by Dianne Emley
The Last Call’s front door was open, but a wood panel six feet tall, four feet wide, and painted a dull black stood just inside it to discourage people from casually peeking inside. There were windows on either side. In one, a neon sign advertising Coors beer shone pale yellow through the grimy glass and the security bars. In the other, NO ONE UNDER 21 ADMITTED was barely visible through the dirt. A neon sign with THE LAST CALL in tall letters and a martini glass holding an olive leaned into the street from the roof. The strains of a Led Zeppelin tune filtered onto the sidewalk.
“Thank you for this lovely adventure, Paula,” Iris muttered to herself as she clutched her purse close under one arm and the paper bag under the other. She stepped through the doorway and around the panel. The air smelled stale and faintly odorous, suggesting sources that she preferred not thinking about. The light was dim and she stood just inside the door waiting for her eyes to adjust. The song was over and the music stopped. The lights of a jukebox shone against a far wall. She could make out a dark shape standing in front of it and then heard coins rattling through the mechanism.
She felt people watching her, although she couldn’t make out much more than dark shadows in the gloom. She heard them rustling. She imagined them wondering what a well-dressed woman was doing in such a place and speculating about what she could want from them or what they could get from her. The clack of billiard balls resonated from somewhere in the back.
A country-and-western song came on this time and the person in front of the jukebox started clapping with the music and doing line dance steps.
Cursing under her breath, Iris began walking toward the end of the bar, where she’d spotted some empty stools far from the other patrons.
Paula Texas two-stepped behind her, singing along with the jukebox. “You promised you’d never leave…” She grabbed Iris’s hand, put her arm around her waist, and tried to dance with her. “Now you’re sayin’ you’re never comin’ back. Well, baby, don’t let the door…”
When Iris remained frozen, Paula continued dancing on her own. “Who would have thought? An old rock-and-roller like me into country.”
“I left the office early to meet you.”
Paula puckered her lips. “What a sourpuss. Don’t tell me you haven’t had any fun since I’ve been gone.”
“Oh yeah. Life with you was a barrel of monkeys. Remember when you slept with my boyfriend and stole my money? Gee whiz. I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun.”
Paula theatrically hunched her shoulders and tiptoed past Iris toward the bar. “Would Madame like a drink?”
“Madame would like to know why the hell she’s here.”
Paula continued tiptoeing, casting mock tentative glances at Iris, who was growing more irritated by the minute. They walked to the end of the bar, passing men hunkered over their drinks who could have been anywhere from twenty to fifty years old. They wore jeans and T- or flannel shirts and long hair—the rock and roller’s uniform of the past three generations. Posters from 1960s concerts given by the Grateful Dead, Jimi Hendrix, and the Jefferson Airplane were hung behind the bar. An extra-large bottle of aspirin stood next to a heavy, old, steel cash register. Scattered bottles of booze with few premium brands stood on shelves that were backed with mirrored panels.
“Strawberry daiquiri?” Paula grinned. “Or have you moved on to something stronger? Seems like everyone I knew who was as straight as you has gone wild and the people I knew who were wild-ass crazy have found Jesus or something.” She threw her head back and laughed. “Or they’re dead.”
Paula’s voice was the same, loud without effort and clipped in a way that was accusing and demanding at the same time. Her hair, always lush and wavy, reached the middle of her back and was still dark chestnut brown. The color looked unnaturally uniform, as if she might be using a rinse to cover gray. Her figure had filled out from the voluptuous twenty-year-old that Iris knew. She looked much older than her years. “Except for me. Though it wasn’t for lack of trying.”
Iris brushed off a stool before sitting down. “I’ll have something in a sealed bottle.”
“Toby, two Coors in bottles, please.”
Toby, the bartender, had deep vertical lines in his face. His long gray-streaked hair was gathered at the nape of his neck with a rubber band. A gold hoop earring dangled from an ear. He jerked the bottle tops off with an opener bolted to the side of the bar, the caps clattering when they hit the many others already on the ground. He set two dewy bottles and two milky glasses in front of them.
