She passed the coaster and searched for the address Megan had given her over the phone. Her first impression of the complex didn’t knock her socks off, but she reminded herself that it was walking distance from the beach and the boardwalk. She’d been living in a part of town where armed fugitives were hunted daily. Though a little crusty, the duplex was just fine. Parking was also a real problem in the area. It always was at any beach in San Diego, and she drove around for a solid ten minutes before finding a tiny spot that left a good two inches of her back tires in the red zone.
She walked for several blocks feeling bad that she was late but also feeling very happy that she could smell salt water.
Moments after ringing the bell, a gorgeous blonde answered the door. She was so pretty that Elise just had to assume that God really did put extra time into making some people. She looked as if her infant skin had never experienced a single zit, and her long, skinny thighs had never suffered from even a millimeter of cellulite. She had long, straight hair that looked as if it belonged in a J. Crew catalogue.
“You must be Elise!” she said before shooting her hand toward her.
Elise shook her hand. “And you’re . . . Iris or Megan?”
“Megan! For God’s sake. Iris is my sister.”
“Oh, sorry.”
They walked up a long flight of steps to what Megan referred to as the first floor of their apartment. The décor was pretty much typical college décor. Sheets hung over the windows instead of curtains. The couches were definitely from a thrift store or a hand-me-down from some relative. The television stand looked as if it were older than Megan. Van Gogh’s Starry Night and a couple of Monet prints were pinned to the walls with thumbtacks.
A girl rose from the couch wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a Ramones T-shirt. Pockmarks dotted her chubby cheeks, and dark smudges of mascara decorated the circles beneath her eyes. She had sideburns, and her short frizzy hair looked as if she’d tried to dye it a rebellious color but had ended up with a brassy shade of copper.
“Hi. I’m Iris.”
Elise extended her hand. “You guys are sisters?” She couldn’t help it. The words had just come out. They looked nothing alike. Where Megan was long, Iris was squat. Where Megan was smooth, Iris was rough. Shaped like a bulldog, Iris had rubbery, squat arms and legs. Her jagged fingernails were proof that she was a nail biter, and she had a black tribal tattoo around her pale ankle.
“We are sisters,” Iris said. “I just look like my dad. She looks like well . . . no one.”
“That’s not true,” Megan said. “Everyone says I look like Great-grandma Sylvia.”
“She’s our step-great-grandmother, you idiot. She’s not even related to us.”
“You are such a dumb ass,” Megan said. “She had Grandpa’s brother. We are too related.”
“That still doesn’t make us related.”
“Yes it does. I know we’re related to her somehow. Ask Mom how.”
Before Iris could retaliate, Elise interjected, “Wow, look at that stack of magazines you guys have.” Elise was just trying to think of something to say to end their bickering. It worked, because they both took their heated gazes away from one another and looked at Elise.
“Oh yeah,” Megan said. “We have prescriptions to both Us and People.”
“It’s subscription, you idiot. Not prescription.”
“Whatever. Subscription. Prescription. It’s the same thing. We just got the one that tells everything about J. Lo’s latest wedding. You’re welcome to take any of them with you to the beach if you move in.”
This was music to Elise’s ears. She rarely bought magazines, but if she were going to the dentist or the doctor, she always hoped they had several good issues of the juicy tabloids. There was nothing worse than waiting for an appointment and being sorely disappointed when she found that their magazine racks only held piles of Highlights and Good Housekeeping. Now these magazines would be at her fingertips.
They showed Elise the room she’d be staying in if she chose to move in. Nicole’s belongings were still in the room, but Iris and Megan told her she’d be putting them all in storage before her big trip to Germany.
“She’s also letting me drive her new car while she’s gone,” Megan said.
“No. She’s letting us drive it,” Iris corrected.
Megan turned to Elise. “We’ve been sharing a car since high school. It’s total hell.”
“You can move in next weekend if you want,” Iris said, “Nicole is packing up her stuff next week, and after that there’s only ten days left of the month. We won’t charge you rent for those days.” This was great! The sooner she bailed City Heights the better.
“Let’s show you the rest of the place,” Iris said.
When they opened Iris’s door, the faint odor of cat urine wafted through the air. Her room was cluttered with stacks of essays and textbooks. A Bob Marley poster hung on one wall, and her bedspread looked a little stained and weathered. Her sliding closet door was closed, and Elise noticed some clothes sticking out from beneath it. A skinny black cat with a rough coat came out from underneath the bed and immediately began to rub against Elise’s legs.
“This is Scrubbles,” Iris said. “I got him last year from some homeless guy on the boardwalk who was giving kittens away.”
Elise reached down and petted the cat. He purred loud and rubbed his face against her hands. “Does he like dogs?”
“I think so,” Megan said. “One of our friends had their dog here once, and they seemed to get along. And there are dogs all over the place around here.”
“Well, good. I hope he gets along with Bella.”
“Does this mean you’re moving in?” Megan asked.
“I think so. Yes.”
“Good. We’ve never lived with a famous writer before.”
