It was hot the moment I landed. The weather of California is usually rather close to the weather of North Carolina, with the exception of the insane bipolarity that characterized North Carolina's weather. The unfortunate part was that California was experiencing some of the most insane heat waves when I first landed in the Golden State. That absolutely revolting feeling of droplets of sweat and perspiration creeping down the back of my neck and every other corner of my body pervaded all of my senses. I had hated that feeling whenever I felt it in the hotter days back in North Carolina – and it was already evident those feelings hadn't changed one bit. I also had a nasty feeling then that it was going to be a very long time before I would ever get used to the temperatures here.
Everything here is so distinct and so different from North Carolina. Perhaps it was because I was in a darned crowded and overpopulated city, but I felt like I could barely ever find a spot where I could catch a breath and have a quiet moment to myself. The air was different, the colors were different. The people were different, the sounds were different. Being in a completely unfamiliar place was surreal.
The journey to the hotel was longer than it could've been. Everywhere on the road were cars, cars and more cars, and it didn't help that I arrived (unfortunately, according to my cab driver) rather close to the peak hours. The one thing that helped the incredibly long ride, though, was the chatty driver.
"So, first time in Los Angeles, eh?" He asked. "Most people who've been here before already know how amazing the traffic can get here."
"Yeah," I replied amicably. "I haven't had much of a chance to visit before."
"Ah, but you're young. You can still do so much travelling. Believe me, after some time here, you'll be dying to go everywhere else." He laughed, his shoulders shaking slightly.
"Is life not good here?"
"Ah, that depends. But from me to you, first thing you want to learn about California is that you shouldn't be fooled by whatever everyone says about the place. Everybody comes here thinking they'll become big or have their dreams come true, but they don't expect the competition or the hard life before it. Believe me, young man, you youngsters need to understand disappointment before you can live here properly and happily. People who come here and end up being disappointed don't have anything good to say. People who know what's in store for them get on with their lives just fine."
"Actually, I'm just here for school." I pointed out as politely as I could.
"Really?" His eyes darted momentarily towards the mirror, as if he could make sure of my words by looking at my features. "I thought you came for a big job. Forgive me – you look young. The good sort of young, like an actor or a model. I've seen many a face like yours pass through this cab, only difference is that they all look like they might burst from the excitement. And usually that's a sign that they'll end up taking the cab back to the airport crying."
He paused for a moment, making a sharp turn as the traffic moved just enough for him. "Even so, don't expect too much. This place is big and it holds a lot of dreams, but it's not magical. It's just about as normal as – where did you say you came from -?"
"North - North Carolina."
"– As normal as North Carolina." He finished.
The rest of the drive was pretty regular, with only small talk only every now and then. At some point, we managed to cut into a large, fairly-empty road, and we sped along our way towards my hotel. Once we'd arrived and I'd alighted, he helped my suitcase out of his trunk.
"Here you go," he grunted, lifting the heavy suitcase out of the back of his car. "Now take care and be a tough young man, would you? Don't let Los Angeles chew you out."
"You sound like a landlady I spoke to on the phone some time back." I laughed, taking my luggage from him.
Unexpectedly, he winked. "Maybe we're related. I'll see you around."
And with those words, the doors shut and the cab drove off quickly, leaving me staring dumbfounded at the cloud of dust that he had left in his wake.
After all the checking in was done and I managed to haul my things up to a hotel room, the first thing I did was to call up the landlady and arrange a meeting with her to see the place. After agreeing on a day and time – that is to say, the day after – she dropped her professional tone, cool tone and adopted a more motherly one –
"So," She began, curiosity gently coloring her words. "You spoke to him. The other… potential tenant."
To be honest, it annoyed me that I still didn't know his name. It annoyed me more that Mrs. Sandler was avoiding using his name completely, as if she were in cahoots with him to never let me find out. It probably took all my willpower to not snap at her, let alone throw my phone down on the ground and smash it into pieces.
"Yeah," I admitted, hoping that whatever annoyance I felt didn't show through. "He called a few days before I left."
"He thinks he'll like you a lot." She followed smoothly. "He thinks you're very, very nice. Much like the way I think of you, except I think you're too nice and you'll get bitten off in your first week here."
"Geez. Thanks, I guess. But speak for yourself. You're pretty nice, too." I returned. "You're giving me advice about life here when you could've simply ripped me off straight off the bat."
She chuckled softly. "True, true, you said that before. But I can't bring myself to be a nasty landlady. Especially not when you're completely new to the place. Believe it or not, I was once like you, too. Came here all alone, didn't know an inch of California. Except I didn't have the luck of meeting too many nice people. Big city, big people…the only way you get about is to have big guts."
A soft, nostalgic sigh came from her end of the line, before she abruptly began again, almost hurriedly –
"Well – I have to go, now, I have things to attend to. I'll see you tomorrow!"
The line went dead, and that was the end of it.
And I still didn't know his name.
I sat down on the large king-sized bed, peeling the soft fluffy covers back as I did. For the first time since I entered the hotel room, I took in the wonder of the suite in its full glory. It was all so luxurious for the price that it came with, with the décor of the room outdoing just about everything that I could've imagined. The walls were clean, sleek and white, and the room was carpeted in a shade of cream that complimented the soft, rosy color of the chairs and the comforter. Everything looked so delicate and so comfortable, I felt almost pampered just sitting on the bed and admiring it.
It isn't too bad, I told myself. I had a clean and comfortable room to stay in for a bit until I got my living arrangements sorted. I had a good view of the city and the skyline. I had everything I needed for now packed in the suitcase. I could probably spend the rest of the day taking a walk, or I could call for room service (which I silently hoped wasn't costly) whilst I lounged on the bed and took a good rest after my cross-country move.
The argument was won in favor of being a lazy bum the moment I lay my body down fully on my bed and the heavy fatigue settled over me. I felt like I was lying on the most comfortable bed in the world, and all I wanted to do was to close my eyes and sleep away the rest of my days. After lying still for some time, I knew I had to get up, and reluctantly, I did.
I opened up my luggage then, in a lazy attempt to unpack, only to find a familiar object covered in brown fur in a corner of my luggage – my teddy bear. Or rather, the teddy bear that Luke had given to me when I first came to the Patterson household as a way to make me feel better. He had stuffed it in without my knowledge. I guess a part of him couldn't live without knowing that I had something to comfort me.
