Roadmap Part 14

Edward opens my bedroom door and laughs.

I'm in bed fully dressed under lumps of tangled covers.  Waving a limp hand towards the chaos of packed and empty boxes that litter the room, I moan:

"I can't do any more. The landlady hasn't called to say when the tenant’s moving out. My money’s almost gone...There's no work...the tension between Eva and me is awful. This morning she woke me up at five-thirty while she took a bath and played loud music."

"What’d she play?"

"'He's Got The Whole World In His Hands.'  I counter-struck with Light My Fire."

"You didn't!"

"Took ten seconds for her to call me (imitating her wimpy monotone) 'Do you think you could turn it down a bit?'"

"Good thing I'm leaving for Indiana."

"Oh also she wants me to give her the keys to Tony's Miata, but he told me not to let anyone drive it so I won't."

"Do you have any aspirin?" he asks. "Suki has an awful headache." She's depressed because he's leaving for that theater gig.  Even though she'll be coming up to visit and they've planned a train trip back.

Last night when I was coming up the steps, I could hear them making love.  Actually I could only hear Suki. The way Shane’s neighbors could only hear me.  Moaning, releasing, begging, screaming. All her love and passion and lust exploding in her final rhythmic cries. 

I once mentioned to Shane that I felt bad for his neighbors.

"It's what people do," he shrugged.

Now here’s Edward standing at the foot of my bed--\his prim, dry demeanor giving no clue to the sex machine within.

"Has Eva said anything to you?" I ask him. "Asking you to move out?"

"Not a word.  I think everything's fine now."

CHAPTER 33 - HALLOWEEN AT TIFFANY’

"Burn this orange candle and talk to your dead ancestors tonight," said the Brazilian man who runs the Silver Lake metaphysical bookstore when I stopped in after dance class. "On Halloween night the veil between this world and the next grows very thin and contact can be made much easier."

"Is that true?"

"Of course it is," he replied as he turned away to answer the phone.

xx

In my room, I light the orange candle and meditate. 

  Spirit Gram time: "Make success your goal...”

Sounds like Aunt Tiffany with her four wealthy husbands and diamonds. May she rest in peace.

The Brazilian had said, "Your dead relatives are Pure Spirit now...free of the ego trappings that may have twisted their words and perspectives when they were alive."

Sinking back into meditation, it occurs to me that my fathr left a Trust Fund for me. Money only for "dire need." And this is pretty dire. Cousin Mel is the Executor and he's always met all my financial requests with tension.

The phone rings. It is Gertrude. She explains that the tenant still hasn't moved out, but he called today to say he's moving at the end of the week. 

I fly across town to give my new landlady my check, which is all the money I have left.

"I don't know how much you'll be able to see at night," says Gertrude, “since the electricity has been turned off.” But even viewed through shadows, the apartment makes me swoon. I move quickly through the darkness, wondering if what I think I'm seeing is true. A huge, old fashioned kitchen with a view of L.A.'s skyline, a wall of windows in the single living area that open onto lots of green growing things. There's a twenties-style dressing area with built-in mirrors.

She takes my check and says I can pay the required last month and deposit "as you get it."  She never asks where I work nor does she run a credit check.

Mercury is officially straight today.

Venus is still retro, but there's little left she can do to me.

CHAPTER 34 - TRUST

Cousin Mel’s secretary is tankish with a bad perm. She hands me an envelope with a deadpan "Here's your check," as if it's her money, or worse, a loan.  It is neither. It is money my father left to help my brother and me in times of trouble.  And this is Trouble.

If she's trying to intimidate me, it's almost working, because I'm tempted to bolt for the door with my pride between my legs.

Is Mel here?" I ask, opting for class.

"Yes."

"Can I talk to him?  Just to say hi?"

She glances uncertainly at the open door of the office behind me. I walk where she's looking and find Mel behind the door, behind a desk littered with papers.  He looks up at me, pale and miserable, his girth overflowing the tight chair in a bare walled room. This is where my Aunt Vermillion's son spends his hours trying to make a go of his entrepreneurial venture. His face, except for some trepidation in his eyes, is devoid of expression.

"Thank you.  I really appreciate this."

"Another move?"

I nod with an embarrassed laugh. Our eyes meet.

"This time I'll be alone. No roommates to kick me out," I explain, cringing at how my words only confirm the mess I've made of my life. "So.  How are you?"

He sighs heavily.

"Nothing's changed. If anything, it's gotten worse. Morry can't adjust to this new school."

"How many schools has he been in?"

"Two."

"Well, that's only two!"

He looks at me like I can't possibly understand. The truth is, I can't.

Mel's eyes dart nervously to the side. He presses his fingertips together, tightly as his mouth, "He's very bright.  It's not that, it's...it's...a lot of things."