For a moment she was tempted to throw her head back with laughter and elbow them. Famous writer. Sure, she had fans. But maybe she should explain that she wasn’t Mary Higgins Clark yet. But then she thought, What the hell? If they wanted to think she was a celebrity, it was fine by her.
She left Mission Beach with a smile on her face and a feeling of excitement she hadn’t felt in some time. She’d found roommates. Even if they seemed like they hated each other and their apartment was a little cluttered, it was a decent situation. She could walk to the beach whenever she wanted. She could smell the ocean air, and she’d be able to leave her window open at night.
Instead of driving back to City Heights she decided to drop by her brother’s place in Ocean Beach. As far as she knew, he had Fridays off from driving the tour tram at the Wild Animal Park, and she wanted to see what he was up to for the evening. They might still be able to make a happy hour if they hurried.
She lucked out and managed to find a parking place in front of his building. While walking to the front entrance she noticed his beat-up Honda Accord in front of the building. The car was so filthy she could probably write a short story with her fingertip in the layer of dust on the hood. His surfboard was wedged tightly in the car, and she was certain he had to be home.
His doorbell had been broken for years, and she didn’t even bother ringing. She knocked and waited. There was no response, and she was starting to wonder where he could be without his surfboard or car. She was about to knock again when she heard the familiar sound of his laughter inside. “Stan!” she called. She waited and listened to him laugh again. She knocked again and waited a couple of minutes before she decided to let herself in.
She expected to see him sitting in front of the television, his feet propped on the coffee table while he ate from a bag of chips. However, the only thing on his couch was an abandoned carne asada burrito, which he clearly had no sense to clean up. Spanish rice was falling in between the couch cushions.
The candle she had bought him for his birthday burned, and she thought it smelled rather nice. Where the hell was he? His bedroom door was closed. Maybe he was getting ready to head out for
happy hour. Perfect timing. She was about to call for him again when it hit her. He had a girl over. She knew her brother hooked up, but it was something she’d always chosen not to think about.
She felt her heart lurch when she heard the sounds of panting peppered with grunts. She gripped the handle of her purse before sprinting full speed back to her car. One thing that people should never have to endure in their life is listening to a family member have sex. For that matter, they should never listen to anything involving sex about a family member. No stories. No details. She liked to believe that the only three times her parents had done it had been to produce Melissa, Stan, and herself. And her brother, well, he just kissed girls. And even thinking of that was enough to make her stomach turn.
After speeding from the front of Stan’s complex, she instantly dialed Carly. She needed to tell someone about the shock she’d been through. Her phone rang several times before voice mail picked up.
“Hello. You have reached the voice mailbox of Carly Trusedale . . .” Elise had heard her businesslike greeting a zillion times and knew the whole thing by heart. “Please leave a message with your name and the best number to reach you, and I will get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you and have a great day.”
“Oh my God! You will never believe what just happened to me. I drove into Ocean Beach after my meeting with Iris and Megan, which went great by the way. Thank you. And anyway I thought I would stop in to see Stan and, oh my God, I almost walked in on him having sex with someone. Anyway, I heard enough to run for my life. I mean you don’t have any siblings, but Stan is practically like your brother, so I’m sure you can imagine the grossness I’ve just been exposed to. Call me back at once.”
After partially recovering from the initial shock of Stan’s affairs, she began to wonder who this person was that he was involved with. Was it just a casual fling? Someone he had met at a bar or on the beach? She knew he didn’t tell her about every fling he had. If he really liked the girl, he’d mention her, so this must be casual sex.
Elise had met a few of Stan’s chums, and the poor girls always tried to befriend Elise, flattering her and trying desperately to find things they had in common. Though she could see right through them, she never blamed them. She would probably do the same thing if she were trying to win someone’s brother.
Marge called just as she was heading into City Heights. For a split second she actually debated asking her mother if she had any idea who Stan was dating, but then she realized how completely absurd she was being. There was no way in hell her mother would have a clue, and mentioning anything about Stan having a close female friend would just give her mom false hope that she would someday be able to plan a rehearsal dinner. Instead she told her about her new roommates. “Are you sure you want to live in Mission Beach?” she asked. “It’s just so touristy down there. And the riffraff that walks around that boardwalk.”
“Riffraff? It’s all college students and some tourists.”
“Last time your father and I were down there, I don’t think I saw one person without a tattoo.”
“Mom. It’s fine.”
“So anyway, your father and I are having some people over on Sunday afternoon for an early dinner, and I wanted to make sure you’re coming.”
“Um, yeah. Okay. This is the first I’ve heard of it, but, uh, yeah, count me in.”
“All right. Good.”
“Is Stan coming?”
“I haven’t called him yet. I’m going to try him as soon as we get off the phone.” Elise wanted to tell her not to bother. “Who is coming?”
“Melissa and Brice and the Yackrells.”
“The Yackrells? Who are the Yackrells?”
“June Yackrell is in my San Diego League of Women Voters, and I’ve invited her family over. Just a minute. Listen, your father needs me, so I’ll see you Sunday around four.”
