Strange People in Strange Places

Freddie was strange. As the newest addition to the overcrowded three-bedroom duplex, wrapped in a Spanish-style stucco and shrouded in palm trees and in the middle of the Glendale Annex, Freddie did not quite fit in. The home was caressed by dozens of houses, filled with nobodies who hiked to work every morning and never returned home in the evenings, to rinse and repeat the next day, with newly blood-shot eyes. Either end of the Annex dipped into mountainous landscapes that stretched out towards the sun, both in greeting and a never-ending goodbye, like a polite Southern hostess. Hall-Beckly Canyon welcomed in the old friend with politeness; Haines Canyon Park saw to its exit with a “y’all don’t be strangers, ya hear?” and thirty more minutes of unhurried goodbyes.

Jesús had been in charge of seeking out this newest addition, who George forced to draw the short end of the stick after refusing to pay for dinner. After spending weeks cleaning out the unused garage space, it was ready for her to move in and take some of the burdens of the overpriced Golden State’s excuse for affordable housing as if congressmen were still protective of the lands once littered with the precious mineral. Now, it was only littered with golden arches.

Tommy was smoking, spread eagle on the floor when keys jingled in the door and Freddie stepped over the threshold. She came only with a small black notebook with a single gold star, stuck slightly off-center, and the clothes on her back.

Tommy’s knees creaked as he stood, a speck of ash falling to the concrete ground in the process. “Hey, I’m Tommy. Nice to finally meetcha. How was the plane?” He leaned over the coffee table to snuff out the Marlboro and stuck it in a crevice of the ashtray.

Shutting the door behind her, she glanced around the room with vague interest, having only seen it in fuzzy pictures before this moment. “Practically like it didn’t happen, thanks to the Xanax.” She gave a half-hearted grin.

“Oh snap—you know sharing is caring, right?” He slid past her and flipped the lock on the door, glancing back to the notebook pressed against her chest. “Need any help with your stuff or…” Tommy gestured vaguely between the girl and the door.

Freddie stepped out of Tommy’s space and wandered further into the room. “No. Can you show me to my space?”

“Sure. Jesús told you all about the current arrangements, right? Everything’s on the DL right now with our slumlord. Pretty sure you livin’ in the garage is breaking a couple of points in our lease.”

“Of course. This was the best option I could find on such short notice.”

Tommy opened the door to the garage and coughed into the crook of his arm. “Excuse me, we tried to clean it up for ya but it is still just the garage. Don’t be a stranger, okay? Greg’s bringing home pizza for dinner.”

Freddie never showed up for dinner. Jesús would knock on her door in an attempt to introduce himself but received no response. That was fine by them as they inhaled the slick, five-dollar pizza with fervor and silently sat, glued to a channel of infomercials and pay-per-view wrestling.

Out of curiosity, Greg cracked the door, only to see that the garage door had been raised and only the little black book sat in the middle of the concrete oasis. The single shag carpet had been shoved to the side, and the moonlight highlighted tracks in the gravel drive that led to the garage. He gingerly picked up the notebook and carried it back inside.

“Should we call the cops?”

“Was she a fever dream?”

“Were you high when you let her in?”

“Where would the book have come from then, dumbass?”

The book lay on the coffee table, surrounded by paper plates and soda stains. Jesús had let a single drop of grease tarnish the black cover, making that spot darker than the rest.

Greg groaned and flipped open the book, to reveal a post-it note that read ‘I’m sorry, please forgive me’ and the rest of the pages had been cut to reveal a stack of Benjamin Franklins. His eyes rolled like a slot machine, and he rapidly flipped through them, licking his fingers to allow the dollar bills to slide through his grasp.

“Why would we need to forgive her? For running off? Hell, she already paid the rent, but I was banking on her Xannies.” Tommy flopped dramatically back into the couch, largely uninterested in the money that Greg was drooling over.

“This is like twenty-k, dude—I’ll buy you a buffet of bars today after I gorge myself on some fries. I’m starving.”

Jesús glanced one last time into the garage as if the girl might pop back into their reality at any moment before flipping the light switch and shutting the door.

The trio spent a thousand dollars on fries from McDonald’s, and when a man came looking for a girl named Fredricka, they shrugged their shoulders.

“We’ll keep an eye out. Crazy how many people get lost in a land full of nobodies like LA.” Greg smirked, chuckling to himself and shoving a fistful of fries into his mouth. Grease dripped from his chin and down the front of his t-shirt.

The man smiled kindly, though his eyes were frantic, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his oversized coat. “Thanks. A lot of important people are worried.”