Boulevard

by Bill Guttentag

  He tried.

  At four a.m., Jimmy wasn’t sleeping. He was staring at the ceiling—just like Josh. At least he wasn’t lying awake because of the poker tables in Gardena. And it wasn’t because Dani was anything but a sweetheart. It was Erin. And it drove him nuts that he was pushing forty, she had a husband, he had a girlfriend, and here he was thinking about her like he was kid… .

  In the morning, when he came back from his jog to Venice Beach, he found Dani sitting in the kitchen nook resting her chin in her palms. She wasn’t looking so good.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “I don’t know. I just don’t like seeing you in the club.”

  “But you asked me to come. You paged me.”

  “I know. I needed to see you.”

  “You gotta get out of there.”

  “It’s sick. I didn’t used to think it was, but it is. Guys think they can say whatever they want to you—stuff they wouldn’t be caught dead saying to their wives or girlfriends.”

  “They’re jerks—what do you think?”

  “I hate every guy I’ve ever lap danced. They’re disgusting. I came to Hollywood to act, and my best performance is not showing those guys how much I hate them.”

  “You gotta get out, sweetie.”

  “And do what?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  There was a long pause. Jimmy didn’t say anything. He was tempted to fill in the gap. But this was her question. He knew what the answer would be—back to acting.

  “Maybe I should go back to being a teacher.”

  He couldn’t believe it. “That’s great. I think you should.”

  “You’ll help me, baby?”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  As he headed to the precinct, Jimmy thought, absolutely, he would help her. It would be giant leap up from what she was doing now—who wants to have assholes pawing you all night? But she wanted to be a kindergarten teacher again, and what the hell did he know about that?

  17

  Casey

  Casey was still with Robin on the Boulevard. She hadn’t left her side, which was good for both of them—it was Robin’s first day on the street, the day more than any other when you need someone, and for Casey, by hanging out with Robin, she was sometimes able to push away where she was when the day began.

  The sun was dropping over the hills above the Boulevard and anyone with a real life was going home to it, leaving the rest of them. The girls crossed Western and cut through a narrow alley overgrown with weeds, between a supermarket and a strip-club, which led to Fountain. A block later, they were in front of a large house with half its windows boarded up and most of the rest smashed away. The side porch had separated off the house and sloped to the dirt. The chimney was broken midway and chunks of its bricks were strewn around the yard. Casey always thought it must have been a great place once, a doctor could’ve lived in it. Now it was covered up with sheets of graffiti-sprayed plywood and surrounded by a rusted-out cyclone fence. She pulled up the bottom of the fence; Robin slipped below it, and Casey did the same. Casey quickly headed across the yard, stepping over blowing newspaper sheets, junk-food boxes, and a sea of broken glass. Robin was right behind her. They reached the broken porch, sealed up with boards. Casey pulled on a large sheet of plywood. There were nails hammered all over it, but it easily pulled loose and the girls slipped inside. Casey took a single step then jumped down into a hole that led to the foundation of the house.

  It was dusty and nearly dark. Thin shafts of orange sunset light shooting through cracks in the boards above them let Casey find her way through a maze of pillars, low overhead beams, wires, and pipes. She led Robin by the hand until they came to an overturned milk crate below a hole in the floorboards of the house.

  “The Fountain—” Casey said, as she leaned down and helped Robin up through the hole and into the room. “Best place on earth.”

  Robin looked around.

  “Then the best squat,” Casey added.

  They were standing in what Casey guessed had been a nice, big living room. Now the walls were cratered with chunks of crumbling plaster, and nearly every inch was sprayed with graffiti. Sleeping bags were tossed on the floor, along with backpacks and loose pieces of clothing. Bottles, cans, and fast-food wrappers were scattered all over.

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s okay,” Robin said weakly.

  “The smell, right?”

  It was pretty bad. The first time Casey came here the smell reminded her of a disgusting bathroom in a park—times a thousand. But that’s a squat. The bathroom is just a room with a bunch of big tin cans, and when things got really unbearable, they held their noses and ran with the cans to the nearest dumpster.

