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Authors: Jessica Anya Blau
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left. Wilshire ran into Beverly Hills, this much she knew. And Beverly Hills bumped against Westwood, she was almost certain. And Westwood was where Allie’s only and best friend in L.A., Kathy Kruger, lived.
As a kid, Allie had gone to nine different schools in nine different parts of the city. She always made friends, but would lose touch with them within weeks of moving. No parent would brave the Los Angeles traffic to get a kid to another side of town, so once Allie was gone so were her friends. The most lasting friendship Allie had was with Kathy—they were in the same high school for half of junior year and all of senior year.
Allie came up with a new plan. She would hang out with Kathy for a while, sell enough coke to Kathy’s friends to pay her tuition bill, and then track down her mother and let her help negotiate with Jonas so Allie could get back to the Bay Area. Meantime, if her mother didn’t know where her father was, she would use Kathy’s phone to call every Frank Dodgson in the Los Angeles phone book until she had found him. Allie’s gut sucked in at the thought of the dead restaurant. Another time , she whispered. That was what she told herself when she needed to put off thinking about things. She had done it often as a kid and had found it a wonderfully effective way to glide through forgotten school pickups, no-show parents at parent-teacher conferences, or an after-school friend commenting on the lack of snack foods in Allie’s house.
Allie pulled into a gas station and parked the car. She checked under the front seat and pulled out the Wonder Bread bag, just to make sure it was still there. There was a phone booth outside the mini-mart. Allie took a dime from her wallet, then got out of the car, leaving the purse and the coke behind. She clicked the automatic lock with a satisfied smile.
Kathy answered on the first ring.
“Oh my god!” Allie said into the phone, “I can’t believe I’ll actually get to see you!”
“I’m in L.A. How could you possibly see me?” Kathy was always so logical. She had seemed thirty years old when she was sixteen. And she almost looked thirty, too. Tall, rigid, blond hair clipped sensibly short. Men loved her: she was like Katharine Hepburn, or Candice Bergen. A no-nonsense woman with an almost magical sex appeal.
“I’m in L.A., too!” Allie screamed. Sometimes Kathy’s steadiness made Allie whirl out of control.
“Are you at your dad’s? What are you doing here?” When Kathy was happy, her voice was as even and flat as when she was mad, or irritated, or sad. Allie assumed Kathy was glad to hear from her.
“I don’t even know where my dad is. I went to his restaurant and it was closed!”
“You mean closed for the night? Or closed down?”
“It was closed down. I mean there is no restaurant—I’m freaking out here!” It didn’t seem right to tell Kathy the accumulation of things that were freaking her out just then.
“Odd,” Kathy said. “And he didn’t call you and tell you anything about it?”
“I don’t have a phone, remember? Listen, I’m at Wilshire and Hills. Where’s your new place?”
“Oh, I’m just around the corner. But I have a date in like five minutes with this guy. He’s a lawyer.”
“A lawyer?! How old is he?”
“Forty.”
“Forty?! He’s older than my mother!” Gross! Allie thought. But then she remembered that only hours ago, she had her shirt off in a fitting room with a thirty-three-year-old guy. That was even more gross.
“I know. But he’s totally cool. Smart, handsome, the whole shebang. I swear I think I’m in love.”
Although Kathy had (unlike Allie) seemed interested in boys in high school, she never dated. She and Allie hung out in the library, quizzed each other for upcoming tests, and went to the beach and read, their bellies never getting tanned as they lay facedown in front of their books in the sand. And even now that the switch had flipped in Allie and she was suddenly
As a kid, Allie had gone to nine different schools in nine different parts of the city. She always made friends, but would lose touch with them within weeks of moving. No parent would brave the Los Angeles traffic to get a kid to another side of town, so once Allie was gone so were her friends. The most lasting friendship Allie had was with Kathy—they were in the same high school for half of junior year and all of senior year.
Allie came up with a new plan. She would hang out with Kathy for a while, sell enough coke to Kathy’s friends to pay her tuition bill, and then track down her mother and let her help negotiate with Jonas so Allie could get back to the Bay Area. Meantime, if her mother didn’t know where her father was, she would use Kathy’s phone to call every Frank Dodgson in the Los Angeles phone book until she had found him. Allie’s gut sucked in at the thought of the dead restaurant. Another time , she whispered. That was what she told herself when she needed to put off thinking about things. She had done it often as a kid and had found it a wonderfully effective way to glide through forgotten school pickups, no-show parents at parent-teacher conferences, or an after-school friend commenting on the lack of snack foods in Allie’s house.
Allie pulled into a gas station and parked the car. She checked under the front seat and pulled out the Wonder Bread bag, just to make sure it was still there. There was a phone booth outside the mini-mart. Allie took a dime from her wallet, then got out of the car, leaving the purse and the coke behind. She clicked the automatic lock with a satisfied smile.
Kathy answered on the first ring.
“Oh my god!” Allie said into the phone, “I can’t believe I’ll actually get to see you!”
“I’m in L.A. How could you possibly see me?” Kathy was always so logical. She had seemed thirty years old when she was sixteen. And she almost looked thirty, too. Tall, rigid, blond hair clipped sensibly short. Men loved her: she was like Katharine Hepburn, or Candice Bergen. A no-nonsense woman with an almost magical sex appeal.
“I’m in L.A., too!” Allie screamed. Sometimes Kathy’s steadiness made Allie whirl out of control.
“Are you at your dad’s? What are you doing here?” When Kathy was happy, her voice was as even and flat as when she was mad, or irritated, or sad. Allie assumed Kathy was glad to hear from her.
“I don’t even know where my dad is. I went to his restaurant and it was closed!”
“You mean closed for the night? Or closed down?”
“It was closed down. I mean there is no restaurant—I’m freaking out here!” It didn’t seem right to tell Kathy the accumulation of things that were freaking her out just then.
“Odd,” Kathy said. “And he didn’t call you and tell you anything about it?”
“I don’t have a phone, remember? Listen, I’m at Wilshire and Hills. Where’s your new place?”
“Oh, I’m just around the corner. But I have a date in like five minutes with this guy. He’s a lawyer.”
“A lawyer?! How old is he?”
“Forty.”
“Forty?! He’s older than my mother!” Gross! Allie thought. But then she remembered that only hours ago, she had her shirt off in a fitting room with a thirty-three-year-old guy. That was even more gross.
“I know. But he’s totally cool. Smart, handsome, the whole shebang. I swear I think I’m in love.”
Although Kathy had (unlike Allie) seemed interested in boys in high school, she never dated. She and Allie hung out in the library, quizzed each other for upcoming tests, and went to the beach and read, their bellies never getting tanned as they lay facedown in front of their books in the sand. And even now that the switch had flipped in Allie and she was suddenly
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