“Sure thing, Miss. Don’t you wanna put that in the trunk? It takes an hour or so to get there,” he said, in a voice made melodious by a Latin accent.
“It’s okay, I’m very comfortable,” I replied around a yawn.
As the car slalomed through the busy traffic, at first I wondered what was so special about L.A. I expected something more glamorous than the industrial district we were passing through, which looked like any other I’d seen. But as we advanced to the center of the city, the sunlight began to brighten, and so did the landscape. The famous California palm trees and exotic vegetation bordered the streets, while glossy green hedges delineated properties. The architecture was diverse, ranging from ordinary houses to luxurious mansions, and on to extravagant villas with flowery balconies. Larger than life billboards advertised anything and everything, showing the new-comers how one could live the good life in the land where everything was possible.
I stared fascinated through the window, almost forgetting my exhaustion. I was finally here!
****
The Economy Inn was a tidy little building, with a sunny, beige facade. Fresh paint had been applied over extensive graffiti. I’d already called and reserved a room before leaving London, but I had nothing to worry about. There was a multitude of hotels and motels lining the streets.
I paid the cabby, took out my luggage, then walked into the building. After I registered at the reception desk, the plump blonde girl handed me the key to room 7 and pointed me to the right direction, on a corridor with hospital white tiles and hospital white walls.
I didn’t notice much of the white and yellow room, other than the two essentials I needed really badly at the moment: dark drapes, which I pulled immediately to block out the sun, and a large bed made up with beige sheets. Inside, it smelled nicely of furniture polish and cheap floor cleaner—I recognized the lemon smell, since I used the same product. The place was no palace, but at least it wasn’t a dump.
I left my suitcase propped against the wall in a corner, next to a narrow sofa and an ancient TV sitting on a small, scarred table. My suit was now unrecognizable—wrinkled, sweaty, and stained with some apple juice, which a toddler had spilled over me on the plane. I undressed and threw all my clothes onto the sofa. I didn’t think I’d have the energy to shower, but I was sure I couldn’t sleep without washing, so I dragged myself to the bathroom.
Yellow and small—what a surprise there! But there was a generous stash of clean towels, and the water was hot. I moaned as I got into the tub and let the shower spray down my body, washing away the aches in my muscles. I scrubbed my skin with handfuls of liquid soap, then shampooed my hair twice and brushed my teeth.
When I emerged from the bathroom I felt better, but even sleepier. I half-dried my hair with the hair-drier I found on a shelf, then pulled on a T-shirt and panties. I had the presence of mind to text my mom and Danny telling them I had arrived safely and I was going to be in touch tomorrow. Then I switched off the phone, crashed onto the bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.
****
I awoke disoriented and dizzy, feeling my bladder was about to explode. The room was dark, so it took me a few moments to remember where I was. When I did, I sat up very slowly, then staggered to the bathroom. After I used the toilet, I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wake up. Outside the tiny window I saw that twilight was descending over the city, enhancing its magnificent colors.
It must be past 9 pm, I thought, padding back to the room, barefoot. That meant I’d slept for more than twelve hours. Come to think of it, I felt considerably better. I sat down, rotating my head and shoulders cautiously. The cramp in my neck was gone, as was the soreness in my body.
“I’ve had enough of traveling to last me a lifetime,” I muttered, as I switched on the bedside lamp and reached for the TV remote. The image was slightly shaky and faded, but it didn’t bother me, since I wasn’t a TV addict. I left it on a movie channel, more to fill the silence in the room than a need to watch anything. When I turned my cell phone back on, I noticed its battery was nearly dead, so I plugged the charger into the wall socket next to the nightstand. It was 9:20 p.m., so I took my wrist watch and set the correct hour.
I rolled out of bed and went to the windows to open them widely. Since they overlooked the parking lot behind the hotel, there wasn’t much to see. However, it reminded me of the first thing on my agenda: I needed to buy a car tomorrow. But even more urgent than that was getting a meal. My stomach growled at the thought of food, and I realized I hadn’t eaten anything in almost twenty-four hours. That explained the dizziness.
