In which Nina views other people’s inner animals,
then goes on safari.
The next week passed uneventfully, which is not to understate the high level of energy that normally prevails on Larchmont Boulevard. A third juice bar opened. The hat store had a sale on berets. Rite Aid changed their seasonal display to bunnies and chickies. It wasn’t exactly a never-ending cavalcade of light and motion, but it was change.
However, the high spot was definitely the Author’s Evening at Knight’s, on Saturday night. Author’s nights meant setting out a load of chairs, which meant moving bookcases and putting out plastic cups of warm white wine or plates of crackers and sweaty cheese, then standing there ready to sell multiple copies of the author’s books so he or she could sign them. It wasn’t hard, and sometimes the authors were fun, but occasionally Nina wasn’t in the mood, and this was one of those evenings.
It didn’t help that the staff weren’t supposed to drink the wine, but that night Nina was so cranky Liz actually urged her to break her own rule. “You’re being a pill, Nina,” she said. “Have a drink and chill out. This book is fun, the author is hopefully fun, and you’re not a child soldier in Rwanda, so get a grip.”
Liz was right, of course. She had a variety of these comparisons: Aside from the child soldier, Nina had also not been a twelfth-century Catholic martyr, a tribute from a forgettable district in The Hunger Games, Scout’s Halloween ham costume, and the first one voted off the island. You had to stay on your toes with Liz; she could throw any number of references at you, and you had to be ready for them.
Nina tried to pull herself together. She’d been irritable all week. Either her period was coming or she had a brain tumor, and at that moment the tumor felt more appealing, which probably meant it was her period. “OK, you’re right. What’s the book again?”
Liz sighed at her. “Unleash Your Inner Animal by Theodore Edwards.”
“Teddy Edwards? His inner animal is presumably a stuffed bear?”
Liz looked at her employee and narrowed her eyes. “One drink, Nina.”
Theodore Edwards turned out to be the least cuddly-looking Teddy that Nina had ever seen: tall and angular, with a tiny goatee and an actual pair of pince-nez on a long handle. Wait, that might make them lorgnettes—hold on, yes, lorgnettes are the ones with handles. Anyway, he had a pair of those, plus the aforementioned tiny beard, and the overall effect was one of a highly affected praying mantis who was going to peer at you closely before biting your head off and dabbing his chin with a handkerchief. You might not have felt this way about him, but Nina had a rich imagination to compensate for her lack of spending money.
As the crowd started to filter in, Nina noticed that they were mostly older women, and by older she meant fifties and up. She was as biased as the next person, unconsciously or not, and made the assumption that this was going to be a quiet evening. She looked around for Liz, saw her engrossed talking to a customer, and slipped a second cup of wine. Shuddering, because it was really piss poor and warm to boot, Nina dropped the cup in the trash and kept herself busy walking around with the rest of the tray. Everyone helped themselves, and the atmosphere warmed up. People seemed to know one another. There was a lot of hugging and eye widening.
Liz checked her watch, then stepped up to the front of the room, where Theodore Edwards was already perched on a stool, cleaning his antennae. Not really, just joking. His antennae were already clean. Nina found herself wanting to giggle, and realized she should have stuck with one glass of wine.
Liz said, “It’s my pleasure to present Theodore Edwards, whose book Unleash Your Inner Animal hit the New York Times bestseller list this week.” Everyone applauded, and Nina took a closer look at the book. It seemed to be a nonfiction, self-help kind of thing. She put it down and paid attention, like she was supposed to.
Theodore cleared his throat. His voice was surprisingly deep and attractive, and made him seem less like a praying mantis and more like a bear or something, dressed as a praying mantis.
“Welcome, fellow animals,” he said. “What a pleasure to see so many of you here, ready to look inward and encourage your secret animal to come out and be free.”
Nina wondered idly if she should have put out a litter tray.
Teddy amped up his delivery. “Civilization has crushed so many of us, and driven us away from our place in the natural world. It’s hard to even remember we are mammals, just part of life’s great chain of being, fearful of predators, hungry for our prey, lusting for our fellows.”
Nina looked at Liz. Her eyebrows had contracted slightly, and Nina saw her flip over her copy of the book to read the description, as she herself had. Theodore continued.
