The Story of You and Me

by DuMond, Pamela

  “My friends from the stem cell program for spinal cord injuries are going bathing suit shopping.”

  “I don’t swim. I don’t need a suit.”

  “You’re going to a romantic Mexican beach resort with your Driver. Do I even need to spell out the possible scenarios that might arise? You need a new bathing suit. Do you not remember the transformative power of beautification?”

  “Don’t the stores close at like nine?” I poured kibble into Napoleon’s dish on my kitchen floor. He hovered next to it like he hadn’t eaten in five days.

  She laughed. “You’ve never been shopping with us before. It’s kind of an adventure mixed with a party. Nine thirty sharp. In front of your apartment. Look for a pink limo.”

  “Pink?” I heard squeals of laughter in the background. “Yes. Pink. It works for us.” She hung up.

  Napoleon pawed his food and gleefully tossed kibble onto my kitchen floor while he chowed down. And I wondered.

  What had I gotten myself into?

  Chapter Eighteen

  I stood outside on the sidewalk in front of my place at 9:25 p.m. I shivered. It wasn’t Wisconsin cold, but it was a little chilly. I shrugged on the jean jacket I’d brought. I didn’t want to be late. Everyone hated late. Cole popped out his door with Gidget tucked under his arm for their last run of the night.

  He placed her gently on the ground and let her run around and sniff vile things. “What are you doing out here at this time of night?”

  “Going shopping,” I said.

  “That’s weird.” Gidget ran off and stuck her nose in something that appeared disgusting next to the curb. “With the exception of Hollywood, I do believe most stores are closing about now.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I said. “But I’ve met a girl whose friends apparently have connections and I need a bathing suit for Mexico. You’re still cool taking care of Napoleon for a few days?”

  “Yeah.”

  “As much as I adore Gidget, don’t let her in my place, okay? I worry. Napoleon’s just so small and vulnerable and—”

  Cole waved his hand at me. “You got me the Gary Cooper house tour. We’re solid. Leave me directions when to feed him, how much, contact info on the kitchen counter next to his food.”

  “Perfect. By the coffeepot,” I said. “You can call me. Oh, shit. What if there’s bad reception in Mexico. And I don’t have a vet yet. But I did buy a cat carrier. Just in case—”

  “Nothing’s going to happen. Napoleon’s young and perfect and adorable.”

  Because weird accidents and diseases never happened to young, perfect and adorable beings.

  I shook my head. “But if something happens…”

  “You worry too much. If one hair falls off his precious head, I’ll take him to Gidget’s vet. You just have to promise to include me at the next BBQ at the Cookie Monster’s house.”

  “Okay?”

  “And the séance. Promise.”

  “I promise. What séance?”

  “Do you not understand that mediums attempt on a daily basis to contact the spirits of dead movie stars? Just think of the possibilities if I were actually inside a dead movie star’s former abode, attempting to contact them? I could pitch this as a reality TV show. I have friends in the industry, you know,” Cole said.

  “Is this an L.A. thing? Because back in Wisconsin reality TV is either The Bachelorette or football.”

  When a bubblegum pink stretch limo pulled onto our street, windows down. Strangely enough, Pink—the singer—blared on its sound system.

  Cole and I eyed it, incredulous.

  “I think that’s my ride,” I said.

  “I think you’re going to have fun tonight,” Cole grabbed Gidget, tucked her under his arm and hustled back inside his place.

  The pink limo pulled to a stop next to the curb. A side door flew open. Blue poked her head out. “Welcome to the Wheelie Girls’ Bathing Suit Party, Cheesehead! Hop aboard.”

  Not something I would have done back in Wisconsin. But I wasn’t in Wisconsin anymore.

  “Hell yeah!” I punched my fist in the air and jogged toward the limo.

  * * *

  Blue and her three girlfriends were seat-belted into the super comfy seats in the plush, tricked-out limo. Their wheelchairs were folded, stacked and secured with straps in the far back of the vehicle.

  “This is my friend, Sophie,” Blue said. “She’s here from Wisconsin and is a rat in the MS stem cell study. Give her a Wheelie Girls’ shout-out.”

