Roommates

The first time Elise had ever lived with a complete stranger had been nine years ago when she’d packed up her parents’ station wagon and relocated from the suburbs of San Diego to the freshman dorms at the University of Arizona. Talk about anxiety. She’d seen Single White Female that summer, and to this day blamed the movie for scaring roommate hunters all over the world.

She watched while her friends from high school had called their future roommates ahead of time to “get to know each other.” Rather than imagining their roommates as psychotic versions of Jennifer Jason Leigh, they knew what kind of music they listened to, which sororities they planned to rush, and what their favorite movies were.

“Russia? You want to call Russia?” Her father responded to her request to “briefly” become acquainted with Anya Gordeeva. “A two-minute phone call to Russia costs more than your tuition!”

For the duration of her last summer in San Diego, she wondered whether or not Anya Gordeeva would copy her haircut, and if she might share her affinity for Alfred Hitchcock movies. As it would turn out, Anya Gordeeva copied the hairstyles of the female cast of Baywatch. When asked if she liked Alfred Hitchcock movies, Anya wanted to know if he had been on Howard Stern. She was consumed with the idea of ending up on a College Girls Gone Wild video, which of course would ultimately land her a guest appearance on Howard Stern, who would launch her career as a “model” and introduce her to Vince Neil of Mötley Crüe. American Dreams.

Instead of dating Vince Neil she found her American beau at the Tucson miniature golf course where he worked and frequently parked his tricked-out Honda Accord. He looked like Eminem on crystal, and they had sex on the squeaky bunk above Elise’s at least four nights a week.

When Elise had summoned up the nerve to ask if they could please have sex at his place, Anya Gordeeva threw her head back and laughed as wickedly as Cruella De Vil. Then in a very thick Russian accent said, “You very jealous because you don’t get any.”

Living with Anya Gordeeva for her first year of college had been like belly flopping the first time she’d dived as a child. Having the wind knocked out of her on her first diving attempt had left her forever wary of diving boards. And having a total weirdo for her first roommate had made her forever cautious of living with strangers. She wouldn’t have minded living with an interesting weirdo. If Anya had been, say, a stripper who was considerate and friendly, Elise probably would’ve found it intriguing. She would’ve asked her fifty million questions about her profession and overlooked that she was saving up for implants so she could qualify for Penthouse.

Throughout undergrad and graduate school Elise had lived with friends—people she knew. Girls with solid references. For the most part, they’d been pretty decent roommates, occasionally annoying her when they did little things like leaving one chip in a huge bag. A cruel way of fooling her into believing there was actually something to snack on until she pulled a bag as light as a Kleenex from the cupboard.

By the time she received her master’s in criminal psychology, her roommates had either left Tucson or found a husband. Elise decided it was time for her to move on as well.

The dating scene in Tucson was about as dry as its climate, and if Anya Gordeeva could see her now, she just might have a point. At twenty-seven she was heading back to her southern California roots and living with a stranger for the second time.

At times she wondered if she had been crazy when she’d made the decision to leave. Socially, she’d be starting all over again in San Diego. Though most of her Arizona friends were married, she still had lots of friends. Economically, Tucson was great. She could probably afford to buy her own home within a year or two if she stayed there. California was much more expensive, and she’d have to rely on roommates to cover her rent. Furthermore, her only real friends in San Diego were her family and her best friend, Carly. She was leaving a lot behind. But she needed change. After a string of terrible dates she really wanted to see what else was out there. It was an adventure.

Her skinny arms vibrated like a pair of dentist’s drills as she steered a beastly U-Move truck across the Arizona desert highway. Ever since they’d left Tucson she’d been peppering the trip with silent prayers that the bike lane would be empty until she reached her new home in San Diego.

Driving this rig called for a lot more than just paying attention to the road and pressing on the gas. It required strength. At five foot three and one hundred pounds, she felt as if the truck had more control than she did.

When she’d gone to U-Move Rentals for a vehicle, she’d asked for something small. Just like the ones she’d seen in their spiffy ads. A newer model, a sporty van with eagle’s wings painted on each side and the gold U-Move logo dangling from a raptor’s beak across the hood. However, U-Move had been out of those and had provided her a with a vehicle the shade of Grey Poupon and comparable in size to a mattress delivery truck. It smelled like mustard and looked like mustard. Her brother had dubbed the truck The Mustard Mobile before they’d even driven it off the lot, and she felt like an insect trapped inside a hot-dog stand.

