Smoke

by Meili Cady

  Familiar cars pulled up behind us over the span of a few minutes. Radios silenced and engines powered down. The only sound that could be heard was the closing of car doors as everyone got out to assemble on the grass. Once we were all standing in a close circle, David handed out packs of what looked like small walkie-talkies. As I stared at the device in my palm, David whispered, “Okay, guys, the numbers are already in there. The contacts are all three-digit identification numbers, and yours is written on the pack.” I noticed “#008” scribbled in black marker on the package I was holding. I glanced at Lisette’s and saw “#007” written on the back of hers. Something told me that she’d been given “double o seven” by special request. David went on to say, “One thing we have to be clear on, guys. No names. Ever. You want to talk about somebody, don’t use the name. Use their number. We all got them. Okay?” David instructed us that from now on we were to carry these “burner phones” with us at all times.

  I used the new phone only when Lisette asked me to contact someone we worked with to give or receive information. It was meant to be our “safe line,” as long as we said no names. I kept it zipped in a pocket inside a Chanel purse Lisette gave me. The idea of a burner phone is that it can’t be traced back to the person using it; the minutes are all prepaid, and no personal information needs to be given to a wireless company. David told us that we would need to trash the phones in two weeks, at which point we would be given new ones.

  Team LL now strictly included Lisette, Frankie, Henry, and me. Lisette had emphasized this, as well as the necessity of our allegiance to her and not to David. “He’s not your boss, I am,” she said. “He has Ko and I have you three. You work with David, not for him. I am your only boss.” Tension had been building between Lisette and David regarding how to run the business. She said that he was unprofessional and sloppy. There were a few fake hundred-dollar bills found in the money that David brought back from Ohio during the last trip. Some of the money was used to pay the team. Lisette was furious. As her romantic relationship with David landed on the rocks, Henry rose in her favor.

  David’s attitude toward Lisette had also changed. It seemed that he was starting to think that she was crazy and unrealistic. The term “crazy bitch” had made its way through the grapevine, apparently from David. I’d never heard him call her that, but I could imagine that he would. Lisette had never taken kindly to criticism. She told me that she wanted to cut him out. “I just need to get in touch with his contact,” she said, “some guy named Jose.” The quiet guy who was at David’s apartment before the first two trips. Lisette was surprised when I told her, “I think I met him.”

  Lisette informed us that we would no longer be meeting at David’s apartment in the morning before flights to Ohio; now the operation would be centered at Lisette’s place on Wilshire Corridor. The evening before our trip we met her there for “Wardrobe.” I never had any idea why Lisette called it that, as it had absolutely nothing to do with clothing or physical attire, but no one questioned her about it. At the time, when I believed that she had a career as a pop singer, I wondered if it had come from some kind of industry term for dress rehearsal. During Wardrobe, we assembled in Lisette’s unit and waited for David to “chirp” one of us on a burner phone to let us know he had arrived. He showed up behind the wheel of a truck full of suitcases. He parked around the corner. We helped take the suitcases up and line them around the inside of Lisette’s condo. I wasn’t much help during Wardrobe, as it was impossible for me to lift any of the bags. My presence was just a formality in Lisette’s eyes.

  Lisette told me that she was tapping cell phones now. Henry, David, Ko. All their personal phones were being tapped, she said. She told me that she’d even had surveillance cameras installed in David’s apartment, unbeknownst to him of course. She assured me that she wasn’t tapping my phone, but who knew? From then on, I could never shake the feeling that my phone might be tapped.

  During meetings at the hotel bar in Beverly Hills, it became increasingly less common for Lisette to ask Henry and me to step out while sensitive information was being discussed. Henry and I sat at the table in silence as we listened to the others talk. It wasn’t as though we could excuse ourselves. We could leave only if Lisette excused us. Anything else would have gone against the unspoken rules of the world we lived in now—her world.

  I GOT A TEXT FROM Lisette early one morning before Team LL was scheduled to assemble at her condo.

