Page 26 of Love, Lines, and Alibis
“I’ll meet both of you there in thirty minutes. Don’t be late,” my father said with the kind of tone he reserved for the courtroom.
The line went dead on the other side.
“My dad is pissed,” I told David. My father had decided to also forget about the take-cares and the hugs and kisses that always accompanied his farewells, and I suddenly realized I missed them.
“He saw the article and wants to have a chat about my intentions toward you?” David asked. I’m still unsure whether he was messing with me or not there.
“What? No!” I rolled my eyes. “But the police may not be as tolerant in their views.”
…
I’d caught David up on the contents of my dad’s call, and we were out the door five minutes after I had changed into a pair of baggy high-rise jeans and yet another cozy flannel shirt.
“Drive or walk?” he asked me at the landing, in front of my recently closed front door. I could hear the notes of Miles Davis coming from apartment 10D.
“Drive?” I offered.
“Walk?” he countered.
“Seriously? Sometimes I feel like I’m the Angelena native and not the transplant. He’ll kill us if we’re late. I think he’ll try to represent us both during the chat with the police.”
David gave me a confused look.
“He’s a lawyer!”
“Anentertainmentlawyer,” David said.
“So what? He was good enough for you when you were accused of libel but not now?” David still didn’t appear swayed. “You know he’s not charging us, right?”
“Okay, but I drive,” he allowed.
“Can’t I drive?” I asked, sparring for a fight. “You know my car is more eco-friendly than yours.”
He growled in assent, and I knew I had won.
…
I was driving us to the Downtown LAPD headquarters and realizing that right there, in front of us, was another one of the irreconcilable differences that could explain our separation. Money. My parents gave me an upscale electric SUV two Christmases before. I love the fact that I won’t have to go to a gas station ever again. David thinks it’s a blatant expression of my swanky and posh upbringing. He has a 2015 plug-in Toyota Prius.
No matter how many times I told him my family came from an incredibly humble background in Barcelona and both my parents are what you would call self-made, he still tends to see only the somewhat pricey cars; the five-bedroom, six-bathroom home plus guest house in Beverly Hills; and the office at city hall.
He’s never bought that I’m as much of a regular kid from a middle-class neighborhood as he is. What’s more, he’s always considered me a bit hypocritical because I identify as a non-rich child. I’m aware that I have no student-loan debt, that I have a good—and extremely costly—healthcare plan that includes dental and vision, and that the only reason I’m not more worried about my employment prospects is because my parents would have my back if I needed help, and having my back wouldn’t put a dent in their finances.
Please don’t think I’m posh. I spent my childhood wearing plain, inexpensive clothes, never receiving that toy everyone else wanted and got for Christmas, and not playing video games because we couldn’t afford a console.
My parents only started making real money once we moved here. And yes, sometimes they spoil me and give me excessive gifts—like a $60,000 car—but I think it’s only because the three of us remember those years in Barcelona when things were tight.
“You’ve been awfully quiet since we got in the car,” David said.
“I was thinking about the creepy Troubelmakr guy.” We hadn’t yet had the chance to talk about that.
“Does it sound completely delusional or paranoid if I say I think I’ve seen him around?”
“It doesn’t because IknowI’ve seen him around,” I said, taking my eyes from the road briefly to look at him.
“When? Where?” His tone was worried.
“Yesterday. When we were on the street waiting for the firefighters to let us back into the building. Quite a few passersby stopped and lingered for a bit. They were curious about the people on the street and the alarm and everything else. I was watching them go about their lives and wondering what their occupations and family situations and things like that were—I like playing that exercise. And suddenly I saw this dude standing on the other side of the street looking at me with a creepy smile. It gave me chills.”
