“Ticket to Fresno, please,” she said to the cashier at the counter, having finally come to a decision—mostly based on the fact that she had no options. When she was on the bus, she pulled out her book and began to read. She understood Valjean, the way he absorbed the personas he inhabited. She knew he wasn’t real, but she still felt less alone, less of a stranger to herself and to everyone she met, as she read.
Hours later, she looked out the window. The bus was approaching the California border now: she saw it on the sign as the bus sped by. She stared at her reflection in the bus window and slowly began to change her posture. Her name was Jean, she decided. She’d been living in Los Angeles, trying to make a living as a screenwriter, but a bad situation with a friend had caused the bottom to fall out of her finances and her dreams. Slowly, over the course of the past year, she had lost it all, and eventually ended up on the streets. She had never imagined something like this would happen to her. She had been sleeping on the beach in Santa Monica for a while, but it didn’t feel safe. A transient woman she had met—she couldn’t remember her name now—had told her about Priscilla’s Place, so she had panhandled enough for a bus ticket and here she was, looking for somewhere to stay. She was not going to tell Priscilla who she really was. She had her colored contacts, her short, bleached hair. She would change her voice, change her posture, do everything in her power to become unrecognizable. It might not work—her father might have called and said to expect her. But she had to try. She couldn’t just walk in there and say who she was.
It was getting dark, and she was hungry and stiff. But she had nothing to sustain her, food-wise. She ran her thumb along the lottery ticket inside her shirt and considered the importance of this small slip of paper—how much it could sustain her, and for how long, if she managed to find a way to cash it without having to go to prison. It was too important to walk into Priscilla’s with, she realized. They would probably search her, looking for drugs or other contraband before she was allowed to stay at the shelter. She drew her hand away from the ticket. It was just a piece of paper—but it was everything to her, now. She needed to keep it safe. And she had an idea.
* * *
“I’d like to book a five-by-five,” Lucky said to the young man sitting behind the counter and glass at the storage facility. She slid the two Sarah Armstrong IDs toward him; he barely glanced at them, then slid the license and social security card back to her, as well as a clipboard and some forms in return.
“I saw your deal in the paper,” she said. She didn’t know about any deal but assumed there was one. There was always a deal of some sort, and her dad had taught her you were a fool not to ask.
“Right. It’s twenty-one dollars for your first month, plus a ten-dollar service fee.”
“Sounds fine to me. I only need the one month. And the locker has a code, not a key?”
“That’s correct.”
“And I can access it twenty-four/seven after today, with the code?”
“Also correct.”
“Okay, great. Just moving out of my boyfriend’s place and need to store a bit of stuff until my next place comes through.” When she had arrived, Lucky had walked around the back of the building and pulled some boxes out of the dumpster, filled with discarded items: books, clothes, papers, broken dishes, a set of encyclopedias. They sat outside the door now.
The young man just nodded, not at all interested in her story. “Cash or credit?” he asked.
“Cash,” she said, sliding two twenties under the glass and waiting for the change. She was officially broke. She filled out a form, and pocketed the pen while the young man was entering her data into his computer. Then he slid a sheet bearing the locker code under the glass. “It’s locker number forty-four, second floor,” he said. “You use that same code to get in the door when we’re closed.”
“Got it, thanks.”
She carried the first box and then the second up to the locker, opened it with the code, and went inside. She stood still, looking around. A millipede darted out from behind one of the boxes and startled her. Her eyes swept the empty room, up and down. There: above her head was the fire alarm. The smoke detector was covered by a metal cage, but she was able to stand on one of the boxes and slide her fingers inside, loosen the plastic cover, and insert the folded-up lottery ticket. She got down, took out the pen she had stolen from the counter, and wrote down the locker code on an old receipt, just in case. She encrypted it, made it look like a shopping list. 16234170 turned into:
16 mushrooms
2 pounds of spinach
3/4 pound white beans
170 oz. rice
She had the tape in her backpack, and an X-acto knife She cut open the paper on the inside cover of Les Misérables, then slid the receipt inside and taped it there before taping the paper shut. She left the knife in the storage room, in one of the boxes.
She put the book in her backpack, locked the storage room, and went back to the front of the building, where there was a pay phone and a phone book. When she had found the address for Priscilla’s Place, she started to walk.
August 1999
SAUSALITO, CALIFORNIA
“You’re always there for me when I need you,” Lucky said to Alex. They were lying on a towel in the secluded area of the beach that had become their meeting place.
“Where else would I be, and what else do I have to do, except wait around to spend time with you, and come the second you call?” He kissed her, then gazed into her eyes. He had this way of looking at her that was so focused, so interested—as if every time he saw her, he was seeing her for the first time. “Where else would I want to be, except with the woman I’m falling in love with?” he murmured.
Woman. Falling in love. He made her feel like a grown-up. But she pulled away. “We barely know each other,” she forced herself to say, hearing her father’s voice—as little as she wanted to—telling her to be careful about whom she trusted. “How can we be falling in love?”
