He frowns in thought, then his face crackles with delight, “Hollywood Costumes & Collectibles! They’re just east of Highland!”
I jump up, throw my arms around him, and kiss his cheek, “I love you, Kellan!”
Whoops, I didn’t mean to say that.
I slide down his muscled chest until my toes touch cement. “I mean…” I trail off.
He nods, “I know what you meant.” But his eyes hint at disappointment. “Anyway, we’ve got shopping to do!”
“Which car do we take?”
“Mine’s faster,” Kellan grins.
“Yeah, but we’re not driving very far. What we need is smaller for better maneuverability and easier parking.”
“Good point. But we have to move quick. Want me to drive?” he asks.
“Hell no! I can handle it!”
We jump into my Altima and speed toward Sunset.
Kellan points left when we get to Sunset, “That way!”
When the light turns green, I punch it. “I sure hope the costume shop is still open.”
Kellan pulls his smart phone out of his pocket and surfs around. “They close at seven. We’ve got…thirty minutes. That should be enough if we don’t hit too much traffic.”
“How far is it?”
“Three and a half miles. But that’s L.A. miles. It could take thirty minutes if we hit too many reds.”
“We’ll make it.”
I weave my Altima in and out of the sluggish cars on Sunset Boulevard, dodging around buses, running yellows, whatever it takes. I’m getting that damn mask. I just hope I don’t get pulled over for speeding.
Lucky for me, there’s never a cop in L.A. when you need one or don’t need one.
A lumbering red double decker Hollywood Tours bus suddenly turns onto Sunset, pulling out in front of me. It’s going one mile an hour.
“Move!” I shout at my windshield. There’s no way the driver is gonna hear me. I don’t even bother with the horn. But I use the one in my head, “Mooooovvvvveee!!!”
Kellan snickers.
“What?” I growl at him.
He shakes his smiling head, “Nothing. Keep driving.”
I glance in my side mirror. The second there’s an opening between passing cars, I dart out from behind the bus and floor it. My Altima screams. It’s not used to this kind of abuse.
I hope I don’t blow a head gasket. I mean, in the engine. I’ve already blown the one in my head.
It’s amazing how slow traffic in Hollywood actually moves because of all the lights. Even with my hazardous no holds driving, I watch the clock on my dash ticking down to zero. I mean, 7:00pm.
6:47pm.
It’s gonna be close.
SCREEEECH!!!
I slam on the brakes, laying down rubber as my Altima slides to a stop at a light that was not even yellow, orange, or pink. It was flat out red. I don’t want to hit anybody and cause an accident.
Smoke from my tires literally puffs out of the wheel wells.
Kellan snickers, “There went two thousand miles of tire tread.”
I shake my head. “Fuck!” I pat my steering wheel tenderly and say, “I’m sorry, girl. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“You talk to your car too?” Kellan grins.
“Only when I abuse her.”
“Keeps ‘em loyal,” Kellan quips.
The light turns green and I don’t quite floor it. For my Altima’s sake.
A couple blocks later, a three-wheeled Parking Enforcement wagon is blocking my lane, stopping traffic. I can’t get over in time, and I’m boxed in by cars passing on the left.
Kellan says, “I’d tell you to push the Parking Enforcement go cart off the road, but I won’t out of respect for your car. If we had a huge truck with a big ass bullbar on the front, I’d say otherwise.”
“Totally,” I laugh, picturing me in a huge diesel truck plowing the Parking Enforcement wagon off the road and laughing as it tumbles end over end. I smile.
Then I glance at the clock.
I frown.
6:54pm.
This is way too close.
The second there’s an opening on my left, I bolt around the Parking Enforcement wagon and floor it.
Sorry, Altima!
Two blocks later, we pass Highland Avenue where it crosses Hollywood Boulevard.
“There it is!” I shout as we near Hollywood Costumes & Collectibles.
6:58pm.
“Shit!” I blurt. “Where do we park?”
Because the shop is near the heart of Hollywood & Highland, the touristy section of Hollywood, there is never any parking this time of day on a Saturday. Not only is the famous Hollywood and Highland mall a tourist draw, so is The Walk of Fame with all the stars on the sidewalk, Grauman’s Chinese Theater with the movie star handprints in cement, The Egyptian Theater, Ripley’s Believe It Or Not, and all that other junk.
Tons of tourists and NO parking.
Anywhere!
“There’s no place to park!” I shout.
I roll to a stop at the red light at the end of the block where the costume store is.
Kellan says, “Turn right here and pull over. I’ll stay with the car while you go inside for the mask. If I have to move cuz of Parking Enforcement, I’ve got my phone. You’ve got my number, right?”
“Yeah.”
When the light turns, I go right and stop the car twenty feet from the corner. I yank the parking break, leave the engine running, and jump out of the car.
6:59pm.
Kellan runs around to the driver’s seat and hops in like a well oiled machine. A very attractive, well oiled machine. I wouldn’t mind seeing him well oiled sometime, come to think of it.
What am I doing daydreaming! I need to buy a mask!
“Be right back,” I turn and run.
He shouts, “Do you have cash?”