In this tiny, airless, low rent Bel Air office, Mel's frustration over his private life reverberates against the blank walls. I wish there was some way I could help him the way he's bailed me out countless times over the years. But first I have to place the oxygen mask over my own face.

He seems to shrink back as I move toward him, but gratefully accepts my kiss on his cheek and my squeeze of his shoulder as I say, "Hang in there.  We'll make it."  His smile is doubtful.

CHAPTER 35 - THIS FEELS REAL KARMIC

Been a week since I gave Gertrude the check and she still doesn't know when the tenant will move out.  Eva and I no longer speak at all. Today she opened the kitchen door, saw me standing there and slammed it shut. Carmelita and I pass without speaking. I check my messages. Still nothing from Shane. I can't believe that, at this age, I'm Waiting For A Guy To Call. A few days after our breakup, I left him a message about my move and apologized for cornering him. Tonight he's doing a reading. I only know because I helped arrange it when he was in Europe.

Aunt Tiffany used to say, "You be the bigger one. You apologize."  I leave the note for Eva saying I’m sorry and go to the Chill Out.

An hour later, I pick up Eva's message from a pay phone: "I'm sorry, too.  I agree we should live in peace. This feels real karmic and I want very much to clean it."  She sounds like she's crying. I cry, too, because I'm starting to feel hope.

There’s one more message. Gertrude. "He's moved out some of his things, but not everything. So I just don't know..."

xx

When I get back “home,” I find Eva recharging the battery in her RV.  I walk up and hand her the keys to Tony's car. Then I advise her that it might be another week before I can move.

"That's okay, now that we're getting along," she answers calmly. "I had a vision that you won't be moving until December.  That's what I wrote down."  Today is November 15th.  I run to my room and write in my notebook:

  "I AM MOVING OUT IN TWO DAYS."

  xx

And yes, it happens.

THE BOOK OF ECHO PARK

CHAPTER 36 - NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH

"I see wood sprites and fairies in the grasses and flowers and trees that surround your new place." Kaiulani told me during a psychic flash. "They will love and protect and show you the way. This isn't about Shane. It's about you."

xx

On my way out, Eva told me to take the cat because she’s "skittish."  No wonder.  When Eva first brought the cat home, it refused to eat the expensive "organic" cat food she bought, so she stopped feeding it.  So I went to the store and bought some cheap cat food that the cat loved.  And from then on, I continued to feed her. The day after I came back, I saw that the litter box was gone.  When I asked why, Eva said, "She never uses it." The next day, the cat defecated on her dry litter-like cat food.

For two days, I’ve moved my things up and down the Topanga steps, my boots sinking into the autumn mud, and the cat following close behind, meowing like crazy.  The move tedious but doable. Pack car…drive an hour to Echo Park, unload and repeat.  On the very last trip, as I came in the back way, I saw Eva in her white convertible with the top down on the front road below the house. Suddenly happy belligerence seized me and I left my muddy boots on for the last round.  I had to pass Carmelita who was sitting on the sofa doing her nails.

If she saw my truant boots, she gave no sign.

My last box in hand, I turned to her slightly, "Well, good-bye." She didn't look up. The cat did.

Zajda or Zelda or whatever-her-name was chased me all the way to the car.  Her insistent meows sounded like, "DON'T LEAVE ME HERE!" The cat carrier was still at Shane's (along with my computer). In a final farewell gesture, I tossed her in my car.

 xx

My cat adjusted to our new place as soon as she hit the carpet. That first night when I lay in my sleeping bag on the floor, and she stretched out on my stomach with a purr that told me that at last we were home.

Shane never responded to my message asking when it would be convenient for me to pick up my computer. At nine-thirty on Sunday morning, I call him, feeling nervous and clumsy (I've noticed that sex makes me feel light and graceful, whereas rejection makes me feel stupid and clumsy). When he answers the phone on the first ring, I ask:

"Do you know who this is?"

"Yeesss," he answers .

"Do you remember me?"

"I sure do."

"So when can I pick up my computer?"

"I've got to leave for a rehearsal in fifteen minutes and I'll be back around two-thirty."

So I can come now or later. I decide now. Get it over with.

I move down the rickety steps to his place and the first thing I see is Black Cat, then Cleopatra whom I bend to pet.  When I look up, I see him.  Standing in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, he says, "Welcome to the neighborhood."

Warmth or standard-issue gracious courtesy?  I can never be sure. No kiss.  No hug. No eye contact. No offers of juice or coffee. But I'd almost forgotten the physical effect he has on me. He always seems tall, even though he's just slightly taller than me, slender but not wimpy.  Nice chest.  And beyond that, there's his dark (for lack of a better word) magnetism.

