Chapter 10

The weekend took a month to pass. No Lee, no friends available, and no weed to temper harsh reality. I stayed in bed, hid in my room with Face and TV for company, frozen in utter terror of life alone. I considered calling Lee every other second, telling him everything he wanted to hear, but didn't. Leading him on just to have a playmate was selfish, a waste of time at best, and sure to end badly for both of us.

Time slowed to a crawl, and like the clocks on classroom walls, sometimes it seemed to move backwards. Holiday specials with station breaks to news clips of Rodney King showed the best and worst of us, but the loving climaxes in the Hallmark films were always gloriously attained after miraculously overcoming any and all obstacles. Gotta love fiction.

The phone ringing woke me at 7:30 Monday morning. I'd been hoping, then wishing, then begging the All I don't believe in that Lee would call. I imagined him confessing his love, professing his readiness to father children, promising to quit using with me in the New Year. He'd commit to working at becoming all that I needed— model self-discipline, healthy living, maybe finish his degree as a back up plan to running his own business, knowing how risky consulting can be. He was ready to become the master of his destiny instead of a slave to his addictions, and teach me how to be. I scoffed, shook my head at the cheesy climax I was conjuring. Truth was, we'd said everything there was to say. And I suddenly felt afraid to pick up the phone if it was Lee.

Fourth ring and the machine picked up.

"Hey, Rachel. This is Brian over at CBS, Television City."

I drew in a sharp breath, only then realizing I hadn't been breathing. I sat up in bed and put my pillow over the machines speaker but I heard Brian anyway.

"I'm hoping you're available to come in for the next few weeks.” His teddy bear image came to mind. “We're on deadline for February sweeps and we need an art director to champion some of the new mid-season shows. We have a great lineup this year."

"Bullshit. Shut up!" I yelled at my machine. A 'great lineup.' Right. Another season that still portrayed women as either mothers, or evil, money grubbing whores, as in Dallas; or ditz chicks who need a man to save them, like in Who's The Boss, and virtually every other show and movie out there. And even me, to be fair, still looking for my knight, a hero to thwart Lonely, and rescue me from a barren existence teetering on poverty.

"Anyway, we could really use your expertise around here. Ring me up and let me know if you can come in today, or what your availability is through the New Year."

"Go away, Brian."

The machine clicked off. There was a discernible delay as the TV went to commercial, and for a second the bedroom was dead silent, like the room had been swallowed by a black hole, time slowing, stretching the years of isolation beyond any semblance of sanity. I noticed Face curled in her beanbag staring at me wide-eyed, rocket-ears straight up. The dog looked as scared as I felt.

The red light on my answering machine blinked it had recorded Brian's message. I'd stopped working in-house, full-time for CBS over a year back, when at the end of a meeting, after everyone else left, the married creative director grabbed my tit and then told me to “get ready” for him. With my knee to his groin, I threatened him with a lawsuit if he touched me again, but I quit that day. When I told Brian what happened, and that something needed to be done since this guy was sexually harassing the few women who worked there, he instructed me to put the CD's “minor indiscretions in perspective, and not take it so seriously.”

Brian still called me into freelance when he was desperate, like now, with half his staff up in Mammoth or Tahoe for the holidays. Asshole. Even though the CD got laid off, along with half their marketing staff when they brought in computers, I felt and probably looked like shit. I had nothing clean to wear. And right about then I sure as hell wasn't about to walk that red carpet of the Artist's entrance, with all those tourists ogling to see if I was anyone famous, then enduring their scoffs confirming I wasn't a celebrity. I really was no one, nothing.

Dirty shirts, sweaters and jeans cascaded over the brim of the laundry basket on to the floor by the closet door. I couldn't recall the last time I'd washed more than my racquetball garb. And even clean, skin-tight stretchies and ripped t-shirts were inappropriate for a work environment.

No more Lee...I inhaled a shaky breath. Face came over and rested her head on the blanket waiting for strokes.

"We're on our own again, baby." Tears began again. "I'm sorry, but it's back to just you and me." I wiped my cheeks on the back of my hand then stroked the dog. Face licked the salty wetness from my fingers, enraptured, complete. Ah, to be a dog...

