Bill Guttentag - Boulevard

BOULEVARD

BOULEVARD

BILL GUTTENTAG

PEGASUS BOOKS
NEW YORK

For Marina, Misha, Sasha

Casey

C asey jammed her shoulder into a heavy oak door, and a moment later was running down a steep, wide driveway.

Her frayed backpack bounced on her shoulder. She was already out of breath. Dawn was breaking. Punching out against the sky were bright red-orange neon lettersChateau Marmont. Casey froze. This wasnt the smartest thing to be doing: she was out in the open, and it was getting light enough for anyone to see hera fifteenyear-old in a ripped leather jacket running from a hotel for movie stars. She looked around. But nobody was out. Even the Sunset Stripthe Sunset Strip was quiet. Had to be the quietest she had ever seen it. The street kids, the punk kids, the hip hop kids, the college kids, the glam girls, the tourists and the kids who roll the tourists, the whores, the johns, the strippers and the bachelor party assholes who drool over the strippers, the junkies, the hustlers and their dates, the baby transvestites, the do-gooders with their stupid sandwiches, the religious jerks and their pamphlets, the maps-to-the stars-homes Latino guys, the wannabe rock stars, wannabe rappers, wannabe models, wannabe starlets, the pimps, the dealers, crackheads, the LAPD, the LA Sheriff, the CHP copseven the street cleaner trucksthey were all gone. What time was it? Maybe 4:30 or 5:00. Amazing. For once, something was going right.

She hurried down the hill. Voices. Shit. Voices. She thought it was deserted. Two Mexican guys from room service were sitting on the lawn beside the driveway having a smoke. If they turned, they would see her. Casey looked for a gap in the tall hedge on the other side of the drive. None. She looked ahead and behind. Still none. But she pushed through the hedge anyway, the branches grabbing her hair, scratching her face like a rake. On the other side was a garage with a parked pickup. She huddled next to the truck and could hear the waiters as if they were beside her. God, they got those guys trained well. The whole world is asleep and they still go outside to smoke. How much longer till they finish? She glanced at the skystill lighterand then she saw her reflection in the pickups window. She hadnt looked at her face carefully in a long timenow she examined every pore. Her brown eyes were bloodshot. There were droplets of clear water around them. Across her nose were specks of redbut they were only freckles and what was left of freckles fading away. She pushed back long brown hair that fell past her shoulders, and ran her fingers through it. Her hair was wet in places, but she was pretty sure it was only water and sweat.

She could hear everything the waiters said. It was all in Spanish but somehow she knew they were talking about soccer. Soccer. Her life was crashing and the biggest thing these guys have on their minds is some soccer game. She thought, what about a trade? Ill give you the last couple of hours of my life if you give me the last couple of hours of yours. No way? You have any friends who want to make the deal? Is there anyone in the whole fucking city who would make this deal? Soccer. The sky was getting lighter by the second. How much longer could they talk about soccer? On and on. And the scoreuno, uno. Who cares? She looked at her feet and then back at the sky But then, they had said all they had to say about the stupid game and went inside.

She pushed back through the hedgeeasier now that she had blazed the trailand raced down the rest of the driveway towards the Strip. Casey took one last glance back. It wasnt completely deserted after all. There was the Marlboro man, behind the Chateau signfortyfifty feet high, holding a rope in one hand and a smoke in the other, his body cut out against the electric blue dawn sky. When she got here almost a year ago, she remembered seeing the Marlboro man for the first time and thinking how great the billboard was. He stood high, way high above the Strip. He owned the Strip. How many times had she been on the street, hating the street, hating everything about the street, and then looked up to see the Marlboro man. Calm, enjoying his smokenothing was gonna get to this dude. The street was his. And now with everybody in LA asleep but her and Pels number one and two, the Marlboro man watched over the city like some kinda cool god.

I t was the most unbelievable chair. So, so comfortable. Made of green velvet that rubbed against her back, the chair felt so good. Big, wide arm rests. The whole thing just wrapped around you. Casey got lucky, and it was hers without a wait. Whoever invented Starbucks ought to get some kind of medal. And this was the best one on the planet. Down on Santa Monica Boulevard, it had two of the green chairs, a couch, and lots of magazines and papers lying around. The place was filled with guys from the Sports Connection across the street who had already finished working out. Finishedthis early. God, they looked buff. Big muscles, little shirts. All gay. But thats why Paul loved this place so much. And the girls, they were buff too. Tons of people come to Hollywood thinking they got the looks and bods to be movie stars, but watching the girls come here after their workouts, if they werent on TV or something, they should be, Casey thought. Even the guys at the counter were awesome too. They smiled at her, told her to have a nice day, treated her decently. One kid who worked here, and who she used to see at the bus stop in a UCLA sweatshirt, called her his prettiest customer. Whos gonna complain about that? She called it Maui because it was so great here. The other kids didnt buy it, thought she was crazy. But the reason was, you come to Starbucks by yourself, you can disappear into your great green chair and everyone leaves you alone. Come with a pack of street kids, and you get different looks from the cuties at the counter.

Casey sipped her coffee. It was hot, good. She flipped through an Elle, but there was no way she could read now. Instead she curled her legs underneath her. She could have stayed in the chair all day, all night, all week. Just looking at the guys and girls going in and out of the gym, stopping for their coffees and going off to school, or their jobs, or wherever real people go. Freeze the clock. Stop time. Just sit here. Here. Forever. But even in Maui, theres a limit on how long you can stay

J oeys on Hollywood Boulevard, right in the center of it all, didnt have any great green chairs. It had a bunch of hard plastic booths. When Casey pulled the heavy glass door open, the smell of grease was everywhere. The windows were caked with so much dust and grime that when you wrote your name on one with your finger, it stayed for months. There was always a mile-long line to get some of their excellent fries, the location was cool, and they didnt chase you awayat least not usually. Everyone came here. Right now there were ten kids, maybe more. All hanging out. Slowly sipping coffee, sharing a cup between two, or even three. Later, there might be some money for something better. As Casey stepped through the doorway, she felt herself shaking. They were going to see right through her. Know the real 4-1-1. Back off, and come back again later. But behind her, she heard Jumper.

Hey. Where were you?

I couldnt get back.

Jumper was nineteen, with short black hair, and despite all the shit, he smiled more than anyone she ever met. He was tall and quick, a distant echo of the junior high swim team captain hed been a lifetime ago.

You okay? he said.

Casey prayed he wouldnt ask any more. Yeah.

A second later, Dream flew in the door behind Jumper and dropped her arms over Caseys shoulders.