Chapter Five: Old Money
Pushed my time limit stewing, conked out at around quarter to two. Up early at 6:00. Showered quickly, ran downstairs to grab three Cliff bars, and returned. Channel surfed to some cartoons (we did have cable). Didn’t really have to use headphones with Ma’s new bedroom being downstairs, but I wanted to shut out any noise that might get generated outside. Especially next door.
Clank, clank, clank on the door. Ma – 6:45.
“Twins are waiting for you outside. Get over little squabble.”
“Thanks. Taking a tardy today,” I said. She sighed and walked away. My room faced the backyard, but I looked out the window just in case. No one showed. It was seven, and I knew they’d give up and move on without me.
I had no intention of using up a tardy. There was a bus that left at 7:13 from the corner of Ventura and blah-blah street. If I cut through the Fosters’ back yard I could make it easily. Mrs. Foster would see me and report to her pathetic children that I purposefully avoided them. Alrighty-O, as Felix would say.
Second period was Basic Math, the only class I had with Ellis. That one I was skipping, opting instead to report to the nurse. She nodded approval at the bandaging and gave me a slip to get me out of P.E. for the rest of the week. No intention of not working out, but I could hide in the girl’s gym, where Ellis couldn’t, and Ellen wouldn’t, show up.
But of course, they’d try to find me in the cafeteria, dragging their stupid packed lunches of soup Thermoses and thick sandwiches. They wouldn’t have the least clue they needed to give me space.
Turned out to be just Ellen. She actually bought cafeteria food. Good God. She got herself four portions of rice and gravy. I wasn’t exactly a calorie counter, but that had to be a week’s worth of food in some parts of the world. Must’ve cost less than a dollar.
My table was almost empty, but of course Ellen sat right across from me.
“Ronnie,” she said. “It’s really important that we talk.”
Unbelievable. Un-fucking believable.
She politely waited for me to acknowledge her presence. I picked up what was left of my meal and walked away.
“Ronnie!” she called, drawing attention.
I almost walked out of the cafeteria with my porcelain plate of chili mac. I set it down and split. This was clueless on a whole different level. It was important to Ellen, so I just needed to get over myself? At least she didn’t follow me.
After school I walked the wrong way to avoid anyone who wanted me to run a little gauntlet. Sure enough, Manny was parked up the block, waiting for me in a red car that looked way too small for him.
“Hey, Ronnie,” he said when I caught up to him.
“Hey, Manny,” I said.
“Can I give you a lift back home?” he asked.
“You know I’m gonna say no, Manny,” I said. “Crossing the street now.”
“Ronnie,” he said. “Please give them a chance to explain.”
Light turned green and I was on my way. There was no way to avoid walking in front of our houses; I sure as hell wasn’t cutting through their backyard again.
Mrs. Foster was waiting on her porch.
“My little Ronnie, please,” she said. “The children are heartbroken…”
“Really?” I said a little more snidely than I meant. “They’re not children, Mrs. Foster.” I coulda gone on, suggested that, maybe, if they weren’t raised in a bubble they might know better, but I didn’t care. And it wasn’t my place.
And…I’m a little pissed off. None of them even asked why their little Ronnie was upset.
Ma wasn’t back yet. I had about twenty bucks in my purse. Time to find somewhere to eat. I got to the bus on Ventura and hopped on without anyone trying to intercept me.
Buses in L.A. are barely used. It was creeping up on three-thirty and there were four other passengers, all old people. How did they make any money doing this? Traffic was heavy already and riding had to be so much easier than driving.
The bus was going…uh, east. In Chicagoland, the Lake was east. The Valley was mostly a grid, with the ocean no one could see to the west. Smog and Burbank was east. Figured I’d get off somewhere in Studio City because it sounded cool.
“‘Scuse me,” I said to an old lady. “Where is Studio City?”
“We just passed through it, honey,” she said. “This bus goes to Universal Studios, though, if you’ve never seen it.”
“Oh, great,” I said. “Thank you.”
I had no interest at all in seeking a studio, which reminded me of the very likeable Mr. Foster, who now was not going to mentor me in the fine art of building sets. But I’d get off around there because there were probably food trucks or delis.
People got on and people got off. Another old lady with a white cane and dark glasses got on. Lecherous old guy, checking to see if I had boobs. The nice old lady stood to get off at the next stop. She wished me a good time at the park.
