Our Song

by Fraiberg, Jordanna

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I wasn’t trying to be coy. I just wished I knew what he was really thinking beneath his crooked smile and seductive voice. As much as I wanted to take him at face value, experience taught me that was a mistake.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Nick said, glancing toward the street. It was dusk now, hints of moonlight casting a shadow through the front doors. My heart raced with indecision. I thought about the person I used to be, and the new one—whoever she was—I so desperately wanted to become. The person Nick already seemed to recognize even if I didn’t.

  “Fine,” I said, almost in defiance, telling myself this was different. This wasn’t about dating and happily ever after and all the things I was looking for with Derek. This was about adventure; this was about escape. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 11

  WE HADN’T EVEN walked one block when I was seized by a nagging discomfort, a feeling that I was doing something very wrong. The guilt took up residence at the base of my gut but I still couldn’t stop, like Nick had cast some spell over me. When he wasn’t looking, I fished my cell out of my bag and sent Annie a text: Got a ride home. Don’t worry.

  The phone was already beeping with her response as I slipped it back in my purse. I ignored it and switched the ringer to vibrate. I hurried to catch up to Nick, who was now a few paces ahead. Without warning, he stepped off the curb and started across the middle of Hollywood Boulevard. Not even the cacophony of honking horns or tires coming to screeching halts made him slow down. He just kept going like he was Moses or something, parting the Red Sea. When he glanced back and saw that I wasn’t right behind him, he put his hands up to stop the traffic and gestured for me to follow.

  He pulled a set of keys from his back pocket. Over by the curb, a forest-green Jaguar beeped twice. My eyes widened with recognition. It was the same car he had been standing on at the club that afternoon. Up close I could see it was scraped and dented all over. Even the parking job (three feet from the curb with the rear, semi-detached bumper jutting out into the street) seemed like an invitation to be hit.

  Nick walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for me, but I took a step back. Even though I’d seen him at the club, he was still a stranger, and from what I had to go on so far, a very unpredictable one. Every sensible molecule in my body was telling me not to get in the car. But the part of me that couldn’t sleep, the part that lay awake at night on the damp grass listening to a song in my head, was telling me something completely different.

  “We can just stay around here if you want,” he said, reading my hesitation.

  “No, it’s okay.” I put my hand out to stop him from closing the door and got in.

  As he walked around to the other side of the car, I kept waiting for my senses to kick in, to convince me to get out while I still could. But the only thing I heard was the voice sweetly singing in my ear, telling me to let go.

  Nick revved the engine then peeled out into the traffic, igniting another discordant round of honks. His face remained calm and his shoulders relaxed as he expertly weaved in and out of lanes. The only sign of effort was in the fast twitch of his hand as he shifted gears, like a seasoned racecar driver. The further down Hollywood Boulevard we went, the seedier it got. Sleazy lingerie stores, tattoo parlors, and cheap motels lined every block. The sidewalks were littered with trash and grime, evidence of the thousands or maybe even millions of people that had walked up and down them. There was something about the dirt that made the area seem more alive, like it wasn’t pretending to be something else. Even the street signs and billboards were tagged with colorful graffiti. It looked like it had all been painted by the same person. I pictured the artist scaling the surrounding buildings and street lamps in the middle of the night like a ninja, but instead of a sword tucked into his belt, he had an array of spray paint cans. I had never seen anything like it, except in movies. There was never any graffiti in Vista Valley. The one time it did happen, the whitewashed buildings were scrubbed clean and picture perfect within hours, as if nothing had ever transpired. It was as if filth wasn’t permitted to exist there. My mother was captain of the people who made sure of it.

  A few blocks later, Nick took a hard right onto a quieter street. The traffic thinned out and the Jaguar was practically the only car on the road. He tightened his grip on the stick and pressed down harder on the gas pedal. The sudden jolt of speed pushed me back against my seat. Storefronts, billboards, and street lamps whizzed past, blurring together into a Technicolor dream. It felt like we might launch into the air at any minute. I turned to Nick, whose eyes were fixed on the road. “So how do I know you’re not some crazy ax murderer who’s about to kidnap me?”

