by James Frey
She turns into the grounds walks into the basement changes into her uniform. As she walks up the stairs she smells coffee someone’s already made it she panics looks at her watch, it’s 7:53 she’s early. She stops takes a deep breath, wonders if she was supposed to start earlier, if Mrs. Campbell told her something that she forgot. She prepares to get screamed at, to have things thrown at her, to be called names. Whatever’s going on in the kitchen is not going to be good. She thinks about going back downstairs and changing and sneaking out through the back entrance and going home. She takes a deep breath. She can smell the coffee. She wants to go home. She thinks about her mother and father all of the indignities they have endured over the years working jobs like this her father always told her a job is a job and it’s your job to do it, even if you don’t like it. She takes a deep breath, she opens the door and steps into the kitchen.
A small, chubby man sits at the table. He’s wearing plaid boxer shorts and a white T-shirt with food stains on it. His hair is red, it’s thick on the sides and thin on top, he has a patchy red mustache. He’s drinking a large cup of coffee and eating some toast with jam, he has Mrs. Campbell’s paper spread out in front of him. Esperanza doesn’t know him, has never seen him, and despite his appearance, she’s scared of him. He turns to her, speaks.
Hola. (Hi.)
She stares at him.
Mi nombre es Doug. (My name is Doug.)
Stares.
Cual es su nombre? (What’s your name?)
She stares at him. He stares back, speaks.
Usted tiene un nombre? (Do you have a name?)
She speaks, because she doesn’t know him, she uses a Mexican accent.
I speak English. My name is Esperanza.
He smiles.
Nice to meet you, Esperanza.
He licks some jam from his fingers, wipes his fingers on his shirt, picks up a piece of toast.
Would you like some toast?
Where is Mrs. Campbell?
Probably upstairs.
What have you done to her?
He takes a bite of the toast. Some jam gets caught in his mustache. He speaks as he chews.
What are you talking about?
I’m going to call the police.
She steps towards the phone. He takes another bite, speaks.
She forgot to tell you, didn’t she.
Esperanza hesitates.
Tell me what?
Keeps chewing, speaking.
That I was coming.
Who are you?
Doug Campbell. I’m Mrs. Campbell’s youngest son.
I don’t believe you.
I’ve heard that one before.
You don’t look like her.
Heard that one too. My brother calls me the family troll.
He wipes his hands on his shirt, leaves a streak of jam across its front, continues chewing and speaking.
Though I’m not sure why exactly he calls me a troll. I’ve always thought of myself as more of a prince than a troll. An unconventional prince, but a prince nonetheless.
Esperanza smiles. The man she sees in front of her is definitely not a prince. Not a prince of men, not a prince of toast-eating mustachioed slobs, not even a prince of trolls. She speaks.
Do you mind if I take the coffeepot?
You gonna have a cup?
No. I need to prepare Mrs. Campbell’s coffee.
Don’t worry about that.
It is part of my job. Every day I must prepare her coffee.
Breakfast in bed with the paper and then a bath, that whole thing? Yes.
I talked to her a little while ago. She’s skipping it today.
She looks at him. He smiles, there’s food caught between his teeth.
Until she tells me no, I must do it.
She reaches for the coffeepot. As she does, Mrs. Campbell, in her bathrobe and slippers, walks into the kitchen. She speaks.
Good morning, Dougie.
Hi, Mom.
Did you find everything you need?
Sure did.
She walks over, kisses his cheek.
How’s your coffee?
Great.
She sits down across from him.
It smells wonderful.
You want a cup?
She starts looking at the paper.
I’d love one.
He starts to get up, without looking at or acknowledging Esperanza, Mrs. Campbell speaks.
My maid will get it for me.
Doug looks at Esperanza, shrugs. She turns around walks to the cabinet, takes out a porcelain cup and a saucer. As she walks back towards the table, Mrs. Campbell looks at Doug, speaks.
It’s so nice to have you home.
It’s good to be here.
I almost can’t believe it.
It’s true, Mom. I’m right here.
Esperanza sets the cup and saucer down in front of her. Doug reaches for the pot, Mrs. Campbell stops him.
She will pour my coffee, Doug. It’s part of her job.
Esperanza picks up the pot, pours a cup for Mrs. Campbell. Doug speaks.
Thank you, Esperanza.
Mrs. Campbell looks surprised.
I guess you’ve met?
Yeah, we were chatting before you came down.
Mrs. Campbell turns to Esperanza, looks incredibly angry.
What are the rules of this house, young lady?
Esperanza recoils.
I did nothing wrong, Mrs. Campbell.
I will determine what is right or wrong here. Now what are the rules of this house?
Doug speaks.
Mom, you’re making too big a deal of this.
Mrs. Campbell turns to him.
I love you, Doug, and I’m incredibly pleased to have you home, but please let me run my household as I see fit.
