by C. J. Duggan
Without a word, he rolled on.
Staring at his broad shoulders as I walked behind him, trying to not die of mortification along the way, I had one very clear thought: I’m going to kill you, Billie Martin!
Chapter Five
My baptism into LA life having begun so disappointingly, I was glad to get out outside and shake off my embarrassment. The sun was barely up but the air was warm already, promising a fierce summer day. I couldn’t wait to bake myself in it.
Tearing myself away from my plans, I noticed that my very attractive driver was lifting my suitcase into the back of a very attractive black Mustang.
Definitely not a taxi.
‘Ah, so, how do you know Billie?’
Friend? Acquaintance? Lover?
‘We’re neighbours,’ he said, slamming the trunk closed like a full stop.
Watching the cords of his biceps strain as he lifted my suitcase into the car like it weighed nothing, I had been momentarily distracted, but his two-worded response had my attention.
‘Oh, right, cool,’ I said, wondering what kind of neighbour picks up a friend of a friend on a 6 a.m. flight from Australia. Clearly a damn good one.
It wasn’t until the Mustang’s guttural engine revved to life that I moved into action; maybe it was the remnants of the Valium wearing off or jetlag, but I was slow on the uptake. I leapt to the passenger door, opening it and sliding into it. I felt the plush leather seats beneath my legs and noted the impeccable cleanliness of the interior; I knew jack about cars, but it was immediately obvious that this car was dearly loved.
‘Nice car,’ I said, struggling to think of anything else to say.
Jay didn’t respond; instead, he watched and waited, ready to manoeuvre out of his space and into the stream of traffic exiting the airport parking lot. Naturally, he wanted to concentrate; in fact, he might not even have heard me, the radio was up so loud. Small talk was clearly futile – best to let him do his thing.
Damn if I wasn’t excited speeding and darting in between lines of traffic, the likes of which I’d never experienced before. One of the things I’d heard about LA is that you either love or loathe it; despite the pollution clogging my pores and the dry smoggy heat of the morning causing a scratchiness in my throat, I knew I would love it. The concrete sprawling highways twisted and turned us as if we were on some grand amusement park speedway in a way that both horrified and thrilled me. There seemed to be two speed limits here, fast and faster, and we obeyed the latter. As far as grand entrances went, this was going to be hard to beat.
Maybe this was why Billie had organised for Jay to pick me up; as far as I knew, she didn’t have a Mustang at her disposal, nor did she drive like she was being chased by the cops. I wondered if I could grab a pic of my ride; it would sure trump a palm tree.
‘So, is Billie okay? Did she have to work or something?’ I gripped the edge of my seat, thinking that if I concentrated on the road it would encourage Jay to do the same, but he seemed far more relaxed than I was, one hand resting on the gear stick, the other resting lightly on the wheel. His shades were still firmly in place so I could only hope that he was looking at where he was going.
Just when I was sure he wouldn’t answer me, he gave a casual shrug. ‘I have but two instructions: pick up Cassie Carmichael, then bring her back via the scenic route.’ He said it so unenthusiastically that I realised he was doing Billie a huge favour; I’m sure he had a number of things he’d rather be doing on a Saturday morning than navigating LA traffic. I tried not to think about that; instead, I shifted in my seat, sitting up eagerly at the words ‘scenic route’.
‘Really?’ I said, hopefully.
I was at the mercy of his mood, but despite his apparent reluctance to play tour guide, a little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he glanced at me. ‘Really.’
I fought an urge to clap my hands together like a child in a highchair being presented with her favourite food; instead, I played it cool, resting my elbow on the window ledge and nodding.
But like any tourist I couldn’t help but press my face to the glass as we travelled along the Sunset Strip, past Chateau Marmont where John Belushi died and Greta Garbo lived, or the gritty darker corners of the Viper Room and Whisky a Go Go. There were palm trees, for sure, dotted along the concrete stretch of patchy roads and mismatched buildings, and nestled in the towering shadows of giant billboards, popping against the blue California sky. It was dirty and surreal, and as uninteresting as it must have been to Jay, I wanted to drive until the sun went down and neon lit the way to the soundtrack of the pounding live music that Billie had talked of.