  “You don’t,” he said, matter-of-factly. Something flashed in his eyes. There was no hint of the playfulness that had been in his voice a second ago. I studied his face, trying to read him. It felt like I was walking on the razor’s edge between flirtation and danger. “But the way I see it, we’re defined by the risks we take.”

  Was that a dare or what he actually believed? The street suddenly got darker and much quieter. The stores and restaurants gave way to run-down homes and dilapidated brick apartment buildings. “So you admit it’s risky hanging out with you?”

  “The question you should really be asking yourself is whether the risk is worth it.” In that moment I realized what I was most afraid of. Not that Nick was some deranged killer, but the opposite: that he was as good as he already seemed, that he could sweep me off my feet and make me lose all sense of time and place, just the way Derek had. That was the risk that scared me even more than death. “However, judging from the fact that you got in this car, I take it that you think it is.”

  The caution and distance I had detected in his voice were now gone and I wondered if maybe I had imagined them. “So where are we going on this risky little adventure?”

  “That depends.” That same smirk edged its way back up the right side of his face. It felt like a signal, the green light that said I could relax again. “Do you have somewhere you have to be?”

  I checked the clock on the dashboard. It was a little after eight. The meeting would just be getting out. Noah would be getting ready for bed, my mother was probably in the greenhouse, and my father wouldn’t be home for hours. Nobody would notice I was gone. “No, I don’t.”

  “Good, then how about we just drive,” he said. “See where the road takes us. How does that sound?”

  “Like the best thing I’ve heard all day.” I settled back in my seat and got comfortable. With the fancy dashboard, the leather seats, and the dark road that blended into the night sky, it felt like we were flying above the world in our own private plane. I had no idea where we were but I wasn’t scared. If anything, I felt safer than I had in a long time, even as the speedometer shot past fifty miles an hour. Looking through the rearview mirror, I could see the very last bits of daylight receding in the distance. For the first time since everything happened, I felt like I had stepped out of my life, put it on pause. Even my brief encounter with Derek that afternoon had faded into the background, just like the sun in the mirror. “Just as long as the road doesn’t take me home.”

  “I think that can be arranged,” he said, flicking the hair off his face. “I know the feeling all too well.”

  A warm sensation gushed through me. Given where we met, I was certain he understood me better than anyone I knew. Even more than Annie. He might be the only one. It wasn’t just that he’d also had a near-death experience. It was more than that. Even though he never said it, I could tell that dying hadn’t been a magical experience for him either. He seemed to have one foot in and one foot out of this world, just like me.

  The dark sky stretched out before us as Nick zigzagged down a series of residential streets before turning onto a main thoroughfare. This one was different from Hollywood Boulevard. It was also run-down but it wasn’t sleazy. Just poor. And all the street and store signs were writ
ten in Spanish, as if we had crossed an invisible border into another country. A cluster of high-rise buildings shot up in the distance. They appeared out of nowhere, like a mirage, especially compared to the low-lying architecture that surrounded them in all directions. They seemed so far away, but before I knew it, we were sandwiched between two towering skyscrapers.

  The tallest building in Vista Valley was my school, which stood above the rest at a measly four stories. The fourth floor was added a few years ago to accommodate a growing student body. I remembered my mom being in a tizzy about the whole thing, on the phone all day and night trying to figure out a way around “Expansion-Gate.”

  Leaning my head against the glass, I craned my neck up to get a better view. From that angle, the buildings seemed to go on forever, extending up into the sky like an urban bean stalk. “It’s a ghost town around here,” I said.

  “I know. It kind of makes you feel like you’re the last person on earth.” He glanced over at me. “Or the last two people.”

