“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, going in for a huge hug. “I’m Serena. We talked on the phone yesterday.”
Assistant. Thank god. Eyes up and forward.
“Thank you for your service,” she said. “My grandfather was in the Coast Guard, so I know how much you sacrifice. Were you in the Coast Guard, by any chance?”
“No, I was a Ranger, but it’s very similar,” I said, just trying to get through this conversation and into the interview portion of the competition.
“A Ranger, huh? Fucking Texas is a crazy state. I bet you’ve seen some shit.”
“Yup. Is Goush here?”
“Yeah, sorry. Look at me all fawning out over a Texas war hero. Sorry. We don’t see too many military dudes in this town.”
“You don’t say?”
“No. Camo is hot this season, but these boys don’t look like you. Goush is down in the pool house. Just walk all the way through and out the back.”
“Thanks.”
Serena re-hugged me as I left, and then bowed with her hands together, like every L.A. person does to veterans they meet for the first time. They think we’re a mystical breed of human or something. When they see one up close, all motor skills completely shut down and they turn into yoga instructors. Namaste.
Walking through Goush’s house, past endless paintings by artists I didn’t know (and he probably didn’t either), I heard the faint sounds of techno wafting from the back of his never-ending compound. If the apocalypse ever happens, find out where Goush lives and head there. You’ll be all set.
When I finally made it out back, I was greeted by an infinity pool and the most amazing view of Los Angeles I’d ever seen. The city lights were so spectacular, it almost seemed fake. It reminded me of those big wide shots of L.A. that you see in TV shows and movies like Heat or Collateral or Blade Runner. I wouldn’t be surprised if Goush rented this place out to studios just so they could get those shots. It was beautiful and at the same time bittersweet.
* * *
—
I was nearly two years into this private security job and nothing had really changed with the family I worked for full-time. It wasn’t worse, it wasn’t better, and it wasn’t like there was room for advancement up the corporate ladder. What was I going to become, executive furniture mover? Head car-door opener?
At the same time, the relationship I’d been in was coming to an end. Let’s just say her name rhymed with “Awful Person,” since that’s what she was. Awful Person was from Southern California (like so many other awful people I was set to encounter). We met on my final block leave, just before I got out of the Army and just after she’d gotten out of a long-term relationship. She was a good-looking girl, and we hit it off right away. She was like, “Fuck kids, fuck marriage,” and I was like, “Great, so let’s just fuck, then?” We started dating almost immediately, and she moved in with me in North Hollywood about six months later, because I am a stupid man and she had decided to stuff all her awfulness in a box that she buried deep in her closet full of skeletons. Fresh out of the military, unsure of what’s next, you can’t hook into a relationship and accelerate it like that. You’re putting too much pressure on it. You’re expecting it to paper over all the cracks that start to show up in your life when you don’t have the same kind of purpose to get up for anymore.
It also didn’t help the relationship that she fucked her ex-boyfriend a bunch of times while we were together. Side note: I believe they got married and he joined the military. Congrats! (Oh, and thanks for reading my book. I hope it moves you as much as your mouth moves when you read it #RLTW.)
What I needed was to break the lease on our shitty North Hollywood apartment and move into my own place. Unfortunately, I was working so much that I didn’t have time to house hunt, which meant I was stuck—in the apartment, in the relationship, in the job.
Anyway, I was lost in these miserable thoughts, staring out at the beautiful view, when the DJ dropped the beat and a blast of shitty techno yanked me back to reality. Like with overpressure from automatic weapons fire, it took me a second to