On her way to the parking lot behind the Page Museum, Christina checked her cell phone and was surprised to see five text messages and a bunch of voicemails, all but one from her cousin. The back side of Hancock Park was still fairly quiet, so with a weary sigh, she sat down on a bench in the shade to catch up on the news River obviously was eager to share, whether Christina wanted to hear it or not. River was like that. She was so passionate about everything she did it never occurred to her that others might not share her enthusiasm. As River’s roommate, relative, and childhood friend, Christina was often on the receiving end of River’s zeal.
The first message was sent at 9:06 AM.
“U SHD B HERE 2 PRAY”
Oh, that was rich, coming from River who hadn’t been to Mass since Christmas two years ago. Christina, a graduate of the University of Notre Dame, made it to church most Sundays. She tried to recall what River’s cause du jour was and why it involved praying.
Then she remembered something about a teenage girl, an eighteen-year-old grape picker who died of heat exhaustion on a vineyard in the Central Valley. River was at a United Farm Workers march protesting the girl’s death and the working conditions of undocumented farm laborers. The march was to begin with a memorial service downtown at the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels. She recalled with irony that River had to ask her where the Cathedral was.
10:13 AM.
“C TV WE R ON TEMPLE”
The march went up Temple Street. There must’ve been live news coverage. Busy day for the camera crews, she thought as she watched a van from KCAL local CBS news unloading right now in the parking lot at La Brea. She tapped to the next message.
10:51 AM.
“RITA MORENO SPEECH”
I’m sure that made River’s day. The only thing River liked better than politically correct activism was activism involving celebrities—precisely the same combination that turned Christina off. She felt big names and publicity stunts didn’t change the world; the small actions of a million unrecognized individuals did. Maybe that’s why she favored the quiet, anonymous labor at Pit 91 over the grandstanding, media-pleasing stuff River got involved in.
12:17 PM
“MICKEY CHAIN ME 2 DEPT OF AG”
Good Lord, Mickey was there, too? Mickey was River’s slacker boyfriend, and he was full of brilliant ideas like chaining yourself to a federal building. He’d probably like to chain himself to River’s bed, but Christina (as the only one with a steady income) drew the line at letting him officially move in to their apartment. The two of them—Mickey and River—didn’t have enough common sense to fill a thimble. Not that Mickey probably knew what a thimble was.
12:44 PM
“COPS”
Lovely. I’m so sorry I missed the party.
That was the last text message. Police, other emergency workers, and media were now arriving at Hancock Park in force, filling the parking spaces in the back lot that had been vacated by fleeing visitors. Christina was pretty sure in a few minutes she’d be asked to leave, but she took a moment to listen to her voicemails first. It was a good thing she did.
“Chrissy, Mickey and I need you to pick us up at the Central Community Police Station. It’s at—“ she heard some shuffling and discussion in the background, “—two fifty-one east sixth street, right downtown, you know? Okay, call me back.”
River’s voice was disgustingly cheerful. Obviously she got arrested. Probably thinks that makes her a hero, Christina thought. I should leave her there, let her see how heroic a night in jail is.
A whole series of irritating voice messages from her cousin followed.
“Okay, we’re still here, I need you to call me.”
“Chrissy, what are you doing? Why aren’t you answering your phone? Call me.”
“Hel—LOOO! Chrissy! Mickey and I got arrested. Don’t worry, it’s cool. But you have to pick us up. Sometime this year would be nice.”
Cripes.
The only good thing about River having a scrape with the law was it justified Christina’s decision not to move into her own place. Her cousin clearly needed a chaperone, and she had adopted the role, unbidden. Reluctantly she called back.
It took three rings for River to answer, and Christina could hear she’d interrupted her in mid-laugh. What is wrong with that girl?
“Hi Chrissy! What took you so long?”
“What did you do, River?” Christina said in her most parental tone, annoyed to the breaking point by her cousin’s attitude.
“Oooo, the march got so intense! You should’ve been there, Chrissy. Mickey and I–”
“Skip it, I don’t really want to know. You said you need a ride?”
“Yeah. You have the car this weekend, right?”
“I have it, but I don’t know if I have enough fuel to get downtown and back to the apartment.”
“I asked. It’s only seven miles from here to West L.A.”
Christina preferred to let River deal with the situation on her own, but she wasn’t going to make up an excuse to avoid her duty. She did a quick calculation of how much driving she’d already done since getting the car from Dr. Chen yesterday. If River was right about the mileage, the experimental biodiesel car should be fine to make the trip.
She made an exasperated sigh into the phone, which didn’t seem to bother River in the least, and said, “All right, I’m on my way.”
“Thanks, Chrissy. Mickey’ll be so psyched to ride in the X-car.”
That sounds like Mickey, she thought as she hung up. Never mind that I just got arrested, what matters is I’m going for a ride in an eco-trendy vehicle.
The X-car, as she and her friends called it, was guaranteed not to be mistaken for an ordinary automobile. The fluorescent green Mini Cooper was wrapped in gaudy pronouncements declaring it was an “experimental biodiesel car”; that it was affiliated with UCLA; that it ran on “E. coli isobutanol” and was sponsored by “Bactofuels, Inc.”
A uniformed police officer approached the bench. Christina put away her phone.
“Excuse me, miss, for your safety you’ll have to leave,” he said. “The park is now closed to the public.”
He escorted her to the parking lot and paused to give her curious vehicle a once-over. With her modest stature, Christina slipped easily into the somewhat cramped driver’s seat. As she started the X-car, she reflected that it was going to be interesting to hear what Dr. Chen had to say about the gas anomaly at the asphalt seep.
I wonder if there’s a connection to our energy harvesting project, she thought, then dismissed the idea as fanciful. Their test site was several miles from here. It couldn’t be related to the incident at Rancho La Brea.