Call me childish, but the teddy bear always gave me an incredible amount of comfort. When I first arrived at the Patterson household, I felt so out of place, not to mention distraught at the way things had turned out in my life. There came Luke, bounding towards me along with his immense energy, throwing his teddy in my face and sharing a bit of himself with me. He shared a possession he had treasured just to make me feel better, and I kept it with me for the rest of my life. Now, at the first moment of having it in my arms, it felt so natural to just hold it tight to my chest and gently take a whiff of the scent of home that emanated from its fur. I missed North Carolina already.
Room service arrived soon after, and the waiter that attended to me was so effortlessly charming I think he knocked the breath out of my lungs the moment he entered my room. The people of Los Angeles seemed to be so effortlessly beautiful - not that I didn't think I could keep up. The problem was in the 'beautiful' – I really, really wasn't ready to be attracted to somebody again so quickly. Yet, I couldn't help but take note of all these small little charming things – for instance, the way the corners of the waiter's lips curled when he smiled, and the way his teeth seemed to gleam under the soft light. The way his lips were a gentle gradient of pink to red, and the way his eyes twinkled as he wished me a good meal. The way he walked – swiftly and gracefully – out of my room…
I had to shake myself awake from all that damned intense charm. It was as though he'd put a spell on me, and I hated myself for that. I made myself promise I wouldn't act the same way around my potential roommate if he ever did turn out that beautiful...
And as if the entire move to L.A. wasn't enough of a dream already, I walked out from the building managed by Mrs. Sandler with a pair of keys in my pocket. I managed to secure the exquisite apartment, and I could move in anytime I wanted now.
Mrs. Sandler was just like every other person in Los Angeles – effortlessly beautiful and charming, with an odd sort of cynicism exuding from the depths of her eyes. From every angle, she looked as though she could have been a world-class model, and even more so as she carried herself with the grace of one. Yet, with her hair pinned up in a strict bun, she looked much more like a mother than a model. For the first time in my life, I daresay I have met an incredibly attractive older woman.
The door of the apartment was slightly ajar when I arrived. I wasn't expecting much from the empty apartment, and to be quite frank I was expecting it to look rather different from how it had looked in picture. A gentle push revealed the room in its bare glory: although it was emptied of its furniture, it carried every bit of the grace that I had caught when I saw it in photograph. The kitchen, the bar, the windows and sliding doors were all pristine, and as the sunlight bounced off it, the shine was almost glaring to one's eye. The parquet flooring carried its own duller shine, and the place looked brand new.
Right at the very center of the living area were two simple folding chairs. Mrs. Sandler settled herself gracefully and elegantly upon one of them, casting her in the direct pathway of the light that was filtering through a large window high up on a wall. Under that light, she glowed – and for a moment, I thought an angel had descended upon me.
The moment I entered, I felt as though I was being examined. Her light eyes scanned me from head to toe, and I simply stood there awkwardly, not daring to move as she did her once-over with an intense scowl upon her face. It wasn't a scowl of hostility, but more of a scowl that appeared on her goddess-like features unintentionally as she busied herself with examining me. It was the one thing that reminded me that I was in the presence of one that was not an angel, but simply an exceptionally beautiful human.
After what seemed like a long pause, the light in her eyes shifted, and a warm smile burst on her face as she gestured to the folding chair beside her.
"That's good. Have a seat."
"I'm sorry?"
"You're a good boy. Good-looking, a little on the sillier side but good, which is great for me. I don't want another bout of cops at my doorstep." She answered simply, before gesturing once more at the chair, this time with an insistent tone. "Sit."
I complied, and sat on the folding chair next to her.
"You don't smoke either. That's good." She noted, her smile growing wider.
"Uh." I began hesitantly. "So… about the contract…?"
"Oh, that piece of trash. The place is yours for a thousand three hundred a month. I was tempted to push it to two thousand, but I approve of you, so that's something."
"You're – you're kidding."
"I'm not. I mean, sure," she looked around the room, "this place cost a bomb to obtain, and even more to maintain after what it's been through. But honestly, after over twenty years in the business, I know which clients I want to keep long-term and which I don't. And you're the exact type I want to keep for as long as you're in L.A. I'm not sure about the other young man, but you might just be one of the better tenants I'll be having for the first time in years. So no protests – a thousand three hundred, take it or leave it. And you have to accompany me for Sunday dinner."
To be frank, I'm still not quite sure if I imagined all these words from her lips. The afternoon was already surreal enough what with the way the room looked around the both of us. Everything seemed to glow, even Mrs. Sandler herself – and her offer was almost too good to be true. Which is exactly what I told her –
"That's too good to be true."
"Mainly because along with the offer, I have high expectations of you to not ruin this place. Especially the pool and the kitchen – mind you, the kitchen's my baby. It has just about everything you need, so I expect it to be well-cared for and put to good use. And by good use I mean not just for storing spoiled beer and pizzas."
"It's still too good to be true."
A stern look crossed her face momentarily as she sat up straight and leaned inwards towards me. "Look at me, young man. Do I look like I'm the type to run a scam? You're free to have the place and do whatever you want with it except destroy it and make a ruckus enough to disturb the others in the building. Which reminds me – feel free to tell your next-door neighbors to tone it down every once in a while, will you? They don't mean it and they try their best not to, but boy can they get loud."
"Mrs. Sandler –"
"Take it. You won't find a better price out there. Or a better apartment. Or a better building to live in in your time here. So – it's up to you. Will you take this apartment?"
She summoned a wad of papers from seemingly nowhere and waved it in my face, all with the same elegance that she held from the very beginning. Slowly, uncertainly, I took it from her, still unsure if I was in the real world or caught in a fantasy. I wasn't even sure if I signed it properly or correctly in the right places, but when the papers were taken from my hands and the keys thrust in their place, I knew the place was mine. That is, until the roommate arrives.
She gave me a warm, genuine smile as she rose from her seat. "It's all yours. You can move in any time, now. Just be sure to give me a visit with the first payment when you do – I don't want to disrupt your moment right now."
With a wink, she left me in the empty apartment, in the glow of the soft sunlight. The place was mine. It was a long time before I could shake myself out of my state of catatonia and walk about the place, allowing my fingers to run about on each and every surface I could possibly touch. I think I even spent a long, drawn-out moment staring at the pool on the balcony blankly, without a single thought in my mind as I watched the bright, glimmering reflections in the water dance about on its surface. It was an even longer time before I finally left, with the keys jingling in my pocket as I walked out into the sunlight.