I started to order something from room service, when I remembered I’d seen a burger place very close to the motel, maybe less than five hundred yards. Though I was reluctant to go out at night, I decided this was an occasion to check out the surroundings. Besides, I desperately needed a walk after all the inactivity of the past days. Usually I jogged at least three times a week, and exercised nearly every day. Pilates, yoga, aerobics, or simply my own kind of dancing—which I wouldn’t do with anyone around, ever—were daily activities for me. I needed to get back in shape.
I went to my suitcase, rummaged through my things, and chose a pair of jeans and a stretchy red T-shirt. As I slipped my feet into the only pair of sneakers I’d brought, it occurred to me I needed a new wardrobe to fit the new climate. I transferred my wallet and other essentials from the black purse into a comfortable messenger bag, which I strapped across my chest. After tucking my phone in my pocket, I scooped my hair into a ponytail and went out, locking the door behind me.
I stood a moment on the sidewalk, trying to orient myself. Cautiously, I started to the left, where I remembered seeing the fast food place. When I reached the corner, I nearly bumped into a youth who couldn’t be more than fifteen, but already had the inbred air of a future pen resident. The seat of his jeans nearly reached his knees, and his skinny arms were covered in tattoos.
“Hey, Mom, whatcha doin’ all by yourself at this time o’ night? Might bump into the big bad wolf, a pretty lady like you...”
I walked on without acknowledging him, looking straight ahead. My impulse was to roll my eyes and tell him to fuck off, that I was old enough to be his mother, but I knew the best thing was to ignore his type. When I noticed from the corner of my eye he was trailing me, I took a firmer grip on my bag, as I stopped for the traffic light. Thankfully, it went green instantly and I crossed the street, heading straight for the burger place. As I was opening the door, I noticed my follower had given up on me. Thank God the guy’s attention span was short! I didn’t really feel intimidated, but kids today could be more dangerous than adults, with all the controlled substances going around, and laws that weren’t harsh enough with minors.
The place was noisy and crowded, smelling of tasty, poisonous, delicious junk food. Not that I didn’t take care of my health, but now and then—usually at least three times a week—I felt the acute urge for grease and salt, fake meat and fries, onion rings, and God knows what substitutes were in hamburgers. I didn’t work out for pleasure, but from guilt, and to keep my ass fitting in my skinny jeans.
I ordered a double cheeseburger, fries and Sprite, then found a table in a corner. As I sat waiting for my food to arrive, I took my phone out and dialed my mother. The hum of voices around me was quite loud, but not enough to block a phone conversation. Mom answered after only a couple of rings. I spoke with her, then with Dad, told them my first impressions of the place, and confirmed once more I was very excited to be here.
I tried to alleviate their worries by telling them how nice people were here—liar, liar, pants on fire! I hadn’t actually met anyone, and had spoken only with a cab driver, the receptionist at the motel, and my fifteen-year-old admirer. But my parents didn’t need to know that. It was enough that my mother worried about everything, and my dad was borderline paranoid. I didn’t want to further provoke their state of mind.
“So tomorrow I’m going to look for a car,”
I said, mouthing my thanks to the waitress who brought my food. “My first impulse was to buy a second-hand one, but then I thought ‘What the hell?”. I deserve a new one. Most miraculous of all—I can afford it!” I said, grinning.
Dad chuckled. “I can’t argue there, but I do hope you won’t spend all of your money on a Ferrari or something like that.”
I laughed. “Geez, Dad, what would I do with a Ferrari? I only want a decent car to move around, that’s all. My focus now is getting a house, but from what I’ve seen so far, the prospects are discouraging. Prices are sky-high around here.”
“I’m sure you’ll find something, sweetheart. Just don’t rush into anything,” he said.
“I won’t. I have to go now, Daddy. My food is here and my stomach is rumbling so hard I think everyone can hear it. Love you, guys.”
“We love you too, baby. Take care, and enjoy your dinner. And remember what I told you about getting a gun,” he added seriously.
“I will look into it,” I promised, rolling my eyes. “Bye.”
I began eating ravenously, making plans in my head for the days to follow. I chewed thoughtfully and looked at my phone again, wondering if I should call Danny. But he was probably still on the plane. Besides, I had texted him, so he would call me when he could.
