Inexpressible Island - Paullina Simons Page 0,118

it. They haul my ass into court every few months.” Slowly he drove up Gower, debating whether or not to take Fountain. “Are you visiting from New York?”

“Me? No. I live here now. A transplant. I moved out west a few years ago. Why do you ask? Oh, because of Invention of Love? I couldn’t pass up the part. Marty told me it could be a career break. Marty’s my agent. I was there for two months. But when my contract ended, I came back. That was less than a week ago. But I think I have a good shot at the Mountain Dew commercial and now this Paradise in the Park thing at the Greek. Plus a horror movie I’m auditioning for on Thursday . . .”

“You live in L.A. but don’t drive? How do you get around?”

“My roommate drives me, or I take the bus, or a cab, or I walk. I walk everywhere. My female roommate,” Mia added. “Her name is Zakiyyah. She’s my oldest friend. We grew up together.”

“Is that safe, walking everywhere?”

“It’s fine. I keep meaning to get a car, but I can’t afford the payments yet. Soon. Maybe if I get this Dante gig and I don’t go to London. I know it seems crazy to an Angeleno, but in New York I never needed a car.”

“But you’re not in New York,” he said.

“Old habits die hard,” Mirabelle said. “Did you know that Ray Bradbury lived his whole life in L.A. and never got a car? He took the bus everywhere.”

He drove, and she didn’t stop talking. “Where do you live, Julian?”

“I’m up in the hills.”

“That’s pretty swanky,” she said dreamily. “I like going up in the hills. I have a place I sometimes hike to . . . which way do you face?”

“Every which way. We’re on a mesa that we’ve cleared on all four sides. Plus we have a roof deck.”

“Ah, a roof deck,” she said, suddenly subdued. Her mouth tightened. “Who’s we, your fam, your wife?”

“No. Me and my friend Ashton.”

She continued to look disappointed; at first he couldn’t figure out why. “I mean, my actual friend Ashton,” Julian said, getting it eventually. “It’s not a euphemism.”

“Are you over thirty?”

“Yes, just—why?”

“You’re not allowed to have a roommate if you’re over thirty.”

“Says who? And didn’t you just say you had a roommate?”

“I’m not over thirty, so there.”

“Technically, Ashton and I are not roommates,” Julian said. “We bought two adjoining lots and built two houses, connecting them by a pool and a common patio. So, together but apart.”

“I know what you mean,” Mirabelle said. “When we lived in New York, me and Z shared a studio not much bigger than your car. Our two twin beds were separated by a privacy curtain, so we too were like together, but apart. And I guarantee, we paid more in rent than you pay for your spread. But then again, we were in the best location, Theatre District, 46th Street between Broadway and Eighth. What does Ashton do, is he a boxer like you? What’s the Treasure Box? You have a prop store, too? You’re a busy guy, aren’t you? That sounds like amazing fun though, running a prop store. Nothing but joy every day.”

“Ashton is a lucky guy,” Julian said. “He only likes to do what he loves.”

“Welcome to the human race,” Mia said. “I must check it out. I like haunted houses. I used to love your blog, you know.” There was hardly a pause between sentences.

“Thanks, but why past tense?”

“Well, like I said, I got busy, plus you went dark a while back. What did you do, write a book?”

“Actually, yeah,” Julian said. “I kind of did.”

“Did you really!”

“That’s why the blog’s been quiet.” The book had been on the bestseller list in the self-help section for the past seventy-two weeks. Because of that, he now taught a survival course at the community college, traveled sporadically around the country giving motivational speeches, and offered consulting services on movie sets needing survival experts. He had almost no time for boxing, which is why he got up at dawn every day.

“I’ve never met a published writer before, wow,” she said, assessing him in cheery wonder. “What’s the book called? Cruz’s Compendium of Clever Creations?”

“Cute—but no. Tips from a Boxer and a Know-it-All.”

“That’s good, too. I actually wrote to you a few times. I was one of the lonely hearts.” She hadn’t put on her seat belt. It kept beeping every 15 seconds, to which she

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