His smile widened. “Does that mean you’re falling in love with me, too?”
“Alex. I just think it’s a bit soon to know…”
He laughed. His ego clearly wasn’t wounded. He was so easygoing, so simple to be around. So sure about them. “Okay, okay. We need to get to know each other better, then. Less kissing, more talking, right? So, what do you want to know?”
“Maybe we can kiss and talk,” she said with a smile. “Where were you born?”
“Here.”
“Do your parents still live here?”
A shadow passed over his face.
“My parents died,” he said.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“No, no, it’s okay. It’s just… still hard to talk about. Maybe it always will be.”
He reached up and traced her jaw with his finger, then kissed it.
“What were they like?”
“They were great parents. Real adventurers. My dad had a little Cessna he kept up at our cabin, out near Muir Woods. We used to spend our summers there, go out there on weekends whenever we could.”
“What happened?” she whispered, her heart aching for him. Imagine having everything—a loving family, two parents—and losing that.
“Engine failure. They crashed. I wasn’t feeling well that day, and I was only eight, so I stayed home, with a babysitter. And I… survived.”
“Oh, Alex. I’m so sorry.”
“I still remember what it felt like, to fly with them.” His voice was faraway now. “How small the world looked to me, from way up there. How big it made me feel. How important, how special—to be up there, looking down. I’ve always wanted to do that again.”
“We’ll get a plane one day,” she said automatically, desperate to make him happy.
He was laughing again, the sadness lifted fast. “Oh, will we?” he said. “But we’ve only known each other for a few weeks, so how could we be falling in love, planning to buy small planes together…”
He
didn’t finish. They were kissing again. Finally, she came up for air and nestled against his chest.
“What happened after that?” she asked.
“After my parents…?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it wasn’t great. I was mostly raised in foster homes. And now that I’m over eighteen, I’m on my own. I have a shitty apartment, as you know, which is too messy for you to see. But I have big plans for the future.”
“I’m really sorry about your parents,” she said.
“Don’t be. I’m fine. So, come on. Keep going. What else do you want to know?”
They sat up and faced each other. Favorite novel? His was The Great Gatsby. Hers was a tough choice between A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Beloved, or Play It As It Lays. “But I’m really into short stories right now,” she said, suddenly worried. “Do I have to choose between short stories and novels?”
He laughed. “Don’t panic. You don’t have to choose between anything with me.”
They both liked old movies. His favorite was The Asphalt Jungle. Hers was Topkapi but she had a soft spot for My Fair Lady. They both liked ice cream better than chips, dogs better than cats. “We should get a dog and a plane,” he said.
“Yes,” Lucky said. “A rescue, right?”
“Rescue plane?”
“Dog, you goof. A big one. The biggest rescue dog we can find.”
“A German shepherd.”
“A husky. We’d need a big yard for that, maybe a house in the country…”
The sun was starting to set, and Lucky smiled up at the dimming sky; she barely knew where the time had gone. Her dad had been asking her lately where she was always off to, and she had lied and said she had met a friend named Alexa and that they hung out on the beach together most days. Who is she, where does she come from, can you trust her, how do you know that, why don’t you bring her back here so I can meet her? Lucky was so sick of her dad’s paranoia. She wanted to keep her burgeoning relationship to herself—so she was dismayed when she looked away from the sky and saw Reyes walking down the boardwalk toward them.
“Oh, shit,” she said.
“Who’s that?”
“She works with my dad. She’s weird. Not my favorite person.”
Reyes had seen them now. And Lucky had the sense it wasn’t a good thing that she had—that letting anyone else into their insular little world was going to spell trouble for her and Alex.
* * *
The next evening Lucky returned to the boat after a day spent with Alex to find Priscilla on the deck, as she often was these days. Her father was inside, fixing a pitcher of the sweet tea Priscilla apparently enjoyed—so now, suddenly, they always had lemons and white sugar and tea bags on hand, when before they had never been the kind of people to have anything on hand. Lucky dumped her beach bag on the table and said, “I just got home. I’m not going out again. So please don’t ask me to leave so you can have your meeting.”
“No, no,” her father said. “No need. This is a social visit. Priscilla was hoping to chat with you, actually. Get to know you a little more.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Good bosses take the time to get to know their employees.”
“I’m not her employee.”
“Lucky. Don’t let me down. Come outside, have some iced tea, be polite.”
There was something in his tone that told her he was intimidated by Priscilla, maybe even scared. She took the tray of iced tea and mismatched glasses from her father and said, “Let me serve.”
“Ah, the famous Alaina,” Priscilla said when Lucky emerged.
“It’s Lucky, actually.”
“Right. Alaina is just what it says on the IDs I got you. For your school stuff. All that is going well?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll be going to SFU in the fall.”
