some graves are so old that they’re crumbling to the ground.

  “Sorry,” I say as I stumble across somebody’s resting place, but then I wonder who I’m apologizing to. I shudder. I hate graveyards.

  “Why are we here? You know anybody in here?” I ask Maymee.

  She shakes her head, stopping at a grave marker. “No. I’ve never been here before. I’ve known a lot of people that have died, drug overdoses and stuff, but they’re not here. I come to graveyards all the time, because they’re quiet. For some reason, I feel like it’s the only place I can get any peace.”

  She bites her lip. “When I was little and visiting my uncle, I watched them burying a father here, a man who had a little boy and a little girl. It was so sad.” Maymee whispers the story more to herself than to me. “All these people have so many flowers on their graves. But if you look, there are no flowers on that one right there. That’s where the dad is buried. I have to wonder, does anybody care enough to visit? Or does it just hurt too much to come back?”

  I swallow. “Well, they’re not really here, you know.”

  “Still.” She crosses in front of the marker of the unknown man and adjusts her hat.