The California Club: LoveTravel Series - USA

by Belinda Jones

  The scenery seems to be flattening out and getting progressively more nondescript so I go back to sorting through the CDs, stacking them on the dashboard in a bid to find a track that will quash the soul-searching and bring an air of frivolity to the proceedings. Best give REM a miss then. Ah! Found it. I slide out Sugababes and skip on to track six of a compilation album.

  'The Lion Sleeps Tonight!' Sasha instantly recognizes the opening. 'Very funny!'

  We're awimmaway-ing to our heart’s content when the phone rings. It’s Zoe.

  ‘It cut out before, I don't know why.'

  The background noise has changed. 'Where are you now?'

  'In a cab. I just left Union Station.'

  'Seen any movie stars yet?'

  'Actually this area is kinda weird and run-down.'

  Zoë sounds fascinated rather than freaked out but I want to know more. 'Describe it to us,' I say, putting her on speakerphone.

  'Everything's dirty and low-rise, there's a woman in a purple balaclava walking along with a baby, she's just gone into the 98 Cent Store … It's like a mish-mash of nationalities, all the restaurants … there's Armenian, Mexican, Salvadorean, Tantra …'

  'Tantra? Isn't that a type of sex?'

  'I'm just reading the signs … Cambodian Buddhist Temple, Far East Auto Services, Casablanca Futons …'

  'Are you serious?'

  'Five T-shirts for $10.99, drinking water 20 cents, 99 Cent Store …'

  'Hey, you're moving up!'

  Zoë chuckles. 'I just saw a road called Avenue of the Athletes!'

  I imagine a pole-vaulter being forced to fly over a pyramid of baseball players just to get to his front door. 'What happened to Avenue of the Stars?' I demand.

  'That's what I want to know! It's all pawn shops, lino warehouses and dentists round here.'

  I wonder if The California Club has done this deliberately to shake up Zoë's idea of LA being glamour central. I hope they know what they're doing. If they even partly extinguish her spirit they'll have me to answer to.

  'Dollar World!' Zoë screeches, delighted.

  Bless her, she'll get to Beverly Hills even if it's one cent at a time.

  'Now it's getting all trendy-edgy, everything's vintage and hipster – hey, La! You'd love this – I just saw this shop called the Den of Antiquity!'

  'What road are you on?' I want to see if I can find her on the insert on my map.

  'I can't see a sign. Oh wow! There's a bus just like the one in Speed!'

  ‘Isn’t this our exit?’ Sasha asks.

  Oh it’s all happening at once!

  ‘And a cop car!' Zoë whoops. 'How exciting! They're handcuffing two boys. They have the sexiest uniforms ever!'

  Sasha and I exchange a concerned look.

  'Zoë, we have to go, are you going to be okay?'

  'Of course! And you two are together so that's cool, I don't care about Elise. It's just poor Elliot – the sooner you get to him the better.'

  Amen to that.

  'Call me if there are any problems,' I insist.

  'Will do!'

  I wish I could hang on until she's safely arrived at her destination but I have to return to my role as navigator.

  'We're nearly there,' I tell Sasha. 'Just take the second turning on the left and—'

  Sasha suddenly swerves down the first side road.

  'Not this one!' I yelp, bracing myself against the dashboard.

  'I know,' she cries, ramming on the brakes and lurching into a dusty gravel turnout.

  I struggle to control the clattering landslide of CDs.

  'I just needed a minute,' she explains, looking shocked by her own actions, breath juddering in and out as she continues to clutch the steering wheel as if she's fighting a magnetic force.

  'All right,' I say softly, not wanting to disturb her any further. I clutch the CDs to my lap and stare steadily ahead. Just keep calm and still. Any sudden moves could set her off. I stop chewing my tangerine jellybean, press the zesty gelatine to the roof of my mouth and mold it with secret swishes of my tongue.

  A battered red pick-up truck passes us. Sasha's gaze tailgates it until it disappears from view, then slowly she releases her grip, leans back in her seat and closes her eyes. Even now there is little sense of relief. Her lips may be motionless but I know she's delivering a feverish pep talk on the inside.

  Not wanting to interrupt the conversation she's having with herself, I wait. And wait. My eyes flick to the dashboard clock. It's now 5pm so I take a chance on speaking.