“As I had hoped, people are embracing both the book and their inner beasts, and around the country, chapters of humanimals, as I call them, have sprung up to reacquaint themselves with their wilder side.”
Oh God. Nina had a bad feeling about this.
“So, let’s take a moment to greet each other properly, shall we?” And with that, but without any further warning, he tipped back his head and roared like a lion. Liz and Nina froze, their jaws dropping open as the entire room erupted into growls, bellows, and, impressively, convincing whale song.
Nina looked frantically at Liz, who had backed up against the nearest bookcase. She caught Nina’s eye and mouthed, Save me, but there wasn’t anything the younger woman could do.
Theodore stopped roaring and raised his hand to his ear, encouraging his readers (willing acolytes in the Temple of Crazy) to bellow louder. They complied. Nina covered her ears and started giggling uncontrollably. People were stopping in the street; a crowd was forming outside the door. It was a pity she hadn’t set out more chairs.
And then, “Humanimals! Let’s prance!” Theodore leaped from his stool and started prowling about, and with a resounding crash of wooden folding chairs, his audience followed suit.
It was pretty much downhill from there.
• • •
After the animals had left, the chairs had been folded and returned to the back room, and Liz had taken four Tylenol, Nina was allowed to leave.
“It’s Saturday night,” she said to Nina. “You should run along before I have a coronary and you have to waste the entire night in the emergency room.”
“Do you think you actually might?” Nina paused. Liz wasn’t old, but it had been a somewhat challenging Author’s Evening.
“I doubt it. Run along, little doggie.” She waved her hands. “I see someone trampled cheese into the carpet in the young adult section, and it’s going to be relaxing digging it out with my fingernails. Off you go.” Nina made a break for it.
Saturday nights Nina had a ritual: She went home, fed Phil, had a shower, got dressed, and headed out into the night to sink her teeth into the neck of any virgins she could find. Clearly, this isn’t true: There are no virgins out on Saturday night in LA. No, Nina would grab her camera and go out to take pictures.
One of Nina’s few early memories of her mother was when Candice had taught her to recognize a moment worth photographing. They’d sat together in a crowded spot, and Candice had pointed out the images that appeared every so often in the patterns of people around them. It was a pleasant memory, and although Candice tended to take photos of war zones, starving children, or miners covered in toxic chemicals, Nina preferred to take photos of her hometown. Los Angeles was famous for its intoxicating mix of riots and red carpets, but the city she saw was very different.
Bear in mind, Los Angeles is an unnatural oasis. It was built in and on the desert floor of a long mountain valley, which slopes gently east to west into the Pacific Ocean. Native American tribes settled the valley over seven thousand years ago and lived in relative peace until the Spanish showed up and ruined it all. Eventually, the movie industry arrived, driven there by Thomas “Grabby” Edison, who held a monopoly on all things movie related on the East Coast, and wasn’t averse to breaking a few legs to maintain it. The movie business really caught on. Those people who move like jerky ants in old footage built studios and houses and bigger houses and then swimming pools, and before you knew it … the Kardashians.
This is a blatant simplification and compression of over a century of development, but the point is that people basically arrived and laid a carpet of tarmac and trash over the top of a beautiful but somewhat surprised natural world. Too polite to point it out, nature simply continued to go about her business and ignored us the way we largely ignore her. But she’s still working, like the experienced old performer she is.
Hike up into Griffith Park in spring, for example, and you’ll suddenly find yourself alone apart from four squillion birds, winding down from their day and chattering over a postprandial brandy or whatever it is birds wind down with. A buttercup filled with dew? A half acorn filled with honey? It’s more likely they’re sipping rainwater from the crumpled edge of a Coors Light can, but whatever it is, it’s rocking their world, because they are singing their feathery little butts off. Sometimes, if she were sitting very still, Nina would see a raccoon, or a coyote, or a jackrabbit, all trying not to be seen and freezing when they noticed her, then dissolving away like Homer Simpson sliding back into the hedge.
