by David Louden
4
IT FELT incredibly strange returning to the scene of the crime as the three of us Hollywood refugees unburdened ourselves of our baggage in the hallway of Margarita’s sizable home. The previous night now seemed to have been confined to the faded annals of memory as our party of four made civilised conversation in the same living room that had previously bore a striking resemblance to a Pier Paolo Pasolini film. Margarita proved generous with her father’s scotch collection, the bottle selected by her olive hands an improvement on what I had consumed some twenty four hours earlier, hailing it “the best thing I ever did drink”. It was a blow to my ego as I had spent years fine tuning my palette. I’d even come to believe that I was something of an authority on the matter only to be bested by this divine lady. Conversation took a turn onto music before stopping at politics for a brief moment before we ended up at a discussion that was all too carnal. I brought Margarita up to speed on my theory on the night I had missed, which featured Rob and Jen in the most linguistically acrobatic descriptions that my bruised face could muster. Again the denials and glances and red faces beamed in the room of sin. Margarita gallantly sacrificed her own dignity to rescue her newly acquainted Scottish sister by proclaiming that just one night previous her and me and Ana had “loosened fillings in the middle of this very room”. Hearing it verbally transcribed was enough to turn around what had been, until this point, a long, difficult and emotional day. The loss of my Orwell sat in my heart like a lead clot next to the permanent ache in my chest. The ache that had beckoned me here. The very thought of it had to be physically shaken off if I was to enjoy the remainder of the evening.
Jen’s laugh was infectious, she would send herself into a full on spasm at something she found hilarious. Her condition had improved since the previous night but I got the sense that she was still slightly guarded. Now, in the company of another woman, she had completely opened up, blossomed even. I had found her attractive that first night in the corridor of the International hostel, her smile had sent me fluttering back to my room now she was absolutely radiant, gorgeous, an idol that would see men compete for her attention. What was interesting is that the attraction I had once had for her was gone, in its place sat adoration. She had travelled so far alone, had seemingly lost her friends and yet sat here with three strangers in strange surroundings and was perfectly at ease with being herself. She seemed incapable of being anything other than herself, that honesty was amazing. She reminded me at that point of my sister before her world went to shit, which made it slightly uncomfortable when she caught a glimpse of Margarita playing pocket pool with me. Unlike my sister she didn’t get to her feet and crown my head for being a filthy beast in public…in that respect she had one up on my actual family.
The small hours of the following day came quickly; Jen was the first to call time on the festivities and scaled the marble staircase in the centre of the grand hallway to one of the guest bedrooms.
“Don’t feel you’ve to stay up on our account Rob.” Margarita advised “If you’d rather head up and keep Jen company…”
“I’m fine Margarita, thanks.” He replied.
The idea she had put in his head had clearly taken root as Rob became detached and uncommunicative and within a quarter of an hour had said his piece and did his best to not appear too eager to race upstairs, which I appreciated…all bros together. The fine Scotch, pain medication and Russian based concussion were conspiring against me. I wasn’t entirely sure how but as my focus became slack, head heavy and speech non existent I had the overwhelming realisation that I had felt this before, I just wasn’t coherent enough to be able to articulate to myself when it was. My last memory of that night or morning was the dull dim light outside the house that bled in through the curtains as Margarita helped me to my feet. I would wake the following morning in the Master bedroom again, uncertain how I had got to bed, and unsure what had gone on during the course of my time in her father’s bed. My head was humming a song, but it was gone by the time my eyes opened. How I was able to distinguish them from the others that had formed on my body I’m not entirely sure, but whatever had transpired between the Italian and I during the course of that scotch soaked haze had left a few new buster browns behind.