  “You get used to it,” Casey said. “Here’s where Jumper and Tulip stay. I’m upstairs.”

  She led Robin up a crumbling staircase. “Be careful of the steps.”

  Even in the half-light, Robin could see a bunch of them had boards missing. The banister and wooden spindles were in just as bad shape.

  “Hug the wall—you’ll be okay.”

  Robin followed Casey, staying within a few inches of her. They reached the top landing and walked down a hallway, also strewn with trash.

  “Till you figure out what you’re doing,” Casey said, “you can stay in here with me and Dream. If you want.”

  “Yeah?”

  Casey pushed open the door—and screamed. Robin jumped back. Standing before them, in the dark, was a very thin, very tall guy in his twenties, rifling through a backpack. Crackhead.

  “Hey! Yo!” Casey screamed out.

  The thief shot back, “Fuck are you?”

  “Fuck am I? That’s my jacket you got on!”

  “Too fuckin’ bad.”

  That leather bomber jacket was the one piece of clothing she owned that had good memories attached.

  “My coat, man—give it back!” she yelled.

  “Was your coat.”

  “Come on. I’ll give you twenty bucks. Give it back. Twenty bucks.”

  “Lemme see it.”

  Casey reached into her pocket and found a crinkled bill. The thief looked at it. An instant later he grabbed her, pulling out a knife and jamming it against the side of Casey’s neck. She felt the point pressing against her skin. She was shaking all over, but she kept telling herself: Stay calm. Tough it out. It’s just a crackhead—

  He snatched the twenty from her hand.

  “Any more? You got more?”

  She gave him the rest of what she had—a couple more bills.

  “That’s it?”

  The blade tightened against her neck. It was sharp. Its point was digging in, and she knew the crackhead would push it home and not think twice about doing it.

  “That’s all I got, man!”

  This is it? This is how I die—a crackhead. Over a jacket?

  Casey felt the knife push in still harder, like it was going to break straight through her skin—any second … when Robin yelled, “I got sixty!”

  The thief looked over. The knife point lifted off her skin.

  “Lemme see it.”

  Robin quickly opened her backpack and pulled out a bunch of bills.

  “Here.”

  Robin held out the money. The thief let go of Casey, and grabbed the money—when Robin kicked him fast and hard—right into his balls. The crackhead screamed and dropped to the floor, holding his balls in pain. The second he did, Casey bolted past him, and together the girls raced for the stairs. They could hear the guy following after them.

  They made it to the bottom of the steps, and the thief was just behind. Casey looked back over her shoulder as she ran, and saw he was pissed and getting closer fast. She turned back around—and saw Jumper and Dream.

  The thief saw them too. And froze.

  “Fucker tried to rip us off!” Casey yelled.

  Jumper got a crazy look in his eyes. He lunged towards the banister and pulled off one of the loose sp
indles. The thief tried to run off, but Jumper instantly caught up and went psycho on him, beating the thief with the spindle—across his back, his stomach, and into his head.

  “Give it up, man—now motherfucker!” Jumper yelled.

  The thief tried to cover his face, but Jumper kept swinging the spindle until there was blood all over it. Finally, the jerk pulled off the jacket, threw back the money and scrambled out through the hole in the floor.

  Jumper triumphantly tossed the spindle across the room and said, “All those years in little league finally paid off!”

  Casey dropped down on the steps, trembling, but feeling an amazing rush.

  “You know what she did, Jump?” Casey said, pointing at Robin, “Know what she did? She saved my ass by giving that asshole the biggest kick to the balls you ever saw! She’s all quiet-like, but when that fucker had a knife right on me, man, did she come through. Yesssss!”

  “Steel-toed Doc Martens—the best,” Robin said. She smiled. Maybe for the first time since she had been here. Casey knew Robin for less than a day, but loved the idea that this girl who seemed so scared and quiet, was so cool when they needed it the most. Robin had the stuff. She’d make it here fine.

