“Whoa…” he whispers, overwhelmed by the intensity of his sudden claustrophobia. It was the exact opposite of Mike’s tomb.
The dog barks again and he looks down at it for the first time. It has the head of a pit bull and the body of a tiny dog, simultaneously ferocious and comical.
“This is Dirt Bag. He’s harmless, I promise,” she says as she lets his leash go. The dog rushes to him and immediately begins sniffing. Julian puts a long hand to him and the dog licks him adoringly.
“Wow, he likes you. I was totally lying right now,he’s a total asshole. He usually bites everyone.”
Julian yanks his hand back.“Seriously?”
She laughs as Dirt Bag grabs a toy and drags it to Julian, dropping it at his feet. “No. He’s an absolute angel. I like to tease. Come in, I’ll give you the‘grand tour.’ That’s the kitchen,” she says, pointing to a tiny sliver of a sink, stove and refrigerator covered from top to bottom in family pictures. “Back here is the bathroom. And there’s the bedroom.”
Julian pokes his head into the bathroom, still steaming from her shower. A stall, a toilet, a giant ivy plant growing along the edges of the shower and down to the exposed sink and tiny medicine cabinet. He moves to the bedroom, which is larger than the living room and kitchen combined. There is hardly anything in the room except a queen size mattress on the floor, covered in a white goose down and pale, blue pillows, a clock resting on the edge of the window seal, and a small stack of books in the corner.
“It’s empty,” he says. “I mean, relatively speaking, compared to the rest of the place.”
“Yeah, I like to have a space clean for my dreams. Do you want anything to drink? I have tea and almond milk.”
“No, I’m good.”
“Okay, give me a second. I need to slap on some make-up. Have a seat and I’ll be right out.”
He wanders back to the living room and strolls around, studying the art. The initial color assault has faded and he begins to absorb the work. Beautiful, tender images of strange creatures and sad people like out of one of Fellini’s circus movies. Clowns without their make up, each face in mid contortion, about to betray an emotional state they can no longer suppress.
“These are all your paintings?” he calls. “They’re good.
“Thanks. Most of them are mine. Some of them are from friends. My friend, Trina is a great artist. That’s her picture of Rocky Balboa after his defeat. She made it for me for Valentine’s one year.”
He studies the bruised face of Sylvester Stallone over the television set. Glittering red hearts surround his battered, exaggerated face with the word‘Winner’ scrawled in calligraphy across the bottom.
“Romantic…” he laughs.
“It is. ‘Rocky’ is the most romantic movie ever made.”
“What? Seriously?”
“Yes! Have you seen it?”
“Of course I have. But…I don’t really see how it’s the most romantic movie ever. Ever? Really? Like, in the entire history of film? How do you get that?”
She steps from the bathroom, her eyes streaked perfectly with liquid liner, her lips deep red again. She dabs her puff in a compact and runs powder over her nose, frowning at him the entire time. “He didn’t care about winning. He just wanted to get through it. And all he wanted was to be good enough for her love and support in the end. That was the prize. He had to prove himself a man in his own eyes to be true to their love. Duh.”
He blinks, speechless, as she turns on her heels and disappears back into the bathroom. Dirt Bag scampers after her and sits at the doorway between them.
“I mean, I guess you’re technically right. Maybe not‘ever’,” she calls.“Rocky’s definitely no‘Time Away.’”
He smiles and shakes his head at the reference. His break through film, a romance blockbuster that earned him real status as a heartthrob. She comes from the bathroom nonchalant, scratching Dirt Bag under his chin and grabbing her purse. When she meets his eye, she smiles, her wet hair hanging about her like thick, dark rope. “Ready?”
“Did you get a new car this morning?”
“No, the other one belonged to my PA.”
“PA, like personal assistant? You actually have a personal assistant?”
They move to the black, tinted Prius and he presses the alarm.
“Wait,” she says,“can I drive?”
He shrugs and tosses her the keys.“If you want.”