He's already heading for the bedroom to "show" me where I left the computer ("I'd help ya but I gotta get going"). It's on the same fly fishing table where almost two months ago he pulled me up from the chair to unbutton my dress.  When I look up from disconnecting wires, he's not there. The lump in my heart has risen to my throat and now throbs in my brain as a nagging question:

What have I done to deserve this?

Letting the wires drop, I go and stand in the doorway between the bedroom and kitchen. He’s standing at the sink sipping from a cracked cup that says "Congratulations."

"I feel hurt that you didn't return my phone call."

He takes another sip, "Guess I let it slide.  I got it late."

I have my answer. From "I thought you were coming over tonight" to "I let it slide.” He steps outside to light a cigarette.  I follow.

"I've been busy every night," he explains. "I had two readings, then rehearsals for this Christmas show. I was going to put a flyer on your door to let you know about it."

  "You know which apartment I'm in?"

  "Seventy-three." Then at my dumfounded look. "I asked Gertrude.  She told me."

He gets busy toking on the Marlboro and gazing at the horsetail ferns. 

"I went over to your place twice. That's probably why I didn't call. I thought I'd just walk over."

Once again, his few words wash my anger away.  All this is spoken quite casually, matter of factly, as if I should have known it.

Finally, I get out, "You did?"

"I wanted to see the layout 'cause I've been thinking of moving in there myself one of these days."

Okay.  Call off the dogs.

He heads away from me, down the garden path to move the hose back to the faucet, busy coiling itThere's nothing left for me to do except get what I said I came for.

In his bedroom, I struggle under the weight of the computer, while I hear him in the living room on the phone,"KTLA?  Can you tell me if there's a Raiders broadcast today?" He's got the phone in one hand, flipping channels with the remote.

When he hangs up, I call, "Can you do me a favor?"

"Yes."

"Can you put these cords on top?"

With the same charming elfin grin that he once used to give me a sip of water, he gently places the cords on the monitor, then turns back to the TV as I gingerly feel for the patio stairs.

When I’m in the street, someone behind me asks, "Need some help with that?" It’s Shane’s dapper neighbor. "You look like you could use it."

It is heavy and I'm scared I'll drop it.

  "No, thanks.  Really, I'll be fine." I'm almost to the car, but his offer warms me.

Later, when I describe to Kaiulani how Shane stayed with the TV while I carried out that heavy equipment, she says, "That's what I call a Big Fuck You."

xx

That night at nine-thirty, I hear my screen door open and a knock. Flushing the toilet, pulling up my jeans, I know who it is. And I know I look awful. Tired, dirty.  Hair a mess.  He's standing in the shadows like a dark apparition, bundled up in his flyboy camel hair jacket and yellow wool scarf. He holds up a printer part that I left behind.

"Just thought I'd take a quick look at your place," he says, as he enters.  I give him the tour and he loves it ("More closets?  All this for four-fifty?") Then.  "Well, be seeing ya," he's got his hand on the screen door.  I can't believe this.

"Don't go, come on...I haven't seen you in two weeks.  We've got stuff to talk about."

I realize after the words are out that "stuff to talk about" would strike fear in the most sturdy of male hearts, but he stays.  Sort of.

He keeps his jacket buttoned and his scarf tied.

"Can I get you something?"

"No.  I_ what have you got?"

"Juice, water, tea...sherry..."

"No, I just had dinner."

I pour myself a hefty glass of sherry.

Jacket still buttoned up to his neck, scarf tied where the buttons end, he sits uncomfortably on the floor where we're surrounded by boxes.

You could lay a tall corpse between us right about now.

I ask questions. Like an interview.

"So how are the rehearsals going?"

"I play two characters and I have to sing three songs and I can't sing.  I should be home learning lines right now." He looks and sounds burdened.

"I read that an actual Japanese American concentration camp has been set up at the museum. Could you take me through it?" Remembering how excited he was to show me the movie.

"No time.  Days I'm working, nights I'm rehearsing."

"How about after the show?  In December?"

"It's right next door to the theater.  When you come, you can take yourself through it."

(Later when I tell her, Kaiulani will say, “That’s what I call a Big...”)

"So how is it being back from Europe?"

"No big deal.  The same."

He leans toward his hiking boots which are aimed at me. The ones he was forced to discolor. Reaches for the laces. Is he actually going to take off his shoes?

He ties another knot in the laces of both shoes. There now.

Then he stretches out, leaning back on his elbows. His eyes are narrowed, mouth pressed into a line, looking like the inscrutable detective he played for a minute in Unsolved Mysteries ("Did...you...kill...Mary Bateman?”).

"I've never been to Europe.  Are you experiencing any residue?"

Mouth hardly opening as he talks out its side, "Oh, sure, it gave me a much broader view. Coming back, I could see how narrow the perspective is in this country."