I had definitely made the right decision leaving Australia. My fears and uncertainties were not going to keep me up at night – there was far too much living to do, too much adventure. I wanted to start building my career in this new and exciting world. I almost wanted to urge Jay to drive faster so I could start sooner, not wanting to wait one more minute to settle into my new life here. If ever I’d wished to be snapped by the paparazzi, it was now: cruising the Sunset Strip in a Mustang, next to a sexy, mysterious man. But maybe, for now, anonymous was good.
For now.
The scenic route could have been the normal route, I would never have known. Everything was so chaotic and ever moving, no rhyme or reason to the landscape. I wasn’t sure what I expected to see: to drive past the Hollywood sign, get stuck at a traffic light next to Matthew McConaughey, or see Reece Witherspoon crossing the road? Yeah, it wasn’t exactly like that. Still, the day was young and there was plenty of time for star-spotting, especially since my new home was in West Hollywood, a stone’s throw from all the action.
Jay parked in front of a large, futuristic building that was reminiscent of a giant sugar cube, with black windows and high-tech security. My breath hitched at the sheer luxury, and that was just the outside.
‘Wow, is this it?’
Jay laughed. ‘Not exactly.’ He pointed in the opposite direction. I followed his outstretched finger to an older, more modest, two-storey, Mediterranean-style building. It sat behind a black iron gate that matched the wrought-iron balconies, a narrow walkway leading through the arched entrance. It wasn’t exactly lux but it definitely had charm, and a real sense of Old Hollywood.
‘Disappointed?’ Jay probed.
‘Nah. Who wants to live in a giant sugar cube anyway?’
I knew he was looking at me – I could see it in my peripheral vision – but there was no use meeting his eyes; I already knew the look he was giving me. It read: This Aussie girl is a bit of a weirdo. Luckily for him, his time with me was over. He had done his neighbourly good deed for the day – and he exceeded his quota when he grabbed my bag from the trunk and started across the road with it. I was about to insist that it wasn’t necessary until I saw the long, steep tile staircase.
Yeah, nope, you’re good!
Jay swiped his keys to activate the gate, then pulled it open. Standing aside, he nodded his head for me to go first. I darted in, then waited for him to lead the way through the giant stone arch that split the façade of the building. The cool, dark tunnel was a welcome reprieve from the hot morning sun. It led out into an open-air courtyard. Still much cooler than the stark concrete roadside, the courtyard was leafy and overgrown with clinging vines and potted palms – a veritable urban jungle. Or perhaps an urban oasis, for in the centre of the lush, green space was a large, tiled in-ground pool, the star attraction of the communal area.
I don’t know why I was so surprised: Billie had spoken often enough about being poolside, and there had been plenty of Insta evidence. Gappy thigh shots of her lying on these very sunbeds, #LAdreaming #thegoodlife #californiagurl #sorrynotsorry.
As soon as I laid eyes on its emerald-green glory, I knew I too would be as obnoxious as her in no time – that all my old friends back home would hate me as much as I hated Billie. I couldn’t wait.
Jay seemed to be humouring me, allowing me to move slowly about the space, op
enly gawking at my surrounds. The courtyard was empty, except for an older woman sitting at one of the wrought-iron tables, dressed in a kaftan and feeding her little white pooch a piece of toast.
‘Morning, Mrs Simms,’ Jay smiled, nodding his head. It was the most animated I had seen him in the entire time I had spent with him; he even patted the little dog.
‘Oh, good morning, Mr Davis.’ She beamed.
Davis. Jay Davis.
The lady looked expectantly at me, then back to Jay, waiting for an introduction, which, of course, was not forthcoming. He was clearly too busy patting the dog; he probably couldn’t even remember my name.
‘Hi, I’m Abby,’ I said, stepping forward and shaking her hand.
‘Nice to meet you, Abby; Veronica Simms, medium and clairvoyant to the stars.’
‘Wow, really? Anyone I know?’