Furthermore, a rattling noise from somewhere in The Mustard Mobile had been irritating her since they had left, and the radio was broken. Without realizing it, she hummed the Buzz Burger commercial jingle. “Buzzz Buhurrrrger,” she sang to herself in a voice that had potential to break the windshield.

“Where the burrrrger makes a buzz!” Stan sang before he sat up. He’d been dozing in the passenger seat next to her. “I gotta take a leak.”

“Can you wait until we get to Centro Mesa?” Personally, she could. Centro Mesa was the capital of Buzz Burger, and she’d been thinking about the number-two combo since they’d started their road trip three hours earlier.

She ignored the last comment. Carly was following them in Elise’s red vintage convertible Volkswagen bug. Sixty was the maximum limit for the bug, and even that was pushing it. Besides, if he thought she was driving like a grandma, he had only himself to blame.

The original plan had been for Stan to drive the U-Move and Carly to serve as copilot. Two people needed to man The Mustard Mobile for backing up and changing lanes. Being a tour guide for the Wild Animal Park, her brother was the best candidate to drive. His tram at the park toted over thirty passengers. Elise had planned to follow in her convertible behind them. However, Stan had gotten smashed at Elise’s going-away party, passed out an hour before they had planned to leave, and was still drunk while they packed the truck.

As she turned into the rest stop she got the same creepy feeling she associated with watching Unsolved Mysteries. It seemed as if most of the missing in America were “last seen” at a rest stop off some desolate highway. Fragrant with urine and decorated with carvings that said things like, “Kenny ’n’ Amber 4-Ever,” they were places where her mother had always advised her not to touch anything or talk to anyone.

Pulling into a parking space was a task reserved only for seasoned truckers. There were a million opportunities to nail someone’s bumper or take out a car door with a single swipe. She ended up parking in a dirt field that made the restrooms appear to be tiny cream-colored bumps on the desert horizon. They needed to stretch their legs, she reasoned.

Smothering heat covered her as she climbed from The Mustard Mobile. She pulled Bella’s leash from her purse and clicked it onto her little red collar.

“I like what the weather does for my hair,” Carly said, touching the bottom of her blonde bob as if she’d just gotten a haircut. “My straightening iron has never been able to make it this flat.”

“Having straight hair is definitely God’s way of making up for destroying your CD cases and favorite lipsticks.” Ever since Elise had moved to Arizona, her wavy brown hair hadn’t experienced a single day of frizz. However, she’d stopped buying expensive lipstick after several melted tubes and a couple of destroyed purses.

“Yeah. I’m kind of nervous. I feel like a freshman in college again, heading into the unknown. Remember how horrible that turned out.”

“You really did get a shitty roommate. Has Stan told you anything else about Justine?” Carly asked as they neared the restrooms, the scent of urine hovering like a nuclear cloud.

Elise picked up Bella before they entered the ladies’ room, and in doing so caught a whiff of her hands. They smelled like Dijon, and the dog smelled like mustard, too.

After she scoured her hands with powdered soap, which felt like sand and made her fingers smell like a hospital, she returned to the lovely Mustard Mobile.

Ignoring her, he quickly climbed into the driver’s seat. “I can’t wait to drive this thing,” he said, like a child playing Nintendo for the first time.

She could feel the bridge of her nose turning slick and sweaty where her cat’s-eye sunglasses rested, and she wanted out of the sun. “All right.”

Elise had spoken to her a few times but knew only the basics. Her soon-to-be roomie worked at her uncle’s coffee shop, was twenty-six, originally from Nebraska, and had a boyfriend named Jimmy who played in a local band called Potter. Stan was a huge fan and a good friend of Jimmy’s.

Justine was nice on the phone, and Elise had imagined them becoming close friends, hanging out at the coffee shop where she worked, sharing their favorite books and recipes. Maybe they would double date—if she ever found a date.