Carrie to Shane. Come in please. 

Remembering now the psychic’s "He's feeling more cautious than you," I go for broke. If I don't, I may never see him again and I'll miss my chance. 

"I've done a lot of thinking about your uncle's letters, I really think you should do a one-man show about them." Yes, he agrees, he should. I press on, "I don't mean just the sketch you want to do at the Revue in January. I mean a full-blown show. At East/West."

"I know," he says. "I finally watched the tape of the performance I did. It worked.  I was amazed.  No wonder they were clapping."

Now or never.

"I'd like to help you work on it." We've never talked about my theater experience.

He back crawls on his hands, scurrying a few inches away, "Thanks.  But I work alone."  Then adds, "I suppose you could help me organize my notes."

Condescension with double messages.  Still I'd lie on top of him right now, if it weren't for that damned jacket and scarf.  Instead I cuddle the cat who burrows deep into my angora sweater.

"What's her name?"

"She really didn't have one until last night.  I was petting her and all of a sudden I heard, 'Katie'.  I said it out loud and she likes it."

"Katie the Kitty, come ‘ere.”  He calls to her, but she stays put.

"She's lucky," I tell him.  "She almost didn't make it.  When I put her in the car, when I wa leaving Topanga, she went crazy, meowing and running around."

"They do make the most awful sound," he agrees. "Like you're killing them. MAAAAOOOOO...."

"And she kept going for my feet until finally I said that’s it and pulled into the Chill Out parking lot.  I figured if I threw her out, somebody'd find her in the morning and adopt her.  I parked in front of this artist’s studio_-he lives in the plaza next to the cafe_-and he came right out when I got out of the car.  The cat’s meowing her head off inside and I go, 'Do you know anybody who wants a cat?'  And he said, “NO, MA'AM, I DO NOT.'"

Shane chuckles.

"So I told her, 'Okay, but you better behave.'"  She purrs even louder as I kiss the top of her head,

He sits forward and stretches out his hands to her, "C'mere..."  She hesitantly hops off my lap and cautiously moves toward him.  Finally, he grabs her and pulls her to him, "Gimme that little cat body."

Petting her, he asks, "How'd you get her?  Was she a stray?"

I tell him how the mouse bit Eva's toe.

"You're kidding!" his laughter is easy, genuine now.

"No, really, and she said, 'That's it!  I'm getting a cat.' And the cat never had to catch a single mouse because they took one sniff and left. But if I wasn't home, nobody fed her. I think she's going to be happy here. Thanks for helping me get this place.

He smiles, melts a little, letting himself bask in my gratitude, "You're welcome."

"I never dreamed in a million years I could have anything like this on my own.  When I think of everything that's happened since April..."

"April?"  He lets the cat go.

"That's when we...split.  Eight months ago."

He leans back and counts on his fingers, "Seven."

But who's counting, right?

"Speaking of divorce," Shane offers, "I had dinner with the family tonight.  Saw my brother, Shannon.  His wife's moved in with her boyfriend, that cop..."

"And their daughter?"

"She goes back and forth. Anyway we finally convinced him tonight that he's got to get divorced. There's a lawyer we know," he sits up. "Things like this don't happen in my family."

"Nobody's ever been divorced?"

"No."

I try to imagine what this must be like, "So nobody knows what to do next, how to behave.  Especially with the holidays coming up..."

"Exactly," he stretches forward, hands on calves, eyes making those "O's" they make, from too much emotion pushing against them.  "It's a mess."

"Your brother will be a lot better off."

"I know."

"He's cute, he's got a great job, he's responsible, he wants to be married, he likes being a father.  He's husband material.  He'll find another woman."

"That's what I told him." He sighs. "This never would have gone on so long if y mother was still alive."

Standing, stretching (at least he's not retying his scarf),\

"Gotta go...late...tired..."

I stand with him, "I'll walk you home. Can I borrow your hammer?"

"Okay."

Carrie's Lab.

xx

Outside I sit on the steps to put on my shoes while he tells me, "Last couple nights it was so clear you could see Santa Monica."  But there won't be any viewing of the view tonight.  He's already heading toward the road, stopping a few feet away to examine a pot of flowers ("How'd these fall over?").

As I join him, I'm glad to see he's willing to walk by my side. "You're lucky you're moving in now. This place looked like shit during the drought."

Yes.  I agree.  I am lucky.

Nearing his place, I tell him that I'm looking for a good spot to do Tai Chi.

"Every morning, around the corner in Chinatown, there must be three or four hundred people doing Tai Chi!"

"I'd be the only Caucasian.  Maybe it's not okay."

"Of course it's okay.  You should check it out."

From his toolbox, he hands me the hammer, apologizing for the damaged handle, "And if you need any nails..."

But I'm already gone.