“Thank you,” I said. “Uh, park?”
“Oh, yes,” she said cheerfully. “It’s a theme park.”
Great. I got off with her. Another bus was taking on people. We were on …Lankershim. Heading south. Fine by me.
***
Two hours later I was starving and stranded. I had hopped on one of those “free” tour buses. According to the little brochure, a tour of Secret LA Old Money Mansions. Brought to us by a guy who owned a bus and worked for tips. It was a time of my life I would have loved to get back, but I gave him five bucks. He seemed pleased with that, probably more than he expected from a scrawny kid who, by now, everyone knew had gotten on by mistake.
There seemed to be an endless supply of nice old ladies. This one, Doris, offered me a ride home as we watched the creepy guy get into his car and drive away. What had happened was that everyone on this tour started out by parking at this unpaved flat area at the top of the mountains.
“Where exactly are we?” I asked. “I live in Sherman Oaks.”
Doris smiled. “Well, you’re not too far, in a way. This is Mulholland Drive. You’ve heard of it?” I hadn’t but it made sense to just nod. “Well, the Valley is that way, and Beverly Hills is this way. We’re at Laurel Canyon. Sherman Oaks is a few miles in thatdirection.”
West. Okay, fine.
“It’s okay, Doris,” I said. “I’ll just walk down Ventura Canyon.” Doris frowned.
“The next canyon over is Coldwater,” she said. “But you can’t possibly walk that far. And it’s getting cold.” That made me smile.
“I’m from Chicago,” I said. It was getting chilly, yeah, but my God…cold? “I really appreciate it, Doris, but a little time to walk would do me some good.” Plus, there had to be somewhere to eat.
She looked at me doubtfully.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. She went on to suggest I at least start walking down Laurel Canyon, rather than trek across Mulholland. She admitted that Coldwater would be shorter. I nodded and waited until she drove away. Then I started my trek down Mulholland. I actually felt pretty good, all things considered. I had plenty of daylight and, yeah, I was hungry, but I had money left and I’d get something good. Maybe even a steak if there was one of those cheapie places.
A mile later I realized I’d made a big mistake. Mulholland was residential – sort of. There weren’t many houses, even, and most of them were big fancy places with gates. And on both sides of the two-lane highway, I couldn’t think of it as a simple street, you had there were steep plunges. I mean, the kind where you’d break your neck, or get bit by a rattlesnake, and animals would fight over your body.
Oh, and no sidewalks. What the fuck had Doris been thinking, letting me go? Coldwater couldn’t be too far, though. I kept going. Then I heard cars. And the only thing between me and the chasm was one of those stupid guardrails. Just the right height to trip me. Dented in many places.
The headlights were approaching way, way, too fast. A car sped right by me, maybe two feet to my left. The wind practically blew me over the side. The smell was something a bit different than the usual exhaust. Some weird fuel. I dropped to my knees.
Just in time. Another car whizzed by. The driver swerved into the other lane, heading the wrong way, and passed the first car. The rear lights vanished around a curve.
Racing. Jesus Christ, they were racing.
I stood up, ready to drop down again if more cars followed. They didn’t, and I jogged to another part of the road that had more protection from the steep drop than a guardrail.
Weirdly, I still had the brochure. Good thing, too. Other than a nice metal sheen border all around, the thing was kinda crude. A cheaply copied couple of handwritten pages with poor pictures. On the bus I’d pretended to read it…I mean, I can read, slowly, but I don’t make the effort if I’m not interested. I listened, a little. Caught names like Wrigley, Busch, von Deign, Doheny, Getty. But now, what I wanted was the little map on the very last page.
Yes. There it was, and there I was. Just like Doris said, the tour started there, and…there was Coldwater. Oh, fuck. It wasn’t close. I sighed and kept jogging. I wanted to make sure I was…oh, no.
Another pair of cars, neck and neck this time. What did they do if there was someone in the other lane? What was so important…wait, why ask. Winning was important. Well, I guess I got that. I just never considered racing a street car on a mountain pass. How limited I was.
I dropped down again. I did it over and over as the racers kept coming. I was wondering if I was going to have to crawl the rest of the way. One car got way too close. Trying to scare me? I got honked and yelled at.
I kept going. Yeah, it did seem a little cold, but walking and fear kept me warm.