After I finished eating, I sipped my drink slowly, looking around me. Californians seemed just like everyone else, but I was amused to think I’d expected them to act or look as though they were from another planet. I smiled around my straw, realizing I was displaying all the ignorance of a country girl experiencing her first taste of a metropolis.
When I left, I looked to see if any suspicious characters were lurking around, but I didn’t spot anyone other than pedestrians, who seemed to walk purposefully to pursue their business. I would’ve liked to walk more than the few hundred yards to the motel, but it was now past 10, and I didn’t want to take any chances.
I returned to my room, consoling myself with the thought that I’d be busier than I wanted within the next few months. I undressed, put on my pajamas, then dug into a hidden pocket of my suitcase to take out a pack of chocolate cookies. I always had a stash somewhere. No one knew I was a sweetaholic. Well, I wasn’t, actually. I just did a lot of physical and mental effort, so I needed sugar for my health. I could never work without a snack of sorts. True, there were times when I found myself eating, then writing a sentence, then eating some more, which wasn’t really productive. But now I had my addiction under control. I only allowed myself a few cookies a day, and never ate after 8 pm.
Remembering that rule, I looked down guiltily at the biscuits in my hand. One time didn’t count, I told myself firmly, as I sat cross-legged on the bed and switched on my laptop. These were unusual circumstances. I needed my strength. Happy with this reasoning, I bit into a crunchy, sweet biscuit, closing my eyes in ecstasy. Some people needed coffee, others needed sex to get that punch in the gut that puts your entire body into motion. I needed sugar, and could see nothing wrong with that, as long as I worked my ass off to keep myself slim and healthy.
I accessed my email, frowning at a name I didn’t recognize: Sam Pavlovich. Curious, I opened the email and read:
Hello Miss Kensington,
This is Sam with Dream Beach Homes.
I saw that you looked at some beautiful homes on our website, DBH.com.
Do you have any questions about these homes? Would you like to go see any of them? I'd be happy to set up an appointment with you.
Please let me know how I can help with your home search.
With Appreciation,
Sam Pavlovich
I rolled my eyes, immediately sending the email to the spam folder. I heard realtors were generally a pain in the ass, so I didn’t give this much importance. I had accessed a number of real estate websites in search of an affordable house, so I had no recollection of this website in particular.
Having slept most of the day, I didn’t feel drowsy at all, so I decided to continue my virtual house hunt. I put on some music—I couldn’t do anything without music—then bent over the keyboard, shaking my head on the addictive beat of Nickleback’s ‘Burn it to the Ground’.
Almost two hours and six cookies later, my energy was totally spent. My back ached like hell as I stretched, and my ass had fallen asleep long ago. I rubbed my eyes, convinced they would start bleeding if I stared at the laptop screen for a single minute longer.
I yawned hugely for the umpteenth time. I was about to close the website I was looking at, when I stopped dead. I didn’t know how I’d missed it, except that I was tired and used by now to seeing only prices in seven figures. But there it was, a house for sale in Malibu at a price I could actually afford!
Chapter Six
By the time I finished my shower the next morning, I wasn’t all that enthusiastic about the house. First of all, one couldn’t buy a dog house in Malibu for that price. Second of all, the ad didn’t even have pictures of the property, which told me it had to look really bad. However, it was worth checking out, so I called the realtor to ask if I could see the house. Vicki—that was her name—was very polite, and said she could show me the property today if I wanted. I explained about only having arrived in Los Angeles and not having a car, but she offered to drive me.
“That’s awfully kind of you, Vicki,” I said, thinking she must be desperate for a sale. The house was on the market for one hundred and forty-two days, and judging by her eagerness, no one had visited it in a long time. The fact I had no competition was good, but also raised more question marks. I was more and more curious about this mysterious house.
I looked at my watch. “Listen, could we meet somewhere at... Let’s say 11:00, or do you have other plans?”
“11 is great,” she said in her breathless voice. “Where are you staying? I can come and pick you up. It’s a forty-five minute drive to Malibu.”