  His half-smile reappeared, like his mouth was conspiring against him. I met his eyes then quickly looked away, certain that I was blushing so hard I was glowing in the dark.

  “Have you never been down here before?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Then you haven’t seen anything yet.”

  He made a sudden U-turn. The sound of squealing tires bounced off the corridor of bright, empty buildings like we were driving through a tunnel. Two blocks later he turned onto a street lined with tents and cardboard boxes. Every square inch of sidewalk on either side of the road was overtaken at least two rows deep. Nick was right. This was something I had never seen before. Something I didn’t know existed.

  Dozens of homeless people wandered aimlessly in front of their makeshift homes like zombies. I kept waiting for Nick to speed up, to step on the gas, to get us out of there. But instead, he slowed the car to a crawl and opened the windows.

  “Welcome to Skid Row,” he said.

  I stared out at the roaming hordes. We were close enough that I could hear the slow shuffle of their feet, smell the urine embedded in their dank clothes. Men and women with matted hair and hollowed, glassy eyes. They didn’t seem to notice our presence even though we were just an arm’s reach away.

  “They’re like the living dead,” I said. “How do people end up like this?”

  Nick shrugged. “I guess something happens that makes them fall off and get stuck between the cracks.”

  The way he said it sent a shiver up my spine, like he was really talking about himself. It made me think of the first time I saw Nick, hitting golf balls from the top of this very car. I was about to bring it up, but when I glanced over, something held me back. The way he was looking out at all these sad, homeless people made me suddenly realize what I recognized in him that day: it was his pain.

  When the tents and boxes began to thin out, he sped up and zoomed away. Even though they were now behind us, I knew I’d never forget the haunted look in their faces.

  “What’s that?” I asked, pointing toward a massive stainless steel structure up the street. With its large slabs of curved metal protruding at odd angles, it looked like an alien spacecraft.

  “That’s Disney Concert Hall. Not to be confused with Disneyland or Disney World. It’s home to the L.A. Philharmonic and one of L.A.’s most distinguished landmarks.”

  I felt a burn rising in my cheeks. With his accent, I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or making fun of me for not knowing. Either way I was embarrassed for being so ignorant, for never having heard of it before.

  As we rounded the corner, an elegant crowd spilled out onto the sprawling front staircase. Women in fancy gowns and men in black tie milled about with cocktails in hand, the glistening building rising up behind them.

  Nick turned to me, a twinkle in his eye. “How about we crash a party?”

  I looked down at my faded jeans, my chipped toenails poking out of my flip-flops. “Um, I can’t go in there like this.”

  “Sure you can. All you have to do is act like you belong,” he said, driving around to the other side of the building, down a back alley where several catering trucks were parked. At the end of the row, he made a sharp turn and diagonally wedged his car to fit between the last two vans. “Besides, I think you look great.”

  That was all it took for me to unbuckle my seat belt and follow him inside.

  We went through a back door that landed us in the kitchen. Harried chefs handed off hot trays of hors d’oeuvres to a rotating slew of waiters. I looked nervously around, waiting to be yelled at or caught, but Nick kept going with his head held high like everyone worked for him.

  We emerged into the main lobby, where the party was in full swing. Up close the women looked even more glamorous, like they had walked off the pages of a glossy high fashion magazine. Their diamonds and rubies sparkled under the warm glow of the crystal chandeliers that were evenly spaced across the low ceiling above.

  I had never been anywhere like this before. How could I act like I belonged when I didn’t know how? Nick clearly did, with his raised chin, his confident stride. He was right. It wasn’t about the clothes you wore, but something else, something deeper, something I didn’t possess. It was in that moment that I realized I felt more comfortable on Skid Row than I did in here. That was the world Nick and I had in common. I didn’t know this other world he was caught between, the one he apparently came from, but it was clear it was not the same as mine.

  “What’s the occasion?” I asked, looking around at the mingling crowd.

  “Who knows, probably some benefit to build schools in Africa.”