She squeals and rushes to the driver side, tossing her swollen purse in the back and scooting the seat up. “Jesus, you’re tall. I don’t think I’ve actually ever driven a car made after 2000. This is going to be a treat! Does this one have the talky thing?”
“What talky thing?”
“The thing that tells you where to go and junk.”
“GPS?” he laughs, unsure if she is joking.
“Yes! Does it have it?”
“Uh, yeah, you just hit this and say the address. Where do you want to go?”
“No, I don’t need it. I know where we’re going. I just wanted to know if it had it. Fuckin’ faaancy! My sister has it in her car. Hers has a camera that films you backing up, too.”
“Lots of cars these days do. This has that. Hit that button.”
“NO! I don’t need it.”
“Okay! But if you do…”
“I don’t.”
She shoves a pair of large, cheap, round sunglasses on. He pulls his baseball cap down and shoves on his Prada sunglasses.
“We are both incognito,” she laughs. “Time to pay the bills!”
They speed down Los Feliz Boulevard with the moon roof opened and the radio playing loudly. Julian feels his phone and glances down. Eight missed calls from Michael, three from CeCe and two from his PR, Rhonda. He purses his lips and tucks his phone away.
“‘PA’, huh?”
“Personal assistant,” he says.
“What does your PA do for you?”
“Oh, uh, you know, she handles my meetings, functions, calendars. Kind of like what a secretary does.”
“She doesn’t fetch you lattes and pick up your dog shits?”
He laughs.“CeCe? Hell no. She’s all business. I pick up my own dog shits.”
“Do you have a dog, too?”
“No, I mean, if I did. I would have to.”
“Oh…for a second, I thought we had something in common.”
He smiled at her and she at him. “The day’s still young…I don’t even have a place to live. Where would I keep a dog?”
“What do you mean? You’re a big shot, movie star! How can you not have a place to live? People like you have a million places to live.”
“People like me? What does that even mean? How many people like me do you know?”
“Oh, I’m all in the scene. Me and Di Capriohad lunch last week at Cantor’s. He’s a big tipper, which, you know, isn’t arrogant at all. Like, some people tip big and you think,‘show off! I can barely afford the breath mints!’ But not him. He’s such a humble guy, he really is, youwouldn’t expect less.”
Julian laughs and hits the‘ignore’ button on his phone again. “Yeah, well, I don’t have a place yet. I just got here. I live in New York so I’m crashing at my agent’s.”
“You’re couchsurfing?”
“Not exactly. It’s more like‘house sitting’ while his wife is in Europe. But it looks like I’m going to be here awhile, and she’s coming home soon, so I have to find a place.”
“That sounds fun. I recommend the Silver Lake area. It’s really well gentrified and full of the hipster types now,you have nothing to worry about. You’ll fit right in,” she jokes.
“You’re really funny, you know? It’s refreshing,” he says, hitting the‘ignore’ as it rings again.
She glances down at his phone and then at the worried expression on his face. “Someone’s blowing up your phone.”
“Yeah…let’s not think about it.”
“’Kay! You want to get a coffee? My treat!”
“Sure!”
They pull into a Starbucks and park. She unbuckles her belt and starts to get out but he remains sitting, looking apprehensively at the building. “Are you coming?”
“Uh…no. Just, get me whatever you’re getting. But no milk or sugar.”
“Really? You’re not coming in?”
“It’s better if I don’t.”
She eyes him skeptically. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
He watches as she skips away, her wide hips swaying in an unfamiliar, intriguing way. That’s what real women look like, he thinks as he hits the‘call’ button.
“JULIAN! What the FUCK!”
“Hi, Mike.”
“Where the FUCK are you?!”
“Something came up.”
“Nonono, something doesn’t come up when you have a meeting like this. There is nothing more important on this Earth right now then that tight little ass of yours in Warner’s firm, loving grip! I don’t give a fuck where you are, you get here NOW!”
“Not gonnahappen, Mike.”
