The Story of You and Me (6 page)

A disheveled man wearing pink robes with a long gray beard that matched his hair stumbled from a doorway onto the sidewalk in front of me and yelled, “Hare Krishna! Hare Rama!”

I quite possibly jumped two feet in the air. “Hare awesome!” I veered around him and made it to the curb where I huddled on a small metallic bench under the bus sign as the Big Blue Bus approached.
 

* * *

I sat on that hard industrial seat through the forty-odd bus stops from Venice to Westwood. My bones ached. My back spasmed. My face hurt. My thighs cramped—probably from all the sprinting to get away from some asshat or crazy person that showed up in my play. Because this was, according to Lizzie Sparks, my intention. Hah! Like I really wanted a skinhead rapist and a man wearing pink robes to be in my play.

My mom had
not
wanted me to come to L.A. for the stem cell program. She said something would open up in Madison or Milwaukee or Chicago. But I hadn’t told Mom about my other reason for coming here. She most likely assumed I was simply being a typical stubborn nineteen-year-old college girl who needed to leave home and act out my 90210 fantasies. But that wasn’t the reason I’d picked L.A.

I loved my mom. She was the hardest working single mom I’d ever met. (Yes, I was prejudiced.) But there came a time in a girl’s life where one had to move a bit away from parental approval, even if that meant doing something pretty big that one’s parent didn’t approve of. That time was now.
   

An hour later the bus pulled up at my stop and I held onto the handrail as I descended its tall stairs. It seemed like today was the longest day ever. But that couldn’t be possible, because
yesterday
was the longest day.
 

Cole was outside my apartment with Gidget. She sniffed the grass, squatted and piddled as I approached my door. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I searched through my purse for my keys. “Why?”

“You look even paler than yesterday and you’ve got some blood on your cheek.”

The poser girl was right. Pintdick’s assault had re-opened one of my wounds. “I’m fine.”

“Good. I saw flowers on your doorstep this morning. And this afternoon some gorgeous man with shoulders I’d kill for dropped off a basket of cookies.”
 

I glanced down and saw a basket on my doorstep with tinfoil tightly wrapped around something inside. “How do you know that basket has cookies?”
 

“Because I opened it and took one,” he said. “Okay, two. Don’t hate me. I have a thing about sugar and hot men. You just moved here yesterday, but between the flowers, cards, cookies, Mr. Gorgeous and Gidget barking at you last night to welcome you home? And trust me, I know this dog—she’s practically frothing at the mouth in anticipation of becoming your best friend—” Gidget bared her teeth at me and growled. “—your arrival here, Sophie, is turning into a bit of a mystery. And I’m a little obsessed, slightly Nancy Drew-esque, when it comes to mysteries.”

“No worries. I’m simply here for summer session. The only mystery is why I’ve been so unlucky since I landed here.”

“That kind of statement sets a bad intention. You might want to eat one of those cookies with a glass of milk before you decide the state of your luck. Night.” He picked up Gidget, tucked her under his arm and headed back inside his place. “Snack time for Gidget before we watch TV?” The dog yipped and wagged her tail.
 

“You’re right.” I plunked down on my front step, unwrapped the tin foil, pulled out a cookie and sunk my teeth into a chocolate chip morsel with some kind of secret ingredient that tickled my taste buds. A postcard was stuck in the basket, a “DRIVEN” logo printed on the front. The same email and phone number were on the back. Along with a note:

Dear Sophie:

Summer session doesn’t even start for two days. And you’re recovering from a truly crappy first night in a new town. I’m sorry if I was a bit pushy. I volunteer to show you around L.A., which is kind of a weird place to be, even if you’re raised here—like me. So call or email me, or track me down at the Grill where I tend to hang out.

I nibbled on another cookie. This was the best part of my day so far. Except for the daisies. Filling out reams of paperwork, being pushed down a hospital corridor on a gurney, having my spine injected with stem cells, taking ass-numbingly long bus rides and being accosted by a skin-head were not in the running for the top ten best things about today. But this cookie was delicious. What was Alex’s secret ingredient? I turned my eyes back to his letter.

And, by the way? I made these cookies from scratch. And that wasn’t easy, because I suck at baking. I hope you like them.