‘Oh, my dear, confidentiality is the cornerstone of my business practice. I simply mustn’t divulge any information about my celebrity clients.’ She placed her hand on her heart; her hot-pink nails matched her kaftan and lipstick. Even little Rover had a pink diamanté collar.
‘Well, as an actress, I can completely respect that.’ I laughed.
Veronica sat up straight. ‘An actress? How exciting!’
Jay scoffed. ‘Yeah, just what this town needs, another actress.’
My smile fell; slowly I turned to look at Jay. He had removed his shades, so I was able to look into his eyes and see that he wasn’t joking. It was the most he had said since we had left LAX, making his choice of words even more offensive; maybe it was just as well he rarely spoke.
‘Excuse me?’ Maybe it was my tone, or the incredulous look that spread across my face, but Veronica’s dog started to growl, no doubt picking up on the sudden tension.
Just as Jay was about to speak, his words were interrupted by a high-pitched scream that brought our attention to the second-storey balcony behind us.
‘Abby!’ Billie squealed, jumping up and down and clapping. ‘Oh my God, you’re here! Stay, right there, I’m coming down!’ she yelled, before disappearing back through the doors to her condo.
My eyes shifted back to Jay, who still had the same steely gaze, and the tension was back again. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, or let Veronica’s poodle do it for me, but the animated squeals and fast-approaching footsteps saved him. Besides, it would be a shame to ruin the courtyard with a chalk outline of a body, no matter how tempted I was.
Jay Davis had gone from knight in shining armour to grade-A jerk within two point five seconds. As soon as he had dragged my heavy suitcase to the second level, I would be more than happy to see the back of him.
Chapter Six
There was no chance of Sorscha the toy poodle attacking Jay. Her barking, snarling attack seemed to be directed solely towards me and Billie, as we finally had our laughing and jumping scene. Veronica seemed overjoyed for us; Sorscha and Jay, however, were not amused.
‘Oh my God, I can’t believe you are here,’ Billie said, cupping my face, checking that she wasn’t imagining things.
‘Me either – it’s insane!’
Our laughter was interrupted by the scraping sound of my suitcase handle being repeatedly extended and retracted, as Jay gave a less-than-subtle hint.
‘Jay, you are a legend! I owe you one.’
Jay extended the handle again, clicking it into place and grabbing it. ‘You owe me four.’ He looked at Billie rather pointedly.
Billie chose to ignore his tone. ‘You’re hilarious.’
It then occurred to me that I hadn’t yet thanked him for picking me up; could this be the reason for his lack of personality thus far? Before I had a chance to remedy the situation he began to move towards the stairs.
‘Where do you want it?’ he asked Billie, as if I wasn’t there. He had been so nice to Veronica and her dog but couldn’t seem to bring himself to make eye contact with me.
‘It’s okay, I’ve got it,’ I said, stepping forward and reaching for my suitcase, which he tipped back out of my reach.
‘Do you?’ he asked, his brow curving, as if the very notion of me rolling a bag was ridiculous.
‘I think I can manage,’ I said, reaching again, only to grab at fresh air.
‘Listen, I don’t know what you have in here, but dragging it up those steps ain’t going to be easy.’
‘Well, I guess I shouldn’t have packed all my acting props, you know, my wigs and feather boas.’
‘Is that what was spilling out of your suitcase … a prop?’ Jay smirked, watching as I flushed at the memory of my canary-yellow undies.
‘Shut up!’ I said, marching on towards the stairs and leaving him with the stupidly heavy bag; it wasn’t until I got to the foot of the stairs that I realised I had no idea where I was going.
‘Ah, this way?’ I pointed to the stairs.
Billie’s eyes flicked from Jay to me with a sparkle of interest. ‘Yes, that’s the way,’ she said, whacking Jay in the side. ‘Come on, muscles, let’s get the girl settled in.’
An image of Jay tucking me into bed while Billie read me a bedtime story flashed in my mind. I quickly turned and started for the very long, very narrow, stairs. I was suddenly ever so grateful that I had not won that argument; it was hard enough to get myself upstairs, let alone my excess baggage. If anything, I took great pleasure in hearing the clunk, clunk, clunk of suitcase wheels being dragged up each step by the begrudging Jay.
