by Amy Craig
She tagged the Modesto food truck and calculated her followers would have to spend sixty dollars to offset the price of her lentil soup. She looked at the remaining sweet potato fries in her composition and thought, Good thing the fries were free.
She popped one into her mouth and watched another food truck employee begin to pack up the bistro tables. The diminishing crowd on the sidewalk went back to their daily pursuits and left her in the shade of the tree, alone and unobserved. I’ll need more than luck and good looks to get myself out of this situation.
Chapter Two
Walkers, bikers and people-watchers thronged the lush twenty-acre park overlooking the Pacific Ocean, but Wylie chose a spot away from the area where she normally hosted her yoga classes. Palisades Park might connect with the broad beach from Baywatch, but she gambled that the television series’ iconic episodes had never profiled the expansive asphalt of this particular parking lot.
She ignored the scrubby hills on the other side of the Pacific Coast Highway and walked past children playing on a rope playground. Their guardians tapped their smartphones and looked at her with mild interest. Wylie did not smile back. Instead of their village aspirations, she had come here to drown her thoughts with the anonymity of a parking lot, acres of open beach and the sounds of crashing waves. She dropped a towel on the sand and pulled on a baseball cap to shield her eyes. Is this what people do all day when they don’t have a job or a place to go? They find places to get lost?
Tower eight looked empty in the mid-afternoon light. Wylie wondered if lifeguard stands north of the pier remained unstaffed until Memorial Day. She thought of climbing the tower’s steps and claiming the structure. Maybe I can sleep there for a while? She turned and looked at the public restroom facilities and rinse-off showers near the parking lot.
An LAPD cruiser pulled in.
She faced the water. Maybe not.
The sound of the waves overrode her uncertainty until a woman’s off-key singing became too loud to ignore.
As the performer came closer, Free Bird lyrics dissolved into a vocalized guitar riff. The woman settled on the bare sand, too close for comfort and too loud to ignore.
She covered her ears. “Do you mind?”
The woman shrugged. “This is my spot but feel free. You can sing along.”
“What do you mean, this is your spot?”
The woman stopped singing and looked at Wylie. Age spots covered her tanned skin, but her blue eyes and mainstream sun-streaked brown hair could have easily blended with the crowds inside a neighborhood coffee shop.
Then Wylie looked closer and saw the woman’s unpainted toenails, faded jeans and ragged hoodie. She wondered if the freestyle beach performer had enough change to cover a cup of coffee. She pulled her knees up and rested her chin on the thick material of her workout gear. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Sing as much as you want. It’s a free world.”
The frayed woman stood and dropped down to the sand beside her. “I’m Penny Lane.”
“Wylie,” she answered, wondering if Penny Lane’s performance had been a tribute or a clue to the woman’s underlying mental condition.
Penny Lane leaned back and yawned. “It’s such a pretty day. Why are you sitting out here all by yourself?”
Wylie kept her eyes on the ocean. “I just needed a break.”
“Sure, but I mean, don’t you have people?”
“No,” Wylie said. She watched a gull cruise over the wide Pacific and thought about the long car ride separating her from the family she could claim. “I don’t have people.”
Penny Lane laughed. “I have too many people—people who want things from me, people who want to steal my stuff. I come out here to get rid of too many people and just think about the important ones.”
Wylie hoped silence would get her out of the conversation, but her new friend kept talking.
“I used to live on the bluffs overlooking the ocean or camp out at Will Rogers State Beach. It sounds ideal, but I had million-dollar views and nothing but the clothes on my back.” She cleared her throat. “Well, I had a tent, but when most people think of homelessness in Los Angeles, they think of faceless forms sleeping on the concrete in Skid Row, Venice and Santa Monica. That wasn’t my MO.”
Wylie glanced at the woman then looked up at the dense brush climbing the hillside on the other side of the freeway. She realized that without her SUV or a clear solution to her problem, the steep landscape could easily become her only option for a home.
She realized that her family and account balance gave her choices, but pride and ambition were forcing her to play the long game. The possibilities of roughing it had seemed vaguely romantic until she’d met Penny Lane and thought of the dangers hiding on the steep slope. I’ll swallow my pride and take the bus to Oregon before I let myself feel that exposed.
Money and the state of their family finances felt like a thread woven throughout the tapestry of her childhood. She knew her parents worked hard to pay the bills, but she wished she had been older before she had seen the seams and learned to balance a checkbook. She wished she had experienced Disneyland without wondering about the cost of the ticket. As graduation approached, her parents had pushed her toward college degrees with six-figure incomes, but Wylie had balked and planted her feet on the beach. Her parents had retired and moved to Oregon, giving her a final choice to follow them. Instead, she had moved out, more determined than ever to stay in the basin and prove she could earn a living as a freelance yoga instructor. What would I have done without a marketable skillset? She turned her back on the coyotes, snakes and human predators camouflaged by the steep slope and focused on being a sympathetic listener.
“It’s not so bad,” Penny Lane said. “A few years ago, we had a pretty big community out there. I liked it, you know? It made me think of my family back in New Jersey. My mom and I lived in a borough called Palisades Park. I think she would have gotten a kick out of this beach if she had lived long enough to see it.”
