The California Club (16 page)

'I wish I was more like her,' Sasha sighs. 'She's so gung-ho, party-hearty, make-the-most-of-every-situation. Where does she get her energy?'

'No idea.' I shake my head. I still haven't got over the maracas.

'Do you think LA will be what she thinks it's going to be?'

'Even if isn't, she can handle it.'

'I just hope she doesn't get disillusioned, she's been dreaming about going there for so long.'

Uh-oh. Sasha's starting to worry about other people when she's already got her plate full worrying about herself.

'Fret ye not,' I advise. 'Zoë would have just as good a time at a Dyspraxia benefit as the Oscars.'

‘It's a gift.'

‘Total blessing,' I agree. 'In fact, if I ever have kids that's the one thing I'd wish for them – not the fingers of a concert pianist or a Genius IQ but a sunny disposition.' I reach for my bag. 'Let's give her a call-christen the Batphone!'

'Aaaghhhhhhhhhhh!'

I hold the phone away from my ear. 'Zoë, are you okay?'

'Oh La, this is brilliant! I'm just passing one of those big water viaducts like Danny and Crater Face raced along in Grease! It's all graffittied and there's these little rows of flowerpots by one of the spillage pipes, I think someone lives there. Oh god – there's a naked man bathing! No way!'

The phone cuts out.

I look at Sasha. 'Do you think it was wise to let her loose unescorted?'

'Probably not,' she concedes.

I try Zoë's phone again but no reply – she must be in a tunnel, I'll try again in a minute.

'How are we doing?' Sasha nods at the map.

‘Not far till our next freeway change.'

'Would you say I've got a melancholy disposition?' Sasha asks, trying to sound casual about her non sequitur.

'Did someone tell you that?' I ask, treading carefully.

She nods. 'The make-up artist on the Michael Kors shoot. It's one of the most depressing things I've ever heard. It makes me think I'm going to feel like this for ever.'

'You could look at it another way – if you accepted that melancholy is your natural state rather than trying to reinvent yourself, then any good times would be a bonus.'

'Is that supposed to make me feel better?'

'Yes, but I can see why it wouldn't,' I admit, then try again. 'I remember watching this interview with Carrie Fisher and she was saying she's given up trying to fight her depressions when they hit, she's even given her miserable alter ego a different name so if someone rings up for her she says, "Mildred's in town" or whoever, so people know which state she's in.'

'Sounds scary!’

‘I think it's quite a good way of dealing with it. At least she knows Mildred is just visiting.'

I can't quite believe it but I seem to be experiencing a craving for a tangerine jellybean. I try to sneak the box on to my lap without alerting Sasha.

'I think I'd find it too exhausting being Zoë,' Sasha decides. 'In my next life I'm coming back as one of those naturally contented people. You know those folk who seem comfortable in their own skin.'

'Like Elliot,' we say in unison. He really is the most relaxed individual I know. Or at least he was.

'91 freeway, exit here,' I direct Sasha before asking, 'Do you think he seems different?'

She pulls a contemplative face.

'I don't mean in a Helen dramatic-new-identity way, just not quite himself.'

'Like when Aaron Spelling brought back a different actor to play Blake's son in Dynasty?' Sasha deadpans.

I chuckle. 'No. He's obviously the same guy, it's just … his little twinkle's gone.'

'I didn't know he had a little twinkle,' Sasha teases.

'I think the E numbers in the Gummi Bears are getting to you,' I tut, then smile to myself: that's two out-of-character jokes in a row. The fact that Sasha's nearly at her mission destination seems to be giving her a boost. Or maybe it's just the hysteria setting in.

'I haven't noticed, to be honest.' Sasha tries to give my question about Elliot its due. 'He was a laugh at the beach.'

'Yeah. I just got the feeling that he was holding himself in check. Like he'd mess around and then pull back, as if Elise might disapprove or something.'

I'm so transparently trying to kick-start some Elise-bashing. I swore I wasn't going to bitch about her any more but I can't help it.

'You know, I wouldn't have thought Elliot was her type,' Sasha muses.

Excuse me? Elliot's everyone's type, surely?

'Not saying that he's not fantastic, but I probably would have put her with someone a bit more … a bit less …' Sasha can't seem to find the words.

'What?' I laugh, dying to know.

'Maybe someone older or richer or more catalogue model good-looking.'