  'Do you want to get out and have a walk around?’

  She shakes her head.

  I return to the staring contest I'm having with the yellow line dividing the road. Oh no. I've got an itch brewing on my left shin. Just ignore it, it'll die down of its own accord, I tell myself. I must remain composed. Aaaghhh – my leg spasms and shoots out as if someone thwacked my knee with a reflex hammer, causing a handful of jellybeans to jump playfully in the air.

  'Sorry!' I mutter, unsure why I'm apologizing.

  Sasha blinks at me then quickly rouses herself, reaching for the ignition. 'We're going to be late!'

  'Are you all right? Do you want me to drive?'

  'I'm fine!' she says, briskly perpetrating a tire-scuffing U-turn.

  I open my mouth to emit a platitude, something like, 'Don't worry, Sasha, I know you're scared but I'll be your real-life guardian angel.'

  Instead I find myself saying, 'Did you know that one in four people experience some form of mental illness in their life?'

  'What did you say?' Sasha winds up her window to silence the rushing wind. 'One in four people what?'

  I can't believe I said that out loud. 'Are allergic to cats,' I lie.

  'I wonder if there are any statistics about the number of cats that are allergic to people?' Sasha muses, with a certain poignancy to her voice.

  I laugh. 'I wonder.'

  'I mean, it's possible, isn't it? Maybe that's all it was. Just an allergy.'

  'All what was?'

  Sasha's face clouds over again. I'm losing her.

  'Sasha?'

  'It's … I …' she flounders and fails to find the words to express her angst.

  I can't finish her sentence for her. I have no idea what she is trying to say. But I'm sure she'll feel better once we get there. Actually, I'm not sure of that at all, but I can hope.

  Finally we spy the sign: TIGER TIGER. A NON-PROFIT RETREAT FOR RETIRED ANIMAL ACTORS.

  ‘Hey we're going to see celebrities before Zoë, how weird is that?' I try and make a joke.

  Sasha slams on the brakes so hard my seatbelt locks and gives me a diagonal garroting. I've had smoother rides in a bumper car.

  ‘They won't like me,' she blurts, experiencing a resurgence of nerves.

  Before I can assure her that everyone warms to her once they get over wanting to believe that she's a vain 'n' vacuous ice queen, she adds, 'Animals don't like me.'

  I want to laugh but decide against it.

  'What makes you say that?' I ask.

  'It's true. They can tell—' she halts herself.

  'Tell what?'

  Sasha looks as if she's about to retreat into her catatonic state. No pun intended. I have to do something.

  'Gosh look at that!' I say, praying for something to leap into my sight line so I can follow through.

  'What?'

  'I think I just saw a …' I scrabble out of the car as if I'm tracking something in the foliage.

  'Oh my god, yes!' Sasha joins me. 'He's looking right at us!' She shrinks behind me.

  I can't believe she can actually see my imaginary distraction. Where is it? Suddenly I lock sights with a pair of golden eyes. Benevolent rather than predatory, they seem to be saying, Oh, it's you!

  'That's Ryan,' a voice comes from behind us. 'Our VIP guest. He's a liger – that's half lion, half tiger.'

  Now his expression seems to be saying, I know, I don't get it either.

  We turn to fi
nd a cozy-looking brunette. 'I'm Carrie,' she smiles, warmly shaking our hands.

  I can see the relief on Sasha's face: thank goodness there's going to be someone nurturing around.

  'It's actually pretty good timing you being here this week,' Carrie continues. 'I have to go to San Francisco to try and raise some funds—'

  'When do you leave?' Sasha panics before Carrie even finishes her sentence.

  'Day after tomorrow. I'll be gone a coupla days so Ty will welcome an extra pair of hands.'

  Sasha's fretful look returns.

  'How about I give you a little tour of the place before it gets too dark?'

  I nod on Sasha's behalf.

  'We'll start with Freddie. He's the devil himself, it'll be all downhill after that.’

  I try to give Sasha a comforting look but I’m feeling a little nervous myself now.

  Here kitty, kitty, kitty…

  Chapter 15

  ‘We're not too picturesque yet,' Carrie warns us as she raises the horseshoe clip on the gate and grinds it open. 'This is actually a disused water plant. Go ahead…’

  She motions us through the wire fencing and suddenly we’re met with a writhing mass of leopard spots, like an animal print Magic Eye. I blink, trying to correct my vision.