As the light dwindled, palm trees and distant buildings would become black silhouettes against an impossibly rosy backdrop. Sunsets are beautiful in California, the cornflower blue of the sky diluting as the light fades into a teenage girl’s pastel palette of nail colors. The whole world is familiar with Big Bold Daytime LA, the blinding sun, the girls in shorts and roller skates, the traffic. They know Nighttime Glamorous LA, too, the paparazzi with their shouts and flashes, the starlets with their cleavage and heels. But only Angelenos get to see LA as she’s waking up and going to bed, and like many beautiful women, she looks best with her makeup off.
That evening, Nina could see the jacarandas were having their usual giddy effect: Every May, jacaranda trees burst into flower in an improbably riotous display of color. Ranging from deep purple to the palest violet, they bloom together on some prearranged schedule, so one night Angelenos go to bed in Kansas and wake up in Oz. They’re all over the city, hundreds of them, but until they bloom, they’re totally unremarkable. Like dozens of transformation scenes in movies from My Fair Lady to Mean Girls, jacarandas are the previously plain girl who suddenly gets a makeover and emerges triumphant to turn everyone’s head. They don’t last long, but while they’re there, people smile more. They flirt more. They feel spring in their step and summer in their underpants.
Nina hid behind her camera and watched people crowd together, or sail alone down the street, looking at one another from the corners of their eyes, noticing and seeing and ignoring like any herd congregating around a water hole. She never felt more contented than she did when she was seeing and taking pictures and being invisible. She thought maybe owls felt the same way, but she couldn’t turn her head 270 degrees, which was a total bummer.
Anyway, once the light had gone, she would take this happy feeling of peace and purpose with her to the movie theater, where she would sprinkle herself with heavily buttered popcorn and then spend the whole movie picking it out of her teeth.
The ArcLight was a Hollywood institution, a movie theater with great seats and amazing sound, plus the usual healthy range of unhealthy movie snacks. Nina loved going to the movies alone, even though Saturday night was always crowded.
It turned out it wasn’t Polly who had the pull with Fate, it was Nina, because the first person she saw as she walked into the movie theater lobby was the guy from You’re a Quizzard, Harry.
No, she said to herself. Ignore him. But then he looked up and saw her and smiled. Unbeknownst to her, he’d seen her, thought she was someone he knew, smiled, then realized she was someone he knew, she was that quiz girl who knew everything and not actually a friend of his, but by then it was too late because she was smiling back at him. Uncertainly, but definitely smiling.
Crap, thought Tom. She’s really so pretty.
Crap, thought Nina. He’s gorgeous.
Crap, thought Lisa, the girl from Quizzard, who had walked into the lobby to meet Tom to see a film and immediately saw Tom and Nina smiling at each other in a strained fashion across a twenty-foot distance. Go! she thought to herself, or rather to Tom, go talk to her. But he wasn’t moving, and the girl wasn’t moving, and so Lisa decided she needed to take matters into her own hands.
“Hey, Tom!” she called out, raising her hand.
Oh thank God, thought Tom, though he was also a little annoyed with himself. Why couldn’t he have gone and said hi, made a new friend? What was this, kindergarten?
Ah, thought Nina, he IS dating that girl from his team (which we all know is suicide for team cohesion) and that’s that. Not that there was any that there in the first place, of course … And then she realized the girl from Quizzard was walking toward her with a big, broad smile on her face. Behind her, Tom was wobbling in his trajectory, thrown by Lisa’s sudden darting movement. His sneakers squeaked on the polished concrete floor.
“Hey there, I know you, don’t I?”
Nina was a full adult, capable and competent in many ways, but this simple greeting made her blush and get flustered. “Uh … well …”
“From trivia league, right?” said Lisa, holding out her hand. “I’m Lisa. Our team beat your team last week.”
Nina nodded, shaking her hand. “Yes, I remember. I’m Nina.” She paused. “January the first.”
“I’m sorry?” Lisa shot a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure Tom was coming over. He wasn’t. She micro-frowned at him, and he started to move.
“Racehorses. January the first. That’s how you won.”
“With racehorses?”
“Yes. You won with a question about racehorses.” Nina was starting to feel a little desperate for this conversation to be over. The good-looking guy was approaching; it was too late.
“That’s right,” said Lisa, smiling at Nina as if the two of them had known each other forEVS. Then Tom joined them and Lisa revealed herself as the manipulative mastermind she truly was. “Oh, hey, Tom, this is Nina. Do you remember her from Quiz League?”
