Malibu Motel

by Chaunceton Bird

  The pilot wiggles the wings and his southern voice comes on over the headset, “Now you be sure and let your neighbors know that we were the ones buzzin’ your neighborhood. If they mention your name when they fly with us we’ll give you twenty-five percent off your next ride.”

  “Oh that’s great. Yeah I’ll be sure and mention it” if I ever talk to them.

  I text Jamie again (still no response to the Dodger Stadium text): “Jamie, I just flew over my house. Lambo not in driveway. What’s up?”

  This time Jamie texts back right away, “Wow! That looks like fun! Great pictures! Your car is fine, I took it to the Lamborghini dealership in Newport for a full detail. Just wanted to surprise you. I’ll get it back before we leave to Tahiti. Trust me.”

  “Alright, but you gotta tell me about shit like that.”

  “You just need to trust me, Caish. I trust you, you should trust me.”

  “Okay. You’re right. See you Wednesday.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  On our way back to the airport I text Mia to see if she will come enjoy the Ritz Carlton with me tonight.

  “What time does the pool close?” she asks.

  “I don’t know, but even if the pool closes, you should still come down. For the room service alone.”

  “K. ttyl.”

  The biplane lands in on its front wheels, then bounces back onto its back wheel before squatting onto all of its wheels and slowing down.

  “Thank you choosin’ Fly LA By Plane tonight,” the pilot says as we taxi back to the shack. “We have just touched down in Fullerton Airport where the weather is a balmy 82 degrees and the local time is 8:48 p.m.”

  “Haha, thank you sir, it was my pleasure.”

  “Help yourself to the refreshments back at home base. I wish I could stay and chat, but I’ve got a night tour startin’ in about twenty minutes.”

  “Sounds good, thanks for the great flight!”

  After returning the company’s clothes and goggles, I take a cab back to the Ritz. I change and get ready for the evening. Reception tells me that the pool is open daily from 7:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. It’s 9:32 p.m. I text Mia and let her know that the pool closes in a half hour. She says in that case she’ll come down tomorrow. And that’s what she does.

  The next day I meet Mia and her daughters in the hotel lobby at about 8:00 p.m. Her daughters, about 7 and 10, are pattering around looking crosswise at the art and guests hanging around the lobby. The seven-year-old is already wearing her goggles and snorkel. She makes a honking noise through her snorkel as she duck-walks in circles around Mia. We take the elevator to the twenty-sixth floor. When the elevator doors slide open Mia’s giggling daughters blast out and nearly bowl over a group of retirees. Mia yells after her daughters to come back and apologize but they’re already cannonballing into the pool, so Mia apologizes with a shrug and a face that says, “You know how kids are, don’t blame me, what are you gonna do?”

  Mia and I relax poolside before getting into the hot tub.

  “So, I don’t think I ever asked,” Mia says, “why are you staying at the Ritz Carlton this weekend? Isn’t this a Monterey weekend for you?”

  “Yeah, it normally would be, but Jamie surprised me with a weekend here.”

  “Ooooooo, Jamie huh?” Mia was all smiles—elementary school recess gossip smiles. “So is Jamie finally making all of your dreams come true? It’s about damn time, Caish.”

  “Haha, you’re telling me. It looks like it’s finally moving in that direction.”

  “K, for real, Caish, give me the deets.”

  After a refresher on how Jamie and I met and all the time between then and now, I tell her about Friday night and our plans in Tahiti.

  “Damn,” Mia says as she nudges suds. “Jamie said love?”

  “Yeah, that was the word. Love.”

  “And what do you think? You buy that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I dunno, I mean, you’ve been with Jamie what, three or four times? Over the span of four or five months?”

  “So?” What is Mia suggesting? Just because she can’t find love none of the rest of us can?

  “I’m just saying,” Mia says, “doesn’t it seem a little quick? Has Jamie been to Monterey with you yet?”

  “Not yet, but we’ll go as soon as we get back from Tahiti.”

  “So has Jamie even met Mark?”

  “Not yet, but—”

  “Does Jamie even know about Mark?”