And then, finally. A street sign. Coldwater Canyon. And cars, coming from the other direction. Hooray! I could start walking down to the Valley.
Oh, no. No…
It was a tunnel. Two tunnels. Just bored right into the rock. Cars were zipping in and out. I shook my head. Why do I remember these stupid things? Doug telling me how he’d raced across some Boston tunnel near the airport. Other kids laughed at him.
Focus. Don’t waste time getting mad. Okay, I couldn’t walk down a tunnel. It would be suicide. I needed a plan. It was nearly six o’clock.
I found a big flat rock and sat down. Only one thing I could do, head down the canyon toward Beverly Hills, or wherever. Stop at the first house that didn’t shoot strangers on sight.
A car roared out of the tunnel from the city-bound side. It musta been doing sixty. A pink car…I’d seen it before.
The driver did a three-sixty, I mean all the way around, and stopped right next to me. Ellen and Ellis jumped out.
“Ronnie!” Ellen shouted, alarmed. “Get in, quick.” Ellis was advancing on me, as in, I will throw you in if you don’t move.
“Relax!” I snapped at him. “I’m moving.”
Ellis got back in and peeled off, heading into the Valley tunnel.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Of course,” Ellis said. “We came as soon as we got your note.”
The fuck…Ellis caught my look in the rear view mirror and handed a folded paper to me.
“Concentrate on the road, dummy.” Ellen snapped. “Oh, God, Ronnie, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. Wanted to add very hungry but they weren’t getting the satisfaction. I opened the paper.
Need to be picked up! Coldwater and Mulholland. Hurry, please. Another trick.
“Jesus, you guys,” I said. “Not my handwriting. I can’t even do cursive.”
“What’s that?” Ellen asked, looking at my brochure. I looked down at it. The handwriting was the same. I handed it over to Ellen. They had too much time on their hands. I mean, the sheer effort involved in these pranks.
Don’t be an asshole. They’re not pranks.
Ellen was staring at the gray frame that surrounded every page of the brochure. And…oh, shit. Rocky and Bullwinkle theme went off. I figured it out. Well, a big piece.
“Ronnie? What is it?” Ellis said, looking at me, but driving like an expert. I didn’t have to ask how he got the car. Now I knew.
This gray shit…it’s kinda purple gray…is everywhere. The creepy neighbor’s blinds. Fuck, I just realized, I see those blinds everywhere. And the guy on the bus with the glasses. Now this stupid brochure. Same weird color.
“Ellen, what is that gray shit?” She shook her head.
“I-it’s not printed. Painted on…no.” She sounded a bit shocked. “It’s anodized. I think it’s an alloy, mostly gold, with some rare earths mixed in. You know, I see this stuff everywhere.”
“And never noticed it before, right?” I went on as Ellen nodded. “And your nice neighbor let Ellis, who has no driver’s license, and is wearing thongs, take her car and zip off to rescue me.” I sighed. “I…owe you guys a big apology.”
“There,” Ellis said. “You see? I told you I never touched the tuner.”
“I already told you I believe you,” Ellen said. “Ronnie, I need to explain something.”
“I figured it out,” I interrupted. “The tuner doesn’t work unless you touch it.”
“Right!” Ellen grinned. Ellis was smiling too, with relief. “And it only works for me. Well, Ellis can manage it sometimes, but barely.”
“That’s not true!” her brother snapped. We were out of the tunnel. Ellis was whipping around switchbacks like a maniac.
“Sport, please slow down!” I said. “Look, Ellen, I don’t know how to break this to you, but someone else has a tuner.”
“That’s impossible,” Ellen said. “It’s my invention.”
“I still don’t even know what it does,” I said. “But, look, someone took the time to fuck with us. I mean, they really did some research.” Ellen was still shaking her head.
“There is only one tuner in the world,” she said.
“Okay, fine. Then maybe someone snuck into the garage and used it. Someone who’s figured out how to operate it.”
Ellen shook her head, but she was thinking about it.
“Ronnie, what’s going on?” Ellis asked, a little panicky.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But we’re all being watched. More than just watched.”
Ellen and Ellis squeaked. Literally squeaked, and at exactly the same moment. Twins.
“Look, we gotta stop somewhere to eat. I am dying.”
Ellis sped up and I closed my eyes.