Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jason
I unlocked the door and walked into the apartment, lugging the two boxes I had come up the stairs with in behind me. That severely limited the already limited space. I had done it though: found an apartment. It almost hadn't happened but the person who had wanted it before me had pulled out, letting me have it. I could kind of see why. I was grateful to finally have a place, stop spending money at a hotel, but the apartment was almost smaller than the hotel room I had been staying at had been.
It was a studio. The front door opened into the kitchen, which I wouldn't have been able to stand in with another person. There was a bathroom with a shower and no tub and a combined living and bedroom area that was like the size of my college dorm plus a little extra. It was a little... no, a lot less than I had been used to. My penthouse in Tribeca had been close to four thousand square feet. I was likely maybe hitting five or six hundred with this place. It would work though. It had to. I wasn't going to keep looking when I had finally found somewhere.
All the furniture from my penthouse was in storage back in New York. All I had come to L.A. with had been a suitcase full of clothes. I had resorted to IKEA furniture, which was what was in the boxes. My bed and a couch. I had ordered a mattress which would likely be coming in tomorrow or the next day, so I was putting the couch together first. I wouldn't need a TV, coffee table, probably not a dresser either, no end tables or any stuff like that. If I had to maybe I'd get one lamp. I didn't have that much space that I could fill anyway so I wasn't really trying to spend a bunch on things I could only use while I was using the space.
This was only temporary. I had told myself that from the beginning. After I got a job and got settled, I could think about sizing up. It would start to feel cramped after a while; I knew it would. Once my penthouse sold, it wouldn't be a problem moving into somewhere with more space. I had lived in a college dorm before, and it wasn't like I had walked out of that dorm right into a high-rise penthouse in one of New York’s most expensive neighborhoods. I could slum it.
This place was kind of a saving grace. My living situation had been the biggest stress for me since the plan to move in with Shelby hadn't worked out. Shelby herself was a close second. I still wasn't getting anything from her. I would leave her texts and voice messages, but if she had seen them, she wasn't giving me anything back. It was a headache at this point. I didn't know what the hell else she wanted me to do. If I couldn't tell her what had actually happened, then we were stuck. I was kind of out of options. What did I try next? Going to her place hadn't worked. I had a feeling that going to the station would end the same way. What else could I do? She had been pretty clear; she didn't want to know how those pictures had ended up all over the place.
Guess it was her move now. I went to the kitchen and dug up a knife I could use to open the boxes. I had bought only a few of everything since it would just be me. I had had to get a basic toolkit which I had been a little mad about. It had been a while since I had had to move houses and even longer since I had done it alone. There were some things that people usually just had, so they didn't have to replace. You know what? This was good. Now I knew better for the next time that I moved across the country without any real plan where I was going to live or what I was going to do for a job. I got to work, sitting on the floor and starting on the couch. It came together in just under an hour of assembly later. I had gone as big as I could with both the bed and the couch for the amount of space that I had. I didn't need much; with what I did get, I at least wanted to be comfortable.
Besides those, I had gotten a small dining table for a steal off of someone from Craigslist. I wasn't planning any dinner parties or anything. Since I had been getting more invested in my writing, it made sense to have somewhere to work that wasn't the bed or couch. I had been getting traffic and feedback on my posts, which were motivators. Distractions too. If I was writing, I didn't have to think about the train wreck that was mine and Shelby's relationship.
I had actually written about it. The post wasn't public, and I wasn't sure I was going to end up putting it up. I hadn't used Shelby's real name or details too specific about the situation, but I had gotten it out. What it was like to fuck up so royally that someone who trusted and cared about you couldn't even look at you anymore. That was it, right? Trust. Shelby had stuck her neck out, trusting me, and I had fucked up anyway. It was therapeutic in a way, helped me see her side I guess, even though I wished she had it in her to let it go. That would probably take time, and that was something I now had a lot of.
But not right now. I was meeting Lake for lunch. I headed out, getting a cab. That was something else I had to do: get a car. Everything in this city was spread out miles apart. We met at a restaurant close to his production company in Hollywood. He had wanted to help with the move but had had work. The night before though, he had told me that he wanted to talk to me about something. I hadn't thought too much about it, being so busy this whole morning.