"It's crazy, Luke. There was almost like – like – no negotiation at all. She just looked at me and practically decided she was going to let me have it."
Luke harrumphed over the phone. "Y'sure this isn't some big scam? It sounds too good to be true."
"I thought so at first. It's like she didn't even care about the – the formalities or the paperwork. It's so weird… but I have the keys to the place. I – I think it's for real, Luke."
"It still sounds weird. She's too nice for… you know."
I lay back against the cushiony pillows on my hotel bed. "Too nice for?"
"You know. L.A. folk."
"The place has been pretty nice to me so far," I admitted. It was true – as much as I missed North Carolina, I already was beginning to like California. Everything was beautiful, and although it seemed ice-cold on the inside, it appeared, at the very least, warm and sunny on the outside.
"I know. But you know what Em said about the place – it's deceiving. She might be deceiving, for that matter. Next thing you know, you don't have a place to live, and you've been scammed out of your money."
"You're worrying too much."
"You're my baby brother."
"I know," I sighed, and giggled softly. "I'll take care of myself, Luke. I think I can tell when someone's lying to me. Besides… even if it is a scam… at least I've learnt something… right?"
A pause, before Luke said –
"That's the stupidest shit I've ever heard. But it's you, so I guess that's okay."
I knocked on Mrs. Sandler's door, still not quite sure what to expect, with my new apartment keys in my pocket and the money and the documentation in my hands. It was still hours before my furniture would be delivered, and I thought I'd make time to understand my landlady a little better. Luke was right, after all – she was unusually nice to me, especially only after taking one simple look at me.
The door before me creaked open as the face of a goddess appeared and the smell of something savory cooking on the stove wafted out. There it was again – the glowing beauty of a woman who, despite the years that were showing only very slightly on her face, was somehow immensely charming and youthful from every other angle.
"Ah. Moving in today, I see. I do hope you're not just intending to coldly throw the money and papers in my face and leave."
"I – no – I, uh…" I stumbled over my words stupidly once more. Somehow, in the presence of such a smooth talker, I felt like a complete idiot for not being able to speak.
"Don't worry, I won't eat you up. Just a cup of tea and a nice chat, that's all. If it worries you that much, you can leave the door open. I don't think anyone's visiting at this time, anyway."
Slowly, hesitantly, I walked into her glowing apartment.
"So, Jonathan…" She paused momentarily, and turned to look at me. "Can I call you that?"
"Sure."
"Jonathan. I'm pretty sure you still think I'm out to con you. And honestly, I don't care if you think I am the whole time you're staying here. But really, I'm not. I'm just happy enough to help out a nice young man after the series of crackheads that ended up here."
"But why?" I blurted out. Suddenly, I realized I was still standing awkwardly by her doorway – yet, I wasn't sure if I should move.
She turned back to look at me once more, her eyes burning with an ice-cold emptiness. "Honestly? Because you're too good for this place. If I were even nicer, I'd tell you to go back home to wherever you came from, because this place? A person like you isn't going to survive in this environment. A small-town boy going to a big city – it's a recipe for disaster. The best I can do is to soften your landing and help you get used to this."
She walked up to me and replaced the papers in my hands with a cup of steaming hot tea.
"I was once like you," she sighed as she settled on a chair nearby. "Came to Los Angeles from a smaller place. Hoped for a better life here. Except I didn't meet as many nice people as I'd like to meet. All my dreams smashed up into little pieces, and I was reduced to doing something else. I nearly left this place. But I didn't. I liked this place too much to leave. Masochistic, isn't it?"
"No – I mean – I get what you mean," I answered. "It's… it's so nice around here. Like… everything's so pretty."
She chuckled. "I see we have an agreement, then. But enough about me, Jonathan. What about you? I know you're here for school, but why California?"
I didn't really know what to say or how to answer her. Truth was, I was happy enough to be accepted by a college that was willing to take in applicants like me. The fact that I could come to California for it added an immense draw to it – all the tales I had heard about it being the golden state, with Los Angeles being the golden city – it all made the offer so appealing, so enticing. The draw, perhaps was what led me to California. And that was the exact answer I gave her – badly phrased, of course. To my surprise, however, she understood.
"I see," she simply answered. "Well, I can't blame you. It's a place of… opportunities. And you decided to attend college after ten years of not doing so? What's that about?"
"I just wanted to experience what I've missed out, that's all." I replied.
She smirked. "You're a strange person, you know that? People drop out of college, but you insist on going. Then again, I suppose it's far better than to come here in pursuit of something fanciful. Which reminds me – if anybody does dangle an opportunity to be a 'star' in your face because they think you look good, spare me the heartache and walk away from them, please?"
The rest of the afternoon was relatively quiet as I made my way up to the apartment to wait for the deliveries to arrive. Mrs. Sandler still hung on my mind, an enigma of a character that I still could not quite understand. Despite all that, I felt like I could trust her and relate to her. There was an unspoken understanding between us that I couldn't describe, and beneath her clean-cut, perfected older supermodel looks, there was an immensely homely and motherly charm that she carried about her that one would not catch on their first meeting with her. Heck, she kind of reminded me of Mom – if Mom was a supermodel.
The deliveries were – rather unfortunately – late. I was just getting bored out of my mind waiting for the furniture to come and be set up in the apartment when a slight creak of the door brought me to my senses, and I almost immediately jumped up from my spot on the ground where I lay.
"Geez, I didn't know the floor was so comfy," a male voice sounded from the doorway just as a face poked in, head full of dark curls and all. "Mrs. Sandler told us to say hi and make sure you're not bawling your eyes out of loneliness. I'm Marcel, your obnoxious next-door neighbor and my roommate is too busy sniffing my ass to say hi."
"I'm not sniffing your ass, dickhead!" Another voice sounded from the doorway. "I'm tying my shoelaces!"
"It's just next door, Scott, you don't need your shoes for this," the man named Marcel growled out from the corner of his mouth to someone behind him. "Just come in with me and be a nice neighbor."
A second face appeared after Marcel as the pair walked into my new home casually, dressed equally casually in shirts and shorts.