“Shit! It’s in my purse! In the car!” I sprint back to my Altima. I’m not nearly as well oiled as Kellan.
He holds my purse out the window. “Go!” he shouts.
I grab it and run around the corner to the costume shop at top speed.
When I reach the double glass front doors, some guy is locking the door.
“No!” I scream. “I need to buy a mask!”
“Sorry,” his voice is muted by the glass, “We’re closed.”
“I need to buy a mask! Please!” I cry desperately.
His eyes bulge at me like I’m insane. He backs away from the door.
I can’t decide if my studded black leather heavy metal assassin costume is helping my case or hurting it. Not that I have much choice.
“Please don’t go!” I pound on the glass of the front door, “I swear I’m not crazy! I just need a serial killer mask!”
He backs up cautiously.
Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. “I mean, I need to buy a mask! A Michael Myers mask! Please! I swear, that’s all I need!” I reach into my purse and pull out cash. “I have money!”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, we’re closed.”
“No!” I plead desperately. I do my best to turn up the tears. “I just need the one mask, that’s it, and I’ll be out of your hair!”
That’s when I notice he’s bald.
He frowns. He has no hair to be out of.
Whoops.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I put my face up to the glass. “I just need to buy a Michael Myers mask. For tonight. It’s really important. I can’t tell you how important. Please…” Now I really do start to weep.
“What kind of mask?” he frowns thoughtfully.
“A Michael Myers mask! From the movie Halloween! Do you have one?”
He nods, “Yeah, I stock those. That’s all you need?”
“I promise!”
He fishes his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door carefully. “You don’t have a gun, do you?”
“No,” I laugh. “Just a kn—” I stop myself short.
He frowns sternly, “What?”
/>
I almost mentioned my rainbow rape knife in my purse. Probably not what he needs to hear. “No. All I have is cash for a mask,” I smile and pull out some bills from my wallet and wave them at him.
He opens the door. After I’m inside, he locks it behind me and stashes the keys in his pocket.
“The mask is this way,” he leads me back into the store.
It turns out Hollywood Costumes & Collectibles is gigantic. They have everything you could possibly want for Halloween. Year round.
We walk up to a glass counter in front of a wall covered floor to ceiling with rubber monster masks. He walks behind the counter and pulls out a box from beneath it and sets it on the glass top. “Here you go.”
“How much?”
“Two fifty,” he says casually.
“Two hundred?”
“And fifty,” he nods.
Fuck. I don’t have $250. “Uhh…”
“What,” he says, offended, “it’s collectible. They’re hand molded and hand painted. You pay a premium for it.”
“Do you have a non collectible version,” I wince.
He smirks gruffly, “Did you want the mask or not? I need to get home to my wife.”
“I do. But I only have…” I count through my money, “Eighty five and change?”
He shakes his head, “Sorry. Can’t do it. That’s below cost.”
I start to shake. I’m going to crumble to pieces if I don’t get this mask. I consider grabbing it and dashing out the front door. But I remember he locked it behind me when I came inside. That’s not gonna work.
“Please…” I beg. “I need a mask for tonight. For my show. I can’t play if I don’t have the mask. Please, sir. Your wife would understand.” I’m reaching, but I can’t think of anything else.
He chuckles, “You don’t know my wife. Why you think I need to get home on time?”
“Sorry?” I grimace.
He stitches his lips together and nods dramatically, thinking. “You said you don’t need a collectible mask?”
I nod, “Just something white and nondescript?” That’s pretty much what Buckethead uses anyway.
His eyes narrow, “You mean like a blank?”
“What’s a blank?”
“A blank mask. It’s all white. So the kids can paint anything they want on it.”
“How much are those?”
“Ten ninety-nine.”
“I have $10.99!”
He walks out from behind the counter and leads me to another aisle. He pulls a box kit off a hook. The colorful box says “Paint Your Own Halloween Mask!” It has a clear window over a blank white plastic face mask.
“It’s perfect” I squeal.
He hands me the box and I hug it to my chest.
“Where do we pay?” I ask.
“Just give me thirteen bucks to cover sales tax. I’ll ring it in tomorrow.”
I count out a ten and three ones. “Here you go, thirteen dollars.”
“My lucky number,” he grins.
“Thirteen is your lucky number?”
“Hey,” he motions, “Look around.”
I’m surrounded by masks and costumes of demons, werewolves, sea monsters, evil clowns, Brides of Frankensteins, Freddy Kruegers, Pinheads, Jason hockey masks, every horror movie villain you can think of.
I smile, “I need to come back here and do some more shopping…”
He smirks, “Try to do it at least an hour before we close, Okay?”
I nod, “Yeah, totally. Thank you so much!”
He walks me to the front door and lets me out.
I run around the corner to where I left my car with Kellan.
My car is gone.
Where the hell is Kellan?!?!
Chapter 118
VICTORY
I frantically dial Kellan on my phone.
It rings.
And rings.
And rings.
And rings.
And goes to voicemail.
Please tell me he didn’t leave.
I hope he isn’t planning on ditching me here so he can make sure I don’t play at L.A. Gunslingers tonight.