"How's the move going?" he asked me when our drinks had come.
"Almost done. Not a lot of stuff to move," I reminded him.
"Which place did you end up getting?"
"The shoebox in Monterey Park."
"Are you serious?" he asked. I had told him about the apartments I had been looking at. The one I had ended up picking had just been the one that had become available the fastest. If I had been willing to wait, then I probably could have ended up with something a little more spacious.
"It'll work," I said, shrugging.
"Are you sure? If it’s that bad, you can move into my place for a little bit, couple weeks till you can find a better space?"
"Naw, don't worry about it," I said, brushing the offer off. He was being generous, but I wanted my own space. That had been part of the reason why the hotel had driven me crazy; I was never alone. "I'll survive."
"You said shoebox? How small are we talking?"
"Remember our dorm room? That but with a kitchen and bathroom attached."
"God," he said. "You're one of the ones who made it, Jase; why would you go back?" I just shrugged, taking it in my stride. It would have been a waste of time feeling bad about it. Firstly, because I had already paid a couple month's rent up front. Secondly, because I wasn't going to die from this. I hadn't died living in a dorm in college. It would work till I got something bigger. "The offer still stands if you ever want to take it."
"What did you want to talk to me about?" I asked.
"I told you that I thought I knew about something you'd be interested in," he started. "Well, I heard about a new show that's hiring. Lifestyle show, daytime TV." I frowned.
"You thought I'd be interested in that?"
"These things usually have different segments, like the news but more niche."
"I don't know, what are the hours like?"
"What? You’ve been busy lately?" he scoffed.
"Actually, I have," I said.
"Doing what?"
"Writing. For my own site," I told him. He looked skeptical.
"What are you writing about?"
"Everything: moving, my job, this whole thing with Shelby. Whatever comes to me, really. It's been pretty good."
"Yeah, but is anyone paying you for it?"
"Not as much as a TV writing job, I suppose," I said.
"It could be good."
"I know. I'll look into it," I said to him. Monetizing content on the internet wasn't hard anymore. I doubted the site was going to bring in anything close to enough to live on though. Maybe it would be good. Maybe it would even be fun? When was the last time work had ever been fun for me? If I got it, then I could write for a living, something more sustainable than posting online. I'd give it a shot. I had a place now; it was time to start looking for work anyway. Lake let me know about different neighborhoods he thought I should look for a bigger place in and told me a good place to lease a car so I stopped paying out so much to cabs every time I had to move around. I was glad he lived here, that I wasn't totally out of my depth. I owed him one if I ended up getting the job.
Back at the apartment, a while later, I put my bed together. I had hit the supermarket for essentials, cleaning products, plates, things like that, but no actual food. I was okay getting takeout. I didn't really cook that much, but I wasn't living my old life anymore anyway, so why not start. Sitting back down on my couch, I could see the sun setting outside. It had been a good day, the best since last week when everything had gone to shit. I had my feet back on the ground, had a roof over my head and if everything went well, a job soon.
I took my phone out and called her. Her actually picking up would have been a bigger surprise than her not, but I did it anyway. It had been a good day; I wanted to tell her that I was getting my shit together. I had a place, and soon I'd have a job; anytime she was ready, I wanted to talk to her. I was willing to forget what had happened at her place if she'd just give me a chance to explain myself.
The call went unanswered. Of course, it had. I waited for the tone so I could leave her a message.
"Hey, Shel. It's me. I got a place today. Just moved in. I'll text you the address. It's not much, but it'll work. I talked to a friend who said he would help me get a writing job on a show that's going to start airing soon. I just wanted to tell you what was happening since we haven't talked lately." I paused, debating how to sign off. "I'm sorry. Again. I hope we can talk soon."
I stopped and sent the message. I didn't even know whether she was listening to these fucking things. There was nothing else though, so I'd keep sending them. I didn't want to believe that she didn't care about me anymore. Even hate and resentment meant there was still something; her being indifferent would have meant the end of the line. And there was still our son. She was better than keeping me from him because she was mad. I hoped that she was. If she wasn't, then I hoped that I found out before my penthouse was sold.