"So," the one named Scott started, "You're not some druggie, are you? Because the last two that were here were a nightmare and Mrs. Sandler threw a fit after she walked in and saw an entire hoard of needles –"
"We'll spare him the details," Marcel cut in smoothly. "Long story short, she said she'd never allow two people in one apartment again, except I think she went back on her word when she heard from you, because she told us that you're waiting for your roommate. And your furniture."
"And then she told us to keep you company until the truck rolls up in the driveway because you looked like the type to bawl your eyes out dry when you're all alone." Scott added playfully. "And usually she's right about these things, so – you're not bawling your eyes out, are you?"
"N-no, I -"
"That's good," he cut in. "Man, it's nice to see this place all cleaned up. Anyway, what's your name?"
"Jonathan," I told them, at that point still quite unsure of how to feel or how to act. I simply half-lay there, arms barely propping me up. I never quite had people walk up freely to me to speak to me, much less have complete strangers walk into my empty new home to keep me company until my furniture arrived.
"Nice to meet you." Marcel took my hand, shaking it firmly. "Man, I hope your roommate is about as nice as you are. You seem really nice to be around. Minus the being awkward thing, but I think we'll get past that soon enough.
"Nah, I think he's the type that's really noisy. I think we freaked him out." Scott giggled. "Ease up, bro. We're all friends here. And Mrs. Sandler's coming up with some snacks so it'll be nice and cozy, alright?"
As he spoke, he settled himself beside me, lying down on the ground and peering at the high ceiling of the apartment. There was a strange comfort that was to be derived from that – it was akin to a sort of camaraderie, a strange sort of a brotherhood. I was reminded of the nights back then when I would wake up screaming into a pillow, only for Luke to clamber down from his bunk and settle himself beside me with the teddy bear, softly coaxing me back to sleep. I missed Luke, I really did – but this little moment was a decent enough of a rendition of it that I took it gladly and stored it in a special place in my heart. I felt cared for already, despite the odd scene and the odd place that I was trapped in.
"Honestly, are you boys intending to clean the floor for him?" Mrs. Sandler's voice rang out sharply from the doorway. "I don't think your bodies would make very good mops."
"Mrs. Sandler!" Marcel called out happily, still comfortably nestling in his spot on the ground. "Are those cookies that I smell?"
"Chocolate chip. But don't finish them, Jonathan's got priority for these."
"Sure thiiiing." Marcel drawled as he got up lazily to rip the plate full of cookies away from her hands.
"Cookie monster," Scott laughed as he lay still by my side. "He finishes all the cookie stock whenever I buy them, too. You want to make sure to hide them from him, you know, he sniffs them out like a police dog."
I had to join Scott in his laughter as Marcel began to protest loudly at Scott's statement incoherently, with crumbs spurting from his lips and a ridiculous look of mock anger on his face. I felt strangely at home, strangely settled in a strange new place. I wasn't alone, not for a single moment after the surprise visit from my new neighbors that afternoon. When my furniture arrived, I had more than enough help from everyone in unpacking and arranging it about the apartment. When we were all done, I had more than enough company to wind down and relax with. I was at home.
Of all the things to kill me first in this state, I think it'd be the blistering summer heat waves.
Even the air conditioning unit seemed to be protesting in the insane weather that has been plaguing Los Angeles. With a final choked breath, it finally broke down after eons of neglect followed by about a week's worth of abuse.
"I'm sorry about this. I'll call up a repairman and set a time for you," Mrs. Sandler sighed as she finally set down the remote for the air conditioner. "I thought I did all the proper checks before I handed it over to you, but I think I missed this one. I'm really sorry – this one's on me."
"It's alright," I told her. "You've done more than enough for me. You didn't even have to help me with the furniture the other day, but you did, and I can't thank you enough for that."
"Still, it's part of protocol. I'm getting old," she sighed once more, "I can't believe I'm actually forgetting things. If you'd like, you can come over downstairs to cool off."
"Actually, I – uh – I was thinking of taking a swim in the pool." I admitted quietly. "I haven't really gotten to try that yet."
She raised her perfectly arched and trimmed brows at me, and simply nodded in a somewhat surprised fashion.
"I see. I'll head back downstairs, then. Have fun."
She vanished from my apartment swiftly and stylishly, leaving me wondering if she was really some divine being in disguise. Upon being left alone in my apartment once more, it was simply a matter of stripping down and stepping up onto the balcony and dipping myself into the glistening water before the relief came. The cooling sensation of water on my skin on a hot day like this was immensely soothing, and the water was strangely much colder than I expected it to be. It was as though the heat never managed to touch the balcony or the pool at all, and the only effect the sun had on the place was to make it shine.
I dove under, again and again, feeling the water rush past my head and through my hair, feeling my hair drift in the body of water as if I were flying, feeling each and every inch of my skin prickle to the cool of the water. Each time when I resurfaced and felt the warmth of the air around me again, it was like a small disappointment – but as long as I got to go under again, I was happy enough. It was this way that I whiled away quite a bit of time that day, the joy of being in water perfectly endless.
Every once in a while I would catch a glimpse of movement on the beach through the glass of the railings. Tiny silhouettes in the distance seemingly crawling across the golden sand and basking in the heat of the sun. A part of me wondered how they tolerated it all, and another part of me wished I could join them. The beach always had a certain draw, and I wished I could be a part of it – if only the heat didn't consume me first. Still, I had a desire to visit the beach soon.
I wasn't quite sure how long had passed. The skin on my fingers had been pruny for quite some time when the doorbell rang, and a soft knock and a following thump came from the doorway. Alarmed, I made my way half-naked to answer the door, still dripping wet and with my towel unutilized draped loosely around my shoulders. I made a mental note then to clean up the trail of water I had left behind – something that I can't quite remember if I ever did.
In the glory of the sunlight was a man – slightly taller if not about the same height as I am, looking like he might have been the human incarnation of Adonis (I'm exaggerating, but you get the idea.). Behind the darkness of his aviator shades, I barely made out a widening of his eyes, and as we took in the sight of each other for the very first time, an awkward silence crept up on us and refused to budge. It was only when I noticed the heavy luggage bag by his side that I realized that the silence had to be broken.