  “Hey-Hey!” Blue’s friends leaned toward me, smiled and lifted their glasses.

  All I had was a bottle of water in my purse. I pulled it out and raised it to toast them—

  “Bad luck! Don’t drink!” A gorgeous brunette exclaimed.

  The girls hastily lowered their glasses and leaned away from me.

  “Had enough bad luck to last a life time,” a pretty, mocha-skinned African American girl grimaced. “Nice to meet you Sophie. I’m Kiarah.”

  “It’s super bad luck to toast with someone who only has water,” the brunette said. “The new chick needs a party drink. Hey, Sophie. My name’s Lulu.” She poured some Dom Perignon champagne into a glass that was already partially filled with orange juice. She swirled it and passed it to me. “This is the sweetest mimosa you’ll ever taste. Now we toast, ladies.”

  We clinked glasses and drank. “Cheers!”

  “L’chaim!”

  “Saluté!”

  “To a most excellent adventure,” Blue said.

  I sipped. Yowsa. “Best mimosa ever,” I said. “Thanks for including me.”

  “Thanks for joining us. I’m Amelia,” a redheaded girl said and raised her glass to me. We toasted and took another drink.

  “I’m calling truth or dare night. We haven’t done that in a while.” Blue pulled out her notepad and a pen from her purse. “Amelia, tell Sophie why you’re in a chair. Or accept your dare.”

  Amelia made a face. “I don’t think your friend wants to hear all the gory details the first night she meets us.”

  “So tell her your story in a non-gory fashion.” Blue flipped to a page in her book and started scribbling. I spotted Amelia’s name on top. Her notebook was like the Book of Scary Secrets. “Truth or dare, Amelia.”

  “Truth.” Amelia took a sip of her drink. “I was in a car accident about three and a half years ago. My spinal cord was screwed up. I went from being a high school cheerleader to being the high school mascot.”

  “Pathetic, Amelia? I don’t think so.” Lulu topped off Amelia’s glass with more bubbly. “Chair or no chair you’re so pretty, that every guy at Yale-Eastlake still wanted to bang you.”

  Amelia giggled. “Hah! Truth!”

  “I’m calling truth before Blue bugs me,” Kiarah said.

  “You don’t have to,” I said.

  “Have you ever argued with Blue?”

  “Uh...”

  “Mm hmm. She’s relentless,” Kiarah said. “I’m a Wheelie Girl because of a slip and fall. Can you freaking believe it? Stupid store didn’t put up the yellow sign after they mopped the linoleum.”

  “You got a seven figure settlement,” Lulu said.

  “I’d rather be poor and able to walk,” Kiarah countered.

  Lulu grabbed another champagne bottle from a built-in refrigerator, twisted off the netting and popped the cork. Blue and her friends held their glasses out and she poured more champagne. She tipped the bottle in my direction.

  “Orange juice?” I asked.

  Lulu arched one eyebrow. “Lightweight.”

  “Seizures,” I said.

  “Got it.” She topped my glass off with fresh orange juice from a glass container.

  “Truth or dare, Lulu,” Blue said.

  “Car accident. Old story. Drink up ladies. We are celebrating, tonight.”

  “I love celebrations,” Amelia said.

  “What are we celebrating?” Kiarah asked and sipped her mimosa.

  “W
ell,” Lulu sighed and gazed at the wheelchairs stacked in the back of the limo. “I’ve been in the stem cell program for over a year now. A week ago I bent down to put on a shoe. And no shit, first time in years, I could swear I wiggled a couple of my toes. Just a little. So, I did it like ten more times to check. But I could wiggle my freaking toes.”

  Kiarah nearly spit her drink out of her mouth. “Holy crap!”

  “Oh my God!” Amelia squealed. “That’s fabulous! What’s next, I mean—”

  “I don’t even want to go there tonight. I just want to have fun,” Lulu said.

  “That’s awesome news, Lulu,” I said.

  I caught the look on Blue’s face. Happiness, envy. Back to happiness.

  “I love you, Lu. I’m a little envious, but it couldn’t happen to a more deserving chick,” Blue said.

