by Dylan Allen
“The summer I turned nineteen, I was back in LA. I had just competed at my first Olympics and I’d medaled. My coach was kicking my ass getting me ready for my next meet. I was in the gym and swimming ten, sometimes twelve hours a day. I was exhausted at the end of those days.” Her face is a study in patient curiosity. I look away, I blow out a breath and keep going.
“One night after practice, I was leaving the gym and I saw a woman being attacked in the parking lot. A man had her pinned to the ground, facedown and he had her dress up around her waist. I ran over and pulled him off her. He ran off as soon as I got him loose. I thought about chasing him, but she was a mess, petrified and I didn’t want to leave her alone. So, I sat with her and called the police. They came, took my statement, I gave a general description and went home.” I can remember that night like it was yesterday. I’d gotten a pretty good look at the guy. Or so I’d thought.
Lucía’s perfectly still. Her curious expression completely blank as she takes in what I’m saying.
“The next day they called, said they’d picked someone up and wanted me to come down to the station to see if I could pick the guy out in a line up. The lady who’d been attacked had never seen his face. I went, picked the guy that looked like the one from the night before. They thanked me, told me I’d picked their guy and that they’d let me know if they needed anything else from me. I never heard from them again.
“Fast forward four years. I won a gold in the Olympics, but came home injured after that car accident. My shoulder was shredded and no amount of surgery would have made me whole. I retired but had months of physical therapy to deal with. Fabienne was out of the country for work and I was staying with my parents. One day over lunch, I asked my mom if she’d ever gotten an update.
“She told me they’d gotten a call, a couple of weeks after the initial incident. Another woman had been attacked near the pool. The woman that was attacked had a Taser and stunned him repeatedly until the police arrived. The DNA they took from him matched the DNA they took from the attack I helped to stop.”
I take her hand and she doesn’t even seem to notice. Her eyes are completely unfocused and swim with unshed tears.
“I’d picked the wrong guy out of the lineup. She and my father decided it was best not to tell me because the news came right before a major meet. She said she didn’t know anything about what happened to the poor kid I’d originally identified.”
I look at Lucía and can see that even before I finish my story, realization is dawning on her. She snatches her hand out mine.
“Luc . . .”
She shakes her head, quick and fast and I plow ahead to finish the story. I just need to lay it all out and see where we go from there.
“I called the police officer who’d been assigned to that case and I asked after the first suspect. The case had been closed. I had to bribe him with movie premier tickets to get him to look up the boy’s information. But then he told me that even though the boy had been arrested for the attempted rape, they’d also charged him with unlawful entry into the U.S. and he’d been in ICE custody within forty-eight hours of being arrested.”
She whimpers . . . it’s feeble and broken and I feel a trickle of cold sweat run down my back. Yet, I push on.
“And then he told me his file showed that he was deceased. Died in the detention center awaiting deportation. At the age of sixteen.”
She starts to sob, quietly, but her shoulders are shaking.
I move to her, to put my arms around her. As soon as I do, she pulls away. Her eyes ablaze and her jaw clenched, her mouth pinched. She rises on her toes to put her face in mine, and between gritted teeth, she spits, “Get out.” And then she bursts into tears.
“Lucía . . . I’m sorry.”
I stop talking because she is crying so loudly. Sobbing uncontrollably. I don’t know what to do. Driving over here, I could only think one thing and that was I was going to have it out with her for lying to me. I’d assumed that was the worst thing. But this is the worst thing. I never suspected that she would tell me the story in her book was her story, too. That the boy whose life I’d ruined was her brother’s.
“I know sorry isn’t good enough, but it’s why this issue, this movie is so important.” I know I can hear the plea in my voice. But right now, I’m ready to beg if it would make her listen to me.
“Luc—”
“Shuuuuut up!” Lucía roars at me suddenly, in the middle of a crying jag. She fights her way out of my loose hold and jumps up. “I don’t want to hear any of this!” she shouts at me. She is vibrating with rage and every word she bellows is punctuated with her jabbing a finger in my direction. Her face is tear streaked, her nose is red and her lips are puffy.