"Uh – hi," I began, waving awkwardly as if I were the village idiot. "I wasn't expecting…"
"Sorry about that. I should've called, but I just landed and then…" He paused for a second, and I felt as if I was being awkwardly examined again. It was a moment before he caught himself and continued –
"Never mind that. I was about to go stay at a hotel, but I called Mrs. Sandler earlier and she said that the place was all set up and that I should probably just come straight to you. I'm sorry if I gave you a shock."
"It's not that," I hurriedly told him. "It's just – your room's not quite set up yet, and I didn't know when you were going to come and all that – and – and…"
It simply became one of those moments when words would fail me and I would become extra conscious of myself and how I'm acting as well as how my body feels. In that instant, I stopped knowing what to say, and became extra aware that I was only partly dressed and wet all over. It was an immense relief when he simply took over the conversation –
"You know what? It's alright. I can make do with the couch for a couple of days, you know – I'm just glad I have a place to stay that's already somewhat my own. So… can I come in?"
And just like that, I let the man into my life. Despite my stupid staring at his muscular frame, he seemed comfortable enough and settled quickly, unpacking some essential items from the humongous luggage that he lugged along with him. As he lay down on the couch lazily and closed his eyes in apparent exhaustion, I forced myself to finally move my stupid mouth to say –
"I still don't know your name."
His eyelids fluttered for a second and he cast a curious gaze upon me, a small smile playing on his lips. "And I know yours."
"So –" I began stupidly again.
"I'm Evan. Nice to finally meet you, Jonathan."
And he simply closed his eyes once more, a soft snore rising from him as he rested peacefully in an absurdly handsome imitation of a sleeping Buddha.
The past few days had been a matter of vanishing acts from my apartment from dawn until dusk. It all simply began with a momentary respite from the intense heat waves, when the sun decided to take a break from burning us all to a crisp and hide behind a thick layer of clouds whilst the air in Los Angeles cooled slightly when I had a knock on my door one morning, whilst my roommate (now completely moved into his room, thank you very much) was still fast asleep and attempting to wean off the fatigue gathered in his travels.
"Heeeey," Marcel greeted me at my door with Scott peeking from their door behind him. "How's the new guy?"
"Asleep," I answered. "He's dead tired after so much traveling and moving."
"Aw. Anyway, we're going to the beach for some fun. You wanna come?"
"Uh – sure, I mean," I paused for a second, trying to figure out what exactly I was going to say. "I would love to. I just need to grab some stuff before I go."
"Sure thing, we'll wait for you downstairs." Marcel called, and motioned for Scott to follow.
That became the first morning of a series of mornings where we would head down to the beach. It would also be the first morning that I would spend with a group of people that were so vastly different from me, as well as the people that I hung out with back home. I think I've said it so many times already – the people in Los Angeles seemed to be insanely beautiful, and they all seemed to have the charms of the angels above. It was also the first time – at least, my first time – that I had gotten so giddy and dizzy on a mixture of summer drinks and beach activities that I had to lie still on the sand and stare at the clouds whilst my head swirled with booze, sugar and stories to tell. In fact, I'm pretty sure that concoction has interfered with my recollection of the events of the past few days.
But before it all even happened, I had to leave a small message for Evan – just so he would know where I went, and just so he'd know he was invited. In the midst of hurriedly grabbing all that I needed – wallet, beach shorts, you name it – I tacked on a post-it to my door and scribbled on (badly):
"Beach, please. Come?"
I'm pretty sure it was wrong on every level – be it semantics or syntax – but I was having too much fun with the joke that I simply let it slide. I had only been here for nearly two weeks, and I was already beginning to slide back into my natural behavior as if I were back home. Sure, there was no Luke, there was no Mom and Dad, there was no James and my crazy siblings weren't here. Sure, everybody's crazy beautiful and everything is golden here, but the people I had surrounded myself with had already made me feel much more at home than I could possibly imagine. Marcel and Scott, for instance, weren't simply loud and friendly – they were the good sort of loud and friendly, the ones that pushed every ounce of awkwardness out of you and made you loud and friendly as well. Within days I was almost completely at ease, and even with the awkwardness of living with someone completely new to me didn't faze me. I was, at this point, rather immune to all that.
And so I skipped off happily to the beach with my newfound friends (and neighbors), hoping that my new roommate would see the note and join us in our impending insanity.
The sun shone bright through the clouds, yet the heat was much duller than before. The sand on the beach seemed almost a slight white-gold, and the beach itself was bursting with activity. The line at the bar was long, yet shifted quickly, and crowds gathered by volleyball nets and by the shore. It seemed like almost every single person in the city was attempting to take advantage of the cooler weather of that day – and we were simply a small part of them.
"David!" Marcel called out, waving his arms in the air at someone in the crowd by the nets. A tall lanky man turned back almost immediately, frowning as he searched the crowd for the source of the call.
"Damn it, he's not wearing his glasses today," Marcel muttered under his breath. "Stay here – I'll go get him."
Shoving his way through the crowd, Marcel vanished into the sea of people, out of our sight. I wasn't quite sure what to do for a second there, but almost as quickly as he had vanished, he returned – this time with the same tall man that he had been calling.
"Jonathan, meet David, our resident Irish potato. David, meet Jonathan, the adorable Southern goof."
I extended my hand towards him, which he took with great grace, and we shook hands for a good long moment before realizing how idiotic we looked. I couldn't help it but chortle and burst into laughter, and he soon followed suit with what I later found out was his own raspy brand of goofy laughter. Being able to relate to someone else that quickly was odd – but I suppose it was the upside of meeting another goof just like me. I wondered if he had as much to hide as I did beneath the silly exterior, but I doubt I'd get an answer to that question that soon.
"Where're you from?" David asked casually after our laughter subsided.
"North Carolina."
"Isn't there where that writer guy is said to be from? Like, that really famous writer guy whose name I don't remember."
Oh, great.
"I thought that was just a rumor?" Scott queried inquisitively. "I mean, nobody's confirmed anything, right?"
"Yeah, but it's the closest anyone's ever gotten to finding out about him. Not like anyone should care, but still..."
I cleared my throat softly and excused myself, ducking out of the conversation to get a drink from the bar. I wasn't in any mood to discuss Sid Rouile – I came all the way here to take a long break from being him, and I definitely wasn't interested in talking about him or his 'life'. Quite frankly, not being Sid bugged me slightly more than when I was Sid. Whilst I was Sid, it became accepted over time that I was going to remain anonymous. Not being Sid reversed all that – it sparked discussion about Sid's identity again, and it started an entire slew of questions about Sid once more that I would probably have avoided if I never announced that I was taking a long hiatus from being Sid.