I smile to myself. I love that Elliot's appeal is quirky.

‘To me he is the most beauteous thing I've ever laid eyes on but at the same time I have to acknowledge that he has one of those 'All my own work!' faces. And I don't mean in surgery terms. His face seems to reflect his personality as opposed to being a mask of inherited beauty. Of course, Sasha is quite the opposite. She's all about genes and expensive moisturizers. I can't help wondering, if she gets her other wish and discovers her inner identity, will we be able to see a change in how she looks on the outside? I guess we'll just have to watch this face.

The scenery seems to be flattening out and getting progressively more nondescript so I go back to sorting through the CDs, stacking them on the dashboard in a bid to find a track that will quash the soul-searching and bring an air of frivolity to the proceedings. Best give REM a miss then. Ah! Found it. I slide out Sugababes and skip on to track six of a compilation album.

'The Lion Sleeps Tonight
!' Sasha instantly recognizes the opening. 'Very funny!'

We're
awimmaway
-ing to our heart’s content when the phone rings. It’s Zoe.

‘It cut out before, I don't know why.'

The background noise has changed. 'Where are you now?'

'In a cab. I just left Union Station.'

'Seen any movie stars yet?'

'Actually this area is kinda weird and run-down.'

Zoë sounds fascinated rather than freaked out but I want to know more. 'Describe it to us,' I say, putting her on speakerphone.

'Everything's dirty and low-rise, there's a woman in a purple balaclava walking along with a baby, she's just gone into the 98 Cent Store … It's like a mish-mash of nationalities, all the restaurants … there's Armenian, Mexican, Salvadorean, Tantra …'

'Tantra? Isn't that a type of sex?'

'I'm just reading the signs … Cambodian Buddhist Temple, Far East Auto Services, Casablanca Futons …'

'Are you serious?'

'Five T-shirts for $10.99, drinking water 20 cents, 99 Cent Store …'

'Hey, you're moving up!'

Zoë chuckles. 'I just saw a road called Avenue of the Athletes!'

I imagine a pole-vaulter being forced to fly over a pyramid of baseball players just to get to his front door. 'What happened to Avenue of the Stars?' I demand.

'That's what I want to know! It's all pawn shops, lino warehouses and dentists round here.'

I wonder if The California Club has done this deliberately to shake up Zoë's idea of LA being glamour central. I hope they know what they're doing. If they even partly extinguish her spirit they'll have me to answer to.

'Dollar World!' Zoë screeches, delighted.

Bless her, she'll get to Beverly Hills even if it's one cent at a time.

'Now it's getting all trendy-edgy, everything's vintage and hipster – hey, La! You'd love this – I just saw this shop called the Den of Antiquity!'

'What road are you on?' I want to see if I can find her on the insert on my map.

'I can't see a sign. Oh wow! There's a bus just like the one in Speed!'

‘Isn’t this our exit?’ Sasha asks.

Oh it’s all happening at once!

‘And a cop car!' Zoë whoops. 'How exciting! They're handcuffing two boys. They have the sexiest uniforms ever!'

Sasha and I exchange a concerned look.

'Zoë, we have to go, are you going to be okay?'

'Of course! And you two are together so that's cool, I don't care about Elise. It's just poor Elliot – the sooner you get to him the better.'

Amen to that.

'Call me if there are any problems,' I insist.

'Will do!'

I wish I could hang on until she's safely arrived at her destination but I have to return to my role as navigator.

'We're nearly there,' I tell Sasha. 'Just take the second turning on the left and—'

Sasha suddenly swerves down the first side road.

'Not this one!' I yelp, bracing myself against the dashboard.

'I know,' she cries, ramming on the brakes and lurching into a dusty gravel turnout.

I struggle to control the clattering landslide of CDs.

'I just needed a minute,' she explains, looking shocked by her own actions, breath juddering in and out as she continues to clutch the steering wheel as if she's fighting a magnetic force.

'All right,' I say softly, not wanting to disturb her any further. I clutch the CDs to my lap and stare steadily ahead. Just keep calm and still. Any sudden moves could set her off. I stop chewing my tangerine jellybean, press the zesty gelatine to the roof of my mouth and mold it with secret swishes of my tongue.

A battered red pick-up truck passes us. Sasha's gaze tailgates it until it disappears from view, then slowly she releases her grip, leans back in her seat and closes her eyes. Even now there is little sense of relief. Her lips may be motionless but I know she's delivering a feverish pep talk on the inside.