“He was my brother. My blood. And you’re telling me it was you who put him behind bars? You who cut his life short? And why? Because you were tired from your swim practice and didn’t get a good look at him? Or do all Mexicans look the same to you?” Her hands are waving around her head as she screams. She’s still crying, her rage and sorrow creating a tempest before my eyes.
“What do you want me to say? That I forgive you?” She clutches her chest, tears streaming from her burning eyes. She doesn’t bother to wipe at them as she faces me.
I can’t answer her. I have no idea what I want to say. She rushes into the house and I follow her.
She grabs the front door and pulls it open.
“Get out,” she says, not looking at me, her voice barely above a whisper. But I hear her loud and clear.
“Lucía, please. I know you’re angry, but let’s talk,” I say, not budging. I need more from her, even if it’s fury.
“Leave, Reece. Please,” she says through gritted teeth.
“We need to talk.”
All of a sudden the phone that was in her hand is flying in my direction, it lands at my feet, and the screen shatters.
“Whoa,” I say just as she grabs a basket of potpourri that’s sitting on the table in her foyer and hurls it in my direction. Her aim is way off and it lands three feet to my left. But I get her point and she’s running around her foyer, looking around for other things to throw as I rush past her and out the front door that’s now hanging open.
“Okay, Lucía, I’m out, but I’m not leaving. We need to talk.”
She leans out towards me. Her eyes are wild; her hair is flying.
“Fuck talking. Fuck you. I don’t care if you don’t leave. Stand there all night for all I care.” And then she slams the door so hard that the windows that frame it shudder.
Shit.
Just as I raise my fist to strike the door, the entire house falls into darkness. Every single light is extinguished. And for a beat, it is both dark and completely silent. A minute later, I hear sobs coming from the back of the house. I know if I follow the sound to its source I’ll find Lucía on her back deck. Her crying is mournful and unrestrained. She is crying, talking, screaming all at once. My ears burn with the heat of it. And I know I need to leave her to this. I wish I knew someone I could call to come be with her. She shouldn’t be alone. That I can’t be the one to comfort her makes me feel helpless.
I stand there until the violence of her sobs subside. And then, I leave to give her some privacy. I owe her at least that. But I’ll be back.
19
Lucía
I’m back in Los Feliz. I’m having dinner with Jessica and my mother. Jess is leaving for a date soon, so my mother and I will be alone for most of the evening. I called her when I got back home and finally told her about the screenplay. She was actually excited. So, I extended the proverbial olive branch and invited her to join us tonight. And I was shocked when she agreed. I haven’t seen her in almost two months and it’s her first time visiting me here. So, I’m nervous. I’m outside manning the grill and they’re inside getting the wine we’ve had chilling most of the afternoon.
She and Jess have hit it off, color me surprised, but I’m glad.
It’s been a week since Reece dropped his
bomb on me. I spent the first two days crying, praying for relief from the pain. Then, I got back to work and lost myself in it by working almost around the clock. I haven’t allowed myself the time to process what he told me. He’s called, emailed, texted. He even came back to my house the next day. I couldn’t find the courage to face him. I had no idea what to say. And this week, I’ve felt like I was trapped in a terrible purgatory.
Dan and Todd both hate me for being so demanding. But, I don’t feel bad. This presentation is important. It will decide the fate of this project and I haven’t left anything to chance. I also know that Reece will be there and I’ll have no choice but to face him. It’s just another layer of anxiety that has made this week more stressful.
When we finished ahead of schedule, we decided that we earned a break after the way we’d been working as of late. So, I came down to LA to try and relax. While I’ve been here, I’ve been trying to lose myself in the book I’m writing for my publisher. It’s a young adult fiction novel about a Syrian girl’s coming of age while living in a refugee camp in Greece. It’s a story I’m connecting with, so it’s been nice to have time to really work on it.