Iris pushed the glass aside, wiped off the bottle with her hand, and drank straight from it.
Paula lit a cigarette. She puckered her full lips and frowned as she dragged on it, accentuating the wrinkles between her eyebrows and the vertical lines on her lips. She still wore the heavy eyeliner and mascara that she’d worn at twenty and the effect was harsh against her older skin. The gold chains were gone but each ear now displayed three pierced earrings in ascending sizes, ending with big gold hoops.
Iris swatted at the smoke.
“Iris, you started out this way the other day. You’re just determined to be a pain in the ass, aren’t you?”
“I’m just getting warmed up.”
They stared at each other as if waiting to see who would blink first, though no one had set the rules of the game.
After several seconds, Iris couldn’t resist adding, “I want you to experience the full dose.”
A smile began to tease the corners of Paula’s lips. Iris pressed hers together to keep herself from smiling, but was losing control. Paula let loose an explosion of laughter. Iris followed right behind her. Paula slapped the bar and held her head in her hands. Iris held her aching ribs and wiped tears from her eyes. They began to calm down but got started all over again when Iris accidentally made a snorting noise when she inhaled. After a few minutes, their breathless laughter subsided into scattered chuckles.
Paula regarded Iris. “You look good, girlfriend.”
“Thanks,” Iris said.
“Real establishment.”
“I’ve even voted Republican once or twice. So, ah, what have you been up to?”
“I know,” Paula gestured toward herself with the cigarette. “I look like shit.”
Iris laughed again. “What the hell have you been doing for the past twenty years?”
Paula languidly shook her head as if there were too many things to even mention. She abruptly grew serious, leaning her elbows against the bar and staring straight ahead. “I’d really hoped you’d forgiven me. Not just for that thing with your boyfriend and your money but, you know, for everything. I just couldn’t stop hurting people I cared about. I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t stop.” She looked at Iris. “I’m sorry.”
Iris regarded the dark circles under Paula’s eyes and the deep lines in her face. “That’s a lot to forgive, Paula. I don’t think you’ve done anything to earn it.”
Paula looked away and expelled air as if she was being deflated. “You really have turned into a tough broad, haven’t you?”
Iris sipped her Coors. “I’m not trying to be tough. Just saying what’s on my mind.”
“I thought leaving made me tough. Every time things in my life got rough”—she jerked her thumb over her shoulder—“see ya!” She knocked ash from her cigarette with a flick of her middle finger and dragged hard on it again. “But some situations you just need to deal with. Walk through the fire, you know? And when you come out…” She clenched her fist and tapped her chest with it.
“Paula!” a man shouted from the pool tables at the back of the bar. “Hi, baby.”
Paula raised her hand listlessly.
“I love you, baby! Is that your friend you were waiting for?”
“I told you her name’s Iris.”
“Hi, Iris!”
Paula explained, “That’s Angus and his friend Bobby.”
“Angus?” Iris asked.
“Yeah, well.”
“
Hi, Angus and Bobby,” Iris shouted back through the cigarette smoke.
Paula said, “So what happened between you and Mr. Satisfaction after that night? I imagine you told him he could park his dick somewhere else.”
Iris just smiled.
“Don’t tell me. You took him back, didn’t you?”
Iris held two fingers in the air.
“Peace?”
Iris raised the fingers again.
“Twice? You took him back twice? Jesus H. Christ, Iris. Can’t you pick ‘em better than that?”
“Don’t worry, Paula. You haven’t cornered the market on doing stupid things with your life. I’m great in business. Lousy in relationships.”
“You married?”
“No. You?”
“I was, once or twice.” She jerked her thumb toward the pool tables. “Not to him, though. Got any kids?”
“No. You?”
“Yeah, I got a couple. But they’re not with me.” Paula scratched at something on her face almost as if it might detract from what they were talking about. “So are you happy, Iris?”