Margarita’s home was close to LAX both in proximity and ethos as over the course of the next three evenings she operated a standard turnstile policy for all vagrants, drunks and lost children that dared to darken the doorstep. It didn’t take long to see that having “a live-in penis” was cramping the lady’s style but she was either too polite or attached (I’m inclined to believe the latter but I’m an egotist) to say anything so I took the decision out of her hands and packed my bags and cleared out one morning. Sitting by the side of the road waiting on my cab I realised two things, the first was that I had absolutely no fucking idea where I was going therefore making a mockery of the premise of a cab and the second was that I was not alone. Having seen my conversation with Margarita, Jen and Rob had taken it upon themselves to pack themselves up and vacate the lavish premises in a sign of solidarity. The gesture was more than I could have ever asked for.
“Seriously, I have no clue as to where the fuck I am goin’…you’re bett...”
I was interrupted by Jen. “There’s no way we’re leavin’ you out in this city by yourself, we’re all family here.”
“And if we end up in one of the cockroach castles?” I asked.
“Oh…don’t worry about that,” she replied “if that happens I’ll just come back here.”
Forty dollars plus tip later and we had pulled up outside a Motel Six on Sunset Blvd. Retrieving our bags from the back of the cab we tried hard not to notice the Hollywood Hero who was leaning against his muscle car reading through a screenplay with the occasional enunciation projected across the forecourt. Checking in we take two adjoining rooms between the three of us on the balcony level at the back of the Motel overlooking the pool. The desk clerk rings the bell before turning back to his PC and World of Warcraft. Moments later he has yet to hear the sound of us leaving the heavily air conditioned front desk and bangs on the window signalling for the Hollywood Hero to get his ass inside. The vest wearing wannabe Gap catalogue icon came jogging in, his black hair bouncing around untamed and eager like a puppy. He takes our bags and leads us to our rooms. En route I discover more than I could ever hope to know about the man, his name is Johnny Marsh but he’s considering changing it. He’s from Chicago but moved here six months ago, he bought his Mustang from a guy on a Studio lot on his first commercial shoot and has been paying for the thing to get fixed ever since. Johnny has been living in the motel for the past three months, ever since his landlord booted him out and works as a general handyman to cover the cost of his aspiring existence on Sunset Blvd. Always a fan of the underdog I began secretly rooting for Johnny. I wanted him to get the sitcom, to become the overnight sensation that the American dream depends on and to turn round and tell that fat odious fuck behind the counter to take his job and his perpetual finger wagging and stick them both up his rusty Sheriff’s badge. Upon settling into our rooms we opened the partition door to make it more homely before I leave Rob and Jen to the floral clad cells we would call base to take Johnny up on his offer of smoking a bone with me.
The next week would fly in with activities that wouldn’t look out of place in a montage of cheesy events as the three of us became inseparable, an asexual three headed doll seemingly content with living in each others pockets, posing for photographs and buying souvenirs. The family excursion to Los Angeles Zoo, high up in the hills roaming with the big cats and monkeys couldn’t have been further from where I had imagined myself being. It was nice not to drown my emotions, my conscious and constantly straying thought in a river of alcohol and pharmaceuticals. For the first time in my 30th year I had felt at peace, safe with my thoughts in the bosom of the commune we had constructed for ourselves. There was an easiness in the hole that was my chest.
L.A was on the cusp of summer,
the large orange bus to Santa Monica was standing room only. Armpits and odour hung head height at every turn. The 704 ran through some of the more affluent zip codes of the city yet it was largely populated with working class immigrants, the nameless masses that ensure that L.A ticks over. Construction workers, waiters, maids, cinema ushers all made up the demographic onboard alongside the infrequent surfer, tourist and mentally unhinged loon with a bus pass. The loon in question today had managed to get an entire row of seating on this overcrowded transporter to himself by seemingly asking the most inappropriate questions of the female travellers. We, and Jen, in particular weren’t to know this when we boarded, though it did seem odd why so many people were standing when there were sufficient seating available. Dressed for sand, sun and scrimp the young Scot took the seat next to him and within twenty minutes would be stare banged enough that she would tug on my sleeve pleading for us to change seats. It was only when I saw his left hand make a move for the inside of her thigh that I granted her request.