  Lulu nodded. “Thanks! So, tonight’s bathing suit party is on me, ladies. I do believe we are approaching the bathing suit capitol of L.A.’s Westside.”

  “Nordies!” Amelia said. “Double yay!”

  * * *

  The limo driver dropped us at a back entrance to Nordies at Westside Pavilion Shopping Center. A security guard knew we were coming and let us in a back door. A mid-thirties coiffed female shopping assistant led us to elevators and the bathing suit section in the sports wear department on the third floor.

  Now Blue and me were sifting through suits on the racks. She was in the bikini section. I’d made a beeline for the one-piece rack. Amelia, Kiarah and Lulu already made their selections and the Nordies’ sales assistant was helping them in the dressing room.

  I hovered over the circular rack, flipping through suit after suit and carefully picked out five attractive pieces in an array of colors.

  Blue wheeled up. “Show me you stash.”

  I held one suit in front of her. “This one’s pink. Pretty color,” I said.

  “Boring,” Blue said.

  I stuck out the next. “The teal one has a scooped neckline and a built-in pushup bra. I could dazzle him with my cleavage.”

  “In that? Maybe if he was eighty-five years old and half blind.”

  I frowned and pushed another in front of her. “The white one’s kind of retro. Like—maybe a Bond Girl wore something like this, fifty years ago. Sexy, yes?”

  “Absolutely. Fifty years ago, Mamie Eisenhower.”

  I harrumphed. “The black one—the tag says it’s slimming, and well, everyone looks good in black, right?”

  “Houston, we have a problem. Why are you picking suits designed for middle-aged women when you’re nineteen? Show off the goods, girlfriend.”

  “But I don’t even swim!” I said.

  “This isn’t about swimming!”

  Lulu, Kiarah and Amelia exited the dressing room. The sales lady trailed behind them carrying a hefty pile of swimwear.

  “If it’s not about swimming—then what’s it about?” Lulu asked.

  Kiarah wrinkled her up nose. “You’re getting a one-piece?”

  Blue smirked. “Truth or dare, Sophie. Truth—tell them what this is about, or accept your dare.”

  Oh crap. I did not want to tell these girls I was headed to Mexico with Alejandro. “I, I…”

  “Fine. I’ll tell them,” Blue said. “Sophie’s got a hot—”

  “Dare!” I exclaimed.

  “Ooh. A hot dare it is!” Amelia said.

  “I’m a huge fan of hot dares.” Kiarah smiled.

  “Your dare, Sophie, is that we,” Blue smiled at her friends, “get to pick out a suit for you. And you have to promise to wear it.”

  “Squee!” Amelia headed toward the clothing rack filled with bikinis.

  “Wicked,” Lulu wagged her finger at Blue and grinned. “That’s what I like about you.”

  “Nothing too revealing!” I said.

  “Take a risk, Cheesehead,” Blue said. “We’ll pick you out something semi-revealing, something super-revealing and maybe throw in a beach cover up if you give us a fashion show.”

  “Help me…”

  But the Wheelie girls just giggled and flipped through bikinis, because they were on a mission.

  * * *

  The outside of the high-rise hotel was sleek and modern, gleaming in the morning sun. It was situated in a pricey, well-kept section of L.A. called Century City, on a wide boulevard called the Avenue of the Stars.

  “You’re going to a Kelsey Vision Quest gathering?” Alejandro asked from the Jeep’s driver seat.

  “Yeah. I heard Dr. Kelsey speak at a seminar on the boardwalk before all the craziness with the Lowriders happened. He was really interesting.”

  Alex shook his head. “From what I’ve heard, the good doctor’s a little crazy himself. A bunch of my mom’s friends went to his Quests years ago. Everyone takes mushrooms, wanders around in the wilderness and speaks in tongues.”

  “I do believe speaking in tongues is a Pentecostal thing. Dr. Kelsey told me his program has been updated.”

  “Just because something’s updated doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a good thing. Like—World War II Nazis versus the Neo-Nazis. The whole Quest thing creeps me out. It’s not the safest alternative healing modality out there.” He pulled the Jeep into the sweep of the hotel entrance.

  A man in a uniform rushed to the passenger door and opened it. “Valet?” he asked and opened the passenger door for me.