  BABE I NEED YOU TO PICK UP SOME AIR FRESHENER ON YOUR WAY HERE. WE MAY NEED A FEW BOTTLES.

  I had a feeling I knew what this was for.

  I walked into a drugstore wearing a black pencil skirt and a matching blazer. Lisette had told me that I needed to stop dressing so casually when we traveled. “You’re working,” she’d said. “You should look like it.” I perused an aisle full of cleaning supplies until I found myself standing in front of an assortment of air fresheners. Lisette hadn’t specified which scent she wanted me to get. I stared blankly at the selection. Ocean breeze? Citrus delight? I picked up a pink bottle and sprayed a cloud of mist into the air. It smelled like tropical fruit. Delicious! But which scent would be best for concealing the smell of marijuana? This was probably not an appropriate question for me to ask the sales clerk. I grabbed three bottles of varying scents and headed to the register.

  In Lisette’s condo the suitcases we’d brought up the day before were now lying open around the living room. This was the first time I’d seen any of the bags unzipped and completely opened. Inside each suitcase there appeared to be four massive bricks of marijuana that had been sealed with thick plastic. I’d never seen so much of the drug in my life, not even on television. I paused for a moment at the entrance of her penthouse to adjust to the situation and breathe. This was different from merely smelling something on the plane and witnessing a conversation. Even then, there had still been some shred of possibility that I was wrong, however slight. Now, looking around the room at what must have been hundreds of pounds of the drug in front of me, the truth was undeniable. My involvement was undeniable too; I had just bought air freshener to cover up the smell. Everyone on the team saw that I knew now. The room was heavy with the smell of the plant. I continued to be amazed that I’d never smelled the marijuana during our first four trips. Perhaps it had been packaged differently. I wondered where the plant was coming from anyway, and who else was involved. And who else knew that I was involved.

  Frankie and Henry were kneeling around the bags, laying dryer sheets on top of the bricks. Lisette greeted me where I stood at the entrance. “Hi, sweetie! Did you get it?” she asked. I nodded and forced a smile, trying to appear unfazed by what I’d just walked into. I handed her the bag from the drugstore. “What the fuck?” she said as she pulled out the air fresheners.

  “Er, the pink one smells really good,” I said. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I brought a selection.”

  Lisette cracked a smile. “Well, A for effort, sweetie. Okay, guys!” she said, addressing the boys. “Fire away! Just unload these onto the bags.”

  My eyes widened. “All of them?” I asked.

  Lisette shrugged. “Yeah, why not?”

  The boys laid swathes of cloth over the pot bricks, then zipped every suitcase closed. We followed our boss’s instructions and sprayed until the entire contents of each bottle had been emptied onto the outside of the bags.

  WITHIN MINUTES OF BOARDING OUR chartered flight to Ohio, a pungent smell drifted into the main cabin from the cargo hold. The odor combination of tropical citrus, ocean breeze, and marijuana was comically overpowering. I tried to avoid drawing attention to it as I slowly looked around to see if anyone else wished they were wearing a gas mask. Lisette looked back at me with a mix of amusement and horror. She smelled it too, no doubt. It was sickeningly strong and there was nothing we could do about it at this point. We both stifled laughter watching Frankie’s face as he caught a whiff, glanced toward the back, then shook his head and said, “Nah, man, that shit
is nasty,” under his breath. Henry just smiled and said quietly, “Hey, at least it’s better than last time.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder what Henry’s reaction had been when he’d first realized that we’d been moving pot. How had he found out? Had he smelled it on the plane before our last trip? Had Lisette told him? Somehow I got the sense that he’d found out around the same time I had. I didn’t believe that he would have signed on to work for Lisette if he’d known in the beginning, regardless of his affection for her. Henry had never used drugs in his life and maintained that he had no desire to. I seriously doubted that he would feel okay about knowingly smuggling them.

