different person. Empty. That’s why they call them LA folk shallow. Ain’t nobody born shallow. It happens. Life, money, success, greed. . .”
I nodded as he continued to lay out his small-town philosophy for me. It sounded anything but small.
Over and over, I repeated his phrase to myself—“soul torn up.”
He was right.
The LAX taxicab dropped me off outside the gate to my apartment. The air was moist and heavy. Streetlamps lit the beach walk with a mellow orange glow. The lights were new, added to reduce crime and to keep the vagrants from sleeping on the benches. Instead, the homeless slept on the beach, wrapped in blankets pilfered from various garbage heaps. On any given day at sunrise, I could look out at the beach and see large gray cocoons of the homeless spread across the sand. One morning, I counted 30. Santa Monica was a homeless person’s haven—free pizza crusts and a soft sandy bed in the world’s friendliest climate.
It made me think of a news story I did in Canada on a homeless man named Harry. After one of the harshest winters in Alberta’s history, he lost all but one or two of his fingers and toes. For more than three weeks, it had been 40 below—the kind of weather where your nostrils ice together with each breath, and your flesh freezes in ten seconds flat. It was a miracle he’d survived the brutal prairie winter at all. Harry had once been an engineer at an oil firm, but became an alcoholic. He lost his wife, his family, his job, and his life as he knew it. All he had left was a love affair with the bottle, and an old winter parka.
A month ago, while en route to one of my shoots, Mom told me that Harry had died during our latest winter. I thought: Good. It’s the best place for him—whether he goes to heaven or hell, or just sleeps forever. I didn’t like the flippant, cynical girl who’d reacted that way. She was a girl who cared only for herself, a girl who was kind only as a means to an end, sugary sweet when convenient, and pleasant and courteous with an agenda, but otherwise single-mindedly ambitious.
Voices carried over the bougainvillea. I heard Toni’s laugh. I heard a man’s voice, too—perhaps some new guy she was dating. I figured I would say hello, then hole myself up in my room to draft a letter to Hank Griffin, YBC Studio’s Vice President in charge of TV programming, and Naomi’s boyfriend.
Primed to request some major changes, I felt my batteries recharging already. Maybe I can be the one who fixes the system!
I turned the doorknob to enter.
“Honey!” Alex, always playful, held out his arms as he stood up from the couch to hug me.
“What a nice surprise,” I said, not really wanting one.
On the coffee table sat a half-empty bottle of wine and two nearly touching glasses. Toni stood up with a huge grin and winked as if to say, “This one’s a catch.”
“Toni said you’d be home around now and I wanted to see you,” Alex said.
“We’ve been waiting for you!” Toni said.
Their gleefulness contrasted sharply with the darkness of my mood.
“I totally recognized Alex from TV!” Toni exclaimed.
“Oh, stop,” he said, shooing her away as if they were old friends. “Jane, I love this pad.” Alex reached for my butt. “And your roommate!” He looked at Toni the way he’d often looked at me. “Why didn’t you tell me? Me and the two hot Swedish sisters.” He shot his eyes up and down Toni. “Let’s see, one of me, two of you. What’s right with this picture?” He laughed as if he was joking, but I wasn’t entirely sure.
“Yeah, okay, Alex,” I said. “Can you guys give me a sec?” I walked toward the bathroom. “I’ve had to go since I got on the plane.”
I was sitting, crouched over, peeing and blowing my nose, when Toni rattled open the bathroom door.
“Everything okay?” she whispered sweetly, poking her head through the side of the door. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” I said, surprised by her compassionate tone. Aside from Toni’s night of humiliation, we hadn’t connected in ages. Lousy-friend guilt began to surface in me.
“Jane, I just want you to know, I’m here for you, no matter what. And I’d never hurt you again like I did at the party,” said Toni. “I’ve never apologized for hitting on Grant that night. I’m so sorry. I’ve been