“I’m staying at a friend’s house right now, on Sunset Boulevard,” I lied, not wanting to appear broke by saying I was at the Economy Inn. “But I could meet you somewhere.”
She named a restaurant. Remembering I’d seen the place nearby, I agreed to wait for her at the corner.
“Okay. See you there at 11. I’ll be in a red Range Rover,” she said.
“And I’ll be in a red dress,” I added before disconnecting.
It wasn’t that I wanted to be conspicuous, but the simple, stretchy, knee-length dress was virtually unwrinkable and fit for almost any occasion. I shimmied into it, dug out ballet flats from my unpacked suitcase, then completed the outfit with my black, casual purse. After I put on some mascara and lip gloss, I twisted my hair into a braid that fell over my right shoulder. All in all, I gave the exact impression I wanted: a career woman who didn’t take any bullshit, but wasn’t completely unbending.
It was 10 when I left for the restaurant, because I wanted to have breakfast before I met Vicki. As soon as I stepped outside I put on my sunglasses. Though traffic was heavy, it was a pleasure walking on the sunny street flanked by lush vegetation. I couldn’t wait for the chance to explore more of the city after I finished my business with Vicki.
At the restaurant, I ordered Eggs Benedict. As I waited, I took out my tablet and started searching for car dealerships in the area. Buying a car was the next thing on my agenda today.
My meal arrived a bit late, so I ate hurriedly, then stepped out into the sun again to wait for Vicki.
At 11 sharp, a red Range Rover pulled up to the sidewalk. The blonde, middle-aged woman who was driving gave me a blinding smile, as I leaned toward the open window.
“Vicki?” I asked.
“Yes. Nice to meet you, Kendra. Hop in!”
“God, I love your car,” I said as I made myself comfortable on the passenger seat. “It’s like a small apartment.”
She laughed gaily. “It gets the job done. I do a lot of work-related traveling, and this is the most reliable car I’ve ever had. I’ve literally climbed mountains of snow in it.”
“It’s really great! I have to buy a car, and I think this might be a good choice,” I said.
As I looked around, I took advantage and studied Vicki discretely. She looked fit, young for her age, dressed in a smart business suit the color of pale leaves. Her practical shoes were the same color, and even the rims of her sunglasses were green.
“I highly recommend it, especially if you’re going to live on the coast. Do you specifically want a home in Malibu?” she asked.
“Not necessarily. I do want a place that is private. I would go so far as to say secluded. I don’t like crowds for long periods.”
She smiled. “I understand that. Los Angeles is a wonderful city, but it can get overly-crowded. I have a small place in Long Beach, where I often escape with my husband. What do you do, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Not at all. I’m a writer. This move was kind of an impulsive gesture for me, but I’m very excited to be here. I enjoy this house hunting thing,” I said, not untruthfully.
“Oh, you will love this house, trust me,” she assured me in her most convincing sales-pitch tone. “It’s perfect for a single person, or even a family. It’s completely private and secluded, just as you want. The yard isn’t very big, so you won’t have to tend it all the time. Plus, it has a roomy veranda, where you can put a desk and write to your heart’s content.”
We were now on the Pacific Coast Highway. I took note of the route we were taking, as Vicki told me more about the property. As we drove on, I began to feel butterflies in my stomach. Was this it? Could it be that easy?
“We’re almost there,” Vicki announced a while later.
She slowed down, then took a left turn on a street marked Paradise Cove Road. It was a narrow road, lined with vegetation, where signs with ‘Private Property’ were sprinkled along the way. It looked like I might have famous neighbors. The entire area was heavily forested and wonderfully unspoiled. The irregular terrain was full of slopes, making me wonder how people had managed to sneak here in this corner of nature, and create homes. Nature protected itself permanently through mudslides, rainstorms, earthquakes, the occasional tornados, but that didn’t stop the inhabitants from building and rebuilding their homes here. The unspeakable beauty of living here, between the ocean and mountains, was motivation enough to overcome any obstacles. I understood now why the Malibu community wanted to keep newcomers at bay, and maintain the charm of this picturesque place.
Celebrity Page 5