There is a brief pause. Julian listens, hearing the steadying, struggle of Mike trying to calm himself. “Okay, uh, listen, buddy, seriously. This-this is veryimportant. You need to be here, now, okay? I can only do so much.”
“Bullshit, Mike. You don’t need me. I hired you because you don’t need me. I need you.”
“Yes-you do-and-f”
“Ey! Listen, Mike, I’m not fucking around. I’m telling you to be there and handle this, okay? I don’t give a fuck what you have to do or say, just fucking do it, understand?I don’t want to hear another goddamn word about this now! Get it done!”
Dead silence. In the five years they had been together, Julian had never resorted to this type of assertion with his agent. Mike had witnessed it often with others but had been savvy enough to avoid it himself. He knew he had no choice but to adhere to whatever Julian wanted.
“Alright, Jules. But I can’t promise everything’s gonnacome off.”
“Yes, you can. That’s what I pay you for.”
Julian hangs up the phone and tosses it into the dash compartment, slamming the lid shut. For a long time, he glares out on the parking lot, watching the people moving through their lives in an early July afternoon, just starting to heat up. A woman dragging a small, screaming boy by his arm while pushing another baby in its stroller, a dead glaze in her eye. An obese, bald man in stained jeans, talking on his phone and eating a sandwich as he waddles to his beaten, old white truck, its bed packed full of metal bars and broken wood. Two young Latinas in white sweat pants and tank tops, eating frozen yogurt as they head into the Starbucks. He watches them without seeing, seething from his lack of control, from impending doom. I’ll never be one of them again, no matter where I go or what I do, he thinks. He watches the door swing open and the girls walk in, as Alice comes out with two large cups. Her hair is nearly dried and free in the wind, whipping about her. Her face is determined, hard, strong. Everything about her is strong, from her thick frame to the burn in her eyes. She belongs nowhere else and yet not in this scene at all. She climbs in the car in one, smooth motion and hands him a giant, iced drink.
“It’siced green tea. Non-sweetened. My favorite.”
He takes the drink and flashes her a quick smile. Too quick, she sees right through it and frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Something is. I can tell. Do you want to tell me?”
He sucks in the green tea and instantly feels its cool soothing. “This is good, you’re right.”
She gives him a half smile and shrugs, starting the car.“Okay. You don’t have to. But if you want to talk about it, you can. I’m a good listener.”
“Thanks. That’s rare to come by. I’ll keep it in mind. Where are we going?”
“Well…I wasn’t kidding when I said I had errands to run. I do. But now I’m a little concerned about your whole being seen in public thing. Is it going to be a problem?”
“No, no it won’t. I mean, I don’t think it will.”
“You’ll let me know if it is, right?”
“Definitely.”
“Good. The last thing we need is you getting mobbed by a bunch of tweenies. I can’t hold my own against that kind of hormonal tornado.”
He laughs again. “That would be something. I’m not quite tweenie-mob status yet, I think. Give me another year.”
“It’s an aspiration, though, right? Like, top priority on your bucket list?”
“Oh, yeah. Right at the top, right after frontal lobotomy. My agent’s working furiously to make it a reality for me. A few more moves of his and I won’t be able to move at all.”
“That’s crazy,” she says,“I can’t imagine that. Not being able to do whatever you want, wherever you want. Plus, you’re super huge so you totally stick out in a crowd as it is.”
“I’m not super huge,” he laughs.
“Um, yeah, you are. Way bigger than I thought you would be.”
“I’m only 6’2. You’re just-“ he stops himself and smiles into his drink. She looks at him in mock outrage.
“What?!What am I?”
“You know.”
“No, what?”
“Shorter. On the shorter side.”
“I am notshort!”
“A little bit.”
“That is a total and complete load. I am the perfect height for a Latina woman,I’ll have you know. This is a normal, healthy height for my kind. You’re just use to being around pencil thin, waifymodels from Switzerland, strutting around on 6 inch heels like ridiculous birds let out of their cages.”