But I digress. I was queuing in line for a drink at the bar when the guys caught up with me again, eager for a drink as well. I offered to get the drinks for everyone, just so they wouldn't have to wait, but they still insisted on waiting beside me and keeping me company. I was fine with that.
"By the way, one of David's sisters is tending the bar right now," Marcel pointed out. "So all the more we should stay and say hi."
"Stop hitting on my sister, you bitch," David burst out.
"Nobody's hitting on your sister." Scott scoffed. "But nobody's saying she isn't pretty, either."
And in what possibly seemed like the most stereotypical rendition of an Irish accent ever, David retorted -
"Fock off."
I tried my hardest to suppress the giggle that was slowly bubbling up within me, but it was one of those moments where the more I tried, the harder it got – and I think I may have let slip of the little giggle, because David gave me a glare of slight annoyance that softened quickly into amusement. At least, of course, that defused the tension between Marcel, Scott and David – if it even truly existed in the first place, as there was an overwhelming light-heartedness that hung over the entire exchange.
"'Sup boys, what d'you want?" A sharp, high voice called out. The bartender – another otherworldly beauty – smiled at us, her smile slightly lopsided yet perfected by a set of dimples on her cheeks.
"Drinks for everyone, Diane. Could you give us a little extra on the account of the new boy?" Scott replied, pulling an overly sweet, yet charming smile.
"I wouldn't even give you extra on the account of David, so what do you think?" The bartender shot back, an eyebrow raised as she examined me from head to toe, curiosity reflected in her olive eyes. I could've sworn I saw a small sparkle in her eyes - a tiny, hopeful sparkle – that got immediately stamped out by a sudden rush of coldness that sprung up from some dark place in her, and suddenly, I had a feeling I wasn't well liked by her.
"Aw, not even because he's cute?" Marcel urged.
"Especially not because he's cute." Diane insisted coldly and pushed a number of cups in our direction. "Now go pay up at the other side."
"She isn't in a good mood today, is she?" Marcel commented as we left the line at the bar. "What's up with that?"
David shrugged as he handed a bunch of notes carelessly over to a girl by a till. "I don't know. She was fine when we all left the house earlier. Anyway, we better hurry before Alex notices I'm missing and not watching her score. And by score I think she really means embarrassing herself. Really, the past couple of games have just been her getting owned by the other team."
"I don't think she'll notice," Scott said. "The crowd looks pretty thick. I don't think it was like this last week – what's up today?"
David shrugged once more, and casually answered (as if it was a viable and proper answer) –
"Brandon."
And yet, the rest seemed to understand immediately what it meant. The look on their faces reflected it all – recognition, understanding, exasperation and awe. Marcel shook his head as he grimaced slightly, snorting slightly in a cold, almost sarcastic parody of a laugh. Scott, on the other hand, simply let his jaw drop, exasperation gathering into a slight frown. Meanwhile, I simply stood and watched, quite unsure of what the problem was.
"What's wrong with that guy?" I broke the silence for the first time in minutes.
"He's a dick." Marcel answered quickly.
Scott quickly followed up - "Douchebag."
"O…kay…?"
"Don't listen to them," David cut in. "They've just been listening to Diane way too much, and she hates his guts."
"Hate whose guts?" Another high voice sprang from behind us, thick with an accent similar to the one that David spoke with. "If you're talking about yourself, yeah, I hate your guts, David. You said you would be watching!"
The trio beside me froze momentarily, and after a long pause, began to turn mechanically and robotically, looking as if they had just seen hell. It was a rather comical sight given the situation that we were all in – we were on a sunny beach in the midst of a joyous crowd of people with upbeat music blasting from the bar, and the weather was perfect and wondrous – and yet it seemed as if doom had befallen on the three men before me. I wasn't sure if it came out the way I wanted it to, but I tried my best to suppress the urge to laugh once more.
"Ooh, who's the new guy?" The same voice asked, as another (frankly, beautiful) girl appeared from behind us with a taller man accompanying her. Perhaps her light, ash-brown hair that glowed slightly under the sunlight was the most eye-catching thing about the pair, but my attentions were mainly turned towards the man.
I don't know if it's an experience solely germane to me, but I sometimes associate certain words and names with people – and the man, this gorgeous hunk that appeared before me almost certainly screamed quite a few words at me and sent all the alarms in my system going off. He seemed perfect, absolutely perfect from every angle, so perfect that it was dangerous for me. I could've stood on a crumbling piece of rock on a high cliff and would still feel less afraid than I did that day – because at least I wasn't going against my oath to myself that I would never, ever commit again. He was perfectly gorgeous, and perfectly flawless. It was almost as though the heavens above were playing a trick on me by bringing the one person that I had written from sheer passionate fantasy to life. He was a 'Grant', the 'Grant' to my 'Ash'. The dangerously perfect being that could either make me or break me, the angel that was so perfect and too great for me, out of everybody's reach and out of this world. The person that I could foresee getting close to in a world of mystery and tragedy, so close that it was dangerous…
But everything I've written in Gold isn't reality. It isn't real, and neither Grant nor Ash aren't real. Their friendship and subsequent relationship is a work of fiction. My magnum opus simply just isn't real. And currently, in reality, everything was very real, even he was.
He was perfect, he definitely was, as I had imagined the hero of Gold to be. Yet, he carried about that darkness in his eyes that I was beginning to get used to that so many in this place carried. There was something broken about this man, something cold and cynical that was distrusting and possibly hated the world. I was so caught up in observing the man that I almost didn't notice when his lips parted, and almost missed his words as he spoke.
"And now you've scared them. Honestly, Alex, you've got to stop being so mean to your friends."
"Shut up, I wanna know the new guy." She snapped back, eyes fixated on me, and held out her hand for a handshake, which I took. "I'm Alex."
I introduced myself.
"Nice to meet you, Jonathan." She beamed at me, her smile warm and genuine. I remembered her most clearly out of all the new people I had met that first day – she carried about a youthful sort of hope and an impressive amount of ambition, and unlike the man beside her, there was no strange coldness deep within her demeanor that she hid behind a polished exterior. Strangely, she sort of reminded me of my own new roommate – not that they looked alike in any way, but they both carried a certain sort of brightness that was unattainable for a person as tainted with darkness as I am. And it was also because of that realization that she had something that I could never have, as entranced as I was with her and her nature, I was a tad bit jealous. But for the most part, I liked her. She was as genuine as any person could get – and I adored that.