I stared out the side window at my neighbor's manicured lawn to find some ground. Lingering fog streamed through the palms and pines and cast the bedroom in light blue. Tangled up in Blue... I heard Dylan in my head, and crumpled inside. Tears streamed down my face again and I sat there with my hand over my mouth to stifle crying. Face curled back in her beanbag. Typical. Dogs are solipsists at heart.

The phone rang again. "Please, please, please be Lee..." I begged aloud.

"Hi, Dolly." My mom's cheerful lilt resonated from the machine's speaker. "Just wanted to check in, see if you're going to Colorado this year, or maybe staying home to be with friends." I exhaled as if she'd punched me. I'd told her about Love Letters the morning after seeing it, gave it rave reviews and painted a rosy picture of the evening, which I got a long time ago was my mother's preferred exchange. Like so many women of her day, and even today, it's expected we maintain a sunny facade. "Anyway, if you are staying in town this year, please think about joining us for our annual New Year's Eve get-together. It would make my evening having you home and safe with us to ring in the New Year. And please feel free to invite Lee! He's welcome. Well, let me know. Talk to you later." She disconnected without goodbye.

Run!

I'd been vacillating about going to the Rockies to spend Christmas with Chris and her family this year. I was thinking of spending the holidays with Lee, until his sister's invitation, and Lee's look of expectation, insisting I put some distance between us to maintain just friendship. No reason to stay in L.A. now. I could be shooting photography, conjuring stories, making it with my creative muse instead of hiding in my room, watching TV and getting off to blot out Lonely. And leaving town instead of working, I could avoid exploiting another CBS Sunday Night Movie about abused women or teens on drugs in the network's last, gasping attempt to recapture audience share lost to cable, video rentals, and emerging computer games way beyond Pac-Man.

I used the laundromat in the 7-11 strip mall a block from my parents' house since I'd moved out because it was convenient and safe. I was not welcome to do my laundry at their home, my mother informed me the day I left. Nor was I invited to show up for meals unannounced, nor stop by and raid the fridge. If I insisted on living on my own, then I should do just that, my mom had decreed. She wasn't thrilled about her ‘baby' leaving the nest the same day her other daughter married and moved out, but there was no way in hell I could survive my parents without Carrie as the buffer between us. I was still a sophomore in college, and working full-time, though barely making rent, but I preferred living on the edge of homeless than with my folks who were convinced I was physically, mentally, and fundamentally... flawed.

I sat on the linoleum bench in the large, brightly lit room watching my clothes bob in thick, sudsy water in the industrial washer in front of me. The laundromat was empty, and mirrored my life. The spin cycle on the washer began and ramped in velocity with a high pitch whine. My clothes clung to the sides of the metal canister as it spun, opening a dark hole in the center. I wanted to jump in, hurt no more, want no more, be no more. I felt invisible. Cars parked in the lot on the other side of the glass wall and people went in and out of the 7-11 next door, but nobody even glanced my way.

My scalp tingled. It was hard to catch my breath. Felt like there was a weight on my chest. When my skin started prickling I got up and paced. I was having a panic attack, my mind racing with the notion that I'd never find a normal, stable man to be with because I wasn't normal— always at war with myself. Breathe! I did, slowly, deeply. Chill...I tried, but paralyzing fear of being alone forever left me falling again. I needed to find ground, support, to be seen, acknowledged, so I went outside to the pay phone on the wall between the laundromat and the 7-11 and called Jon. He picked up on the second ring.

"This is Jon. Talk to me." His resonant tone was familiar and soothing.

"Hi." I sounded maudlin even to myself.

"Hi. Wow. What's wrong?"

"Lee and I aren't together anymore."

"Since when did you two become a couple? I thought this guy was your new racquetball partner, my replacement."

"Well, we weren't exactly a couple, but I really liked him, Jon." I couldn't stop the flood of tears. I hid my face, stared at the phone. "I'm scared out of my mind I'll always be alone. And I may not be all that in love with people, but I hate alone." I spoke in a harsh whisper. "What if Lee was as good as I'll ever get, and I just chased him away?"

"Wait a minute. You told me you wanted a 'grown up,' a guy you can ‘respect and trust'—your excuses for derailing me, if you may recall. From what you've told me, he's been, well, reckless, to say the least. You were right to let him go if he's not what you want, Ray, instead of ending up older, angrier, and back to alone years down the line on my side of the divorce stats."