Lucky poured the teas and sat. It still made her uncomfortable that Priscilla had been the one to get her the ID, that she was beholden to her for anything. Lucky’s father nudged her, and she knew he expected her to say thank you to Priscilla, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
The sky was black now, and clouds had rolled in; there were no stars. The small talk continued, with mostly Priscilla asking questions, and her father being overly garrulous. Lucky felt more uncomfortable by the minute. Finally, she stood. “You know what, I forgot, I’m supposed to meet my friend for dinner,” she said, putting down her glass and standing. “She’ll be waiting for me. I really have to run.”
Priscilla leaned forward, smiling sweetly. “That’s nice you’ve made a friend, Lucky. What’s his name?”
“Her. Alexa,” Lucky lied, feeling a sense of foreboding as she did. She grabbed her backpack. “Anyway, nice to see you, bye.” She took off before her father could stop her, and started walking down the dock, thinking she would head to the pay phones outside the marina and call Alex, see what he was up to and if he did indeed feel like dinner, even though they had just parted ways less than an hour ago. He always said yes to her, always seemed to be waiting for her to call.
She was walking so fast she nearly ran straight into Reyes. “God! You scared me! What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for Priscilla,” Reyes said.
“Why didn’t you just go to the boat with her? Why are you lurking here in the dark?”
“Why are you so rude to me all the time? Why do you look at me like I’m a cockroach?”
Lucky couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Because Reyes spent so much more time with her dad than Lucky did these days? Because she seemed so secretive?
Reyes shoved her hands deeper into her pockets, the way she always did. “Whatever. I don’t care. I didn’t really feel like sitting around drinking iced tea tonight, but why should I have to explain that to you?”
“Okay, then, your choice.” Lucky started to walk again.
“Wait,” Reyes said. Lucky turned.
“What?”
“You need to know something. That’s Priscilla’s son, the guy you’ve been hanging around with. I was going to tell your dad—he asked me to keep an eye out for you. But you might as well know now, too.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Alex is Priscilla’s son?”
“That’s not his name. His name is Cary Matheson and yes, he’s Priscilla’s son, and he’s lying to you.”
“Fuck you!”
“Why do you think Priscilla has taken a sudden interest in you? What do you think is really going on here, Lucky? Have you been to his place? Do you even know where he lives? You don’t have all the facts.”
“And you do? You know Alex better than I do?”
“Cary,” Reyes said in a quiet voice. “His name is Cary. And yes, I do. I’ve known him for seven years. And he’s bad news. I don’t know what he wants with you, but now Priscilla knows about you two—and trust me, these are not the kind of people you want to get tangled up with.”
“You’re tangled up with them! You work for her!” But as Lucky spoke, she realized she was the one who was tangled up. She didn’t want to believe Reyes, but she already knew it was probably true.
Reyes’s eyes were troubled. “I wish I didn’t work for her. I wish your dad didn’t. But we’re in it now. There’s nothing we can do. It’s not too late for you, though. You can walk away.”
“I don’t believe you. You just want us apart.”
“What reason would I have for wanting you and Cary apart?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you want him for yourself.”
Reyes laughed softly. “Not a chance in hell.”
Lucky turned away from her and ran through the darkness, toward the pay phones. Alex—or Cary, or whoever he was—answered right away. There was music in the background, but he turned it down. “Hey, babe. What’s up?”
“Is your name really Alex? Or is your name Cary Matheson and is Priscilla your mother? Where are you, right now? Where do you actually live?”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down, what is th
is about?”
“Answer my questions.”
He was silent. It lasted so long Lucky knew it was all true, and that realization made her heartsick.
“Who told you? Reyes? I should have known. That girl is such a bitch. And she’s totally nuts. Weird, like you said.”
Lucky closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. She had fallen for it. She was a mark. “Why did you lie to me?”
“Just stay where you are and I’ll come to you and explain everything. You’re at the pay phones?”
“No. I don’t want to see you.”
“I care about you so much; I have since the moment I laid eyes on you. I was afraid if you knew who my mother was, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”
“I barely even know your mother—or I didn’t then, so why would I have cared?”
“I’m not wrong, admit it. You found out who my mother is, and now you don’t want to see me.”
This was a familiar sensation, the slow turning of the tables on her. She had been through this too many times with her father. She wasn’t going to let him—Alex, Cary, this stranger to her—do it. “So, everything you’ve told me is a lie. Your parents, the plane crash? All lies?”
“Just let me explain myself.”
“You aren’t who I thought you were. What is there to explain?”
“Correction. I’m not who you wanted me to be. What if I’m something better, Alaina? Did you ever think of that?”
It felt like a gut punch. “You know my name isn’t really Alaina. If Priscilla is your mother, you know that. So don’t call me that.”
“Yeah, but the difference is, I don’t care if your name is Alaina, or Luciana, or Lucky, or whatever. We’ve both been hiding stuff. But it doesn’t bother me. Why should it bother you?”
“Because. I don’t want to be with someone like…”
Lucky Page 12