“Of course.” Tom had had an additional fifteen seconds to compose himself, and felt utterly capable of exchanging pleasantries and walking away. “I’m Tom. Nice to meet you properly, if you know what I mean.”
Nina shook his hand, feeling her systems coming back online. “The feeling is mutual.” (No, Nina! What the hell was that? Why do these stupid phrases come out of your mouth? What’s next, gum would be perfection?)
“So, here’s the weirdest thing,” said Lisa. “I can’t see the film after all, so here, have my ticket and you guys can go together.” She pushed her ticket into Nina’s hand and started to back away.
“No,” Tom yelped. (Great, Tom, attractive noise. Let’s hope she’s got a secret fetish for yodeling.) “Why? You texted me like ten minutes ago saying you were looking forward to it.”
“I have a sudden headache,” said Lisa.
“I have Advil in my bag,” said Nina, also in a somewhat higher voice than normal.
“I can’t take ibuprofen. Sorry, upsets my tummy.” Lisa looked apologetic, but she was still unmistakably backing away.
“I also have Tylenol,” said Nina, starting to rummage.
“Can’t take acetaminophen, either. Deathly allergic.”
“Allergic to Tylenol?” asked Tom, trying to remember if she’d mentioned this in the nearly twenty years they’d been friends.
“Yes, terribly. I’ll drop dead on the spot.” Lisa shrugged, which Nina thought made for a pretty casual reference to sudden death.
“Maybe you need caffeine?” suggested Tom. “Or something to eat?”
“Or you can get a rain check?” suggested Nina, looking now to Tom for support. They didn’t want to see a film together, did they?
Lisa looked at the clock above the movie board. “Too late! Movie starts in three minutes. Run along.”
“I don’t think that’s how rain checks …”
“Gotta go,” said Lisa, clutching her head. “Starting to lose consciousness. Got to get to a darkened room and an ice bag ASAP. See you guys.” And then she turned and essentially ran away. Not literally running, obviously, because that would have been bizarre, but definitely speed walking.
Tom and Nina stared after her. Then Nina looked down at the ticket in her hand. Space Spiders on Mars? She raised her eyebrows, and looked up to see Tom watching her.
“Not a sci-fi action movie fan?” he said, with a note in his voice that suggested he wasn’t surprised. He looked up at the board. “I bet you were going to see Miss Eglantine Expects, weren’t you? One of those movies where the corsets are tighter than the fight choreography.”
Nina frowned. He was right, but she wasn’t going to admit it. “No, actually, I’m here for Bloody Deadly Blood Death III: The Blood Rises.”
“Really?” He had started the word sounding surprised, but by the end of it he was sarcastic.
“Yes.” She gazed up at him, Popsicle cool, though she suddenly wished she hadn’t gone in this direction and had simply offered to buy the popcorn. He was really attractive, and now he thought she was … She didn’t know what he thought. His expression was unreadable, not that she was all that good at reading people, anyway. She started to feel the familiar signs of imminent panic. Tingling hands. Mild nausea.
Tom was thinking he didn’t believe Nina about Blood Death III, but it was clear she didn’t want to watch a film with him. He wanted to stop bickering with her but wasn’t sure how. He opened his mouth to suggest something, and then she suddenly thrust the ticket back at him, and turned and walked out.
He watched her go, realizing for the first time that he really was attracted to her and that she apparently hated him so much she was willing to break all social conventions and walk away without a word.
As she walked toward Vine Street, Nina realized she had done exactly what Lisa had done, and giggled a little, somewhat hysterically. She was starting to calm down, but her palms were still tingly. Her anxiety had gotten better in the last several years, once she’d started to use a planner and keep a schedule and basically try to control every aspect of her life, but it was always curled up at the base of her spine like a sleeping cat. Any step off the normal path, any deviation from standard, and it started lashing its tail.
Suddenly, she wanted to cry. She’d been doing so well, but clearly she wasn’t one of those people who could be spontaneous, and that was going to have to be OK. She didn’t want complexity in her life, and with work and the new weird family thing, she definitely didn’t have space for a boyfriend.
Time to go back into hiding.