  In Columbus, Lisette took me to the bank with her to transfer money through my account. Per usual, we made the transfer with the help of our trusted banker there named Barry. After Lisette handed him an armload of cash, he headed off to get it counted and transferred. My wallet sat on Barry’s desk. I had taken it out to present my ID. When Barry walked off, I grabbed my wallet to put it back in my purse. Lisette eyed it and said, “Is that the wallet that Ben gave you?”

  “Oh, yeah, it is,” I said. I lightened up at the mention of his name.

  “Let me see it,” Lisette said, grabbing it out of my hands. She felt the leather, then opened the wallet and examined the interior of it. “Huh,” she scoffed.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked her. She closed the wallet and handed it back to me.

  “This is a fake Gucci wallet,” she said. “I can tell by the zipper.”

  “What?” I said. “I don’t think so. Ben gave it to me in the bag from the store. He even had a gift receipt. I mean, I didn’t accept the receipt because I wanted to keep the wallet, but he offered it to me.” Lisette rolled her eyes.

  “Anyone can get a bag from the store,” she said. “I can’t believe he did that to you. That’s very déclassé, babe.”

  “It’s not fake though,” I told her. “Feel the leather.” She felt it and shook her head.

  “It’s okay,” she said, “but I’ve seen better fakes.”

  “Well, either way, it’s a quality wallet and a sweet gift,” I told her. “I still love it.” I was quite sure that the wallet was authentic, but I didn’t want to insult Lisette by insisting that her judgment was wrong.

  Lisette sighed and said, “I’m telling you, I know a fake when I see one. If I were you, I’d be pissed.”

  AFTER FOUR DAYS OF WHAT had become our routine in Ohio, we headed home. During the flight back to Los Angeles, I was in the middle of telling a story to Frankie that involved Ben when Lisette whipped around in her chair in front of us to address me. “Seriously, Meili, enough!” she said, her voice raised and seething. “Everyone here is sick of hearing you talk about some loser who is strung out on prescription pills. I seriously doubt that half the things he tells you are true, but you believe anything. If you want to waste your time on him, fine, but I’m not going to let you waste our time any longer.” Frankie and Henry looked on in silence.

  “Sorry,” I told her. “Jesus. Okay, I’ll stop talking about it.”

  Lisette gave me a cold stare. “No, we’re past that,” she said. “It’s completely unprofessional to be talking about your love life during trips, and I’ve warned you about this. You’re too obsessed with your boyfriend now to be useful anyway.”

  “That’s not true,” I told her.

  She shook her head. “I think you should focus your attention on what you really want,” she said. “And it’s pretty obvious what that is.” Lisette refused to speak to me for the remainder of the flight back to L.A.

  11

  I AM STEPHANIE

  My best friend fired me. You know you’re an incompetent employee when that happens. I’d promised Lisette that she wouldn’t regret hiring me and I’d managed to let her down. I’d disappointed the person whose opinion had essentially validated me for months, and perhaps far longer. She’d said I was proving myself, and now it seemed that I had only proven myself to be unfit for employment. She was proud of me, but not anymore. It made me sick to my stomach. I felt worthless.

  Not only was she angry with me as an employee, but she felt that I’d chosen a man over her, and I knew she was hurt. When she fired me, Lisette said that she probably wouldn’t have much time to see me from now on. I never would have imagined that my friendship with her, which was supposed to last forever, could become contingent upon my employment by her. She was testing me with this job because she saw potential in me and I’d failed miserably. In one fell swoop I’d hurt my friend, offended my boss, and lost my job.

  At least I still had my boyfriend, but love wasn’t going to pay my bills. I didn’t know what I was fit to do anymore. Acting had obviously been a wash: when the highlight of a five-year attempt at a career is an under-the-table blow job on Showtime, it’s safe to say things haven’t exactly taken off. I’d failed at the dream I’d had since I was a child, and now I didn’t know what to dream about. I’d felt so far removed from normal society since I’d gone deeper into working for Lisette. My perception of reality had skewed, and I was becoming paranoid, always on edge now; I would have needed to readjust if I tried to move on with my life as it was before all this. The occasional coke binge with Lisette probably wasn’t helping my paranoia and anxiety. When I was in public, I often wondered if people could sense that something was off, that I was hiding something. It was like wandering into the streets high as a kite and trying to act normally.