Iris became thoughtful. Finally, she said, “Yeah. I’m happy.”
“Being happy’s like being in love. If you have to think too long about it, you’re probably not.”
“I’m happy,” Iris insisted. “I’m being promoted into the job I’ve wanted for years. I’ve got a couple of new men on the horizon.”
“Yeah, who?”
“Your brother, for one.”
Paula blinked. “Thomas?”
“We’re having dinner tomorrow night.”
“You do have bad taste, don’t you?”
“How do you know what he’s like now? You haven’t been around.”
“A date isn’t the only thing he wants, Iris.”
“Paula!” Angus yelled from the back of the bar. “Baby, I’m lonely.”
“I’m talking to Iris!”
Iris retorted, “I’m not going to fall into bed with him.”
“That’s not what I meant. He’s only trying to use you to get to me.”
Iris leaned away from the bar and folded her arms across her chest. “Why don’t you illuminate this situation for me? Why did your father ask me to find you when he’d already been in contact with you?”
“Because he didn’t want you to know about what I have that he wants. He thought you could sweet-talk me into showing up so he and I could have a little mano a mano. He doesn’t know where I live, see? I’ve been moving around a lot just to keep him off base.”
“What you have that he wants?”
Paula leaned close to her. “My grandfather’s will, the real one.”
“His will? What about the one that was read after his murder?”
“Didn’t we all wonder why Gabriel left the rancho to both my mom and the old man? Everyone knew the last thing Gabriel wanted was my father to get his hands on Las Mariposas. So with Gabriel out of the picture, the old man forged his will. It would have been beautiful except the old man never got rid of the real will.”
“How did you get it?”
“Remember when my mom flipped out and she made me take that picture of my grandparents’ wedding? The will was hidden in the back. All these years, I never knew it until the picture broke in the earthquake.” She chuckled throatily. “The old fart left the old man one square foot of dirt.” She threw her head back and laughed, slapping the bar and clutching her ribs. She laughed harder and harder. Some of the other patrons couldn’t help laughing with her.
Iris wasn’t laughing.
“C’mon, Iris. It’s funny!”
“I don’t find anything funny.”
Paula snapped her fingers as if an idea had occurred to her. “You can help me get the cash from the old man.” She scratched her head. “How do they do that? You know, like when somebody’s kidnapped somebody? You leave the person in one place and then you have them leave the money someplace else. Isn’t that how it works?”
“Your mother left me a message right before she died. She thought your father was trying to kill her.”
“So what? I thought he’d killed her years ago when he had her head fried.”
“What’s it like to go through life not giving a rat’s ass about anyone but yourself?”
“Hey! No one ever cared about me, okay? Now it’s my turn to do some taking.”
Iris regarded Paula dispassionately. “You still haven’t forgiven her, have you? She did the best she could.”
“Well, it wasn’t good enough.”
“She reached out to you for help. She wanted you to have your grandfather’s will. She was hoping you’d do the right thing.”
“She was out of her head. She didn’t know what the fuck she was doing.”
“And you have the gall to ask me for forgiveness.”
“Paula baby!” Angus yelled. “Let’s go!”
“How much are you asking for the will?” Iris asked.
“Fifty thousand,” Paula said in a manner intended to impress.
Iris made an unkind noise. “At least ask for something in the six figures.”
Paula glared at her. “You think you always know more, don’t you? But you don’t. You don’t know what it was like to live on that hill. You don’t know. So don’t get on your high horse and preach to me.”
“Why do you hate them so much?”
“Just don’t judge me. You’re not me.”
Iris slid off the barstool. “I’m not you, but I’m still going to form an opinion of you, whether you like it or not.” She pushed the brown paper bag toward her. “Here. Your father wanted you to have this.”
Paula tentatively unrolled the bag. She peered inside, then reached in, her expression still hard but without her previous conviction. She took out a small jewelry box covered in faded purple velvet and gold braid. The braid drooped in places where it had lost its adhesive.