“So my friend tells me you’ve got a considerable collection of pornography in your crib.” I stated bluntly at him “That’s ace. You got yourself any of that specialist stuff?”
“Oh yeah man.” He grinned.
“I like me the stuff that has the ladies that have tatas, woo wahs and ding-a-lings, you got any of that stuff?”
Rob makes his way around to the other side of the loon and takes a seat sandwiching him in.
“Yeah you got any of that man? You seen that shit…crazy?!” Rob chips in.
“You ever see a lady with both appendages make sweet love to herself?” I whispered.
He exited the bus at the next stop and the seats began to fill up with tired Hispanic ladies I gave up mine to a minor round of applause from most of the passengers within ear shot.
“I think that was a nice thing you did there gentlemen.” Said Jen.
“Nice nothin’, if he had any of that I was goin’ back to his house…fascinating!” I said before realising that most of the people onboard didn’t know me enough to know my tones of conversation. I had become his creepy replacement.
I’d never managed to see Santa Monica Pier in full flow until this point. The nights in Venice had been subterranean in nature and even if I had stood at the foot of the Ferris wheel I would be damned if I had stood a chance of remembering it. Since relocating to the Motel Six I had lost that destructive voice at the back of my head. The desire to drink and screw my way across the Sunshine State’s darling city had left me, I should have felt worried, maybe even emasculated by the whole thing but it had been so long since I had properly slept in a bed, instead of past out that I welcomed it with open arms. We sat on the beautifully combed beach smoking cigarettes and watching the biological families that surrounded us play and swim and capture memories; all the while soaking up the burning heat of the California sunshine. Jen’s disposition, however, was considerably less than sunny. Initially I had thought that perhaps the pervert on the bus had sullied her mood but it seemed more than that. She wore a familiar stony but slightly frowned face. It made me ache and feel wary; it took me a moment or two to analyse why it was affecting me the way it was but I got there in the end. It was the same face that Kelly would wear when she was about to tell me something that neither of us particularly liked. She wore that face the morning she had miscarried. I would ask Jen what was wrong, I knew it would lead nowhere but there’s always that one chance in a million that you’d get a straight answer to a straight question. Nothing was wrong. She was fine. Jen tucked her informing eyes behind a pair of Ray Ban shades before lighting another cigarette, Rob hadn’t noticed. I had unwittingly just alerted him; suddenly it felt like our little family had a meeting round the dining table on the horizon. Before leaving we asked a local to take a picture of the three of us posing under the Santa Monica Pier archway on Rob’s camera. I don’t know why but I made him promise he would forward it to my email.
We made it back to the motel unmolested; Rob was in our shower which allowed me to borrow one of his last cigarettes. I took up a leaning spot on the balcony and daydreamed about what it would be like, not necessarily to be Johnny, but to never have to leave here. Eventually my money would run out, eventually it would come to the point that the pain inside of me knew had to happen. How nice would it be to just stay, stay here put down minimal roots just exist on Sunset Blvd or on Venice Beach for as long as God would allow me. In a land so new you could pretty much redesign your entire self, start fresh, scar free. My thought process was interrupted with a shove, Jen had finished getting dressed. A flowing black number told me that she had taken my night on the tiles suggestion seriously.
“Alright love?” I said, pretending not to notice that she had plucked her eyebrows and styled her hair since our trip to the sands.
“I am my dear.” She replied.
“You’re goin’ to have to talk to me eventually because I’m persistent…and annoying!” I stated.
“My flight to New York’s tomorrow,” Jen said straight faced “I had no idea how quickly the whole trip had gone in. One minute I’m getting turfed out of the hostel, the next well, you know…I don’t want tonight to be my last night.”