“What does she look like?” She kicked off her flip-flops and stretched her feet on the floor in front of her. Elise always liked to have a visual of everything. For example, if Carly was telling her a story about a coworker, Elise would have to know what she looked like, or more specifically, what kind of shoes she was wearing.

She’d forgotten how horrible Stan was with details. He turned on the radio but found only static and switched it off. “Oh, there is one thing I forgot to tell you about her.”

“You can’t do this to me. You’re the one who set this up, and you’re going to tell me whatever it is. Now.” It suddenly seemed much hotter in The Mustard Mobile.

“No. She called in this spirit who went by Père. She said that meant father in French, so we were all trying to figure out if it was someone’s grandfather. He was killed in some war. I can’t remember which one.”

She wanted to believe he was kidding, but this description was far too detailed for Stan’s imagination. He didn’t know French. “You never told me this. I thought you said you had never been to her house.”

Her visions of double dating and drinking caramel lattes together turned to scenes from The Exorcist. What if Justine was possessed by the devil, and Elise had to contact a priest?

She looked at him: his baseball cap turned backward, his big blue eyes gazing at the highway as if it were no big deal that he had arranged for her to live with someone who called in the dead.

She remembered the time in middle school when he’d convinced her that their parents were adopting an African child named Diana Momsabu. According to Stan, she was eight years old, was good in math, and hoped to become a doctor one day. Her parents were waiting to surprise Elise with her new sister at Christmas. He had even provided a picture of a young African girl with a shy smile and a beaded necklace. The real story, which she’d gotten from her older sister Melissa, had been that her parents had attended a benefit dinner for children in Africa and had simply signed up to sponsor Diana Momsabu’s education.

“Yes. You should’ve told me. You should’ve told me when you gave me her phone number and told me what fun it would be to live with her.” It was going to be hard enough to start her life over in San Diego, and now she had this to worry about?

They passed a sign for Centro Mesa, and Stan broke into one of the loudest and most profound versions of the Buzz Burger song that for a moment she actually thought he should sing in their ads.

Despite her anger, seeing the red and yellow sign sent a little bolt of excitement through her veins. Not only was Buzz Burger her favorite fast-food restaurant, but it was also a sign that they had crossed the Arizona border. Buzz Burgers were only in California, and there was absolutely nothing like their secret sauce in Tucson. However, her excitement was fleeting. She was moving in with the type of person who inspired the spine-tingling tales that were told at sixth-grade camp.

She would’ve found it absolutely fascinating if Stan were the one moving in with a person like this, and might even consult with the roommate for a psychic reading every once in a while. However, she didn’t want to be the one whose living situation became an urban legend, and Elise wondered if ten, maybe twenty years from now her name would still be accurately included in the tales. Or would she become Lisa, maybe Ella—the girl who was murdered by Père.

“Yes, a screwdriver. So I can screw your head on straight,” she said. “What the hell were you thinking, Stan? How could you do this to me?”

“That’s the cheeseburger combo, right? I’m going to get the same thing.” He smiled as he pulled up to the menu board. “Two number two combos. One with a Seven-Up and one with a Coke.”

Elise reached for her wallet on the floor. When she sat up, there were still two more cars ahead of them. But what she saw made her freeze.

“Stan, I don’t think we can fit through there,” she said as she studied the overhang that created a small passage from the ordering board to the pickup window. A tin roof supported by long, metal poles created shady coverage for the passage. Perhaps it was provided to keep passengers cool while they waited for their food. From the top of the roof hung a sign that read 11’ Clearance. “Seriously. Stop the car. We’re not going to fit through there.”

She put the strap of her camel-colored purse over her shoulder. He stuck his head out the window and looked to the rear. “How are we going to get out of here?” he wanted to know. “There’s like three cars behind us.”

Elise looked as well, and waved to Carly in the process. Not only were they trapped in a one-way ordering lane with curbs and landscape islands on either side of them, but another car had pulled in and there were now four cars behind them. She could hear the voice coming through the drive-through microphone. “Welcome to Buzz Burger. Would you like to try a strawberry shake today?”