"I ‘derailed' you because you lied to me about being married, Jon." I said it louder than I meant to and a mid-40's woman passing by turned back and smiled knowingly, shaking her head sympathetically. "Lee doesn't want to be friends anymore, and that's what's really killing me. This last six weeks with him were a total blast. We clicked from the start, connected, you know, really enjoyed each other. If he wasn't so ‘reckless,' I could've fallen in love with him, probably even harder than I ever did for Michael."

Jon's heavy sigh could be heard over a motorcycle pulling out of the lot. "I'm not sure what you wanta hear from me. Is Lee what you've been holding out for, Ray? Does he possess a ‘clear head and open heart, model restraint, work towards excellence, and challenges you to do the same?'" Jon quoted me exactly and it surprised me he remembered what I'd said that first night we'd met seven years ago. "If that's Lee, then you owe him an apology. Call him and beg his forgiveness for whatever wrong you've done. If, however, you're looking to change him, mold him to what you want, or think you need, then move on."

His words literally hurt, and echoed Lee's Friday night. The sun broke through the fog and domed the scene in glaring white. My eyes started to tear, as they often did in the harsh L.A. sunlight, though I wasn't entirely sure I wasn't crying again. "I'm scared out of my fucking mind, Jon." I took my sunglasses from the inside pocket of my leather jacket and slid them on.

"I know, Ray. What I don't get is how your fear serves you."

I smiled. "Ah, my beautiful, rational, Jon. How nice it must be to have reason trump emotion with such ease. I require a lot of weed to disconnect, and even high I can't get to where you live, sweetie."

"I'd take that as a compliment, if I didn't know otherwise. You revel in emotions, Ray. They're just another buzz to entertain that big brain of yours."

I couldn't help smiling. "Be nice, Jon. I just lost a good friend, a great racquetball partner, and on top of that, my only connection of late. Not my best day." I swallowed back the lump in my throat and refused to cry.

"Can't fix the former, but I can help you out with the latter." Jon rustled around as he spoke. "Picked up half an ounce of some amazing smoke couple weeks back. You can have whatever's left if you want it. I can drop it by your place on my way to work. Can't really hang out, but I can turn you on, and give you hug."

"You're a god, Jon. I'd love that. I'm at the laundromat by my folks' house."

“OK. See ya there in a bit, maybe fifteen or so."

“I'll be here. Thanks, J.”

"Glad to be of service to a damsel in distress. Chow." Jon hung up.

I went back into the laundromat and waited for my clothes to spin dry and Jon to come by. The old Asian woman who owned the dry cleaners next door had filled the industrial washers with clothing and was waiting with a basket of dirty laundry to fill the one left that I was still using. She stood only feet away, eyes downcast, and did not look up though I openly stared at her, pressured by the woman's proximity.

The washer clicked off. I pulled out my clean, damp garments, piled them into a wire-frame cart, then put them into a wall dryer among the row of many, started the machine and sat on the peeling wood-laminate bench.

The old lady did not acknowledge me as she wheeled her empty cart out of the laundromat, now having commandeered all the industrial washers. The place was back to vacant. And I was alone again, only not really with Jon on his way. I craved weed almost as much as Lee. It, too, saved my from Lonely.

The parking spaces in front of the 7-11 were empty for what seemed unusually long. I tried to embrace the silence but it didn't work. The pings and dings of coins and such rattling around in the dryer annoyed the hell out of me, but there was no point in stopping the machine and collecting the all the change making noise. I couldn't do anything about zippers and buttons.

Accept the things you cannot change. The problem is knowing what's unchangeable. I could, in fact, put only soft clothes like sweaters and t-shirts in the dryer and hang dry anything with hard components, but there was no way I was doing that. Too much work, like trying to change Lee, though I still sat there considering the possibility.

I shook my head with contempt. I really was a desperate fool, and I felt small, stupid, invisible again. Come on, Jon. I anticipated the buzz, everything slowing, becoming surreal, disconnecting me from my pervasive fears, allowing me to plug into the unencumbered flow of ideas my brain gifted me when I got high. I watched my clothes spinning, flashes of red and emerald midst a tangle of black. I imagined what it'd feel like in that swirl of clothes, spinning, spinning, spinning, out of control.