  'I've never seen so many cats in one place!' Sasha tries to take it all in.

  'We've got sixteen leopards, a mix of Northern Chinese and Asian, the Asian are the smaller ones …' Carrie points over to a pair hanging back from the group. 'Those two were in a Brooke Shields movie called Born Wild.'

  'Oh wow!' I haven't seen it but I'm sure it's an impressive thing to have on your resumé.

  'They're all entertainment cats, born and bred in captivity.'

  'Is that a panther?' Sasha enquires.

  'Black leopard,' Carrie corrects her. 'You can see his markings better if the sun shines directly on him.'

  We squint at his self-patterned fur, just about making out the dark chocolate spots.

  'Is he going grey?' Sasha notes the tufts of silver over his nose.

  'Yeah a couple of them are getting old now and osteoporosis is setting in.'

  It's then that we notice the stiff arched spines like a humpbacked bridge and wince in sympathy.

  'This one looks in his prime, though,' I say, pointing to the sleek individual who's keeping a keen eye on us.

  'That's Freddie.'

  'Freddie as in Kruger?' Sasha gulps spotting his flick-knife claws.

  ‘He went out on the road with Janet Jackson for her Rhythm Nation Tour.'

  'Really?' Zoë would love this! I wonder if the cats have evening get-togethers and swap celeb stories under the stars.

  'Freddie runs this camp.' Carrie sounds suitably respectful. 'He's top cat.'

  'The indisputable leader of the gang' plays in my head.

  'Why is that one separate?' Sasha nods over to a black leopard with a mangled ear, restlessly prowling and hissing, clearly peeved at being barred from the party.

  'With leopards there can be only one leader,' Carrie explains. 'Freddie and Malachi like to tango – if we'd left them in together one of them would have died.'

  As if to prove her point, Malachi flares up and hurls himself at the caging. My heart goes out to him, it just doesn't seem fair. 'Can't you divide up the rest of the leopards so they get a gang each?' I suggest.

  Carrie smiles and shakes her head. Malachi skulks into his shabby wooden hut and then sticks his head up through a rip in the roof.

  ‘We build them nice boxes but they just tear them apart.' Carrie shrugs, moving on.

  'Here's Ryan again.' Carrie bows to the liger. He gives us a regal nod which seems to say: Charmed, but please don't put on any airs and graces on my behalf.

  I love him! Even at this early stage in the tour I know he's going to be my favorite.

  'How come he's a liger not a tion?' I ask hoping it's not too stupid a question.

  'Actually it's tigon – that's when you've got a tiger father, lion mother. Ryan is the other way round, hence liger.'

  'I seeeee!' I nod. 'He's a big guy, isn't he?'

  'Eight hundred pounds.'

  'What?’ I reel.

  'Just as well he's not a lap cat, huh?' Carrie laughs, leading us to the next cage. This is Tyson.'

  I gulp at the sight of the stocky, power-packed tiger. 'You wouldn't want to mess with him!'

  'No you wouldn't,' Carrie confirms. 'He used to belong to Mike Tyson!'

  He's not the only bruiser in the pack. Several of the tigers appear pumped-up and ready to rumble while others are slender and demure. I'm intrigued by how much their coats vary in color – from soft golden syrup tones to burnt orange sunsets and, most dramatic of all, pure white with licorice stripes.

  ‘That's Syntar, our white Bengal tiger,' Carrie sounds suitably proud.

  He's stunning. I'd defy anyone not to get tingles looking into those sapphire blue eyes.

  'He's been used a lot for calendars and photoshoots but only facially – the back end of his body has a yellowy tinge that's no good for full body shots. Not in Hollywood, anyway.'

  Sasha takes a step forward. She knows what it's like to be admired only for your looks, to be scrutinized and then dismissed for the slightest flaw. They'll get along great. Beauty and the Beauty.