She caught a whiff of hamburgers and greasy fries. There was only one car ahead of them, and as soon as it pulled out of the drive-through it would be their turn to pass through the Buzz Burger tunnel. “Look. As soon as the car ahead of us leaves, I’ll walk up to the window and explain that we can’t . . .” Her voice trailed off when she realized they were moving. “Stan? What are you doing?” Instead of listening to her, he stepped on the gas pedal and proceeded to move forward. “You’re even crazier than I thought. We can’t fit though—”

To her surprise they barely slid under the clearance sign. In fact, it was so close that the truck stirred a slight breeze, causing the sign to blow back and forth on its squeaky hinges.

“See? I knew we’d fit.” He smiled triumphantly before continuing. So, he’d been right about this, but if he thought he was off the hook for setting her up to live with a medium, he couldn’t be more wrong.

As Stan inched forward she thought of ways she could torture him. Perhaps she’d run ads in every San Diego newspaper for a thousand-dollar yacht with his phone number: Bankrupt. Must sell this luxury yacht for the bargain price of $1,000. Call Stan. She was imagining the incessant irritating calls he’d be plagued with morning, noon, and night when a jarring bang startled her. At first she thought there had been a car wreck in the parking lot. But one glance out her window indicated they were the wreck.

What followed next sounded like an explosion. Metal screeched as the truck scraped through the sides of the drive-through. They were so focused on the height of The Mustard Mobile that they’d completely overlooked the width. It sounded as if the world’s most powerful espresso maker was mixing up the truck. She looked out her window and watched as the passenger-side rearview mirror was ripped from its mount. She feared the doors would be gone if they ever made it out. In a state of excitement, Bella propped her paws on the window and yelped.

Rather than stopping at the pickup window for their food and explaining the accident to the cashier, her brother gunned the gas pedal and peeled out of the Buzz Burger drive-through, taking what sounded like half the establishment with them. They bounced over the curb so hard that Elise thought she felt a lung in her throat.

She stuck her head out the window and caught a glimpse of her rearview mirror bouncing like a soccer ball over the pavement behind them. Carly tailed them in the bug. Thank God she was okay. From her angle, she could still make out the Buzz Burger. The steel poles that once supported the tunnel were as bent and crooked as elbows. Half the drive-through roof hung awkwardly, and the metal roof flapped over the poles like a gigantic steel flag. She didn’t get many other details because Stan fled from Centro Mesa wearing the same scary expression she’d seen on Robert De Niro during a car chase in Heat.

He glanced at his sister. “Hit and run? Please. We didn’t hurt anyone. Buzz Burger won’t give a shit. They make millions of dollars every day. They won’t mind some broken metal roof. They can go to Home Depot today and replace that thing in an hour.”

Where he got this logic from she had no idea. She was about to further explain the damage they caused and the potential lawsuits when her cell phone rang.

“Stan decided to tear through the eleven-foot drive-through roof. I told him the U-Move couldn’t fit, but he insisted on taking matters into his own hands. He won’t go back.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Carly said, “I could still fit through the drive-through to follow you guys, so the wreckage can’t be that bad. They can probably still run the drive-through for the rest of the day. As long as somebody isn’t driving a big car they can squeeze through there.”

She imagined the bad karma they were racking up as the franchise lost business because trucks weren’t going to be able to order food. She clung to Bella as Stan sped onto the highway, dust and debris forming clouds outside their windows.

“Also,” Carly added. “You guys took off so fast. There is no way anyone could’ve taken your license number.” She began to laugh. “That was the funniest thing I have ever seen in my life. The rearview mirror bounced right off the side of The Mustard Mobile.”

She was stunned that her best friend was finding this as thrilling as her brother. Carly. She only wore two kinds of clothes. DKNY and Ann Taylor, and she’d been dressing this way since high school. While Elise had been experimenting with torn jeans and combat boots, Carly had always stuck to sensible loafers and sweater sets. She’d worn the same perfume, Chanel No. 5, since the seventh grade, and owned a clean and matching set of makeup brushes. She was a practical person, and here she was, willing to be an accessory to crime.

“I think it’s okay,” Carly said. “I don’t think they’re going to come after you. I’m starving, though. Can we stop in the next town for food?”

Elise imagined their descriptions being wired through the Middle of Nowhere police dispatch as they were speaking. Young male. Late twenties. Medium build. Blue eyes and brown hair. Female companion, mid-twenties. Petite build. Hazel eyes. Brown shoulder-length hair.