Not wanting to interrupt the conversation she's having with herself, I wait. And wait. My eyes flick to the dashboard clock. It's now 5pm so I take a chance on speaking.

'Do you want to get out and have a walk around?’

She shakes her head.

I return to the staring contest I'm having with the yellow line dividing the road. Oh no. I've got an itch brewing on my left shin. Just ignore it, it'll die down of its own accord, I tell myself. I must remain composed. Aaaghhh – my leg spasms and shoots out as if someone thwacked my knee with a reflex hammer, causing a handful of jellybeans to jump playfully in the air.

'Sorry!' I mutter, unsure why I'm apologizing.

Sasha blinks at me then quickly rouses herself, reaching for the ignition. 'We're going to be late!'

'Are you all right? Do you want me to drive?'

'I'm fine!' she says, briskly perpetrating a tire-scuffing U-turn.

I open my mouth to emit a platitude, something like, 'Don't worry, Sasha, I know you're scared but I'll be your real-life guardian angel.'

Instead I find myself saying, 'Did you know that one in four people experience some form of mental illness in their life?'

'What did you say?' Sasha winds up her window to silence the rushing wind. 'One in four people what?'

I can't believe I said that out loud. 'Are allergic to cats,' I lie.

'I wonder if there are any statistics about the number of cats that are allergic to people?' Sasha muses, with a certain poignancy to her voice.

I laugh. 'I wonder.'

'I mean, it's possible, isn't it? Maybe that's all it was. Just an allergy.'

'All what was?'

Sasha's face clouds over again. I'm losing her.

'Sasha?'

'It's … I …' she flounders and fails to find the words to express her angst.

I can't finish her sentence for her. I have no idea what she is trying to say. But I'm sure she'll feel better once we get there. Actually, I'm not sure of that at all, but I can hope.

Finally we spy the sign: TIGER TIGER. A NON-PROFIT RETREAT FOR RETIRED ANIMAL ACTORS.

‘Hey we're going to see celebrities before Zoë, how weird is that?' I try and make a joke.

Sasha slams on the brakes so hard my seatbelt locks and gives me a diagonal garroting. I've had smoother rides in a bumper car.

‘They won't like me,' she blurts, experiencing a resurgence of nerves.

Before I can assure her that everyone warms to her once they get over wanting to believe that she's a vain 'n' vacuous ice queen, she adds, 'Animals don't like me.'

I want to laugh but decide against it.

'What makes you say that?' I ask.

'It's true. They can tell—' she halts herself.

'Tell what?'

Sasha looks as if she's about to retreat into her catatonic state. No pun intended. I have to do something.

'Gosh look at that!' I say, praying for something to leap into my sight line so I can follow through.

'What?'

'I think I just saw a …' I scrabble out of the car as if I'm tracking something in the foliage.

'Oh my god, yes!' Sasha joins me. 'He's looking right at us!' She shrinks behind me.

I can't believe she can actually see my imaginary distraction. Where is it? Suddenly I lock sights with a pair of golden eyes. Benevolent rather than predatory, they seem to be saying,
Oh, it's you!

'That's Ryan,' a voice comes from behind us. 'Our VIP guest. He's a liger – that's half lion, half tiger.'

Now his expression seems to be saying,
I know, I don't get it either.

We turn to find a cozy-looking brunette. 'I'm Carrie,' she smiles, warmly shaking our hands.

I can see the relief on Sasha's face: thank goodness there's going to be someone nurturing around.

'It's actually pretty good timing you being here this week,' Carrie continues. 'I have to go to San Francisco to try and raise some funds—'

'When do you leave?' Sasha panics before Carrie even finishes her sentence.

'Day after tomorrow. I'll be gone a coupla days so Ty will welcome an extra pair of hands.'

Sasha's fretful look returns.

'How about I give you a little tour of the place before it gets too dark?'

I nod on Sasha's behalf.

'We'll start with Freddie. He's the devil himself, it'll be all downhill after that.’

I try to give Sasha a comforting look but I’m feeling a little nervous myself now.

Here kitty, kitty, kitty…

‘We're not too picturesque yet,' Carrie warns us as she raises the horseshoe clip on the gate and grinds it open. 'This is actually a disused water plant. Go ahead…’