Yesterday, I spent the day at Artemis’ headquarters. I met with some of the other screenwriters and spent some time in their legendary museum. I managed to avoid Reece, but being in the building conjured so many feelings. Knowing I was sharing space with him made me crave him. But in trying to avoid seeing him, I only left the writer’s pit once the entire day.
At lunch, I’d gone to visit the on-site museum that takes up the entire tenth floor of the building. I wandered through the displays, looking at costumes, props and other collectibles from Artemis’ nearly seventy-year history. I’d found myself in the section dedicated to the Carras family history. It’s a fascinating story, told in pictures, of Reece’s grandfather’s immigration from Greece as a young man and how he headed West to start making movies. And from those humble beginnings, he started building what would become one of the largest media empires in the world. What the family accomplished in just one generation, is the epitome of the American Dream. And that’s all I want for myself, a chance to fulfill my potential.
The last photos in the collection were of Reece and his parents. His mother is a striking woman. Her dark hair and icy blue eyes give her a regal bearing. Even in the picture I find her intimidating. And Reece looks just like his father. Strong, bold features. Heavy brows, full lips, tall, broad and so serious. He was a teenager in that picture. Not older than sixteen. The same age my brother was when he was arrested and sent to jail.
My heart ached. What a cruel twist of fate. But is Reece to blame? Does it matter if he’s not? I know him. He is a good man. But is it a betrayal of my brother to feel this way?
These are the thoughts that have weighed me down all week and it’s still not clear to me what I should do.
I’m pulled back to the present by the spitting fire of the grill as a drop of oil falls from the cooking shrimp. I look at my backyard and take a deep, fortifying breath. The air here is not as clear as it is in Malibu, but it’s still so gorgeous. My neighbors to the right have this amazing lemon tree. The branches dangle over our fence when it’s bearing fruit and lemons, ripe and juicy, fall into our yard every day. We go outside each morning to collect them. The cool October air carries with it the sweet citrusy smell of the Frangipani tree we planted from a cutting our neighbor gave us. It’s a paradise back here.
I love being in Malibu, but Los Feliz, is my home. I feel anchored here. Sure of myself and safe. Being home the last few days has made the fracas of this week tolerable.
Jessica and my mother come outside with two big bottles of wine and three huge wine glasses. They are talking animatedly and I smile to see them getting along so well.
My mother is only ten years older than Jessica, but she looks old enough to be her mother. I feel a flash of guilt that she’s had to work so hard.
My mother wasn’t thrilled when I told her I was going to publish a book. She couldn’t believe I was “wasting” my income that way. She said, “We didn’t come here so you could follow your passions, mija. We came here so that you could find a profession. So that you could build a secure life. What does writing do?” I remember that day like it was yesterday. Even when I got my book deal and was able to give her more money, she’d asked, “Now that you’ve had your fun, are you going to focus on your real job?”
“It’s so nice to have you back. It hasn’t been the same without you. I’d started eating inside more,” Jessica says flashing me a quick smile as she lays everything out on the dining table we have outside.
“It feels so good to be home,” I say over my shoulder pulling the shrimp and vegetables off the grill, and piling them on the plate I’d planned to serve them on.
“It is so beautiful. I’m sorry I haven’t come sooner.” My mother’s English is flawless but heavily accented. When we were growing up my mother made Julian and I speak only English at home. She and my father wanted to make sure that we sounded “American.” Her own accent always made her reluctant to speak if we weren’t home. In our old neighborhood, when we were among family and friends, she had been a social butterfly. It’s nice to see her enjoying being around people again.
I smile at her and say, “I’m glad you’re here.” It’s been a while since we’ve sat down like this, not in a restaurant, but in a home and broken bread. It feels good.
Jessica pours us each a glass of wine and sits down. I walk over with the pan of our taco fillings and put the contents on our plates. We have tortillas, pico, guac and cheese all laid out for dinner tonight. Jessica piles her tortilla high with veggies and the other fixings then says, “I have to leave in a minute. But, I want to know, have you talked to Reece?”