“It’s her good jewelry,” Iris explained
“I remember. I’m not a complete idiot.” She squared the box on the bar. “It was for nice. So she never wore it because she never went anyplace nice.” She looked at Iris. “Did you open it?”
“Of course.”
“I used to look at it when I was a kid, but she’d never let me play with it.” Paula opened the hinged lid. She prodded the contents with her index finger, her jaw tightening, the finger jabbing in the box harder and harder. “That son of a bitch.” She picked up a necklace with a pendant and waved it. “This is dime-store junk. It’s not even gold.” She slapped it on the bar and took out a charm bracelet, threw it on the bar, then picked up the box and turned it over, dumping out the last few pieces. “Bastard gave her crap and she kept it like it was something special. I was just a kid. I didn’t know it was crap. Guess she didn’t either. But he did.” She leaned her elbows on the bar and buried her face in her hands.
The men at the bar glanced sideways at Paula and then stared down harder into their drinks, trying to pretend they weren’t in the presence of a crying woman.
Iris had never seen Paula cry before. She reached out her hand but hesitated before touching her, recalling that Paula was never the touchy-feely type. She put her hand on her arm anyway.
At Iris’s touch, Paula took her hands away from her face. She decorously picked up the jewelry and put it back in the box. “She’s dead now anyway. What difference does it make?” She did not touch her face.
Angus and Bobby walked up.
“Are you crying, baby?” Angus’s dull face rippled with concern.
“I’m not crying.” Paula put the box back inside the paper bag.
“Whatcha got?” Angus asked.
“Something from my mother.”
“That’s nice. Let’s go. Bobby and I have some business to take care of.” He started to walk toward the door with Bobby following.
Paula rolled down the top of the bag, reached in her back pocket, and took out some cash.
“Forget it,” Iris said.
“Paula!” Angus shouted from the doorway.
Paula picked up the bag and nodded at Iris. “See you in another twenty years.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Iris went shopping. She passed a billboard depicting her favorite mall, which now largely lay in ruins due to the earthquake. She headed to another mall instead. Small shops advertised “Earthquake Sale” or “Discount on Earthquake Mix” in an effort to hawk damaged or illogically sorted items. Spray-painted signs on stores with boarded-up windows cheerfully announced they were open for business, which was good news for Iris. She was in a mood to spend money and she did.
The mall was still suffering from the postquake slump and was almost empty save the few other shop-or-die kindred souls. She started with a swingy new dress for her date with Thomas. The new dress called for new shoes and the new shoes a new purse and new stockings. The new outfit cried out for new makeup and the new makeup a new fragrance. She couldn’t wear her new look with tired lingerie, so she bought new, selecting lacy and silky nothings that skirted the edge of trashiness. The shopping spree soon took on a life of its own. A lot of things were on sale, things that were out of season, that she couldn’t wear for months if at all, but she bought them anyway. Look at all the money she was saving. The store clerks scanned the tags as fast as she could pile the merchandise on the counter. This was the true meaning of disposable income. There was something about the delectable crinkling of the crisp shopping bags that tasted like freedom.
She loaded her packages into the Triumph, quickly filling the trunk and the storage area behind the seats. Sure enough, during her shopping spree, she’d formulated an action plan in relation to the DeLaceys. Some people go to gyms, some see their therapists, Iris shopped. Her method was tried and true and no more expensive, she figured, than regular visits to a Beverly Hills shrink.
She headed north on Pacific Coast Highway and east on Topanga Canyon Boulevard. Trees began to appear and minimalls disappeared as she headed further into the hills. Houses and apartments built cheek by jowl on the hillsides near the ocean were displaced by funky, woodsy affairs in the canyon. Licks of blackened areas appeared here and there between the trees. Soon she was in an ash-covered primeval landscape of crisp bushes, brooding tree skeletons, and cement stairs that led to nowhere. The odor of soot and burnt wood hung in the air and the earth itself was black.