  “Um, I think I’ve mentioned him, yeah. But—”

  “Caish, you think you may have mentioned in passing that you have a son in Monterey?”

  “I just can’t remember if we’ve talked about it yet, but I don’t see how that changes anything.”

  Mia stands up and sits on the edge of the hot tub, leaving her feet and shins in the water. A portly man eases into the hot tub and smiles at us as if to say, “Great night for a conversation with strangers in a hot tub, right?” We give him a smile that says, “Sorry, no thank you.”

  “Either way, why are you so concerned about it?”

  “I’m not concerned,” Mia says, “I’m just surprised you’re so head-over-heels for somebody you hardly know and who hasn’t met your son. I guess it makes sense if Jamie is fuck-you rich, but it still seems quick. Does Mark know about Jamie?”

  “Mia, it’s not like we’re getting married, Jamie just labeled a feeling between us. In Jamie’s opinion it’s love, and I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.”

  The portly man was now staring into the suds, his face said, “Dammit.”

  “Maybe not, but being blinded by passion for a rich attractive person is what ended my career as a real estate agent and started my career as a single mom. From your perspective I can see... well, never mind.”

  “Mom, watch!” One of the Cortez children shouts. Looks like the seven year old has just learned how to do backflips off the side of the pool. “Very nice sweetie, just remember to jump far out from the edge. Don’t want to bonk your noggin.”

  “What were you going to say?” I ask.

  “Nothing, I was just gonna say I can see where you wouldn’t have learned that lesson yet.”

  “What lesson?” I ask. I crawl up and sit on the edge of the hot tub. The portly man takes his leave with a smile that says, “Okay nice chat, have a nice night.”

  “Just that life isn’t easy for the ones left holding the bag.”

  “Holding the bag?”

  “Yeah.” Mia walks over to a lounge chair and dries off.

  “Mia, what’s that supposed to mean?” I follow her to the chair and dry off. “Are you jealous or something?”

  “No, Caish, I’m not jealous. Forget I asked, I’m just surprised that things are moving so fast with somebody you hardly know and who you haven’t introduced to your son.”

  I have an even temperament, so I keep smiling. I’m not going to let Mia get to me. Not sure why she feels the need to be so goddamn matriarchal at the moment. But, I can see why she’s bitter. I would envy me too. I drop it and we watch her daughters without speaking. After a little while I figure I’ll dispel some of this tension.

  “Mia, have you called Green Mountain yet? I told you about them right?”

  “You sure have. That’s where Jamie works, and that’s how your making so much money right now.”

  “Yeah, have you still not called them?”

  “I called a few months back when you were first telling me about it, but they never answer my calls.”

  “They’re always swamped, I’ll talk to Jamie. Do you have at least $500,000 to get started?”

  “Yeah, I think. I can always sell some stock if I need to. Is that some sort of minimum buy-in?”

  “Yeah, otherwise it’s not worth their time.”

  “Hm.”

  “You’re missing out on mega money as long as you’re not investing with them.”

  Mia, leaning toward the pool, “Honey don’t spit the water. D
on’t put that water in your mouth, it’s disgusting. You’ve probably already peed in that, and now you’re drinking it. Don’t do that. Seriously. Disgusting.” She leans back on the chair and continues, “You think it’s all legit, huh?”

  “I’ve made hundreds of thousands of dollars already.”

  “Don’t such big returns make you nervous?”

  “Nope, that’s just how Green Mountain does things. Plus, Penn—have you met Penn?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, but I’ve talked about her before, right?”

  “Um, yeah I think. Is she the one that got you into Green Mountain?”

  “Yeah, that’s Penn, anyway, Penn has made a shit ton of money with Green Mountain too. So it’s not just me. I’ll text Penn and see if she wants to come down, you can talk to her about it.”

  While I’m searching through our pile of belongings for my phone, Mia says, “Oh don’t worry about it, I should get the kids back.”

  “What do you mean? You haven’t even seen my room yet.”