Wylie stopped looking at the ocean and laid her head on her knees as she asked Penny Lane, “What happened to her?”
“Old age. Poverty. She got sick and waited too long to ask for help.”
Wylie nodded, but she realized that the gulf between them had widened. Her mother relied on an established relationship with a primary care physician.
Penny Lane smiled. “So after she passed, I came out here and found a new home. Except, instead of just facing poverty, I had to spend my time wondering what people wanted from me. Most of my new friends had a touch of mental illness. People usually have a reason they find themselves sleeping rough.”
Wylie closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry I don’t have any spare money to give you.”
Penny Lane laughed. “A couple of years ago, local residents formed the Pacific Palisades Task Force on Homelessness. They put in the hours and cleared the bluff through a combination of outreach, treatment and housing. They had plenty of money. It didn’t work.”
Wylie looked at the woman. “Why not?”
Penny Lane took a deep breath. “People came back.”
“Why?”
“It’s got to be the whole package,” she said. “I’m one of the lucky ones. I ended up making friends with an older guy named Larry and lived with him for a few years. He was my best friend, but he had Parkinson’s disease and it just got worse and worse.” She took a deep breath. “He committed suicide about three weeks ago. He died.”
Wylie nodded to show she understood.
“But I took care of him and stuck with him until the end. He was on Supplemental Security Income, so he paid all the bills and everything. One day, he sent me to the grocery store, and when I came back, he was gone.”
“That’s so sad.”
“I don’t know why he wanted to die alone.”
They sat in the cocoon of the ocean waves.
“Maybe he wanted to protect you,” Wylie said.
The woman nodded. “Maybe.”
Hoping Penny Lane’s anxiety responded to the rhythm of tasks, Wylie sketched circles in the sand. “Sometimes I find it helpful to write down my to-do lists. Even if I don’t stick to the lists, they dampen my uncertainties and reassure me that I have a plan and proof of what I’ve accomplished.”
“Never been much of a planner,” Penny Lane said.
“Start with a small decision.”
“I want to donate his clothes to the homeless shelter. I know people could use them.”
Wylie nodded. “That’s a good task! Start small.”
The woman started singing Free Bird again.
At least she’s looking forward. Wylie wondered if she could break down her needs into similar increments. It seemed so much easier to make choices for other people than to make choices for herself. “My roommate kicked me out too,” she said. “She didn’t give me any warning and everything I own fits in two duffel bags.”
Penny Lane stopped singing. “That’s a light load. You’re more flexible when you’re young.” A minute passed and she finished the next verse. “I figured something bad had happened to you. You’re too young and pretty to be sitting out here by yourself. You don’t look like you’re even enjoying the beach.”
Wylie toyed with the sand and thought of Penny Lane’s story. “I don’t have a lot of room to complain about my choices. I just need to find a new place to live until I get my life sorted out.”
Penny Lane looked up at the hillside. “Yeah, we’re always one step away from success. My stuff’s probably still up there under a bush. I bet one or two of the people from the old camp never even left their spots—the ones who didn’t want four walls and a roof to cage them in.”
“You shouldn’t go back there,” Wylie said. She stood, brushed the sand from her yoga mat, shook out her towel and folded it over her arm. “It’s just going to seem normal again. You’ll forget Larry and the security of what you had when you two were together.”
Penny Lane stood and stretched, her sweatshirt riding up to expose the smooth white skin of her stomach. “No. I came out here on the seven-twenty to remember him. You can spend hours with your head propped against the glass, watching the blocks pass and worrying about what you’re going to do next. We used to take the bus out here and enjoy the view. It’s a cheap way to reflect.”
“Reflect on what?” Wylie asked, ignoring the twenty-five-dollar fees she charged her students to capitalize on the sounds of the ocean. An hour of solitude improved their bodies, but it also gave them an opportunity to pinpoint their negative tendencies and bad habits.
The woman fingered a small vial hanging from her necklace. “Reflect on what would have happened if our lives had turned out differently.”
“And if they hadn’t? What if this reality is your only option?”
Penny Lane laughed. “You’re so young. Don’t you see how many options you have left?”
Wylie glanced at the hills. Don’t you see how much you’ve lost? She kept her mouth shut, determined to respect a woman who had befriended her without asking for anything in return.
The haggard woman smiled. “Larry and me, we were just grateful for where we were and what we had left. Fate and circumstance might have narrowed our choices, but we still got to make the final decisions.”
Wylie nodded, looked at the scrub-covered hillside and doubled down on her resolve to stay in Los Angeles and find a way to earn a living in the star-studded town. “Thanks for sitting with me.”
“Don’t you have anybody you can call? Friends? An ex-boyfriend you could call?”
“Not really.” She looked at the kids running around the playground. “They’re all living paycheck to paycheck like I am. Nobody I know has the means to settle down.”
Penny Lane hummed the chorus of her song. “Some of us never do.”