  “Thanks. Just dropping off,” Alex said. “How long is this gathering?”

  “An hour,” I said. “Hour and a half max?” I stepped out of the car and the valet closed the Jeep’s door.

  He shook his head. “Make it quicker. We need to beat the traffic and haul ass south of San Diego before gridlock. Gridlock doubles our commute. Passing Mexico’s immigration can be quick or a long, slow nightmare with wait times. I’d like to cross the Tijuana border before rush hour.”

  “Okay. What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “Westfield Mall’s up the road. Grabbing more provisions.”

  “We’re only staying one night, right? I only made a reservation for one night.”

  “I still don’t understand why you don’t want to stay at my parent’s place. It’s pretty. It’s safe. I won’t jump your bones.” He waggled his eyebrows at me.

  “Right. I’m staying at a hotel.”

  “Your call. Hey, Bonita. This Quest group feels a little cultish. If they ask you to sign an organ donation card, don’t do it, okay?”

  “You’re bad,” I said.

  “Hah! You have no idea…” He grinned and peeled out of the driveway.

  * * *

  Dr. Kelsey’s private seminar was held in an ultra modern two-bedroom penthouse suite with sweeping eastern views of L.A.’s downtown miles in the distance, and the mountains rimming it further away.

  Meathead #1 stood by the suite’s entrance door eyeing everyone as they came and went. He was probably on the lookout for someone pilfering hotel soap. Folks of all ages gathered around TV screens watching Youtube videos of Kelsey Vision Quests. A Greeter walked past handing out snacks and offering herbal tea. Another greeter lit a stick of sage leaves with a match and swished it around the room.

  “You’d better wave that closer to the floor,” I said. “You don’t want to be setting off the fire alarms.”

  A thirty-something woman looked at the brochures and booklets on a small conference table covered in a white linen tablecloth. I picked up a few pamphlets and paged through them.

  “Have you ever been on a Kelsey Vision Quest?” she asked.

  “No. You?” I said.

  “Absolutely. My first helped me get over my loser ex-boyfriend. I’m Beth.”

  “Sophie,” I said. “So you’ve taken more than one?”

  “Yes. My second Quest freed the energy of my bummer ex-husband. I’m thinking about going on a third.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Did you see the male greeter passing out the appetizers? Like, I know he’s like fifteen years younger than me bu
t he’s so hot.”

  Maybe Beth needed to change her choice in men.

  “You should totally do the Quest,” she said. “It’s transformative.”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  Dr. Kelsey squeezed my arm. I jumped, until I realized it was him, not a Meathead. And I relaxed. “I believe in honesty,” he said. “How about you?”

  “Absolutely.” Considering how many half-truths and lies I’d told since I landed in L.A., that was actually a funny response.

  “Great. Why don’t you tell me more details about why you’re here?” He took my arm and led me away through the crowded living room to a bedroom door.

  I balked. “I’m not…”

  “Neither am I,” he said. “Just want to talk with you privately. Keep the door wide open should that make you more comfortable.”

  * * *

  Dr. Kelsey sat at a small table next to the window while I paced. Finally I closed the bedroom door for more privacy. Then spilled everything to him about my MS, the alternative healers and the USCLA stem cell study.

  “You got a lot on your plate. Take a Quest,” he said. “Confront your fears. Meet your spiritual guardians. Ask them what they can do to help you battle MS.”

  “But it’s not me I’m here for. It’s not me who I’m worried about. At least not right now.”

  He shook his head. “Then who is it?”

  I bit my lip. “My grandmother. She’s been in a wheelchair for over five years. She’s had MS for thirty years. Her health’s going downhill. I’m scared she might not have that much time left.”

  “That’s why you’re here in L.A? That’s why you’re researching alternative healers and doing the USCLA stem cell study?”

  “Yes.” I bit my lip. “I can’t just let her wither away and die without a fight. It’s not fair!”

  “Well then, Sophie Marie Priebe.” Dr. Kelsey held out his hand to me. “Let’s get you on a Quest. You’ll find your power. Become wiser than you ever dreamed possible. And quite possibly help your grandmother.”