  We continue down the open-air corridor – passing large cages either side with just the odd paddling pool, tree stump or potted plant breaking up the yards of sandy earth and wire meshing. I'm just wondering how many of these cats would trade what essentially is a spacious squat for a penthouse at the zoo when Carrie

  opens another gate and we step out into a dusty wasteland backed by distant mountains. Other than a row of clapped-out cars, a tractor and a random scattering of rusty tools, it's just flat, dry earth as far as the eye can see.

  'We've got two acres up at the back here. The idea is to build a free-roaming area with trees and waterfalls where the cats can take it in turns to run and play.'

  'Like a day out at the park?' Sasha suggests.

  'Paradise Park!' I suggest a name for it.

  'Why not!' Carrie smiles. 'We're trying to raise the funds to get it landscaped.'

  'You should charge more for your tours – is it really just $5?'

  'Yeah, but until it's prettied up there's not much to see,' she admits, tugging up a tangle of weeds. 'Listen, you girls must be tired, I'll introduce you to the rest of the cats tomorrow.'

  Carrie turns to lead us back to the house.

  'What's through here?' I point to a gate with a NO ENTRY sign. 'If you don't mind me asking.'

  Carrie hesitates then reaches for the padlock. 'These are a few of our special friends,' she says, voice softening. ‘The ones that have been rescued. They're not so used to being around people so we keep them in a quieter area.'

  'Oh we don't have to—' I feel bad for being so nosy.

  'It's fine, just don't make any sudden moves and if they turn their ass towards you and lift their tail, make sure you jump to the side – it's like skunk spray and it goes back a good few meters so there's no point in running backwards!'

  Carrie pushes open the door. Nervously we step through.

  A slim-hipped tiger scrambles to her feet, checking out the intruders.

  'Desiree was rescued from a restaurant in Texas. We don't declaw any of our animals but she came to us already done so we have to keep her in her own cage because she can no longer defend herself.'

  I feel a pang for her: she must feel so vulnerable.

  'And this is Oliver. He was found abandoned in a garage in Wyoming. He'd been left on his own in the middle of winter with no food or water and was frostbitten all over.'

  Sasha's eyes well up and gently she moves closer but the instant Oliver sets eyes on her he starts freaking out.

  Carrie bundles her out of the way.

  'I'm sorry, I forgot – can you tie back your hair?'

  Sasha looks confused as she swiftly winds her hair into a kno
t. Oliver gradually calms down.

  'We think he might have been abused by someone with long hair, it always seems to set him off.'

  I grip Sasha's hand and find her shaking.

  'Ty's been spending a lot of time with him lately. We think he's making progress but after what these animals have been through it's tough …' Carrie shakes her head.

  It seems unfathomable that anyone could be deliberately cruel but Carrie points out that there's a shocking amount of ignorance in the world, citing the man who thought that if he stopped feeding his tiger cub it would stay the same size…

  'Come on, I'll show you the house,' Carrie jollies us out of our slump.

  It's a pretty basic wooden bungalow with very little in the way of furniture and trimmings but the large kichen/dining area overlooking the preserve is warm and homely and smells of baked ham and cornbread (our upcoming dinner, it transpires). There's a long corridor with three bedrooms and a bathroom off it and a half-painted porch with a hammock at the end. I'm rather taken with the idea of sleeping al fresco but we've been assigned sleeping bags on an old mattress two doors down. Bit of a contrast to La Valencia.

  'I'm just going to have our personal butler run a Jacuzzi for us,' I joke to Sasha as we wheel our suitcases in from the car.

  It's pretty spooky in the darkness with the curious walrus-like barking of the cats. I wouldn't like to be staying here by myself and I wouldn't blame Sasha if she suddenly bleated, 'I can't do this!' But instead she seems oddly resigned to her fate, as if she somehow feels she deserves this punishment.

  We're just inside the front door when the lights cut out.

  'You girls okay?' Carrie finds us in the darkness.

  'Fine!' we say gripping on to each other.

  ‘Looks like we got a power cut,' she says matter-of-factly. ‘Ty's moved the torches again so we're gonna be blacked out till he gets here. Why don't you come on through to the kitchen – it's nice and toasty by the stove.'

  'Wood-burning?' I check.

  'That's right.'

  Sasha continues trembling but I heave a sigh of relief – dinner is still on, thank goodness for that!

  'You two sit tight,' Carrie instructs as we fumble towards the table. 'How about I fix us some drinks?'