Siri, Who Am I?

by Sam Tschida

  Not. But Max is really cute so I’m like, “Great, you talk to a librarian and I’ll talk to the cops. We’ll compare notes after.”

  Librarian versus cop—he doesn’t even notice that sounds funny. I wave and watch him walk down the street toward the library.

  After taking a number and waiting for what feels like most of my life (and it really is a healthy percentage of my life, considering I was born only two days ago), the last woman I want to see comes out. She has an “I don’t have time for your bullshit” look on her face before I even open my mouth. I don’t think I have the right vibe for her. Her first name is Denise and her last name hard to pronounce, so I know what I’m going to call her.

  “Follow me,” Officer Denise says, pointing to a chair across from her desk. She leans back and takes a sip from a Styrofoam cup of coffee and says, “What seems to be the problem?”

  I explain everything—waking up in the hospital, the memory loss, the bloody cape I tossed, the eyewitness account of me being pushed into an ice sculpture, my possible disagreement with Lauren Montcalm, and lastly, the fact that my accounts have been completely drained and closed.

  “So we have a possible assault and…I’m sorry about the money, but I can’t do anything about your debts.”

  “No, that’s just it. I think someone stole it.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “I woke up in the hospital with no wallet, no ID, no money.”

  “How much do you think was stolen?”

  “I don’t know. All of it. I don’t know how much I had to begin with, but I charge a ton for matchmaking so I think I was flush.”

  It sounds bad when I say it out loud in a police station. Most things probably sound bad in a police station. The truth sounds the way your face looks under the unforgiving lights of a truck-stop bathroom. She jots down a few notes on a yellow legal pad and asks, “Do you know anyone who might have a problem with you? Do you have any enemies?”

  God. Enemies—that sounds so gangster. “Like I said, I have a few guesses. Right now my biggest lead is Lauren Montcalm.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you talking about the artist Lauren Montcalm?” she asks.

  “Yes! I had a recovered memory that I asked her for money.”

  “A recovered memory?”

  I nod. “The doctor said they would come back to me in flashes, like visions.”

  She recoils at the word visions. “Oh boy. Anything else?”

  I pull up Kobra’s Instagram profile and explain my issues with him.

  “He’s a major problem,” she says.

  “Wait, you know him? Who is he?”

  “He’s a major meth dealer in the area. We’ve never been able to get charges to stick, but he’s definitely dealing.”

  No surprise there, except I wonder how I hooked up with him in the first place. “Is he dangerous?”

  “You don’t get to the top of the heap in the drug world through pacifism.”

  I nod vigorously. I bet Kobra lied to me about being an international trader when I vetted him for the app.

  “What about this boyfriend?” Denise says boyfriend in a tone that is anything but innocent until proven guilty.

  “He’s in Switzerland.” Why does everyone have to assume it was JP?

  “Was he in Switzerland the night you were injured?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Speaking of your boyfriend, why can’t he help you find your residence?”

  “Again, he’s in Switzerland.”

  “Don’t you talk? Doesn’t he have a phone?”

  I take a deep breath and shrug. “I don’t know. I just…”

  “You don’t trust him, do you?”

  I look down at the desk. “Of course I trust him,” I lie. I mean, I sort of trust him. “I really don’t think that he hit me over the head.” JP is all I’ve got going for me, except Max.

  She’s doing that thing that cops do where they let you keep talking until you share some information that they can use against you. I correct myself: I’m here so she can help me, not so she can use something against me.

  “If anything, I’m worried he’s going to dump me. I mean, I’m a burden right now. I don’t know who I am. I have no access to money. And JP’s a catch. Like I said, I think some chick who wanted him for herself might have pushed me.”

  She nods thoughtfully. “I got it. I need to look into him, though. If we find that a crime took place, domestic partners are the most common assailants in cases involving injuries like yours.”

  “It wasn’t him.”

  “But you don’t remember the injury. Am I right?”

  I nod.

  “How long has he been out of town?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Does he have access to your bank accounts?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She clearly thinks he clocked me and skipped town, but I’m sure he didn’t. “We’ll let you know if we find anything,” she says, and hands me a business card so I can give her a call if I remember anything else.35 This is my cue to walk out, and it is clear that I was hoping for something she isn’t going to give.

  “I just need to file that assault report and get my money back.”

  “Gotcha.”

  But does she? I don’t need her distracted by JP and Kobra, even if he is a kingpin. I just need my money and I’m sure I can fix it all myself.

  * * *

  Max is already waiting for me when I leave the police station. As we walk back down the pee-filled streets to the car, he says, “I think I would have rather talked to a cop than a librarian. Jesus.”

  “What happened?”

  “God. I think that poor woman forgot the reasons she went into library science to begin with. It seems like she’s just a bouncer for the homeless. And bitter. I’ve never seen so much attitude, and I’m a black man.”

  With a laugh, I say, “I’m sorry.” I really am.

  “How did it go for you? Did the police figure anything out?”

  “Not yet. She has some ideas.” I wish she was less interested in JP and more interested in finding my money.