I am in the middle of sipping my wine and choke on it. My mother and Jessica both stand up and come to bang on my back. I catch my breath and tell them, “I’m fine,” while I fix Jess with my death glare.
My mother looks back and forth between us and then asks, “Who is Reece?”
I don’t say a word and Jessica sits back with her eyebrows raised and looks at me. She is obviously not bothered by my glare.
My mother turns to me and says, “Is anyone going to tell me?” I look away from Jessica and at my mother and the expression on her face alarms me. She looks like she is going to cry. My mother stopped crying when my father left. She would get angry, curse him, but she never cried.
“Mama, it’s nothing,” I say and reach for her hand.
Jessica stands up with a flourish. “I’ve got to get ready. I’ll be back. You can tell me then.” She floats out of the yard and back into the house, seemingly unfazed that she’s opened a can of worms that I had hoped to keep firmly shut.
I close my eyes, silently count to three and turn to face my mother. She’s watching me expectantly.
“Really, it’s nothing. I have some things to figure out with the man I’m working for,” I say trying not to lie without revealing too much. I don’t know how my mother will react to hearing that I’m in love with the man who’s responsible for her son’s death.
She sighs, a long sigh and looks down at our joined hands.
“Ana,” Hearing myself called by that name makes me cringe. “I know that I made a mistake when I sent you to your Uncle Jorge. I knew it then. But I didn’t think I had a choice. It was the only way I could afford to keep you in clothes and keep you safe. I needed that job.” Her voice cracks on the word “needed.”
“And that boy—he’s grown up now to be as vindictive of a man as he was a child—would have turned us in.”
My blood starts rushing through my ears. “That’s what it’s always come down to. Don’t make noise. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Don’t get hurt. Don’t fight back,” I say quietly, but bitterly.
“Ana. I’m human, too. It hasn’t been easy to suppress my anger. To let people abuse me and my children. I did it so that you could have a good life. I know
it doesn’t seem like it. But look, you’ve written a book. It’s being made into a film. All of that . . . these are my dreams come true. And so are you.”
The backyard is alive with the evening song of the creatures that live in our trees and bushes, but I don’t hear any of that. I can only hear my mother and my heart pumping the blood straight to my head. I’m at a loss for words. My mind wants to hold onto my bitterness, but my heart wants to let go and fall into her arms. I’ve missed the family I used to have. I grab hold of her hand and she squeezes mine. Tears spill down my cheeks as she brings our joined hands up to her face and presses the back of my hand into her cheek. She closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath.
“I owe you so many apologies, mija, and I will give them to you. I think I’ll need a lifetime to atone for everything. But, maybe I can start by being here for you. I know I haven’t earned the right to ask you for anything.” She looks around the garden, looks through the sliding glass doors into the house. “I’m grateful you have such a lovely home. You deserve it. And I’m glad Jessica is someone you’ve been able to confide in. I fear that I’ve left you to face the world alone. Yet, you’ve managed to make something of your life despite that.”
For the second time this week, I feel like I’m having an out of body experience. I thought my mother resented me. I thought she had kept her distance because I reminded her of all the terrible things she wanted to forget. Our conversations have been brief and infrequent.
And we have never talked about what happened at her employer’s house. But before I can bring that up, she sits up straight, and drops my hand. Her voice has lost its wistfulness as she continues speaking. “I know it will take time for you to trust me again. But, for now, I want to know who Reece is, and I want to know what he’s done to upset you.” And then she takes a bite of her taco and looks at me eagerly while she chews.
I just stare at her for a second. And then I decide to let her change the subject. I’ll take the progress we’ve made tonight and know that we have a lot more to say before our relationship is healed. I also realize that the words she just spoke took a lot of courage and I’m not going to throw them back in her face. So, I tell her about Reece. “He is the head of the movie studio that I told you bought the rights to the film. We’ve been spending time together, getting to know each other.”