This ought to be good.
“You look so different,” Eric said while he merged into the swarming traffic.
“Growing up will do that to you,” Mya answered, not wanting to actually sit back in the faded gold cloth seat. She had no idea what kind of muck might be attached to it and didn’t want whatever it was stuck to her bare back. She leaned slightly forward and held her obviously chewed seat belt out so it wouldn’t touch her dress.
“No. I mean your hair’s a different color, no glasses and you’re, well, thin.”
Mya turned to face him. “Are you saying I was fat? ’Cause I was never actually fat. I was simply big-boned.”
“And you changed that?”
“I grew out of it.”
“Oh.” He stared at her for a moment, then back at the street, then back at her. “And your nose. I can remember you had a real—”
Okay, so Mya had had a nose alteration when she was nineteen. Nothing major. Just some tapering of the width and a little off the tip. It’s not like she had her whole nose reconstructed or anything drastic. And so what if she did have a nose job. Was that some kind of crime or something?
“Shouldn’t you be concentrating on your driving?” She forgot what she was doing and sat back in the chair, instantly feeling something sticky on her back. She leaned forward again.
Too late.
“Aw, what’s on this seat?” she whined.
“Voodoo drools a little. It’s the bulldog in him.”
“He drools on your seats?”
“Only that one. It’s where he usually sits.”
Okay, I think I’m going to be sick.
She sneezed.
“Sorry, but the heater doesn’t work. I’ve got a sweater in the back somewhere,” Eric offered.
She could only imagine what a stinking, wet, hairy mess his sweater would be. The thought made her shiver out loud. “I don’t really think I need it. Thanks.”
They drove out of the airport in silence, while Voodoo literally snored like a mad bull in his cage. The mere sound of his raspy throat reminded her of those vicious teeth of his.
She sneezed again. Perhaps she was allergic to something inside the van. Oh, hell, she didn’t even want to think about what it could be.
Once they were on the crowded freeway and headed to her mom’s house, she decided the least she could do was make some polite conversation. After all, the man was giving her a ride home. “So, what about this weather?”
He chuckled. “We haven’t seen each other since we were kids and that’s the best you can do? You want to talk about the weather?”
All right, now he made her smile. “Okay. What are you into these days?” She thought she’d use some of her interviewing techniques.
“That’s a start. I’m into a documentary. What about you?”
“I do trend analysis. In more familiar terms, I’m a trend spotter.”
“Oh yeah? I heard about that. Seems like it would be a cool job.”
So, he isn’t so nerdy, after all.
“I like it. Matter of fact that’s why—” And just as she was about to give him the skinny on her very important reason for being there, he suddenly got off the freeway miles from her mother’s house.
“Tell me you know a shortcut, ’cause this isn’t the best of neighborhoods to have something go wrong with this van of yours.”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just need to do some taping.”
“Here? What could you possibly be taping here? A drug bust? A murder? What?”
“I’m working on my MFA in film.”
“You’re still in school?”
“Yeah. I graduate in June. I’m on spring break.”
“This June. Like in three months?”
“Yeah. Cool, huh?”
“Yeah.”
But Mya wasn’t so sure it was cool. When he first told her he was working on a documentary she assumed it was for some big studio and it would be for something serious, like world peace and he might be up for an Oscar, and she could go to the awards in a Prada gown and get interviewed by Joan Rivers. Then she’d get discovered and land the starring role in the next Tom Cruise movie and they’d fall in love and…
But he’s a film student!
He drove his van down side streets and straight into one of the more sketchy and bleak-looking areas of L.A. So maybe this was serious and she had misjudged him. Maybe he was doing something important about the downtrodden, the desperately poor and the hopeless in our society.
She looked at him with newfound respect. “What’s your documentary about?”
“Bars.”
Huh?
“Like in taverns?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not serious.”
Okay, don’t judge. Maybe it’s the decadence of the bars. Now that might be an angle.
“Why not? The saloons, taverns and bars of America made this country what we are today. They helped shape us. More historic events took place in saloons than any legal building in the whole of the U.S.”
She stared at him, not quite sure she had heard him correctly. “You’re not serious.”
“You said that already.”
“I’m assimilating the information.” She turned to face him. “Let me get this straight, your premise is that saloons helped shape our country?”
“Damn straight. I’m heading up to Gold Country next. And a couple days ago I was in Tombstone. ‘The town too tough to die.’ I went to the Birdcage Theater where the prostitutes had their own rooms around the poker tables. Did you know that Wyatt Earp married a prostitute? He met her in that very saloon. How’s that for tavern trivia?”
She was coming around. “Actually, that’s kind of interesting. I didn’t know that.”
This could be good.
She thought she might get to the Oscars after all.
He stopped the van in front of a run-down tavern. Two bad-ass older guys, with lots of tattoos and gold chains, sat on the front stoop, giving them the look. You know, that look that said, “What the hell are you two doing here?”
Mya locked her door.
“Aren’t you going to come in with me?”
“Where?”
“This is one of the oldest saloons in L.A. Just look at that architecture.” He bent over to check out the view from the front window.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“But Voodoo is going to need a walk, and I need to film this. Maybe you can walk him for me. Believe me, nobody will bother you with Voodoo.”
“Voodoo will bother me.” She wasn’t stepping one foot out of the van. She had grown accustomed to the smell and wanted to stay right where she was, thank you very much.
“He gets upset when he has to go.”
“Go where?”
“Piss. He needs to take a piss.”
“And