  “That’s nice,” I said, realizing that the kind of “benefits” we had in Vista Valley only benefited ourselves, not those truly in need. Things like school bake sales to raise money for prom, or the fall drives my mother organized to pay for the public flower gardens.

  “What would be nice is if these people gave a shit about the poor right under their noses,” Nick scoffed. “Think about the irony of all these jokers in black tie stuffing their faces when there are dozens of starving people just down the street.”

  A flash of heat spread across my face. I felt as if I was the one who had just been scolded. Before tonight, I never realized that there were so many starving people right here in this country, right here in this state, that deprivation of that magnitude wasn’t just a problem in places like Africa.

  A waiter passed, balancing a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Nick reached over and grabbed a few. “Here,” he said, handing me a white spoon filled with slimy, steely gray balls.

  “Oh, no thanks,” I said, waving it away.

  “Why not?” He shoved one in his mouth.

  “I don’t have much of an appetite these days.” But I was also a little confused by what we were doing here, how Nick could go from judging everyone to eating their food in practically the same breath.

  “Maybe you’re just eating the wrong things.” He licked the spoon clean. “Try it. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “What is it?”

  “Beluga caviar. Also known as fish eggs harvested from a two-thousand-pound sturgeon somewhere in the Caspian Sea. This fish came a very long way to reach your taste buds, Olive.”

  “Is that your best pitch?” The thought of willingly ingesting fish eggs made my stomach churn. “Because you’re going to have to try a little harder, preferably without any reference to fish or their eggs.”

  “Fair enough. How about, it’s a rare delicacy enjoyed by kings and queens the world over, and this mouthful,” he said, eyeing the serving in his outstretched hand, “is probably worth a mere hundred.”

  “Dollars?” I asked, my eyes bulging. “For one bite? You’d think they could spring for a cracker at that price.”

  Nick laughed. The way his face tightened I got the sense he didn’t do it that often. “That would pollute the pure taste. Even metal would, which is why it’s served on a spoon made from moth
er of pearl. But don’t let me force you. I’d be happy to have yours.”

  “Fine, I’ll try it.” I took the spoon and popped the whole thing in my mouth, bracing for my gag reflex to kick in. But the smooth, Jell-O-y texture felt surprisingly cool and soothing against my tongue. My throat relaxed as my mouth exploded with the salty, indescribable flavor, like I was experiencing the sense of taste for the first time. It gave me chills. “Wow.”

  “What did I tell you?” Nick said. “All it takes is a little trust.”

  The only problem, of course, was knowing how to trust the right person. And to trust myself to know the difference. I still barely knew him, but I was drawn to Nick in a way I had never experienced with anyone before, not even Derek. Already it was so powerful it was unsettling.

  “Another bite?” Nick asked as the caviar-toting waiter made another round.

  As tempting as it was, I knew I needed to hold back. I wasn’t ready for more. “I’m good for now.” A lone egg swirled around my mouth. I tried to catch it with my tongue but it was too slippery.

  “Then come on,” he said, tugging my arm. “I want to show you why we’re really here.”

  He led me down the corridor, through the center of the party. Reaching a set of double doors, he pushed them open and gestured for me to go through first. I walked in to find myself standing before the massive, empty concert hall.

  “This way.” He raced down the center aisle, taking the steps two at a time, past all the empty rows to the stage at the bottom, behind which stood a massive organ made of curved wooden pipes. It reminded me of the circular Elizabethan theaters we had learned about during the Shakespeare unit in English. There was something even more intimidating about being in this grand, vacant space alone with him than out in the party with the crowd to distract and hide behind.

  When I didn’t follow, much less move an inch from the spot where I was standing, Nick looked back. “Aren’t you coming?”

  I started to make my way down, the chatter of the party becoming more distant as I descended each step. When I reached the stage, Nick helped me up. The strong grip of his hand pulsed even after he let go, like an undulating blood pressure cuff had been wrapped around my forearm.