You are, reason hissed, if you think you can change anyone else but yourself. And even that's ify.

I stared out the glass wall. The fog had cleared to a perfect bright blue sky. Not a cloud in it. Sunshine and palm trees— L.A.'s magnificent façade.

A white Toyota Corolla pulled into the lot and it took me a second to remember Jon had recently traded up to a Jeep Cherokee. Half of Hollywood was suddenly enamored with 4 x 4s. And to work in the Industry you'd better be hip, slick and trendy. It's part of the price of admission.

Jon was a film editor, and worked all the time. Seven years ago he'd called me in response to a note I'd posted at the Coldwater Racquetball Club looking for ‘C-B-level partners.' Jon and I were a good match. He was fast, kept me running and didn't care about keeping score. And he was gorgeous, classic chic in that Rob Lowe sort of way. After playing that first time, we shared dinner at Ocha Thai, and then took a three hour walk along Ventura to Encino and back. By midnight when we said goodnight, I returned his passionate kiss in kind, sure I could fall for him if not for my intuition needling me something was wrong with the perfect picture Jon presented.

When he called the next morning to arrange another game, his wife mistakenly picked up the extension and awkwardly introduced herself. Jon had neglected to tell me he was married, or that his wife was eight and a half months pregnant with their first child. Shot the shit out of Happily Ever After with Jon. We did institute playing ball two to three days a week though, and sometime after his divorce a year later we established an active friendship, and over the years a tight bond. He was my closest friend right then, till Lee came along, but trust him I did not. I knew, and Jon knew I knew, he thought with his little head over his big one all too often, which is why I'd never considered anything beyond friendship with him.

The dryer buzzed loudly and came to a slow stop. I stood and looked out the glass wall hoping to see Jon pulling up but no such luck. I got a metal basket, wheeled it over and opened the dryer door then pulled out an armful of warm clothing. They were soft and fluffy and smelled fresh and clean. I dropped them in the basket and went back for more.

"Is this mine?"

Startled, I banged my head on the metal rim of the dryer which sent a piercing blow through my skull as I stumbled back with an armful of clothes. I dumped them into the basket then rubbed the back of my head.

Jon examined his fleece shirt. I'd borrowed it and never gave it back to him. He stood on the other side of the open dryer door examining the shirt he'd removed from the basket between us.

"This is mine, isn't it? I've been looking for this for months."

"It's yours. Take it." I smiled. "It's clean." I finished clearing the dryer and shut the door. "Good to see ya."

"Good to see you too." He leaned across the basket and kissed me on the lips, closed mouth, a typical L.A. ‘hey,' and then straightened, his eyes scanning me as he spoke. "You look great! Very tight. Playing a lot of ball works for you."

I frowned. "Except my partner just abandoned me." I wheeled the cart past him and over to the folding table. Jon followed. "Will you play with me, Jon. Go back to Tuesdays and Thursdays like we used to?"

"I'd love to play with you, Ray." He said it teasingly, moved up behind me and grabbed me around the waist with one arm. "Ooo, I miss playing with you. I do." He pressed up against me pushing my crotch into the edge of the linoleum shelf and gently moved his pelvis and hardening cock against the crack of my ass.

I whipped around and he backed up. "Knock it off, J." Jon had been an exception to the ‘relationship required for sex' rule, and easily the best lover I'd ever had because I didn't care how he perceived me. It had always been just for fun, if neither of us was seeing anyone, with never any thought of commitment for either of us. We were safe, always used a condom, and those were about the only two rules. Ostensibly, neither of us was seeing anyone right then, so Jon wasn't out of line in his demonstrative display. But for some reason it felt dirty, made me feel cheap.

"So, you and Mary are through? Totally done and on to the next one?" I asked as I turned back to folding my clothes.

