We survived the night.
The quiet all around us feels a little dubious, though. Calm before the storm?
Javier’s truck is still in the driveway. So is the drunk guy’s truck next door.
Went online already. Of course.
Interesting developments in that some trolls are now saying we are a hoax. That we do not exist and that nothing at all happened at the ball last night. In fact, they say, there was no ball. Conspiracy theorists? People are fucking crazy. I wish it were true, though. I wish none of this had ever happened. On the news, they keep playing that clip of me saying, “The American Virtue Ball is going to change my life,” like it’s a suicide message.
And Miles is back home. No harm no foul there, I guess. He posted a pic of Lark’s Head and announced a gig next week. Like, whatever, life goes on?
The Santa Anas are trending right now, and everyone is talking about what the erratic winds will mean to the hunt for me and Fee, because copters are one of their most effective search tools. There have been a couple of near accidents since the sun came up. People are taking their machines up in a moment of calm air and then having to make emergency landings all over the place when the winds start to gust. Asshole bounty hunters are flying their GarBirds out over the ocean and the homeless encampments downtown, and at least two of them have had to make quick set-downs on freeways and golf courses when the winds start gusting. Drones can’t fly at all: the winds just blow them around.
I feel more exhausted than I did before I slept. And thirsty. So thirsty. Never been so parched in my life. I can’t help thinking about all those homeless people out there—how just the search for water in this desert-y climate must be…exhausting…and just piss them the fuck off. Like, they exist in one of the richest places on earth and don’t have access to drinkable water? None of that is news. But when you’re the one with the want. Or need. You actually, finally, get it. Water. Just…water…
And Fee. What about Fee? I gotta figure out a way to get us something to drink, but I can’t leave the shed and have her wake up here alone. She’d be so scared. Plus, the winds are supposed to die down again soon. Air traffic will return.
“Fee?”
Fee opened her eyes. She sat up a little and leaned against the shed wall, and looked around the shed like, the fuck? Then you could see the memory of it all flooding back.
“Javier still here?” she asked.
I got up and looked out the window. “Yeah.”
“Water?”
“I can’t go out there. Hear the copters? They’re over the beach right now, but they could swing this way any second.”
“Please. Ror. I’m so thirsty.”
“I know.”
“When this is over?”
“Yeah?”
She just shrugged and shook her head. But I finally feel like she’s gonna be okay. She just needs water. Right now.
Jinny Hutsall always has water. It’s her thing. I guess that’s why her skin is so amaze. She always has at least three bottles of water—the expensive stuff that comes in those keep-cool containers—in that big Louis tote of hers. A few weeks back we were in Beverly Hills doing a pre-shop for our AVB gowns and there was this crusty beggar—no teeth, no shoes, caked in dust and dirt, like the Santa Anas could just blow particles of him away, erode him like the hillsides. He was slumped against the marble wall of that restaurant that sells the hundred-dollar burgers, with his dirty palm out, saying, “Agua. Por favor. Agua. Por favor,” over and over again as people sidestepped him and looked around for security. I don’t know how he got there, because the cops usually collect the beggars and drop them off at the encampments or jail, if they get belligerent. But this guy was just sitting there looking tragic. My heart went out to him, right, because it’s a thousand degrees and dude needs a drink. I don’t have any water with me, so I ask Jinny if she’ll give him one of her bottles. She looks at me like I’m insane. And she’s trying to pull me along, but if we’re not giving him water, I’m gonna give him some money, because human. Jinny’s annoyed that I’m stopping, but I don’t care. I reach into my purse, but then I’m like holy crap because I see