  They were all feasting on the family-sized El Polo Loco Chicken. Dog-Face and Tulip were back, and so were June Bug and Casper, the baby skinhead. There hadn’t been this much food around in a long time. It felt like a celebration. They almost lost everything. As Casey ate, she looked at Jumper’s hands. They still had blood on them. She thought, for what Jumper had done to get blood on his hands, no one would give a shit. Going postal on a crackhead—who cares? But what about her?

  She watched Robin sucking the food down. Probably her first real meal in days. Casey was glad Tulip found her. Robin reached for another piece, but stopped.

  “It’s okay if I take this?” she said.

  “Okay?” Dog-Face said, “Okay? If it wasn’t for you and Jump, all our shit’d be way gone.” He hiked up his right jeans leg and pulled out a long knife that that was jammed into his Doc Martens. Twirling it, he said, “Anyone sees that motherfucker on the Boulevard, you lemme know.”

  “He means it—” Dream said looking over at Robin.

  “Don’t go there,” Dog-Face said.

  There was a strange silence for a moment … Casey broke it.

  “You were so great,” she said to Robin, “like you knew what you were going to do all along.”

  “I did. Sorta.”

  “You rehearsed it? Smooth.” Jumper said.

  “Twice a week … Nah, it’s just, my sister back home started taking this self-defense class. She was like, women-rule, and she made me go with her. Said she always wanted me to know that no guy could do what he wanted to me just ’cause he was a guy.”

  “I could’ve used that class,” Dream said.

  Casey thought, so could I. She figured ninety-nine percent of the girls in Hollywood could’ve.

  “You done good,” June Bug said

  “Wasn’t only me,” Robin said, “We would’ve been meat without Jumper.”

  “Hey, just another superhero, protecting the great life of Hollywood,” Jumper said.

  “There’s nothing here to protect,” Dream said. “Nothing good anyway.”

  “Nothing good? You’re crazy,” Jumper said.

  “I’m crazy? No you’re crazy.” Dream said. “I seen all the Hollywood I need. The sooner I get outta here the better.”

  “You really think it’s gonna be different any place else?”

  “Might be.”

  “No way. I done the whole tour.”

  “You have?” Robin said.

  “Absolutely,” Jumper said. “After my old man killed himself, I came to Hollywood straight. Did the Boulevard 24-7. But after a while, I start thinking, maybe there is someplace better. It sure ain’t paradise here. I go to Portland, Seattle, San Francisco. Shit, I even go to New York. They ripped my sorry-ass off good there. It’s all the same. I came back to where my friends are. I ain’t never going nowhere else again.”

  “I am, man,” June Bug said. “I’m gonna get out of this.”

  “And do what?” Jumper said.

  “I wanna write about things. I got, like seven notebooks full of poems. I met a guy yesterday who said if they were good, he was interested in publishing them.”

  “Right. He’s interested in publishing pictures of your tits,” Dog-Face said.

  “Fuck you. What am I gonna do—just give up? Say, hey, I’m gonna be living on the street or fucked-up squats for the rest of my life? Fuck that.”

  “She’s right,” Casey said, “you gotta have something to hope for.”

  “Like what?” Dream said.

  Casey didn’t answer for a second. Then she saw Dream and June Bug were looking at her.

  “What?” Robin said gently.

  “It’s stupid … really stupid … but I want to have my own preschool place. In the mountains. In Montana or something. It’ll have swings and stuff, and a place for the kids to run around. Maybe a big field. And all the people working there will really love the kids.” Casey smiled inside. It was only a stupid dream but sometimes it seemed so real. Just thinking about it made her feel good.

  “I got something I want too,” Robin said.

  “Yeah?” Casey said.

  “I want to have a real talk with my stepfather. Five minutes of truth—no bullshit. Just truth.”

  “You wanna have the talk. How ’bout him?” Casey said.

  “Doubt it.”

  “Always that way,” Dream said. “What happened?”