  A sick feeling overwhelms me when I think of telling Max that I’m broke. What if he leaves? What if JP really is the bad guy in my life? I’m not ready to face any of that, especially if I don’t need to. “She’s very interested in JP as a suspect. I don’t know, though. Casting suspicion everywhere just feels like unnecessary drama.”

  Max blurts out a laugh. “Mia, that’s what the police do. They investigate suspects.”

  He’s right. Plus, I have a business to run while the police do their job. And I have an idea. While waiting for Officer Denise, I couldn’t help but notice the chick next to me in the waiting room scanning Craigslist for casting calls. I announce, “I think we should go to a casting call. There will be tons of out-of-work chicks desperate for an opportunity, or at least a free meal.”36

  I wait for him to congratulate me on my genius. Instead he looks skeptical. “You want to solicit a date from all the women in line?” he says, thinking through the strategy out loud. “That sounds…awkward.”

  “True, but it’s pure genius.”

  “Let’s table that idea for now.” Table it until I forget it, is what he’s hoping, I think. Given my condition, this isn’t a bad play on his part.

  Meanwhile, I need to pop into a grocery store while he changes his mind. “Let’s stop by Vons. I need ibuprofen and water.” After yesterday’s all-day investigation and this morning’s escapades, I’ve got a tension headache the size of California.

  We get into the car and I tell him what I’ve learned about Kobra.

  “We had coffee with a drug lord this morning?” He stops to reflect for a moment. “That might be why Crystal isn’t talking to you.”

 
Come to think of it, that makes sense.

  “You know, I’ve made it until the age of twenty-nine as a black man without getting into trouble. And here you are, a pretty white girl, and you can’t seem to stay away from it.”

  He has a point. The only question is: how much trouble am I really in?

  Max navigates us smoothly to a nearby Vons and then offers me his arm as we walk up to the storefront. I don’t know if I’m just desperate and vulnerable or if I’m falling for him. His arm feels warm, solid, and muscled. “Max.” I look up at him all, let’s be honest, desperate and vulnerable, but also overcome. This man has been here for me like no one else and he doesn’t even know me. I want to tell him he looks handsome and reach up on my toes and kiss him. I want him to wrap his arms around me tight. Instead, I say, “Thank you.”

  Outside Vons is a homeless guy, and I recognize him immediately; he’s the guy from the beach on Friday. “Yo, Mia,” he says.

  “Wassup, Don?” His name rolls off my tongue without thinking.

  Max stops and does a double take. Then he looks directly at the guy. “You know Mia?”

  “I told you I volunteer at a local soup kitchen,” I say, all self-satisfied and smug. “Don remembers me.” I must have been one of the kindest volunteers.

  The guy laughs like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Um, no. I work for you.” Then he adds, “And you ate at the shelter with me at least once, back in the day.”

  “Sorry…what?” What does not capture how confused I am.

  I ate at the homeless shelter? How real does my life have to get?

  Max laughs. “I work for Mia too.” He holds out his hand and says, “I’m Max, I’m helping her with…day-to-day operations.”

  The guy nods.

  “I also chauffeur now and then.”

  Don brightens. “Really? God I’d love driving that Ferrari. You wouldn’t even have to pay me. Glad you do, Mia, but damn that’s a fine machine.”

  Just in case Don knows me better than I suspect, I ask him if he knows any other pertinent details, like, for instance, where I live. I kind of hope he says no, even though I want him to say yes. One way or the other, I’m not as highbrow as I thought. You can only be so much of a snob if you’re homeless.

  Don’s memory of me doesn’t extend that far. “I just know you have a thing for Jacques-o-late,” he says. This actually makes Max rolls his eyes.

  “Whaaat?” I say, all sarcastic. In a teasing voice, I add, “Once you go Jacques-o-late, you know.”

  Don laughs, and Max makes a noise like he’s holding in a comeback that’s about to burst out.

  After I verify that I still have Don’s number and give him another five bucks, we head into Vons. Max grabs a cart and then changes his mind and gets one of those half-size carts. I can tell he’s processing the conversation outside. Either that or he’s way too concerned about grocery carts. I act casual and look at a stand filled with Republic of California T-shirts. “Maybe I should get one—”

  “Mia, this worries me. I think you might have been running with a…dangerous crowd before.”

  “Max, you can’t say that just because I hired someone who’s struggling with homelessness. That’s how you make the world a better place, by offering people who are down on their luck a second chance.”

  “Um. True. But…” He stops pushing the cart in the middle of the aisle and looks into my eyes. “You’re currently vulnerable, and for whatever reason you’re making connections with—”

  “Don’t worry. It’s not like I’m hanging out with them. And any shady characters I have been hanging out with are being investigated by the police right now, remember?”

  He seems satisfied with that. After I grab some headache meds, we meander into the deli area. I peruse the deli counter sushi and stare so hard at the little plastic trays of California rolls with ginger that isn’t the right color and thumbprint-size dollops of wasabi, as if I think they’re about to tell me a secret and…they do.

