CHAPTER 13
FINN
“Hey!”
Lost in slumber, the voice didn’t immediately wake me up.
“Hey, asshole!”
That did it.
I opened my eyes, instantly blinded by the sun.
“What the hell?” I groaned, when I felt something poke my leg. Blinking rapidly, my eyes finally focused on the disheveled old man in front of me. Wrinkled and bent over, he was stabbing me with a long, crooked stick. “Stop it!”
“That’s my bench!”
“Your’s?” I asked, looking around the park. The sun was barely rising in the distance, and the park was still as deserted as it was when I finally stopped wandering aimlessly around downtown and decided to sleep on the bench last night.
“Yes, I arrive here every morning at five forty-five and I sit here for exactly one hour, fifty-three minutes and twenty-seven seconds,” he muttered.
“What?” I asked, shaking my head. His smell was overwhelming, a mixture of old man and piss.
“Every day,” he nodded, his eyes a bright blue orb in a dirty, weathered face. “And then, I head over to to the San Julian park and I stay there, on the third bench to the right of the fountain. I sit there for two hours, one minute and five seconds, before heading over to the Spring Street park, where I sit on the bench next to the playground, for exactly —.”
“— I got it!” I shouted, clutching my aching head.
He stepped back, politely nodding as he waited.
“Fine, whatever,” I gathered my back pack and gave up the bench. With a gleeful smile, he sat down and began emptying the contents of a paper bag onto the bench. I waited a moment, watching, as he pulled out three rocks, a plastic bag full of sunflower seeds, a ball point pen and one dirty black sock. He placed the rocks on the seat next to him in a row, opened up the bag of seeds and flung them into the grass in front of the bench. He clicked open the pen and began drawing on his palm, all the while humming joyfully and leaving the sock lying next to him.
“Have a nice day, sir,” I mumbled, walking away and making my way out of the park. The streets were fairly deserted as this early hour, and I wandered up and down them for at least an hour, the rays of sun peeking through the tops of the skyscrapers. I’d made my way downtown late last night after my shift at Tomcats, alone and homeless, but feeling on top of the world.
Going on that stage last night had changed something in me. Nerves and panic threatened to take me down until the very last minute, and Daine being an ass to me didn’t help. But once I heard the thunderous applause and saw all those women with their friendly smiles and welcoming cheers, I was hooked.
I came alive, loving the lights, the music, the attention…
Not to mention the cash.
I hadn’t made enough that I was comfortable getting another hotel room just yet but when I stumbled upon a diner turning on their ‘open’ sign this morning, I strode in and ordered the biggest breakfast on the menu and took my time eating it while I contemplated my next move.
I was working again tonight. And tomorrow. If they gave me a shift every day, then by the end of the week I could get a room somewhere and be able to feed myself. Once I’d saved enough in a couple of weeks, I just might be able to find a more permanent place.
A place to call home.
What a concept, I thought.
Most of my life, I figured I’d always call Bixby home, but now I wasn’t sure I’d ever go back there. Now that Mama was dead, there was nothing left for me there anymore. I’d spent the last three years of my life taking care of her, watching her die right before my eyes, and that town was dripping in those memories. Memories I’d just as soon forget.
Los Angeles was everything Bixby wasn’t.
Sophisticated. Scenic. Beautiful.
Bixby was just a sad, flat town with nothing to do but go fishin’ at the river or go to Friday night high-school football games. There was nothing sophisticated or beautiful about it.
And now, it was nothing but a town full of bad memories.
Whatever my future holds, it’s here in L.A. — I’m sure of it.
I finished up my breakfast and spent the rest of the day being a tourist downtown. Little Tokyo was bustling with activity and I must have spent at least a few hours wandering in and out of the tiny shops and sampling exotic foods from the street vendors. Later, I took a bus to the history museum and lost myself in the exhibits for the better part of the afternoon.
By the time I left, I was exhausted from walking and I desperately needed a shower. I’d spotted a couple in the back of the dressing rooms at Tomcats and I headed over early, hoping I could get there before anyone else did to take advantage of them without anyone noticing.
The place was quiet when I arrived, a far cry from the chaos and celebrations of last night. Luckily, the front door was open and I strolled right in, nodding at the cleaning crew that was busy at work.
The dressing room was empty, too, but just as messy as it was last night.
“I guess neatness isn’t a concept they subscribe to,” I mumbled, slowly strolling past the open lockers. Each dancer was assigned their own locker. Our names were written in chalk on top of each one. But there were no doors on any of them, offering an intimate look at their contents.
Blaze’s looked like it belonged to a high school kid; practically wall papered with centerfolds of every shape, size and color. Hanging from a hook was a black leather vest and a white g-string. A thick, wooden hairbrush sat on a shelf next to a jar of moisturizer.
Fox’s was full of vitamins of all kinds and littered with half-empty bottles of water and energy drinks. A bottle of deodorant and a picture of an old lady that looked exactly like him sat on the shelf.
Daine’s was confusing. Eye drops. Condoms. Empty red bull cans and crumbled up In-n-Out bags. But it was the picture taped to the inside that threw me. It looked like it was torn from a dirty magazine, an advertisement for Calvin Klein cologne, with some random male model lying naked in a bed. I looked closer, but I didn’t recognize the model as anyone famous, and I couldn’t figure out why Daine would have a picture of him.
It must be a friend of his, I thought.
I took a step closer, drawn to the contents of the locker that allowed me to know him just a little bit better. A small wooden box sat off to the side of the shelf, the lid firmly closed, begging me to open it.
Gingerly, I raised the lid, peering inside.
Jewelry.
Gold, silver, even some diamond earrings. Whether it was real or not, I didn’t know. It was flashy, that’s for sure. Bracelets and necklaces, a few cuff links. I picked one of them up — a square, gold and diamond cuff link — and held it up to the light. It shimmered as I turned it in the light and I couldn’t help but smile.
This was Daine’s, I thought….
A lump formed in my throat and Mama’s face flashed in my head.
What would she say if she could see me now?
“What the hell, kid!” Daine screamed, appearing out of nowhere. He’d snuck up on me. He pointed to the cuff link in my hand, anger washing over his face. “Are you fucking stealing from me?”
“What!” I cried. “No! Not at all! I was just — I was just —.”
“Just what?” he shouted, snatching the link from my palm and leaning in close to my face. “Look, kid! I don’t know where you came from or what your story is, but I’m fucking watching you, do you understand? And you’d best not fuck with me, if you want to keep your job. You don’t know who you’re messing with.”
“Daine Ryan,” I muttered, looking away.
“What?”
“Daine Ryan, you’re Daine Ryan, the famous featured artist at L.A’s trendiest new ladies club.”
He paused, cocking his head.
“Yeah, well,” he said, turning away. “Just stay out of my shit, you understand?”
“Sure, sorry,” I muttered, walking quickly out of the room, cursing myself the whole way to the showers. Every interaction I’d had with Daine so far had gone horribly wrong. And each one had left me reeling, left my fingers trembling, my heart racing. If I was going to get anywhere at all, I had to keep my shit together.
I couldn’t let him see me sweat.
And so far, that’s all he’d seen.
I wanted him to see me as a self-assured, confident man — the same way that I saw him.
I left the shower with a plan to be more like him.
Hell, I wanted to be just like him.