  “I dunno …” Robin stopped. But then she went on. “Actually I know real well. My dad was a cop in Boston. Great cop. Won all these awards and shit. He was even officer of the year when I was a baby. But later, some jerk shot him. For no reason. Just ’cause he was a cop. I was fifteen, my big sister was sixteen. My mom was a mess after he died. We all were. But me and my sister got tight. We were tight before, but now we were really tight. And like a year later, my mom married some fucked-up asshole who was a captain in the same division. Only thing was, the asshole was more interested in my sister than my mom. He kept hitting on her, and she was always telling him to get away. But he keeps doing it. One night my mom’s asleep and he goes into my sister’s bedroom and tries to get over. But she’s waiting for him. As soon as he gets on the bed, she takes out a broken bottle and rips his whole face up. It was nasty, but man, he deserved it. My sister—and I still can’t believe this—she gets sent to juvie—thanks to the captain’s buddies. And of course, he gets nothing at all. My mom did the right thing—threw him out. But a couple of months later, the asshole comes crawling back, and says he’s been in therapy, and he’s a changed man. My mom, she lets him back. Says it’s the most Christian thing to do. Christian? My sister’s still in juvie! What about her? He gets away with everything. Me—no way I wanna be there any more.”

  That night, Robin slept beside Casey. Every couple of hours, maybe less, Casey would wake up and look over to see if Robin was sleeping. She never was. The last time she checked, it was nearly dawn, and when she glanced over, Robin looked back at Casey with almost a smile. In the morning, when Casey woke up for real, Robin was sound asleep.

  18

  Just down from the Chinese Theatre, Casey and Robin sat on the sidewalk beneath a huge movie poster with a girl in a long white gown with a ruby necklace, locked in the hottest kiss Casey ever saw. It was a good spot. As the tourists came past, the girls held out their palms and called out, “Got some change for food?” or “Can you help us out, please. Anything at all. We’re trying get back home.”

  The line of people never ended: Japanese tour groups who always followed some peppy woman with a flag; tired-looking parents dragging their kids on the way back from Universal Studios; cool couples from places like Italy or France—they were easy to tell, even without hearing them speak—their clothes gave them away every time; and busloads and busloads of people wh
o were taking the Hollywood tour, who Casey thought had no idea at all of what Hollywood really was like. But they all had one thing in common—everyone walked past them like they weren’t even there. They acted like they couldn’t hear, or pretended to suddenly be so interested in what the person next to them was saying, that they looked intently at their faces as they walked. Anything to avoid looking down at them. Every now and then, a quarter—or less—would drop down.

  A guy with a pretty girl of nine or so gave Casey a buck. She was wearing a purple AYSO soccer uniform. Casey’s mom had signed her up to play soccer when she was the same age. She had never played before, and was never really good in sports, but her coach, Stephen, didn’t mind. He played her as much as everyone else, and in positions all over the field, even center-forward for two games. The first game of the season she was so scared—scared she would make some stupid mistake—lose the ball as she dribbled it, or miss some super easy shot, and Stephen and the other girls would hate her. But Stephen didn’t care when she messed up. Instead, he’d call over, Nice try, Casey! That was great! And the other girls didn’t care either. It was so strange, Stephen never yelled at them, and all the time would say things like, Fantastic! Good try! You’re doing fabulously! So unlike her father. She missed Stephen. Stupid. But she did. It seemed like so long ago, but really, what was it? Six years? Six years ago she was wearing a purple AYSO uniform, just like the little girl.

  After a couple of hours, Robin stood up. “I can’t do this any more,” she said, “I know I don’t got a lot of choice, but I can’t.”

  “You get used to it,” Casey said.

  “I feel like screaming.”

  “I know, I know. You feel like yelling at them, ‘I used to live in a nice house like you do, have nice clothes and money in my pocket. I’m not some piece of shit that’s not even here.’ Everyone hates it. But unless you wanna do dates, this is what you do.”

  They took a walk around the block and went back to begging. At the end of the day, when they counted out their change, there was four dollars and twenty-three cents.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Casey said, “There’s always Mickey D’s.”