She turns back to Esperanza, who looks terrified.
Young lady. The rules?
I didn’t do anything wrong.
One of the rules of this house is that you are not to speak to anyone but me, and you are to speak to me only when spoken to. Correct?
Esperanza stares at the floor.
It seems you violated this rule by speaking to my son. Correct?
Doug speaks.
Mom, I spoke to her first and…
She interrupts him.
This is not your business, Doug.
She turns back to Esperanza.
You are not to speak to him again. Is that understood?
Esperanza stares at the floor, nods.
Young lady, please show me at least a small amount of respect and look at me while I speak to you.
Esperanza looks up.
You are not to speak to my son, or to anyone else in this home, unless given my permission first. Do you understand me?
Yes.
Are you sure?
Yes.
Please say, in a clear voice—Yes, I understand you, Mrs. Campbell.
Yes, I understand you, Mrs. Campbell.
A little louder please.
Yes, I understand you, Mrs. Campbell.
I can’t hear you.
Yes, I understand you, Mrs. Campbell.
Mrs. Campbell glares at Esperanza, whose hands are trembling, whose eyes are tearing.
Normally I would dismiss someone like you for disobeying me. This is my home and you are my employee and while you are here you will do as I say. While my son is here, and he may be here for an extended period of time, the same policies will apply to him. Do you understand me? Yes, I understand you, Mrs. Campbell.
Instead of dismissing you, I will be docking your pay. You will receive half of your pay this week if you can make it through the week without any further problems.
Doug speaks.
Mom, you really don’t…
She interrupts him.
You have to be firm with these people, Doug. Please trust me.
She turns back to Esperanza.
Have you understood everything I’ve told you?
Yes, I understand you, Mrs. Campbell.
Good, because I am going to hold you to it. Now, please leave us. And I do not want to see you again today, so please stay away from areas of the house where we might be.
Yes, Mrs. Campbell.
Esperanza turns and walks out of the kitchen starts down the stairs to the basement. Her hands are trembling, lips trembling, tears start coming she hates herself, hates herself. She reaches the bottom of the stairs sits down on the last step puts her face in her hands hates herself, hates her job, hates this house and yard, hates the street and town, hates that she’s here five days a week, hates cleaning doing laundry washing dishes dusting. Her face is in her hands she hates that she has no confidence. Her face is in her hands she hates that she allows Mrs. Campbell to humiliate her.
Her face is in her hands she hates that her life is not what it could have been. Her face, her hands. Hates.
In 1893, a mammoth crowd in downtown Los Angeles waits for hours to see San Francisco photographer Eadweard Muybridge present his zoopraxiscope and Animal Locomotion, which marks the first time a motion picture is shown in the city. In 1894, Abraham Kornheiser purchases three Kinetoscopes, machines that allow a viewer to watch a motion picture through a peephole, from Thomas Edison. His intention was to open the first movie theater in Los Angeles, which was to be called Kornheiser’s Peep Show Palace. The kinetoscopes were damaged en route, and Edison refused to fix them or refund Kornheiser’s money. In 1895, Edison sells Elijah Nachman a Vitascope, which was the first functional motion picture projector. Nachman opens Nachman’s Magical Vitascope Theater, the first movie theater in Los Angeles County.
Joe sits behind the dumpster for an hour, two three four, the blond girl is asleep on the concrete next to him. She is breathing steadily, she appears to have stopped bleeding. Once or twice an hour she stirs or mumbles, her hands twitch or she sighs, her position changes slightly. Ugly Tom comes back twice he brings Joe a piece of day-old pizza, half of a bean-and-cheese burrito. Four Toes Tito, commonly known as Four, a tall, bearded El Salvadoran with waist-length hair who sleeps behind a hot dog stand and who was born with only four toes on each foot, comes by to see the girl he thinks he knows her but when he sees her it’s not who he thinks it is. Jenny A., a thirty-eight-year-old mother of three from Phoenix, who lost her family, friends, future and life because she couldn’t stop drinking, comes by to say hello and hang out and chat and see if Old Man Joe will give her a bottle of wine from his stash in the bathroom. Joe knows if he gives her his keys to the bathroom she’ll drink everything he’s got so he says maybe later, Jenny, maybe later, she says she understands says she’s going over to the liquor store to try to bum some cash, and if she’s lucky something to drink, from exiting customers.
Around noon, after almost six hours of waiting with her, the girl wakes up. She lifts her head a few inches from the ground, looks at Old Man Joe, speaks.
Who the fuck are you?
He laughs.
My name is Joe.
Where the fuck am I?
Venice, California.
No shit.
She coughs.
Where in Venice?
You’re on Speedway behind an ice cream shop on the boardwalk.