"Nice to meet you, too."
"I hope these bums are treating you well. Especially my brother who abandoned me halfway through."
"Be nice." The man beside her chided. He turned his gaze towards me, a piercing, interested gaze, and for a moment there was a little sparkle – as if he was a child that had just seen a new toy to play with, a new toy that was all his for the taking. If the alarms in my system hadn't already all gone off, it was going off once more, this time blaring much louder than before.
"I'm Brandon. Childhood friend of theirs."
"International supermodel." Alex joked.
"Photographer first," he corrected. "Then maybe a model."
From the corners of my eyes, I caught a glimpse of my neighbors attempting to hide an eye-roll.
"Anyway, as I was saying before," Alex continued, "I hate your bloody guts. How could you just walk away because you saw your friends?!"
David raised his hands up to his face in surrender. "Okay look, I'm sorry! It's Jonathan's first time here and we were just hanging."
Alex giggled – a high, girly giggle. "Fine. I'm not going to kill you. It's just that I managed to win a game, for once, with some help from Brandon, of course. And you just weren't there to see it. But I'm sure there'll be more of that. If you guys want to see it, that is."
And that was that. There was no argument - or at least one that we could win, anyway. We simply went on to watch a number of beach volleyball matches between numerous good-looking people, with Alex and Brandon forming a rather efficient team and fetching themselves a number of victories. Not once did we think of doing much else – after all, it was rather entertaining to watch. We even got to play a few matches of our own, but to nobody's surprise, I was a terrible player. As the sky darkened slightly towards the late afternoon and crowd slowly began to dissipate, we continued on with our game, even switching up the teams to even things out. In that period of time, even with the help of Alex or Marcel, I was still a terrible player that dragged everybody down. I suppose sports really can never be my thing.
But that first day was the benchmark, the yardstick for the few other days to come. It was sort of like a routine – the moment we determined that the weather was good and satisfactory, we would come sidling down to the beach for drinks and volleyball matches as well as chats over meals with each other. It was a simple, yet rather enjoyable way to while the days away, and I was perfectly happy to stick to that routine.
It was earlier tonight, however, as the sun began to set, that I hung back a little, whilst Marcel and Scott decided to go for a game against Alex and David. Instead of watching them, I turned my gaze towards the setting sun – a beautiful blend of orange, pink, purple and dark blue all across the sky, with the picturesque scene adorned with fluffy little clouds that accentuated the colors and gently dulled the shine of the sun. I think, at that point, I must've had a stupid look on my face – as if I hadn't seen the sun set before – but Brandon, who sat by my side, looked at me and whispered –
"You're interesting, you know that?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You're interesting," he breathed, eyes twinkling. "An interesting game is before you but you prefer to watch the sun set."
"It's – it's beautiful, that's all."
"It sure is, isn't it?" He sighed, eyes turning towards the ever-dimming sky. "The photographer in me wishes I could take a picture of this. But I shan't."
"Why not?" I queried inquisitively.
"Why should I?" He shot back, grinning handsomely. "Beauty isn't always in pictures, you know. It's in the moment, in the people..."
He paused for a moment, looking back at me with a rather incomprehensible look on his face. I would say it was caught between interest and amusement – yet, there was restraint, and that odd coldness that I saw in him bubbled to the surface momentarily once more.
"Maybe I should take a picture of you someday." He simply said, before drawing his eyes back to the sky. "You'd be a very pretty subject."
I had spent so much time on the beach with my new friends before that I'd miss Evan waking up in the morning and I'd miss him when I came back. I hadn't quite figured out what he was doing, but I supposed that he was out clearing up the paperwork and the important stuff for his move here. It wasn't until he managed to catch me one night as I came back from the beach that I found out much, much more.
He was cooking up dinner – or at least, trying to. The apartment smelled – I suppose, interesting – when I entered, and all I could hear were pans sizzling, Evan murmuring feverishly to himself and the sound of something solid being abused repeatedly.
"What – what are you doing?!" I almost yelled as the mess of a scene became much clearer to me. Whilst two pans of aromatic vegetables were sizzling away peacefully and wondrously, a pot of sauce was protesting furiously under the blazing heat and was emitting a rather foul smell. At the same time, attempts to portion cuts of meat seemed to be going terribly wrong, with Evan slowly descending into a nervous wreck and the chopping board scarred by each new attempt.
"Trying to cut this up," he growled, voice shaking slightly.
I gently placed a hand over his and eased the knife away from him, making sure that not a single inch of the sharp blade was in any of our directions.
"I'll do it," I coaxed softly. "Go take care of the sauce, it's burning."
I'll be honest – I'm not a great cook, and I most definitely am no chef. I can make a meal just good enough to feed myself and save my life, but none of my attempts were consistently good. I had my fair share of failures in the kitchen every now and then (a problem easily solved with pizza or a meal out with Luke) and I definitely had times where my work tasted subpar. But what compelled me to intervene wasn't a feeling of superiority, neither was it a feeling that I could salvage it – but merely because I couldn't bear to watch Evan struggle any further. After all, he could potentially lose a good (and perhaps rather pricey) dinner.
Silently, I felt his hand slowly ease underneath mine, and its warmth soon left my hand. He sighed softly and began an attempt to salvage to smoking sauce.
"I know, it's kind of pathetic." He admitted with another sigh.
"Hm?"
"I mean – I can't cook to save my life. I'm so used to simply eating out or ordering a pizza or something, or just having meals with my parents… and I'm just hopeless in the kitchen. I wanted to try to not burn down the kitchen just once, but even that failed."
I let out a rather amused chuckle. "Maybe you should've started with something simpler. And maybe plan out what to do first instead of trying to do it all at once."
He shook his head slightly in shame. "I should've just made a couple of sandwiches."
"Yeah, you should've." I giggled.
We carried on with attempting to salvage the meal, and it was a long moment full of hard work and precision before we even spoke. Once it was determined that the best we could do with the meat was to oven-bake it, we simply set it into the oven and decided to take a well-deserved break before we served up the (hopefully edible) meal.