‘Turn left up here,’ said Billie. ‘2C.’
A small hall led into a little alcove that had a gold, slightly crooked 2C on the left, and 2D on the right. I guessed that was Jay’s door, and tried not to notice its close proximity as I heard the rolling of wheels approach.
He was trying to keep his breath even but, as Billie worked on unlocking her door, I could tell he was a little worn out.
‘Thanks, I think I can take it from here,’ I said, reaching out for the handle; this time he didn’t fight me, and my hand brushed over his as he slowly let go. It was the strangest sensation, almost as if an electric shock had passed between us, and I could still feel the warmth of his skin against mine. Our eyes met for a brief moment then we quickly looked away as Billie pushed the door to her condo open.
‘Home sweet home!’ she sing-songed. ‘Hey, thanks again for helping out, Jay.’
I pulled my bag inside the doorway. ‘Yeah, thanks,’ I said, probably sounding a little ungrateful. The truth was if I never saw Jay Davis again, it would probably be too soon. The sight of his cocky, lopsided smile as he unlocked his own door only strengthened my resolve.
Rather than say ‘anytime’ like a normal, polite person would, he looked at my broken suitcase and shook his head, then stepped inside his door.
‘See you around, ladies.’
Billie’s West Hollywood condo was beautiful: the charming, bright space matched the perfection of the vintage building and its idyllic location, being just steps away from the fabulous dining and entertainment that the Sunset Strip had to offer. A cosy kitchen opened into the formal dining room, light hardwood floors flowing through out the space. Natural light flooded in through the windows that looked onto the terrace, and the coved ceilings and arched doorways had the charm and character of Old Hollywood. Billie had added her own distinctive touches to the place: a large framed picture of Frank Sinatra sat above the fireplace, and the room was furnished with her attractively worn leather couches, eclectic rugs and boho cushions.
‘Um, I think I need to get a gig as a make-up artist,’ I said, running my hand along the marble countertop of the kitchen.
Billie laughed. ‘You mean, what’s a girl like me doing in a place like this?’
‘Oh, no, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.’ I winced.
‘How can I possibly afford it?’
It was the very question burning a hole in my brain, but I wouldn’t come out and say it.
Billie plonked herself on the couch, tucking a cushion in her arms. ‘Th
at’s okay – I totally can’t afford it.’
I stilled, turning to her. ‘Jesus, Billie, you’re not a squatter, are you?’ I seriously wouldn’t have put it past her.
She burst out laughing, turfing a cushion at me. I caught it, much to my own amazement.
‘No, I am not a squatter, I am simply a very charming individual.’
I threw the cushion back and collapsed on the couch next to her. ‘Well, I know that.’
Billie tucked one leg underneath the other. ‘One of the best jobs I’ve ever had here was a short-lived production for a Hallmark Western with Nancy Satora and Jack Seddan.’
I blinked, rolling the names around in my head.
‘Who?’
‘Trust me, they’re big in the midday movie world.’
‘Okay, right.’
‘Anyway, there was this really amazing character played by the legendary stage actor Molly White, and because I was the new kid on the block, I was assigned to do the make-up of anyone over seventy on the shoot.’
I laughed, shaking my head at the vision.
‘Not that I minded. Nancy was so up herself, and Jack Seddan had wandering hands, if you know what I mean. Plus Molly was a hoot – I used to love going to work just to listen to her repeat the same stories about her young Hollywood days. I honestly think I was the only one that ever had the time or the patience to listen to her.’
‘That’s kind of sad.’
‘Yeah, yeah, it was. Especially as she could out-act anyone.’ Billie spoke with a faraway look in her eyes, reliving a fond memory, before blinking back to the here and now. ‘So, anyway, production wrapped, we caught up for a top-shelf lunch afterwards and she was horrified to learn that I was couch-surfing in some dark, downtrodden corner. She lives in Florida but has had a condo here for years and said that I’d be doing her a favour to keep it dust-free for her.’
‘Wait, this is Molly White’s place?’
‘Yeah. I’m her favourite tenant – have been near-on two years now.’
‘Wow, that’s awesome.’