  Maybe Brie was right when she told me that Lisette’s firing me could be a good thing. I was sitting on the floor of our living room with my legs crossed and my arms wrapped around my knees, too upset to eat. Brie could tell I’d been crying, so I told her what had happened.

  I have always leaned on my friends and family for advice, even for relatively minor decisions. One of the drawbacks of lying to your friends is that it’s impossible to get informed advice from them. How can anyone advise on a situation that they know only the half of, especially when the half they don’t know concerns a secret life of drug smuggling? Brie thought things would all work out and I hoped she was right, but in reality she had no clue what was going on. It was so foreign to me to be unable to call on anyone for guidance. I certainly couldn’t call on Lisette, who’d gotten me into this.

  On top of everything, my relationship with Ben had been affected by my work with Lisette. Since I found out what was in the suitcases, I’d had trouble sleeping. My mind was always racing, and at night I was left alone with my thoughts, which were often terrifying. Ben’s insomnia was ever present, and after he took a sleeping pill and put earplugs in, he didn’t want to be disturbed until morning. He was particularly desperate for rest since he needed energy to study for finals. Nothing seemed to help him sleep.

  It pained me to see him look so pale and stressed, so I tried not to interfere with his routine when we went to bed. Sometimes I got up after he was asleep to go to the kitchen to drink. Alcohol was one of the few things that helped to drown my thoughts and carry me to sleep.

  I wondered if it was for the best that Lisette fired me—I was never particularly useful at the job, and I never wanted to be involved in that kind of business anyway. I wasn’t cut out for it and everyone involved knew it. I’d just wanted to pay my bills and hang out with Lisette. Her rejection and insults hurt like hell right now, but at least I was out. I felt some peace that the decision had been made for me. Lisette’s ego would never have allowed me to walk away without some sort of personal shaming, or worse. I’d seen new, darker sides of her lately, and I wasn’t sure what she was capable of. I didn’t want to find out.

  IT HAD BEEN A WHILE since I’d relaxed enough to enjoy something as simple as having a night in with my boyfriend. After finishing some homework one night, Ben invited me to come over. We walked to the Ralphs near his apartment to pick up a bottle of wine. As we browsed the selection, we were in constant physical contact, both eager to return to the privacy of his apartment. Every touch, every kiss on my forehead
and arm around my shoulders from Ben was a shot of euphoria to me, a reminder of what it was to be happy. It made me forget about everything bad in the world, and I wanted to hold on to this feeling forever. Ben leaned in to kiss me but I held back, smiling. He smiled back and said, “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said coyly.

  “No, what?” he said. “You have to tell me.”

  I bit my lip, then said, “Well, the lease is almost up on my apartment. I was just wondering what you would think about us moving in together . . .”

  He paused for a moment, then said, “I wouldn’t mind coming home to you,” and pulled me in for a kiss.

  OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, Ben and I discussed getting an apartment together in a few months, after he graduated from college. It made me sad to be planning such a big step without Lisette’s blessing, when she’d said that she one day expected to be the godmother to my children. It didn’t feel right to be moving forward in a relationship without her approval. I had hoped that she would come to like Ben and respect my affection for him, but perhaps I’d pushed the issue too soon. I was still reeling from Lisette’s rejection, and I was hurt that she hadn’t returned my texts in almost a week, since our last trip to Ohio.

  Finally, Lisette responded to me in a text message.

  I’VE HAD SOME TIME TO COOL DOWN, I’M WILLING TO TALK ABOUT THIS IF YOU CAN COME OVER SOON.

  I rushed over to her condo. It was early afternoon, so there was little traffic and I got there fast. She gave me a reluctant hug when she met me at her door.

  “Hey,” she said, “okay, come in.”