"So… 'bitch, please', huh?" He teased, his voice gruff with the strain of restrained amusement.
"Hey," I defended. "I thought it was funny."
"I know, I know. It actually was," he chuckled softly, and then continued, "Of all people, I just had to get the class clown to be my roommate. What did I ever do to deserve this?"
"Hey, the class clown was nice enough to let you share the place. And also – who're you supposed to be then, the jock?"
"I don't know. Maybe." He shrugged, and then paused suddenly in his tracks as he realized something.
"We just had our first actual proper conversation." He said softly, the wonder in his voice apparent and clearer than ever. "Wow. I thought it was going to be more awkward than this."
I thought the exact same – yet, the conversation came so naturally it barely seemed in any way awkward. The only thing that bugged me was how distracted I was by him. It wasn't my first time examining him from head to toe, but it was definitely my first time examining him up close, and I hated myself for noticing so much about him. For instance, I noticed how defined his muscles were, and how much bulk he packed underneath the tight cat shirt he wore. I noticed how he would lick his lips every now and then, wetting them, and I noticed how amazingly energetic he actually was deep within. There was a spark, an intense flame that danced in his eyes, and it was absolutely fascinating for a person like me to watch. I was drawn to it dangerously, like a moth to an open flame.
"Must be weird just having some guy move in and then not seeing him for really long, huh?" He laughed softly.
"I don't – I don't know. I never had a roommate before." I shrugged, trying my best to tear my eyes off him. "I've always lived alone after I moved out of the family home."
"A guy like you? I don't believe it."
"It's true!"
"Yeah, I suppose," He murmured in a quieter tone, giving up almost immediately. He took a deep breath before he continued – "Do you wanna know where I've been the whole time?"
I nodded, and he began his recount. To be quite frank, I'm not sure if I caught every single detail that he mentioned. The whole time as he spoke, I watched his lips, his face, and my eyes kept darting all over him that I was surprised I was even listening in the slightest.
"I came all the way from Ontario. I mean – I love being in Canada, but then I got offered an athletic scholarship and everything... so I just decided to come here to finish up college. After all, there's more to do here, you know? It's been crazy, having to settle everything on my own in someplace new. But it's mostly settled, you know. I'm on the hockey team, I've met the guys, and I officially start once I begin school."
"Sounds…nice." I managed.
"Yeah, it is. Sort of." He paused for a bit, trying to gather his thoughts, before he began again. "Look, it's just… I wish I had more freedom in this. I love hockey and all, but I just wish I won't have to dedicate all my time outside of school to it, you know? I've been wanting to pursue my other hobbies. I want to play the guitar properly, for instance. I want to jam with someone, maybe start a band. I want to play video games, meet new people. I don't want to just play hockey and study all the time. Just like right now. I wanna get to know you, you know? But that got ruined because I'm tied down by what I have to do."
"It's not too late. I mean… we're getting to know each other now." I pointed out.
He chuckled. "True. Well, I'm Evan from Canada, I'm on the hockey team and I like music and video games. I taught myself how to play the guitar but I'm still rubbish at it. Nice to meet you."
"Well, Evan from Canada, I'm Jonathan from North Carolina. I'm shit at talking, as you can already tell, and I like video games, too. I write sometimes, just for fun."
"By 'for fun' you mean leaving random notes written in some secret code all over the place. And by 'shit at talking' you mean you talk just fine except you don't think before you speak."
I had to laugh. "Close enough. And in your case by being 'rubbish' at the guitar you probably mean that you're a god at it."
We ended up having dinner together that night whilst talking about countless things. It wasn't bad – the sauce was a little wonky (and we considered skipping it entirely but decided to not waste our efforts) but everything else seemed perfectly fine. Meals were always a nice way to bond – it was the one of the ways I integrated myself into the Patterson household all those years back, and now it was the way that we got to know each other. We talked about plenty of things – video games, shows, school, and our lives thus far – which, of course, prompted the inevitable question that almost everybody asked the moment they found out –
"Why college after all this time, though?"
And there was the same answer that I regurgitated every single time it was asked:
"Why not? I mean… after all this time… why not experience what I've missed out on?"
He tilted his head slightly, as though he didn't believe me. "Really?"
"What?"
"So you've decided to drop ten years' worth of progress in the work that you've been doing for some certificate that you don't really need – since you've already gotten this far? Sounds to me more like you're running away from responsibilities."
I was, wasn't I? Finishing up the final instalment of Gold was already quite a pain in the neck for me, and the thought of having to plough on with a plethora of stories wasn't quite as appealing as it was when I began as Sid. I came here because I needed a break. I came here running in hopes of a newer, better chance at life, before deciding to settle down back into the life of the performer that made Sid Rouile a reality.
"Maybe, maybe I am, but I just want to live this life for now, right now."
He took that answer and simply polished off the last of his food on his plate quietly and in possibly the most attractive manner ever. As soon as I caught myself on the verge of thinking the unthinkable, I had to stop myself and restrain myself. It's impossible, after all. I can't do that – not after all that had happened.
Just before we parted for the night to catch some sleep, he gave me a little heads up.
"About your invitation to the beach… I'll drop by tomorrow after I'm done with my stuff. I mean – I've been wanting to visit it myself, anyway."
And in that moment, he gave me a look that I swear could've killed me. It was a little look of promise and hope, combined with a look of playful secrecy, as if we had just made our first little pact together. It was such a charming, boyish look that he shot at me, and I felt my heart stop in its tracks for a few short moments. It was a dangerous feeling that I was feeling that was growing upon me – and it wasn't just for a single person. That irked me to no end: I had sworn myself off romance, but it seemed to be chasing after me like a treacherous bloodhound. I had to shut it down, and I had to put it all to a stop.
I'm so sorry for the lackluster quality of the story (I described this chapter as "puking all over my keyboard") as well as the wait! I struggled with this chapter quite a bit, wringing ideas back and forth and having major doubts about what I had written the spur of the moment. I hope it doesn't happen again for the rest of the story, because I have some quite solid ideas for the story as well as the backstory behind it. I'm also really sorry if some things aren't really elaborated well in this chapter, but I do hope the coming chapters would shine more light on these issues. Again, I'm really sorry if the chapters are coming out rather slowly. Life is, and would always come first. I'll still try to write whenever I can and retreat into my imagination for more ideas, but I can't guarantee much!
-delmin