I gave her a hug, the L.A pseudo family had been her construction, she was Mother and now she was being forced to abandon it. The whole reality of our artificial world felt shaky. We had set ourselves up in a Motel Six, created our own home-place, went about our daily lives as though we were existing on a fixed point but it was all a falsity. The next leg was calling Jen, after New York the real world beckoned and all the uncertainty of unemployment in Glasgow.
“Have you told him?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Ok, I’m not one for advice but you need to give him a heads up.” I offered.
“I know you think we’re some sort of secret couple but we’re not…” said Jen “I mean we had a night but he’s not ready. I just thought I’d have more time.”
“I’m not entirely sure how long he’s planning on kickin’ around here for, he could go with you.” I said. Suddenly I had added advice-giving to sober and celibate on the list of ‘Things I do now’. I remember thinking how much I’d love to punch myself right then.
“Couldn’t ask him to come to New York, for what?” Asked Jen, her words were saying one thing but I could see the slightest spark of hope in the back of her beautiful eyes.
“Speaking as someone who’s familiar with knee jerk decisions involving the fairer sex…” I continued while grabbing another cigarette, this time from Jen’s open box of Marlboro lights “regardless of anything I’d want to be able to make the choice myself. He likes you… a lot and you’re right I’ve no idea what went on with you guys…though I could probably fuckin’ guess but he is ready. He’s got a lot of love to give, believe me I can hear him in the shower when he thinks he’s being silent.”
Jen smacks me on the arm before I bring the heart to heart home.
“He’s ready, he’s just a little banged up but give him the chance to step up.”
Tradition dictated that I avoided dispensing knowledge on affairs of the heart. Rarely did anything I had ever tried work out too well so who the fuck was I to offer it up as a sage-like tribute? This was a new me, this was my L.A self and he could be anyone he wanted to be…for now anyway. I took a walk to give Jen time to break the news to Rob, I hadn’t quite gotten round to the selfish bit of “what about me?”
Dressed to impress with Johnny in tow we headed the block north to Hollywood Blvd were Johnny had heard a VIP party was taking place in a restaurant called Tokyo. From across the street we can see the cherry blossoms that overhang the archway leading to the garden and behind that the restaurant. Large door staff worked the steady queue of people arriving to the invite only affair. Walking with intent I slip in past the burly bouncers as they check names off the list, as he looks up I tap him on the shoulder from within the grounds of the party “these three are with me” I say p
ointing to Jen, Rob and Johnny. Without hesitation the man-tower waves a shovel hand to allow them safe passage. Calmly they join me in the promised-land; Jen lets out a high pitched squeak of excitement.
“Dude that was awesome!” Praised Johnny.
“Let’s just get fucked up before they realise.” Added Rob.
The restaurant had a frantic life of its own. Music seemed to pump out of every tree. The bar was twenty foot deep in party goers awaiting service and every inch of the hard wood floor catered to a gorgeous lady strutting her stuff as if it was the catwalks of Milan instead of an industry party. The place had the look of a Japanese woodlands home. The logged exterior and raised balcony seating area making it feel as if Tokyo had been there forever, that it had seen Hollywood Boulevard grow up around it. It was peaceful in its aesthetic yet every sensory stimulus screamed chaotic self indulgence. I had been out of the game long enough that the clang of glassware, low level hum of conversation and the scent of spirits was enough to intoxicate me. Floating directly to the bar I slip and manoeuvre my way to the front of the queue and order enough drinks to keep us for an hour. Small flat screen TVs are embedded into the woodwork throughout the restaurant, I recognise the film immediately as Antonioni’s La Notte. Returning to my team of crashers they all appeared eager for me to look into the far corner of the garden. Distributing my alcoholic spoils I light a cigarette and scan the darkened corners of Tokyo. I catch the eye of a man-mountain amidst a gaggle of young women, all in various degrees of undress. His face is familiar but out of context I’d require the assistance of Jen to fill in the blanks in my knowledge.