* * * *
The threat of rush-hour traffic and meaningless gas consumption pushed Wylie toward the allure of a solid building. Tired of using her phone to search for housing solutions, she took shelter at a one-story library. From the outside, suburban homes and towering eucalyptus trees created a scenic diversion, but Wylie paused the moment she stepped inside. Screaming kids filled the children’s section and more than one sleeping person occupied a bench in the lobby.
She walked past the nameless men and women, determined to avoid their fate and limit her empathy to Penny Lane. Then she took a deep breath and applied for a library card to use the computers. Two hours later, the lackluster results of her search left her feeling exhausted and frustrated.
She thought of Penny Lane’s question. ‘Don’t you have anybody you can call?’ She sought out a quiet corner of the library and sighed. I didn’t want to go there.
“Wylie!” her ex-boyfriend shouted into the phone.
House music filled the background and she sighed, relieved he had taken the call. “Rusty,” she said, “it’s good to hear your voice.”
“Are you coming to the opening tonight?”
She plugged her other ear to block out the competing noise of the library. “What opening?”
“I have a new club. The Social Club. I put you on the list.”
Wylie looked at her yoga gear and wondered how bad she smelled after an entire day of elemental exposure. “No, I don’t think I’m going to make it to the opening. I need a favor, though. Could I sleep on your couch for a few nights? My roommate kicked me out.”
“I told you Dottie was a bad choice.”
Wylie exhaled. You also told me we were exclusive and threw plates at the wall when I called you out on it. She ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach and focused on getting what she needed out of the conversation. “Turns out you were right.”
“No can do on the couch. I have a new girl and she’s not the sharing type.”
“Sure,” Wylie said. She closed her eyes. “Of course.”
“You should come to the club.”
She looked at a bedraggled woman staring at a bulletin board. “Maybe when things settle down.”
“Yoga on the rooftop,” Rusty said like he had invented the idea. “We could do a happy hour special. Don’t get drunk and fall off!”
“Hilarious.” Wylie prepared to end the call, but the reality of her situation merged with the hunger clawing at her empty stomach. Desperation made her hide her memories of life with Rusty and focus on the bright spots in their relationship, like the time he had bought her flowers. The only time. She steeled her resolve and swallowed her pride. “Rusty, wait! Before you go. Maybe I could pick up a few shifts at this club? Like, don’t you need waitresses or something?”
“I don’t know if Candy would like that.”
“Candy? Seriously?”
Rusty defended his new girlfriend. “She’s Southern.”
Wylie amended the man’s statement. She’s a Southern stripper. “I need to pull in some extra cash if I want to get my own place. My mom will probably co-sign a lease, but I have to cover deposit and rent. Right now I just don’t have enough.”
“All my money’s tied up in the club.”
“Rusty, I’m not asking you for money.”
He stayed quiet and she bided her time listening to the pulsing house music. She imagined him scratching his hair and finding purpose in the tangle of his reddish-brown locks. Or did he find a tick? Why did I ever fall for him? We yelled as much as we made up. Then she remembered the man’s pathetic first attempt at beachside yoga. Even in Downward Dog, he seemed more like a stray than I did. Now who’s the lost cause?
“Sure. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”
Wylie took a deep breath. “You mean that?”
“I’ll text you the address. Just come by at five and wear all black.”
“Won’t that make it hard for patrons to see me?”
Rusty declined to answer the question.
She checked their connection and heard him respond to a question from someone in the bar. Tired of dangling at the end of the line, she
thought of ways to grab his attention. “Rusty? Remember that time we went to Vegas?”
“Vegas?” The background music transitioned to a new track. “Yeah. Five gallons.”
“Five gallons?” she asked.
“Sorry. We’re setting up the bar. Look, Wylie… I have somewhere I have to be right now.”
She looked at the shelves of books and the neon sculptures above the library doors. “Lucky you.” She hung up the phone, returned to the beach and saw Penny Lane sitting beneath a streetlight at the edge of the playground.
The woman made eye contact and her face brightened in recognition.
“Get in,” she said. “I’ll buy you a sandwich for dinner, as long as it’s cheap.”
“You’ll have to leave the village.”
She laughed. “We can buy a week’s worth of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the price of something from the village.”
Penny Lane toyed with the radio. “Some people never figure out that fact.”
Wylie drove the two of them to a small grocery.
“I took your suggestion,” the older woman said when they arrived in the parking lot. “I donated all his clothes.”
“And?”
“And it felt good.”
Wylie grinned and climbed from the SUV. She selected a bag of bread, nonperishable spreads and a couple of liters of water. When she returned to the car, she found Penny Lane seated on the tailback, her legs swinging as she used a stack of yoga equipment for a backrest.
Ten minutes later, the woman bit into her peanut butter and jelly sandwich and smiled. “I told you to get the chocolate. You need to take advantage of life’s small pleasures.”
Wylie chewed the gummy mess in her hands, mortified to recall the days she’d spent counting calories or completely avoiding them. “I’m saving my money.”
“For what.”
“Rent. Life. Whatever happens to me next.”
Penny Lane sipped from a dented water bottle. “Don’t spend too long worrying about what happens next. I’m proof of what happens when you stall out.”
Wylie took a deep breath. “I took your advice and called an old boyfriend.”