Best,
 

Alejandro Maxwell Levine
 

Because you didn’t know my last name and kind of accused me of being a stalker. Which I’m not.

P.S. After I dropped off the basket, I was driving down your street and witnessed your next-door neighbor stealing one of my cookies. You might want to double bolt your doors. I’m not sure I trust him. Or his dog.

I started giggling and then thought about my day. I remembered how scared I was counting from ten backward in a cold, sterile room before I blacked out and woke up shivering on a cot with a thin blanket pulled over me in recovery. I flashed to what it felt like to have my newly healing face shoved into a chain-link fence while some asshole restrained and tried to assault me. I touched my back where it ached. Put a hand to my face and saw a touch of blood on my finger.

Floodgates from someplace deep inside me broke open, and suddenly I felt lonely and furious and sad. Cole slid his kitchen window open. Gidget hopped in it, gazed at me and barked. I got up, grabbed the cookies, walked a few steps and knocked on Cole’s door. He opened it, a questioning look on his face. “Got milk?” I asked. ’Cause I’ve got killer cookies.”

 
He smiled. “Come inside, mystery girl.”

What the hell? Cookies and milk might be the perfect way to end today.

Chapter Six

I called my mom from Cole’s place and gave her the update on the stem cell procedure. I skipped the bit about getting assaulted and promised that I’d pick up a new phone tomorrow.
 

Cole might have been a cookie-thief, but he was a sweet host. The milk was low fat, tasted farm fresh and I washed down another antibiotic pill. Gidget even allowed me to play tug-a-war with her and her favorite stuffed toy. I left after a half hour and went back to my place. I was exhausted and one-hundred-and-ten percent ready for bed.

Which is why I was confused that I tossed and turned the entire night. I stared at the two framed photos on my dresser that I’d brought with me from home. The first was a posed shot of my mom, my grandmother and me. The second was a selfie of my best friend and
 
me mugging it up at a football game. I wondered how everyone was. I probably fell asleep around five a.m. and didn’t even blink my eyes open until around three p.m. that day. I woke up feeling like a truck had hit me.
 

I trudged to the bathroom and examined my face in the mirror. Most of my cuts were healing. But the few that Pintdick had broken open had fresh little bloody scabs and faint purple and green bruises blossomed on the skin underneath them. I sported under eye circles the size of small dark Wisconsin lakes. I was so incredibly pretty.
Not.

I showered, pulled on some jeans, a T-shirt and sunglasses. I grabbed a cookie and walked to the commercial center of Westwood to get a new phone. An hour and a half later my sole mission for today was accomplished.
 

I grabbed a salad and a falafel at a Mediterranean fast food joint and took a seat by the window by myself. I watched everyone inside the place sharing a meal as they chatted with friends or family. I left my trap on the stand next to the door and left. My heart tugged and I felt homesick. Perfect time to call my best friend back home: Mary Martha Mapleson.

She picked up on the second ring. “You miss me already, don’t you? Changed your mind about your most excellent adventure. What time should I pick you up at the airport tonight?”

I smiled. “Triple M, I do miss you! What’s going on back home?”

“Except for pre-season Packers’ football starting it’s same old, same old. Dull and boring. Done anything interesting? Met anyone exciting?”
 

The hottest guy I’ve ever met rescued me and made me cookies. The creepiest asshat attacked me. I’ve been to the hospital twice in three days.
“You have no idea.” I spotted a small park and plopped down on a bench. We launched into our typical hour-long chat.

Back at my new place my e-reader was still broken, so I read a paper book for a change. Flipped through channels on TV, surfed the Internet. Wondered if Cole was home. Thought about knocking on his door and seeing what he was doing, but I didn’t want to become the pathetic, creepy, new neighbor who always showed up unannounced. The sun set. I changed into PJs and surfed the Internet looking for more YouTube videos on the different types of healing I wanted to explore. Some looked great, some weird and frankly some looked downright Dr. Frankenstein scary.
 

It was ten o’clock and I was still wide-awake. And I thought about Alejandro. He was obviously an Alpha Boy, but there was something different about him. Something intriguing. It didn’t hurt that he could be the poster guy for the California Tourism Board. “Enjoy your visit to So-Cal. We guarantee you’ll want to stay and play for a while!”

