The Story of You and Me

by DuMond, Pamela

  “Because I opened it and took one,” he said. “Okay, two. Don’t hate me. I have a thing about sugar and hot men. You just moved here yesterday, but between the flowers, cards, cookies, Mr. Gorgeous and Gidget barking at you last night to welcome you home? And trust me, I know this dog—she’s practically frothing at the mouth in anticipation of becoming your best friend—” Gidget bared her teeth at me and growled. “—your arrival here, Sophie, is turning into a bit of a mystery. And I’m a little obsessed, slightly Nancy Drew-esque, when it comes to mysteries.”

  “No worries. I’m simply here for summer session. The only mystery is why I’ve been so unlucky since I landed here.”

  “That kind of statement sets a bad intention. You might want to eat one of those cookies with a glass of milk before you decide the state of your luck. Night.” He picked up Gidget, tucked her under his arm and headed back inside his place. “Snack time for Gidget before we watch TV?” The dog yipped and wagged her tail.

  “You’re right.” I plunked down on my front step, unwrapped the tin foil, pulled out a cookie and sunk my teeth into a chocolate chip morsel with some kind of secret ingredient that tickled my taste buds. A postcard was stuck in the basket, a “DRIVEN” logo printed on the front. The same email and phone number were on the back. Along with a note:

  Dear Sophie:

  Summer session doesn’t even start for two days. And you’re recovering from a truly crappy first night in a new town. I’m sorry if I was a bit pushy. I volunteer to show you around L.A., which is kind of a weird place to be, even if you’re raised here—like me. So call or email me, or track me down at the Grill where I tend to hang out.

  I nibbled on another cookie. This was the best part of my day so far. Except for the daisies. Filling out reams of paperwork, being pushed down a hospital corridor on a gurney, having my spine injected with stem cells, taking ass-numbingly long bus rides and being accosted by a skin-head were not in the running for the top ten best things about today. But this cookie was delicious. What was Alex’s secret ingredient? I turned my eyes back to his letter.

  And, by the way? I made these cookies from scratch. And that wasn’t easy, because I suck at baking. I hope you like them.

  Best,

  Alejandro Maxwell Levine

  Because you didn’t know my last name and kind of accused me of being a stalker. Which I’m not.

  P.S. After I dropped off the basket, I was driving down your street and witnessed your next-door neighbor stealing one of my cookies. You might want to double bolt your doors. I’m not sure I trust him. Or his dog.

  I started giggling and then thought about my day. I remembered how scared I was counting from ten backward in a cold, sterile room before I blacked out and woke up shivering on a cot with a thin blanket pulled over me in recovery. I flashed to what it felt like to have my newly healing face shoved into a chain-link fence while some asshole restrained and tried to assault me. I touched my back where it ached. Put a hand to my face and saw a touch of blood on my finger.

  Floodgates from someplace deep inside me broke open, and suddenly I felt lonely and furious and sad. Cole slid his kitchen window open. Gidget hopped in it, gazed at me and barked. I got up, grabbed the cookies, walked a few steps and knocked on Cole’s door. He opened it, a questioning look on his face. “Got milk?” I asked. ’Cause I’ve got killer cookies.”

  He smiled. “Come inside, mystery girl.”

  What the hell? Cookies and milk might be the perfect way to end today.

  Chapter Six

  I called my mom from Cole’s place and gave her the update on the stem cell procedure. I skipped the bit about getting assaulted and promised that I’d pick up a new phone tomorrow.

  Cole might have been a cookie-thief, but he was a sweet host. The milk was low fat, tasted farm fresh and I washed down another antibiotic pill. Gidget even allowed me to play tug-a-war with her and her favorite stuffed toy. I left after a half hour and went back to my place. I was exhausted and one-hundred-and-ten percent ready for bed.

  Which is why I was confused that I tossed and turned the entire night. I stared at the two framed photos on my dresser that I’d brought with me from home. The first was a posed shot of my mom, my grandmother and me. The second was a selfie of my best friend and me mugging it up at a football game. I wondered how everyone was. I probably fell asleep around five a.m. and didn’t even blink my eyes open until around three p.m. that day. I woke up feeling like a truck had hit me.