  “We’re not leaving right now, but I probably won’t be around long enough for Penn to get here, and I’m not really in the mood for a financial seminar right now.”

  “Okay, I won’t text Penn, never mind. But why not stay the night? My room has a king size bed and one of those pull-out couch/bed things. We can have a slumber party with your daughters, they’d love it.”

  “Sounds like a good time, but Ryan” (Mia’s ex) “will be at my place early tomorrow morning to pick up the girls. They’re going to Disneyland tomorrow. Really we should be getting back soon.” Then turning to her girls, “Alright kiddos, let’s get dried off, it’s getting late.”

  “Mia, I don’t know if I hurt your feelings or something, but you don’t need to leave, you’ve been here less than an hour. How about this: let me buy you and the girls a room here at the Ritz, get all the room service you want. My way of saying sorry about whatever it is you’re upset about. It’s been too long since we’ve spent time together, and I would hate to see you leave on a somber note.”

  “If I wanted to stay here I would buy my own room, I don’t need you to buy things for me.” Mia stands up and pulls her sweater on over her swimsuit. “I’m not leaving because I’m bugged, Caish, I forgot about the early morning tomorrow.”

  “Come on, Mia, what’s up? What did I say?”

  “Really, nothing.”

  “It’s Jamie, isn’t it? You’re jealous of Jamie.”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, Caish.”

  “What? I’m right, right? We kind of had a thing for a while, two struggling single parents with financial problems on the horizon. And now that I’m—”

  “Ha! Single parent?” Mia was now drying off her daughters with enough rigor to wipe the fuzz off their skin. “You think just because you have a son and you’re single that you’re a single parent?”

  I stood up and helped Mia gather her things, “Well... that seems to make sense to me, but—”

  “Caish, you have no idea what it’s like to be a parent. And you have no idea what it’s like to be single. You are not a single parent. You have to be a parent first. You can’t just buy a house for your ex and your son and call yourself a good parent.”

  “I have bought Mark a lot more than just that house. And he is a very grateful son.”

  “When was the last time you even talked to Mark?”

  “It has been a little while, but that’s just because my place in Monterey is getting renovated.” Which was mostly true. I’m adding a garage.

  “Are there no hotels in Monterey?”

  “I—”

  “Doesn’t matter, Caish. Don’t bother.” Mia was now walking toward the exit. I start to follow but decide against it. Mia and her daughters (who’s wide eyes show they sense trouble) march inside and out of sight. I sit back down on the lawn chair and check my phone. Few notifications. I set my phone down and look around. There’s the portly guy. Now his face says, “Yeesh.”

  This is my last night at the Ritz and I’m not going to let Mia’s temper tantrum spoil it.

  Texting, “Riley, I’m at the Ritz Carlton downtown, you up for a good time?”

  No response.

  Still no response.

  “Riley?”

  “Sry, busy 2nite.”

  Looks like I’m ordering out. Selina Rayburn gave me the number of a high-end escort service that I’ve been meaning to check out. I have more than enough yeyo for two (or three...) and I’ll be damned if I squander the night feeling sorry for Mia. This is one of my last nights being single, I’m going to make it a night to remember.

  6

  Monday. Two days to go until my much deserved vacation to Tahiti. The stay at the Ritz Carlton this past weekend was relaxing, but I need a break from Los Angeles. A change of scenery from this grind.

  My taxi pulls through my opening gate, down my driveway, and parks in the roundabout next to my fountain. The driver hops out and lugs my bags out of the trunk and up to my front door (I had to buy new clothes for my stay at the Ritz, plus I picked up some new luggage and swimwear for Tahiti). I tip him $500 and head in for a nap. I’m always tuckered out after getting home from a trip.

  My house is just how I left it. The Pollock painting in my entryway, looking more ominous than the last time I saw it. I’m going to shower, then nap, then catch up on business. The clack of my leather soles on the marble floor echoes through the 8,000 square feet of modern architecture and design. When all my windows, doors, and walls are closed it’s alarmingly quiet in here. I clack over to my sweeping staircase, clack up the hardwood stairs, and clack down the hall to my room. After a half-hour, scalding-hot shower and a couple-hour nap I feel refreshed and ready for the afternoon.