When she returned to her apartment she heard giggles from behind Justine’s bedroom door. Jimmy was leaving for his tour the following day, and apparently they were making the best of each other’s company before he left, because she’d also heard them going at it that morning. All around her was sex. Everywhere she turned. She escaped to her bedroom, closed the door behind her, and decided to start packing.
14. Call Me
Jimmy’s departure was similar to a movie where the hero is called to duty, perhaps a war or the hunting down of an outlaw, and the heroine weeps hopelessly into a handkerchief, gripping her chest and pleading for a safe return. Only Jimmy wasn’t going off to war. He was touring the country with his rock band. He’d most likely be doing tequila shots with breakfast and getting into the sort of mischief that would be kept between him and God.
Minutes before his departure he feigned bravery and offered assurance for his emotionally frail woman, stroking the side of her cheek and whispering tender words into her ear. However, when his tour van pulled up in front of the complex, Elise noticed his eyes light up like a child discovering candy on an egg hunt. He grabbed his duffel bag from the couch, plopped one last kiss on Justine’s forehead, and practically skipped toward his future of binge drinking and party-filled nights.
Justine, on the other hand, clutched a snotty piece of toilet paper and wept just as delicately as Kate Beckinsale in Pearl Harbor.
He stopped outside the front door to pet Bella. “Hey, Elise, good luck with . . . everything. Hope to see you when I get back.” He began to walk away, and though he was a complete nuisance, she sort of envied him. Not a care in the world, he’d be partying while most people were fighting traffic in their Monday morning commute. She wanted to be a rock star. Then she heard a sonic-sounding fart followed by a chorus of laughter come from the open door of the van, and she decided maybe not.
Jimmy turned back toward Elise, his bangs whipping over his eyebrows. “Oh, hey. I almost forgot. Max was asking about you last night.”
“He was?” She asked a little too quickly.
“Yeah. He asked me if you had a boyfriend.”
“He did? What did you say?”
“I said I didn’t know.”
“You said you didn’t know? Don’t you know that I don’t have a boyfriend?”
“Well, you went on that date that one time.”
She couldn’t believe that they lived together, and he knew so little about her. “Are you talking about that blind date I went on? That was three months ago. And that was a terrible date. I’m not dating that guy.”
He shrugged. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Max is a cool guy,” Jimmy said. “One of the best I know. I didn’t want to give him your number because . . .” He shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know. I didn’t want you to get mad.”
“No. I mean, yes. I don’t mind if you give him my number.” Her heart was racing.
“All right then. I will. Next time I talk to him.”
For a moment she envisioned Jimmy drunk and sandwiched between two groupies. Partying one day in Portland, signing autographs in Denver the next. The likelihood of him remembering was as great as him quitting the band and entering the seminary. In between bong hits and encores he’d never find the time.
“Well, don’t for—”
“Jimmy!” Justine’s voice burst from a window and shattered like glass over their conversation. “I need to talk to you. Now, please.”
He gave Bella one last stroke before heading back inside. “I’ll, uh, give him your number,” he said.
“You will?” Elise followed him, trying not to sound too pushy. He couldn’t remember conversations he’d held in the same day.
“You almost forgot this,” Justine said, handing him his advent calendar.
Elise recognized the same look on Jimmy that Stan had featured the year Marge had given Stan a tie for his birthday. He shoved the calendar in his pocket and headed back to the van.
The girls watched from the doorway as Potter’s van peeled out of Casa de Paradiso parking lot with music blasting and something that looked like
a jacket sleeve dangling out the sliding door. As soon as they stepped inside, Justine threw herself on the couch and wept.
“He’ll be back soon,” Elise said. “It’s only a month. Think of how fast that will go by. Think of it on the bright side,” she said. “Soldiers’ wives don’t even get to talk to their husbands for months. At least you’ll be able to talk to him. Four times a day,” she added.
She replied with hiccupping cries. “You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Justine, I want you to feel better,” Elise said, feeling slightly guilty that she didn’t feel very much sympathy for her roommate. She was really thinking of Max and wondering if Jimmy would remember to give him her number. “Almost everyone has experienced missing someone. He’ll be back. Soon.”
Instead of drying her eyes and agreeing that Jimmy would be back soon and five weeks really seemed like nothing in the grand scheme of things, she cried even harder. “Please. Just stop,” she wailed.
Then it occurred to Elise. Perhaps she had seen the happiness in Jimmy’s eyes when the van pulled up. Maybe she’d noticed that he’d seemed eager to break out of there.
She looked at the hole Jimmy had created on their wall the first time she had met him. A small spider was crawling from the edge, and it reminded her that they needed to fix it before they moved. Elise needed her deposit back, and she had a feeling that if they didn’t fix the hole before her departure this weekend, she’d end up paying for part of it.
However, now was not the best time to discuss this. She spent several more minutes consoling Justine until realizing it was useless. She wanted to be miserable. If she wasn’t pining over Jimmy, she’d have nothing to do. She looked at the clock and realized it was time for her to leave for Poway. “Do you want to come to my parents’ house for dinner?” she asked. “They’re having some friends over, and my brother might be there. Why don’t you come? It might cheer you up.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t feel up to it.”
“Oh, c’mon. You can see what a complete terror my nephew is.”
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