  I trudged to the bathroom and examined my face in the mirror. Most of my cuts were healing. But the few that Pintdick had broken open had fresh little bloody scabs and faint purple and green bruises blossomed on the skin underneath them. I sported under eye circles the size of small dark Wisconsin lakes. I was so incredibly pretty. Not.

  I showered, pulled on some jeans, a T-shirt and sunglasses. I grabbed a cookie and walked to the commercial center of Westwood to get a new phone. An hour and a half later my sole mission for today was accomplished.

  I grabbed a salad and a falafel at a Mediterranean fast food joint and took a seat by the window by myself. I watched everyone inside the place sharing a meal as they chatted with friends or family. I left my trap on the stand next to the door and left. My heart tugged and I felt homesick. Perfect time to call my best friend back home: Mary Martha Mapleson.

  She picked up on the second ring. “You miss me already, don’t you? Changed your mind about your most excellent adventure. What time should I pick you up at the airport tonight?”

  I smiled. “Triple M, I do miss you! What’s going on back home?”

  “Except for pre-season Packers’ football starting it’s same old, same old. Dull and boring. Done anything interesting? Met anyone exciting?”

  The hottest guy I’ve ever met rescued me and made me cookies. The creepiest asshat attacked me. I’ve been to the hospital twice in three days. “You have no idea.” I spotted a small park and plopped down on a bench. We launched into our typical hour-long chat.

  Back at my new place my e-reader was still broken, so I read a paper book for a change. Flipped through channels on TV, surfed the Internet. Wondered if Cole was home. Thought about knocking on his door and seeing what he was doing, but I didn’t want to become the pathetic, creepy, new neighbor who always showed up unannounced. The sun set. I changed into PJs and surfed the Internet looking for more YouTube videos on the different types of healing I wanted to explore. Some looked great, some weird and frankly some looked downright Dr. Frankenstein scary.

  It was ten o’clock and I was still wide-awake. And I thought about Alejandro. He was obviously an Alpha Boy, but there was something different about him. Something intriguing. It didn’t hurt that he could be the poster guy for the California Tourism Board. “Enjoy your visit to So-Cal. We guarantee you’ll want to stay and play for a while!”

  I had more appointments with healers lined up in Playa del Vista and strange places called Compton and Gardena. I really didn’t know how in the hell I’d get to them without getting attacked or killed in traffic or surprised by more religious zealots. At least back home the Jehovah’s ladies dressed in pretty dresses and hats and knocked on your door instead of jumping in front of you. An idea percolated in my brain. I wondered if… nah. That was crazy!

  My stomach rumbled. I’d forgotten to go grocery shopping. I went into the kitchen, pulled out a cookie from the tinfoil in the basket and gobbled it down. Munched on a second one and picked up Alejandro’s invite from the night before.

  So call or email me, or track me down at the Grill where I tend to hang out…

  Alejandro

  I brushed my teeth, dabbed on some lip gloss, brushed my hair, pulled on jeans, and a stretchy long-sleeved V-neck top that would hide the bruises on my arms from the blood draw as well as the ones on my back from the stem cell injections. I grabbed a jacket, my purse, and walked out my front door. Locked it and heard a small growl. Gidget was in the kitchen window next door.

 
; “Cut a girl a break. I’m just going ’cause I’m hungry. And I’m polite. Midwestern girls are polite.” I said. She wagged her tail at me.

  * * *

  I stood outside the entrance of the Westwood Grill. It was Saturday, but later than my unfortunate incident from the previous night, which meant the place was packed, standing-room-only. I stepped inside its heavy wooden doors and spotted some of the same characters, as well as many more.

  “Hey girlfriend! Glad you’re back.” Cheyenne smiled and brushed past me on her way to deliver a round of appetizers and margaritas to a corner table packed with beautiful people.

  “Thanks!” I said. Freddie was behind the bar pouring beers, cutting limes and sticking wedges into several large glasses on top of his bar. The booby blonde perched at her signature four-top surrounded by her triplet wannabes while a hive of horny cute college-aged dudes buzzed around them dropping off drinks, appetizers, cards, phone numbers and options.