“I’m sorry, you’re right. You’re not short.”
“That’s right.”
“Everyone else is just abnormally, monstrously tall in comparison,” he grins.
She shoots him an evil look and smirks. “You’re asking for it.”
“So what bills you have to pay?”
“Let’s see,” she says, tapping the steering wheel,“I have to pay my electric and my rent. And hopefully pick up my car.”
“Is it ready?”
“Hopefully. Cross your fingers. So…small talk, yes? Where you from?”
He swallows, fighting the urge to switch into his interview voice and list of pre-scripted answers. He glances at the girl, gnawing on her straw as she swerves in and out of traffic at full speed. There is nothing devious or manipulative in her manner or question. But, for a brief moment, he wonders what he is doing in the car, in the passenger seat, with this total stranger and her whim. And he wonders, were his persona not already known by her, would she have agreed to meet with him. Something about her calm, natural charisma makes him think it would be an even more likely scenario. “Um, all over. Mainly Pennsylvania, though. You?”
“Me? I’m from the Bay Area. Oakland.”
“Oakland…” he says, making a face.
“Yes, Oakland,” she laughs. “Don’t be scared. It’s not like you see on the news.”
“What is it like?”
“It’s like home. It’s like…everybody’s tough, but humble and loving. It’s family, even when it’s not blood. The people you are tight with, you stay tight with and know everything about, and vice versa. Lots of progressive thinking and a strong sense of community. Yeah, it can be a dangerous place, but that danger also brings us together.”
He is surprised at the eloquence of the answer, and quickly realizes that his preconceived notions of the girl were prejudiced. She glances at him and smirks again. “Let me guess, you didn’t expect an intelligent response.”
“No, that’s not it,” he lies. “I just never thought of it that way.”
“Why would you? You don’t know anything about it. You weren’t born and raised there. That’s the great thing about getting to know people. You get to live through them. What was Pennsylvania like? Are the Amish as clammy as they seem?”
He laughs again and pushes his sunglasses up his long nose.
“Clammy?”
“Yeah, you know. Uptight and nervous about things like running water and electricity.”
“Not everyone in Pennsylvania is Amish. That’s such a cliché stereotype, and I totally resent it,” he smiles.
“Really? I thought everyone from Pennsylvania drove around in bonnets and buggies. You’re telling me it’s not true? For reals?Man…my eyes are wide shut. Nothing’llever be the same.”
“Are you always such a smart ass?” he laughs.
“No. Sometimes I change it up with passive-aggressive disdain. Gottakeep people on their toes. So, what was it like?”
“Oh…I don’t know. Cold, beautiful, lots of farmland…we weren’t there most of the time. We moved around a lot when I was a kid. And I was on my own once I turned 18, living in New York.”
“What’s thatlike?”
“What?”
“New York, what’s it like?”
“You’ve never been?” he asks, genuinely shocked.
“No…never. I’ve always wanted to go but it just, never really came about. Fundageissues, mainly. I’ve always wanted to like, just go on a pilgrimage to every museum and gallery there, absorbing all the art I’ve only seen in books and magazines in person. What’s it like?”
“It’s incredible. It never stops, ever. There’s no rest for your eyes or brain, it feels like the city is actually alive and plowing through you, constantly. Like, even when I’d chill and do nothing, there was always something happening around me. It was like a dream sometimes, especially when shit started taking off. You have to be confident and focused, so much so that you don’t even have time to question yourself. I love it.”
“You need that kind of constant stimulus?”
“Yeah, yeah I do.”
“So then, you’re a total workaholic?”
He laughs and nods. “Some people have called me that, yeah. I don’t think of it that way, though. For me, acting is art,it’s making something come alive. It’s the only thing I feel truly, absolutely right about.”
“I feel that way, too! Not about acting…about painting. I will literally work until the sun comes up and keep going, and then take a shower and go to my actual job. It’s addictive. Sometimes I feel like a junky.”
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