He wouldn’t do that, would he?
I mean, he’s not mad because I won’t be in a band with him.
Right?
Everyone on my internal committee looks nervous, eyes dancing around, examining fingernails, whistling incriminatingly.
I call his phone again.
Voicemail
Damn it.
I text him.
where r u!!!!!
No text response.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!!
I look up and down the street. My Altima is nowhere in sight.
I run back to Hollywood Boulevard.
I don’t see him there either.
“God damn it, Kellan!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
Twenty people turn and look at me like I’m a lunatic. Right now, I pretty much am. They part around me as I start running west on Hollywood toward The Cobra Lounge.
It’s only 3.5 miles. That can’t take more than, what, a half hour to run?
Except I’m in heels.
But there’s gotta be a shoe store between here and The Cobra. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can buy running shoes at the DSW store just west of Madame Tussauds Wax Museum!
In the mean time, I peel off my heels and run barefoot along the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
I hate you, Kellan Burns!
I keep my eyes open for used condoms and cigarette butts. Fortunately, I see none, but my feet will be completely black within five blocks from all the sidewalk grime.
I have to stop at the light for Highland. There’s way too many cars passing through the intersection to run for it. A big crowd of tourists hordes around me. Everyone stares at me in my Heavy Metal assassin costume while I hold my heels in my hands.
I’m sure I look like a hooker who just got off the clock.
Some slimy tourist guy with a bad sunburn and a Duck Dynasty beard over his Budweiser t-shirt eyes me hungrily and asks, “How much, baby?”
I glare at him, “To kick you in the nuts? I’ll do it free.”
He scowls.
I don’t care. I clutch the mask box and my purse strap with one hand while I dig out my rainbow rape knife. I hold the knife at my side, unopened. But my thumb is ready to pop the blade at a moment’s notice. I’ll slice that guy’s beard off and feed it to him if he tries anything.
He doesn’t.
The light turns green and I sprint across the street.
Ow! Ow! Ow! The asphalt in the street is sharp compared to the polished Walk of Fame sidewalk. I hope I didn’t cut my foot just then!
I gingerly tap dance across to the far street corner.
That’s when my phone rings in my purse.
I yank it out of the bag.
Kellan.
I answer, “Where the fuck did you go?!”
“I had to drive around the block because of a cop.”
I roll my eyes. “Stay right there.”
I put my heels back on to protect my feet from further abuse and wait for the Highland light to change to green again.
When it does, I dash back to where Kellan is indeed waiting.
I yank the passenger door open and slide into the seat. I heave a harsh sigh, “Why did you leave?”
“I told you,” he says defensively, “A cop told me to move. So I did.”
“Why didn’t you tell him…” I don’t know what to say, I’m just mad.
“Tell him what? That I was waiting for some crazy nut job hottie with a knife in her hand to buy a Halloween mask?”
I throw my head back and laugh now that the stress is off.
Kellan chuckles with me, “Did you get the mask?”
I hold up the box.
“Nice,” he grins. “Now we need KFC. I already looked up the nearest one.”
“Where is it?”
“Three miles south. By the La Brea Tar Pits.”
<
br /> “Damn, that’s out of the way.”
“We’ll be fine. The show doesn’t start until eight. You want me to drive?”
“Would you?” I ask hopefully. “At this point, I’m liable to drive through crowded crosswalks and take out everything from pedestrians to poodles if they get in my way.”
“No problem,” he chuckles.
I hope he’s right about problems.
I don’t need any more this evening.
Chapter 119
VICTORY
Luckily, there’s little traffic on the way to KFC. They’re even happy to give me a clean, empty KFC bucket for free. I ask for two, just in case. You never know what else might go wrong.
Kellan drives northwest toward The Cobra, taking side streets, and we make good time.
Half way there, my phone rings.
It’s Logan.
I answer, “Hey Logan!”
“Victory?”
I hear traffic sounds in the background. “Where are you guys?”
“Mission Viejo,” Logan says.
“How far is that?”
“It would be an hour, except our bus broke down.”
No! The stupid VW bus of theirs! “What do you mean broken down? Do you have a flat or something?”
“Naw. I think the transmission is done. I can’t get out of second and the engine is over heating like crazy. We had to pull off the freeway for it to cool down.”
Oh no.
“Something wrong?” Kellan asks.
I’m sure my eyes are popping out of my head. “Logan, who do you know with a truck or something who can come pick you up?”
“Right now? Everyone’s still at the beach in the water. No one is answering their phones.”
Stupid surfers!
I groan, “Can you get a cab to drive you up to Hollywood?”
“We’d need a minivan for Logan’s drums and my bass amp.”
Shit. This is getting too complicated. I don’t have a choice, “Okay, you start calling cab companies in Mission Viejo or wherever, and I’ll see if I can find any.”
“All right. Sorry, Victory. This totally blows.”
“Don’t worry, Logan. We’ll figure it out. Talk to you soon.”
“Okay, bye.”
I hang up. “Shit.”
“What?” Kellan asks.
“My drummer and bassist are broken down in Mission Viejo.”
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