What's Mine and Yours(45)
“Hmmm,” said Lacey May. “Well, we’ll see how it all goes, won’t we? One thing I’ve learned is we don’t always get what we wish for. And some of us get more than we deserve.”
“Just tell her to call me.”
“Sure thing,” said Lacey May. “But don’t you rush. Take your time. There’s none of us that want you here, and if I go before I see your face again, that would be just fine with me.”
8
September 2018
Los Angeles, California
Margarita left before dawn. On days she had a job, she liked to watch the sunrise as she drove down the 405, away from Cerritos. She liked to use the extra time to clear her head, to visualize getting all the things that she needed. She cranked down the windows, checked her hair in the rearview, and chanted to herself: This face is going to work for you. You’re going to work this face.
The commercial was for a banking app that let all your money live online. It was a solid job, and the client had chosen her. Before she came to L.A., she had told herself she was pretty. She had won pageants, appeared in a print ad for squeezable yogurt tubes. Now that she had been here for years, she knew that it wasn’t quite true. She was versatile, interesting, but she never got gorgeous or stunning, like her business partner Celeste. In a way, she was lucky—to be ordinary was worse. Out here everyone was gorgeous, and not just the models.
The trouble was her chin. It was broad, and it made her face resemble a square. She had inherited the shape from Robbie, and she’d have given anything for her face to come to a fine point like a heart (Diane), or a neat horizontal ridge like a diamond (her mother; Noelle). But her face got her work, and she couldn’t complain. It was going to be a good day.
As the car glided down the freeway, she visualized herself nailing the job. The line producer would hand her a check. She’d show up at Celeste’s house in Venice Beach with a box of chocolate cupcakes, a bottle of rosé, and a twisty-tied baggie of coke. They’d post a selfie of themselves licking frosting off their fingers, a looping video of their clinking glasses. After, they’d go to that brick-oven place on Abbot-Kinney, share plates of beets and eggplant and artichoke hearts, and resist all the free bread. Margarita would pick up the bill, flirt with the waiter, fuck him in Celeste’s bedroom. In the morning she’d drive back to Cerritos and pay the building manager what she owed him. She’d drink her coffee on the balcony facing the Home Depot and plan her content for the day. What couldn’t she do with all that cash?
When she was close to downtown, she listened to her voicemail to see if her agent had left any last-minute advice about the job. All three of her messages were from Diane.
I’m here with Mama at the hospital, she said, as if Margarita didn’t already know. Noelle’s here, too. Naturally. Look, I know you’ve got a lot going on, but you’ve got to at least let us know whether you’re coming. Noelle says we should just assume you aren’t, but maybe I haven’t made it clear. Things are looking real bad. Mama’s been asking about you. If there was ever a time for us to all be together—
Margarita deleted them all. Diane was too sentimental, brainwashed by Lacey May. It was why the poor girl didn’t have a life of her own. And Noelle was a big phony; she didn’t care about any of them, she just wanted to save face, avoid being the sister in last place. They were kidding themselves if they thought she’d leave L.A. Her life was here. And they had her number. When the brain scans came in, they could text.
The city came into view, the dry-earth hills, the glimmering fleet of buildings downtown. It made a beautiful backdrop. Margarita angled her phone overhead, smiled up at the little image of herself on the screen. Her hair rippled behind her. She kept an eye on the traffic as she typed a caption, Home Sweet Home, then set a geo-location for L.A. and applied a filter to brighten her skin. She sent it out to her followers.
She pulled into a lot and didn’t even flinch when the attendant said parking was forty dollars. Nobody was going to bring her down today—no one.
On her walk to the warehouse, she spotted a pretty peach wall, and stopped to take another video. So excited to be working with a new brand today! She pressed a finger to her lips. BIG SECRET! Can’t say who it is yet, but I’ll be posting clues & pics all day.
She checked the engagement on her last post—over two hundred views already—and it buoyed her. She visualized herself back at Bikram, Celeste taking a picture of her in dancer’s pose, the perfect thumbnail (her long legs, her solid breasts, her head not so square in profile).
When her phone rang, she went to ignore Diane instinctively, but she saw that it was her building manager, Gavin.
“Babe,” she said in her softest voice. “Good morning. What can I do you for?”
“Margarita, where are you? I am outside your door knocking. The owner wanted me to tell you in person that we’re changing the locks tomorrow. He sent you a final notice.”
“But I’m getting paid today. Can’t he wait one more day?”
“He doesn’t believe you anymore, Margarita.”
She had given Gavin more than one blow job. Not in exchange for rent, not in exchange for anything, really, besides his goodwill, some reason to believe he’d be on her side when she needed.
“Can’t you do anything? Help me?”