I was going for sarcastic, but whatever. Andrea had a way of turning everything around and making it my fault. And while she might be justified in the story of our lives, traffic was one monster I wasn’t taking the fall for.
“I was stuck in traffic,” I replied, as if it were even necessary to spell out the obvious. In LA,notbeing stuck in traffic was what made the news around here.“Chill out.”
Now I was irritated. Andrea knew as well as I did the quickest way to lose our daily stream of tourists was to cheat them out of the experiences they’d paid for, like snapping that perfect picture of the Hollywood sign or getting up-close-and-personal with celebrity homes.
“I can see your bus now,”she typed back.“Just hurry.”
Huh. A truce? Not like her. Why the sudden niceness? Was she sick? Possessed by Ed Sheeran? Whatever it was, I knew Andrea well enough to know she wasn’t giving me a pass out of the goodness of her heart. I wanted to press her for answers, but my sister played dirty, and although I was no shrinking violet, I knew better than to strike a match next to her fuse.
After instructing everyone to return to their seats, Vern rolled the bus forward another block before sliding into our designated spot along the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Our hole-in-the-wall headquarters was located just above our substandard gift shop. In the ’70’s, Angel Line Gifts & More had beentheplace to go for cheap Hollywood souvenirs like gold Oscar trophies with ‘Best Dad’ printed on the base and matted photos of celebrities. But as the years passed, competition cropped up on every street corner, and our little shop fell into disrepair. Now we were just an afterthought as tourists skipped over us for the big, flashy shops with giant blinking signs and life-size cardboard replicas of their favorite stars.
“Well, folks, I hope you enjoyed your tour of the stars’ homes. I can’t tell you how much Vernon and I appreciate you spending this morning with us. We at Angel Line Tours know that you have a choice when it comes to celebrity stalking, and we sincerely appreciate you choosing us to guide you down that slippery slope of harassment and misdemeanors. And listen up, Angels—this is very important. Please don’t forget to fill out the online survey.Ifyou liked our services, I’m Jess and this handsome fella is Vern—yes, the same man who nearly took out the retaining wall in front of Britney Spears’ house with his daring three-point turn. If you didn’t like our services, well, the survey really isn’t all that important.
“And here comes the part you’ve all been waiting for. If you feel inclined to donate to theVern and Jess Didn’t-Go-To-College Fund, there’s atip jar on your way out of the bus that will happily gobble up any and all contributions. Now, gather up all your things, watch your step, and remember, folks, you’re in California. If you go into a Starbucks at nine a.m. tomorrow morning and spot a guy in a baseball cap and sunglasses that looks like Ashton Kutcher—it probablyisAshton Kutcher.”
* * *
Today’s crowd lingered, wanting to have conversations with me after climbing off the bus, and although the tour had officially ended, I gave them all the time they needed. I know I said it was all about the money, but that wasn’t entirely true. I liked being around these people. At the risk of sounding super creepy, I sometimes imagined what it would be like to belong to them, to have a normal, loving family to call my own. It had been too long.
Once all the stragglers had departed, I climbed back on the bus and shut the door. “Whew… they were a chatty bunch today, weren’t they, Vern?”
The world’s most unchatty person grumbled something incoherent before dragging his skinny rump out of his seat and reaching for the tip jar. I could almost hear the bones creaking in his skeletal frame. He was up there in age, but this sedentary job combined with a lifetime of hard living had left him with a multitude of health issues that had, inevitably, caught up to him.
“Maybe you could try harder to be less accommodating,” he said, offering up a condescending tip.
Most of the other guides feared Vern, groaning when they saw his name on the schedule beside theirs, but I wasn’t so sensitive to his rumblings. Vern was all growl and no bite. One of the lifers—what we called the drivers who’d been working for the company since the disco era—I’d known the old grump since I was a child, so he tended to have more ‘compassion’ with me when delivering his insults.
“And maybe you could try harder not to hit road signs,” I countered. “But that’s not going to happen either, now, is it, Vern?”
He showcased a rare grin.
Emboldened, I pointed to the money Vern had just separated into two haphazard piles on the dashboard.
“See all that?” I said. “You can thank my winning personality and shapely behind for that bottle of vodka you’ll be buying tonight—and you’re welcome.”
Vern didn’t bother thanking me, instead handing me my portion of the loot before opening the lid to his cooler and rummaging through his stash until he found an acceptable food item. So eager was he to shove the sandwich into his mouth, I swear he got pieces of the plastic wrap in that enthusiastic bite.
“What was that back there, anyway?” Vern asked through a mouthful of processed meat. “With that security guard on Goldfinch?”
“Nothing worth mentioning.” I shrugged, not wanting to get into it with Vern and his sandwich. “Some jerk I knew in high school.”
“Ah. High school,” he responded, conveniently looking away.
I resisted the urge to smack him upside the head. How long were these people going to hold that against me? My god, it had been nine long years. Give it a break already.
An awkward silence settled between us as Vern chewed on an oversized bite longer than seemed necessary.
“Okay, well, good talk,” I said, arranging my money by denomination before counting my share.
“One hundred and twenty-five dollars!” I exclaimed, resisting the urge to high-five myself. “Damn, I’m good.”
“I’ve seen better,” Vern mumbled, but I knew he was just as pleased.
“And you know what that means? I don’t have to drive neurotic strangers around in my car this afternoon,” I said.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. After last week’s baby abandonment fiasco, I’ve been especially weary.”