  I swept the room with my eyes, but I didn’t see Alejandro. I pulled his card from my purse and reached for my phone when I felt a gentle tug on my elbow.

  “You’re Sophie, right?”

  I nodded and looked up into the handsome face of a beach blonde young man who smiled at me with crystal blue eyes that had the beginnings of twinkle wrinkles. He rocked a surfer’s muscular tanned body that his T-shirt and board shorts could not hide.

  “Welcome back!” He extended a Corona bottle with a lime wedge toward me. “You’re old enough to drink, right?”

  I nodded. I had my fake ID in my wallet. So yeah, I was old enough to drink. I normally didn’t drink beer, but after today? A beer would probably hit the spot. I accepted it. “Thanks.” I took a slug. “Your name is?”

  “Nathan. I never thought I’d see you back at the Grill after the other night.”

  “Ditto that.”

  He nodded. “We’re in a big city, but USCLA is basically a college town. Shit happens, but someone like you—an innocent bystander getting injured—is extreme.” He bent down and peered at my face. “Alex did a good job helping you.”

  “Thanks.” Nathan was handsome, seemed sweet, but he was leaning into my space. And way too many people had invaded my space for a wide variety of reasons the past several days. I backed a bit away from him. “I was looking for Alejandro. I wanted to thank him. And maybe grab a bite to go.”

  He looked disappointed, but nodded. “Got it. Alex swooped in and shepherded you through a rough evening. Just so you know? He’s a great Driver, but he isn’t the only Driver at USCLA. There’s a bunch of us. We’re dedicated. We’re honest. We’ve been through our share of shit. But now, for the most part, we’re clean.”

  “What does that mean?” I took another sip of beer. No Alejandro meant I should just get out of this place and just hit a fast food place. What was I thinking coming back here?

  “Maybe you should ask Alex,” Nathan said.

  “I’d love to. But he’s not here.”

  “Yes, he is.” Nathan pointed to the opposite corner of the Grill. I craned my neck and saw a stunning, dark-skinned young woman with a killer body perched on Alex’s lap. Her black shiny hair was cropped short just like her floral sundress. She draped one bare tanned arm across his shoulders and whispered into his ear. He tilted his head back and laughed out loud.

  My heart dropped into my stomach. Mr. Gorgeous was with Ms. Gorgeous. Just as nature intended; just as the world was supposed to be. I broke out into a sweat. I felt every scab on my face, every puncture on my back, everything that was wrong with me as I stood here in this local eatery packed with impossibly beautiful people, the exception being me—Ms. Plain. Ms. Bruised. Ms. Diseased.

  There was no way Alejandro would ever be interested in me. He was just doing his job. He was just being sweet. I was simply his latest rescue case.

  “He’s busy,” I said. “Thanks for the beer, Nathan. See you around campus?” I smiled up into his face, beguiling. Friendly. Completely fake. Held my beer bottle up and we toasted.

  He smiled at me. “Absolutely. Looking forward to it.”

  I turned to leave.

  “Sophie?”

  “What?”

  “You’re new in town. You probably know you’re beautiful—”

  Nathan had a sense of humor.

  “—but you might not realize that you’re different from most of the girls around here. All of us Drivers are intrigued.”

  “Who are the other Drivers?” I frowned.

  He pointed to a nearby table. Two handsome college-aged guys were watching our conversation and tipped their glasses in the air toward us in acknowledgment. “Right now there are only four of us. That said—we have a short code of ethics. One: Don’t drink and drive. Two: Do your best to take the keys away in a non-violent fashion. And three: The Driver who meets a pretty girl first gets dibs on her until he screws it up. I’m really hoping that happens tonight. Go talk with Alex.”

  I frowned. I was already a pawn on too many boards. I had not come here to be a player in one more game. “Another night.”

  “Reconsider?” Nathan asked. “The quicker Alex screws it up, the sooner the rest of us have a legitimate shot at you. Don’t get me wrong. He’s like a brother. But, you know how sibling rivalry works. You’d make three guys very happy by simply having a conversation with him.”