I had more appointments with healers lined up in Playa del Vista and strange places called Compton and Gardena. I really didn’t know how in the hell I’d get to them without getting attacked or killed in traffic or surprised by more religious zealots. At least back home the Jehovah’s ladies dressed in pretty dresses and hats and knocked on your door instead of jumping in front of you. An idea percolated in my brain. I wondered if… nah. That was crazy!
 

My stomach rumbled. I’d forgotten to go grocery shopping. I went into the kitchen, pulled out a cookie from the tinfoil in the basket and gobbled it down. Munched on a second one and picked up Alejandro’s invite from the night before.

So call or email me, or track me down at the Grill where I tend to hang out…

Alejandro

I brushed my teeth, dabbed on some lip gloss, brushed my hair, pulled on jeans, and a stretchy long-sleeved V-neck top that would hide the bruises on my arms from the blood draw as well as the ones on my back from the stem cell injections. I grabbed a jacket, my purse, and walked out my front door. Locked it and heard a small growl. Gidget was in the kitchen window next door.

“Cut a girl a break. I’m just going ’cause I’m hungry. And I’m polite. Midwestern girls are polite.” I said. She wagged her tail at me.
 

* * *

I stood outside the entrance of the Westwood Grill. It was Saturday, but later than my unfortunate incident from the previous night, which meant the place was packed, standing-room-only. I stepped inside its heavy wooden doors and spotted some of the same characters, as well as many more.

“Hey girlfriend! Glad you’re back.” Cheyenne smiled and brushed past me on her way to deliver a round of appetizers and margaritas to a corner table packed with beautiful people.

“Thanks!” I said. Freddie was behind the bar pouring beers, cutting limes and sticking wedges into several large glasses on top of his bar. The booby blonde perched at her signature four-top surrounded by her triplet wannabes while a hive of horny cute college-aged dudes buzzed around them dropping off drinks, appetizers, cards, phone numbers and options.

I swept the room with my eyes, but I didn’t see Alejandro. I pulled his card from my purse and reached for my phone when I felt a gentle tug on my elbow.

“You’re Sophie, right?”

I nodded and looked up into the handsome face of a beach blonde young man who smiled at me with crystal blue eyes that had the beginnings of twinkle wrinkles. He rocked a surfer’s muscular tanned body that his T-shirt and board shorts could not hide.

“Welcome back!” He extended a Corona bottle with a lime wedge toward me. “You’re old enough to drink, right?”

I nodded. I had my fake ID in my wallet. So yeah, I was old enough to drink. I normally didn’t drink beer, but after today? A beer would probably hit the spot. I accepted it. “Thanks.” I took a slug. “Your name is?”
 

“Nathan. I never thought I’d see you back at the Grill after the other night.”

“Ditto that.”
 

He nodded. “We’re in a big city, but USCLA is basically a college town. Shit happens, but someone like you—an innocent bystander getting injured—is extreme.” He bent down and peered at my face. “Alex did a good job helping you.”

“Thanks.” Nathan was handsome, seemed sweet, but he was leaning into my space. And way too many people had invaded my space for a wide variety of reasons the past several days. I backed a bit away from him. “I was looking for Alejandro. I wanted to thank him. And maybe grab a bite to go.”

He looked disappointed, but nodded. “Got it. Alex swooped in and shepherded you through a rough evening. Just so you know? He’s a great Driver, but he
 
isn’t the only Driver at USCLA. There’s a bunch of us. We’re dedicated. We’re honest. We’ve been through our share of shit. But now, for the most part, we’re clean.”

“What does that mean?” I took another sip of beer.
No Alejandro meant I should just get out of this place and just hit a fast food place. What was I thinking coming back here?

“Maybe you should ask Alex,” Nathan said.

“I’d love to. But he’s not here.”

“Yes, he is.” Nathan pointed to the opposite corner of the Grill. I craned my neck and saw a stunning, dark-skinned young woman with a killer body perched on Alex’s lap. Her black shiny hair was cropped short just like her floral sundress. She draped one bare tanned arm across his shoulders and whispered into his ear. He tilted his head back and laughed out loud.