She starts to slowly sit up. There is dried blood caked on her face and in her hair, swollen one eye almost shut a gash on her cheek, a bruised lip, a missing lower tooth.
An ice cream shop on the boardwalk?
Yes.
There are fifty ice cream shops on the boardwalk.
She coughs again.
There are a bunch of them, but probably not fifty.
Fine, there are a bunch of them. Which one am I fucking sitting behind?
Joe laughs again, looks at the girl, who is now leaning against the dumpster. She’s young, very young, maybe fifteen, too young to be homeless, too young to be living on the boardwalk, too young. He speaks.
What’s your name?
Why do you care?
I’m trying to help you.
I don’t need your help.
What’s your name?
Where the fuck am I?
Behind an ice cream store near the paddle tennis courts.
How the fuck did I end up down here?
I have no idea. A friend of mine found you.
If you try to fuck me, or make me suck your dick, I’ll bite it off.
Old Man Joe laughs again. The girl speaks.
I’m serious. I’ll bite your dick right the fuck off.
You’re a bit young for me.
That’s why most guys want to fuck me, ’cause I’m young.
Not me.
She reaches up, touches her face. Her knuckles are bruised, cut.
This is fucked.
You need help.
I’m fucked, but I’ll be fine.
We should call an ambulance.
If there’s an ambulance there’s usually cops. I don’t need no ambulance, and definitely don’t need no cops.
Then we should go to the hospital.
I ain’t going to no fucking hospital either.
You need a doctor.
Unless you know one who lives behind one of these dumpsters, I ain’t seeing one.
Why?
Because.
You got warrants?
Do I look like some kinda criminal?
Yeah.
Well I ain’t.
Where’d you run away from?
Why you think I’m a runaway?
You ain’t fooling anybody.
It ain’t none of your business.
She tries to stand, has trouble. Sits back down. Old Man Joe stands, offers his hand, speaks.
Let’s at least get you cleaned up.
Where we gonna do that?
I got a bathroom.
Where?
Down Speedway a bit.
You look homeless.
I am. Sort of. I live in a bathroom.
He holds his hand closer. She slaps it away.
I’ll use your bathroom, but I ain’t touching you.
She slowly stands, when she’s up, he sees that she’s tiny, maybe five feet tall, maybe a hundred pounds. It makes her wounds look worse. Joe speaks.
Can you walk?
She takes a step, winces.
Yeah.
She takes another step, winces again.
You sure?
Yeah. I’m fine.
You want some food?
You got a good dumpster?
I’ll get you something fresh.
From where?
Wherever you want.
You got money?
I got friends.
He motions towards the street section of the alley.
Let’s get you cleaned up, and I’ll find you something good.
If you try to fuck me, you’ll be sorry.
He laughs again, steps around the dumpster, walks into the street.
She follows him slowly, she’s walking carefully, gingerly, she has other wounds that Joe can’t see. He walks a few feet in front of her, frequently turns to check on her, she stares at the ground, winces, occasionally looks up, occasionally stops and feels her face, carefully touches spots on her legs, on her torso. It’s three blocks to Joe’s bathroom. It normally takes Joe five minutes to make the walk, it takes them twenty. When they reach the bathroom, Joe stops, looks at her, speaks.
This is my bathroom. Let me go in for a minute, then it’s all yours.
You got shit you need to hide?
Something like that.
And you don’t trust me to go in first?
No.
Fuck you then.
He goes in, takes two bottles of wine from the toilet tank, looks around for anything else, there’s nothing. He steps out holding the bottles. The girl sees them, speaks.
You were worried I was gonna steal your fucking wine?
Just making sure I keep what’s mine.
I don’t drink, and I could give
a shit about your crappy wine.
He laughs again, turns towards the bathroom.
There’s hot water and soap and paper towels. You gotta clean your face and hands, and clean your cuts so they don’t get infected. Do it as quick as you can, and if you need help, just call.
She looks at him for a minute.
Why you doing this?
He looks at her.
I don’t know.
She steps around him, closes the door. He steps away from the door, looks at the eating area that’s part of the taco stand, hopes none of the tourists have to use the bathroom. If they do he’ll have to get the girl out.
If she resists, it might anger the owner. If the owner gets angry, there’s a chance he’ll lose the bathroom, and he doesn’t want to have to find a new place to sleep, and he definitely doesn’t want to have to find a new place to take a shit. He can hear the sink running can hear the girl swearing saying fuck, shit, goddamnit, motherfucker. He hears the sink stop running he doesn’t hear anything. He waits for a minute two maybe she’s drying herself off he waits another minute two he knocks on the door.
No response. He knocks again, waits, no response. He knocks again.
Nothing. He takes out his key opens the door she’s sitting on the floor her knees at her chest. She looks up at him. He speaks.
You okay?
She nods.
Why you sitting on the floor?