  I looked over at Alex and the gorgeous girl. Now she was whispering into his ear, their faces touching, both of her arms wrapped around his neck. One of his circled her waist. They were a beautiful couple. Healthy, attractive and would most likely live long, happy lives. They were made for each other.

  “I’ve got a better idea.” I chugged the rest of my beer. “Why don’t you just tell Alex thanks for me. And tell him I said he can forget the other night ever happened.” I placed the bottle on a table. “Feel free to tell him that.”

  Nathan looked confused and I walked out the front door.

  * * *

  The two cookies, sadness, disappointment and probably a touch of anesthesia that was still wearing off had killed my appetite. So I skipped the fast food and made my way back toward my apartment. This time I knew the route. Turn left at the Gap store. Walk four blocks. Turn right on the street with the three lemon and orange trees on the corner.

  Hold on—every corner seemed to have three lemon and orange trees. But I remembered to keep on walking until I hit the street where the apartment buildings had yellow, dark red and pink rosebushes out front. This corner only had red rose bushes. But the overwhelming scent of lemons distracted me.

  Grocery store lemons never smelled this good. Only lemony fresh furniture polish smelled this good. I stopped and reached up to snap one from the lemon tree. But it eluded my grasp.

  “Wuss,” Alejandro said.

  Crap.

  “What?” I slammed back on my heels.

  “Wuss,” he said from the sidewalk and stepped onto the grass as he made his way toward me. “You came to see me at the Grill but then you left? Why’d you chicken out?”

  “I did not chicken out. What do you want?” I backpedaled into a rosebush and jumped when a thorn poked my butt.

  “You totally chickened out. You’re acting weird. What do you mean, ‘The other night never happened.’ Of course the other night happened. You’re not telling me something. Be honest with me. What do you want?”

  “I want you to go back to the Grill and leave me. Just leave me alone.” I refused to let those seductive hazel eyes of his suck me in and returned my attention to the lemon tree. I balanced on my tiptoes and reached up for a juicy one high overhead, slightly out of my reach. I was grabbing a lemon and going home. I don’t care if he stripped naked right now in front of me and whistled the “Star Spangled Banner.” I would Not. Look. At. Him.

  His hand brushed against mine, snapped the fruit off the tree and held it out to me. Unfortunately, he was not naked. I sighed and took the lemon as my heels dropped back onto the ground.

  “Your answer
doesn’t cut it, Bonita.”

  I suddenly missed Oconomowoc, my Wisconsin hometown. Where lemons didn’t smell lemony and I already knew and had turned down the majority of the Alpha Boys. “Look Alejandro, Alex, whatever I should call you…”

  “Call me whenever you want.”

  “…I’m not a wuss. I’m simply the new girl in town for summer session at USCLA who had one bad night.”

  Make that two nights in a row.

  “Thank you for helping me,” I said. “That’s why I went to the Grill. To thank you. And now you can leave.”

  “You’re welcome. But I’m not leaving without an explanation why you left the Grill with your weird ‘the other night never happened’ remark.”

  “Fine. You’re obviously a guy who has a lot of stuff going on, a lot of chicks coming and going, no pun intended.” I stared up into his beautiful, now frowning face.

  “How do you know the number of chicks I have coming and going?”

  I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m too young and I’m also too old for these kinds of games. You need to go back to the Grill, find a hot girl, maybe that raven-haired one that was all over you. You need to drive her some place, bang her and carve another notch in your belt.”

  “Are you talking about Lucina?” he asked. “The girl with the dark short hair who kind of looks like me?”

  Maybe she did kind of look like him.

  “What’s her name who was swirled all over you like icing on a freshly baked cinnamon roll.”

  Alex laughed out loud. Then covered his mouth and laughed with a snort. The same way I did. “Lucina’s my cousin. Yes, she’s gorgeous. She’s also a lesbian. She pulls the whole fake seduction thing with me every time she meets a new girl that she’s interested in and wants to test her. Will that girl fight for her attention? Or see her with me and simply let it go? Her technique separates the serious suitors from the ‘maybe-I’d-be into it for a night’ bi-curiosity.”