  I suddenly flash back to the art museum. It’s not like I’m watching a movie, but I can see glimpses of the accident. I see sushi rolls arranged in an elaborate design. I’m eyeing the California rolls and some with the orange caviar stuff on top. I’m picking up a few and balancing a wineglass when I hear a commotion just outside the building.

  “Bitch!”

  I look up from the sushi table toward the door, along with a whole room of people dressed like they’re going to the Grammys. I don’t want to miss whatever is about to go down. I feel a little thrill, like I’m about to watch an after-school fight. Whoever yelled isn’t in sight so I add some wasabi to my plate, thinking I still have time before the fight breaks out. I pick up my drink and start walking somewhere with a better view of the drama. I spot a nice place close to an ice sculpture of Cupid.

  “I know you’re here, bitch” the voice yells. I look around for the angry woman, ready to watch the catfight that is clearly coming.

  “MIA, where are you, bitch?”

  Mia? She’s looking for me! Still clutching my drink and plate, I scan the crowd. From the sound of her voice, I’m thinking of ducking into the bathroom.

  It’s exactly like an after-school fight. All the ritzy philanthropists and art lovers in Long Beach are forming a circle to watch. “Excuse me, but would you hold my wine?” I ask the person next to me. I don’t want to spill it when the fight starts.

  I toss my hair like a pony as my attacker enters the circle. It isn’t a woman, though. It’s JP.

  I gasp in horror and lean against the deli counter to catch my breath.

  “Ma’am!”

  I blink and look again. No table of raw oysters on a bed of ice. No artfully arranged rolls of sushi. I’m back at Vons where the sushi is prepackaged and ready to go.

  The guy behind the deli counter repeats himself. “Ma’am? Do you need something? Are you okay?”

  I answer without looking at him. I’m looking for Max. “Sorry, I’m fine.”

  “So you don’t want the three-roll combo?”

  “No thanks. Sorry!”

  I spot Max. He’s in front of the Naked juices thinking way too hard about something. “Max!”

  “What is it?” he asks. “Did something happen?” He sets down a Green Machine juice.

  “I just remembered something. A woman was calling me a bitch and talking about her man, but then she disappeared and JP was standing there, but he was angry. I don’t know…it was confusing.”

  “Just sit down for a minute. You’ll probably start having more of these, especially when you talk about the events. It sounds like your mind is putting pieces together but still working out what should go where.”

  He steers me toward the front of the store and we sit in the in-store Starbucks. I drink a whole bottle of water and swallow some meds while Max waits patiently. I’m reeling from the vision, not to mention the headache. Thank God Max is here. Knowing that I’m not going through this alone is everything to me right now. I reach out for his hand and he gives mine a supportive squeeze in return. Tears of gratitude start to well in my eyes. I can’t believe I have this man to help me through this.

  For his part, I think he might just be waiting out my recovery, which is confirmed when he says, “That double bacon sandwich looks good.”

  I can’t help but laugh at the whole Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus aspect of this moment. Either way, I appreciate the support. A moment later, I let go of his hand because I’m totally buying this Martian a double bacon sandwich.37

  I’m not sure if he notices that I’m sort of crying in line while I get him a sandwich or if he’s just pretending not to because—tears, I get it. No judgment either way. Do I do tears? I doubt it.

  When I hand him the sandwich, he must notice that I look a little off. I mean, I am crying in a grocery store where we’re buyi
ng headache medicine because of my traumatic head injury and we just left the police station where I belatedly reported an assault.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “I’m fine,” I say with a smile that probably looks as fake as it feels.

  Max unwraps his sandwich and says, “Great. Do you still want to go to that casting call?”38

  “Do we have a choice?”

  “I still think it’s a dumb idea, for the record.”

  I don’t mention that it’s not my first choice either. Barely holding back tears at Vons says that loud and clear, but whatevs. I decide to be as fine as I told Max I was. “It’s the only idea was have. Let’s go make some wannabe actress’s day and cast her as Crystal.”

  35 Ha!

  36 Brilliant, right?

  37 More like letting JP buy him a sandwich if we’re doing proper accounting, which obviously isn’t my thing.

  38 And the verdict is in: he’s a 100 percent typical heterosexual male. Still cute, though.

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  Max cuts the engine when we get to the audition. It’s in a big old warehouse not far from downtown. The parking lot is surrounded with green plastic fencing that reminds me of the stuff strawberry baskets are made from. FOR RENT/FOR SALE and PARK HERE FOR $249 A MONTH signs are posted on the side of the building. It looks like they’re trying to make a buck off of literally anything. Like, don’t stand in front of this building or they might hawk you right along with a parking space. One girl, probably a wannabe actress, hops out of an Uber and heads toward the building. She’s the only thing keeping it from looking totally abandoned.

  “So how should we do this?” I ask Max. Up until we got here I hadn’t thought through the details. “But more important: can you do it?” I would like nothing more than to take a nap in the parking lot of this nearly abandoned warehouse right now.

  “No way in hell. This is the dumbest idea we’ve had yet.” Max looks like he means it. I can tell there’s no way he’s getting out of this car.

  “You are such a shitty employee.” I probably shouldn’t feel bad about not being able to pay him. He barely does anything.