"We're done." Jon frowned, but his hazel eyes flickered with humor. "She said she couldn't trust that only my eyes wandered." He flung his fleece shirt on the bench against the glass wall. His tall, thin frame was Giacometti-like, silhouetted against the glare outside. "Confessing the past to cleanse the soul is highly overrated. The truth can really fuck up a functioning relationship." His straight brown hair hung past his shoulders and framed his gaunt face, his black t-shirt was tucked into worn blue jeans that hung on his slender hips like a GQ model. He held a black leather organizer under his arm. Very vogue. "I never should have told Mary that Lavonne and I split because of Allison.” Jon flashed a quick, regretful grin, then put his organizer on the folding table next to me. He unzipped it and took out a pack of Marlboro Lights, extracted a cigarette and lit it, then pulled out a baggie of buds. "Here." He handed me the weed. “I hope it provides the diversion you need.”

"Thanks. Looks yummy." I pocketed the baggie in my leather jacket.

"It is, trust me."

I did too, about the weed, anyway. Jon was a connoisseur of just about everything. He liked the best, and bought it, whether he could afford it or not. He took his first bankruptcy at 23, and was railing headlong into another one by 30 had he not landed the editing job at Universal Studios a couple years back through a friend who worked there. Knowing someone in the Industry is the most common ticket to entry.

"Mary was right. I don't know what's wrong with me. She's beautiful and smart and accomplished. And she still wasn't enough." Jon took a drag off the cigarette then exhaled it and the bright room clouded with harsh tobacco smoke. He delivered the cliché with Hollywood cadence, and gave a little shrug before zipping his black case and sticking it under his arm. He leaned back against the end of the folding table and stared outside.

"Maybe you're just not ready to settle down." Or grow up, but I didn't say it because he already knew it, and there was no reason to be contentious. "You know, Mary is a big time producer and gorgeous and all that, but honestly, she had a stick up her ass that went right through her brain. I love her ‘success breeds success' rap, like no one knows who her daddy is. She really was a bitch, Jon. You're probably better off without her."

"Like you are without Lee?" He stared at me and cocked his head to one side.

Ouch. My cheeks flushed.

"Come on, Ray. I get that he lavished you with attention, was demonstrably generous and had all the emotional shit I so sorely lack. But 'just scratch the surface,' to quote you, and the full picture you've painted of Lee seems fairly screwed up to me. If what you've told me about him is true, then move on. Stick to your gut and find what you want."

He was right, of course, if I took out emotions like choking loneliness and gasping desperation. Jon did not feel these things. Losing Mary was more like losing an anchor than an appendage, though they'd lived together the last six months. He had no need of commitment. He could find someone to be with at his whim. And all counted with him, but none too much. By his own admission, Jon had never known Lonely, which I reverently envied.

"I've gotta jam.” He leaned over and gave me a quick peck on the lips, then pushed off from the edge of the table. ”Have a ten hour schedule today and I'm late." Jon was always running late. "Booked on Married with Children straight through New Year's or I'd say let's hang out, go up to Starwood's for New Year's eve. You got plans, or did they go away with Lee?"

"CBS asked me to come in but I'm thinking about going to Colorado early, hanging in the Rockies with Chris and her clan, escape the menagerie for a while."

Jon studied me. "Can't run from yourself, babe. Trust me. I keep trying but it never works."

My throat clamped. Tears fell. I couldn't stop them.

"Ah, Ray..." Jon pulled me in and hugged me in his warm yet separate way. "You're going to be fine." He spoke softly in my ear. "You still have many years to meet the right guy, make beautiful babies, and live happily ever after." Jon released me and we stood a foot from each other.

"That's you, Jon. Adorable, successful, athletic white male, Hollywood career track, and you've got the next 30 years or more before considered undesirable. I'm at negative three, and counting." I held up three fingers to accentuate my point.

He stared at me, like he was trying to get inside my head, but couldn't. He was too into his own to make the connection. "You worry me, kid. Hardcore coating with a marshmallow center." He sighed and shook his head. "You gonna be OK?"

"Yes, Jon.” Anticipating the buzz I'd be putting on in 10 minutes made it almost true. “And thank you, for everything."

"You bet. What's mine is yours, save my fidelity, of course." He flashed a grin then pulled me in for a quick peck on the lips and released me, picked up his fleece shirt and walked backwards toward the door. "Happy New Year, Ray. Enjoy the smoke. Take good care and be safe out there."

I wished him a happy New Year and thanked him again as he turned and exited the laundromat. I watched him walk to his Jeep parked right in front of the glass wall, but he didn't acknowledge me as he got in his car and left. Jon was on to the next thing and I became virtually irrelevant.

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