  First matters of business: order lunch and schedule the delivery of my Lamborghini. I haven’t heard from Jamie since Saturday night’s text, so I assume Beverly Hills Lamborghini is waiting for me to come pick it up.

  “Yes? This is Ichiban Sushi.”

  “Hi, this is a delivery order. Bring me a sunrise roll, a crunchy spicy tuna roll, a lion king roll, and a nigiri platter. And a Coke. And an order of edamame. And can you include ponzu sauce on the side for the sunrise roll?”

  “Okay, sunrise, crunchy spicy tuna, lion king, nigiri platter, and edamame with a Coke. That all?”

  “Yeah, and the ponzu sauce on the side, right?”

  “Yes, yes, ponzu sauce on the side.”

  I give them my card number and address and they give me the usual 30 to 40 minute delivery window. Which is really pretty quick when you consider that it’s sushi they’re delivering. Next order of business.

  “Hello Lamborghini Beverly Hills, how may I direct your call?” said a lovely young receptionist. They must vet their receptionists based on how young and soothing their voices sound.

  “My Lamborghini Aventador was dropped off on Saturday for a detailing, and I was just calling to have somebody drive the car back up to Malibu, or to have it trailered up.”

  “Okay, no problem, and what is your name?”

  “Caish Calloway. C-A-I-S-H, C-A-L-L-O-W-A-Y.”

  “Great, just hold on a sec and I’ll check on your car.”

  “K, thanks.”

  No hold music, thank the gods.

  “Caish?”

  “Yeah I’m still here.”

  “Did somebody else bring your car in, or would your car have been left under anybody else’s name?”

  “Oh yeah, sorry, Jamie Lowell. It’s the cocaine-white Aventador. Saturday is when it was taken in.”

  “Alright, just one second... and you said Jamie dropped it off this Saturday?”

  “Yeah, just a few days ago.”

  “Okay, hold on another second for me...” her voice trailed off. A second turned into ten, then thirty, then a minute or two crawled by. This was certainly out of the ordinary.

  “Caish?”

  “Yup. Still here.”

  “So Caish we don’t have
any record of a white Aventador being dropped off for detailing any time within the past four weeks. There is no Jamie Lowell in our system. And the last service record we have for your vehicle is three months ago. Looks like we did a full service at that time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “What do you mean? Like, my car isn’t there?”

  “Correct. We don’t have your vehicle here, and we don’t have any record of it being here any time in the last three months.”

  “Is it possible that somebody did a full detail off the record? Like as a favor? Maybe they just didn’t log it?”

  “That’s not likely, every intake is logged, even if the service is comped. Plus, we only have two client Aventadors here right now, and neither of those are your car.”

  “So you’re positive my car isn’t there?”

  “That’s correct. Would you like me to check with Lamborghini Newport? Is it possible your Aventador was taken to that dealership?”

  “Oh! Dammit, yeah, you’re right, I just remembered Jamie said the car was taken to the Newport dealership. Phew! Okay never mind, I’ll give them a call.”

  “Would you like me to transfer you over there?”

  “Oh, yeah that would be great. Thanks.” After two rings an equally young soothing voice answered. “Hello Lamborghini Newport Beach, how may I direct your call?”

  “My name is Caish Calloway, and somebody named Jamie Lowell, that’s L-o-w-e-l-l, dropped my car off there for a detail on this most recent Saturday. It’s a cocaine-white Lamborghini Aventador.”

  “Okay, please hold while I check on your vehicle.”

  The only thing worse than hold music: hold advertisements for the place you’re on the phone with. Here I am, waiting to speak to people from the Lambo dealership, and they put me on hold and play a recording that tells me to call the Lambo dealership for this and that.

  “Caish?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Your vehicle is not here and we don’t have any record of servicing a white Aventador this past weekend.”

  “What?”

  “Your Aventador is not here and we didn’t service an Aventador this weekend.”