Eighteen (18)(9)

“You’re good for the jacket, right?”

I nod and swallow hard.

“I’m gonna be seeing a lot of you, Shannon Drake. There’s no way in hell you’ll be invisible to me.”

I don’t even know what to say. So I just slip into the cab and lean back against the seat and wonder why my heart is beating so fast.

“Mateo,” he says, leaning down into the cab, his face so close to mine I can feel the heat of his breath.

“What?” I whisper.

“My name,” he says. “Mateo Alesci. Happy birthday, Shannon. See you tomorrow.” And then he closes the door and pounds twice on the roof to signal the cabbie to leave.

I’m still repeating his name in my head fourteen blocks later when the cab pulls up in front of my apartment.

And then it hits me. He knows where I live. He knows everything about me because he has my file.





Chapter Five




Our building is a collection of one-story apartments in a u-shape, centered on a grassy quad. There are only about fifteen of them. There’s an alley on the other side of the laundry room building where people have small garages. The 5 freeway is less than fifty yards from where I stand on the curb, and less than twenty feet from my bedroom window.

It is a constant source of white noise that I have gotten used to. It’s a comforting hum in a life that should be empty silence.

I am not even halfway across the grass, heading towards our corner apartment, and I can hear the baby. The windows are open and she is loud. I know I should go inside and help Jason, but I haven’t eaten since lunch and I still have two dollars in my pocket. So I keep walking past our front window, thankful that the curtains are drawn, and slip into the alley. Bill’s Burgers is just on the other side of the freeway and they have ninety-nine cent sliders for happy hour. I have about fifteen minutes to make the deadline, so I jog, my backpack slapping with the rhythm of my feet.

I’m still wet, but the heat is on and it rushes past my face when I enter the restaurant.

“Hey, Shan,” Jose, the owner, says from behind the kitchen counter. He says this even though there are about a dozen people milling around and waiting for service or take-out.

Every head swings to look at me and I can’t look down at my feet fast enough.

“The usual?” he asks.

I nod and slip to the back where I sit at a two-seater table that no one ever wants because it’s right next to the bathroom. But I like it. I like everything that is less desirable. I like to be where other people aren’t.

I run the day through my head. The meeting this morning feels so far away. But one thing that still feels very close is the heat of Mateo’s breath when he whispered his name in my ear.

And he was looking at my tits.

It’s so inappropriate.

A few minutes later Jose comes with my sliders and sets the red plastic basket down, along with a Diet Pepsi, which I can’t afford. “Thanks,” I say, hunching down into myself. I set my two dollars on the table and he pushes it back towards me.

“You keep it. I made this for some lady who got an emergency and walked out before picking them up.”

“Liar,” I say. But I smile.

“How is that no-good bastard?”

He’s talking about Jason. They grew up together. In fact, Jason has a lot of childhood friends in this area of Anaheim. This is where he grew up. He even went to Anaheim High too.

I envy people who have a whole community of history surrounding them. I wish every day that I was still at home in my familiar neighborhood.

“He’s OK.” I force a smile and look up as I take a bite and talk with my mouth full. “Mmmm. You have the best greasy burgers in town, Jose.”

He shoots me with his finger. “Tell everyone you know.” He walks off when his wife, Maria, starts yelling for him to get back in the kitchen.

My mind wanders back to Mateo. I will have to see him every day if I go back.

Should I go back? Is a stupid piece of paper worth all this trouble?

I’m not sure yet. So I just chew my food and drink my DP, and pretty soon, I’m out of reasons why I should stay here.

The rain has stopped when I walk back home. And the baby is silent when I grab the door handle and give it a turn.

Jason is sitting on the couch watching TV, his feet kicked up on a bright blue trunk that acts as a coffee table. “Where the f*ck have you been?”

He’s angry, and drunk. Well, maybe not drunk. But he’s definitely drinking because there’s two bottles of Corona on the side table next to the remote. They’re both empty.

I sit on a chair across from the couch. “So it turns out…” But then the words get stuck in my throat. It’s so complicated, way too complicated to answer in a few sentences, so I just give up. “I was getting high with Phil.” It’s so much easier to lie.

“Hmmm,” Jason says. “Must be nice to f*ck off all day and have no responsibilities. Whose coat is that? You have a boyfriend now?”

I don’t say anything to that. Phil is another childhood friend who lives all the way down the alley in a little house across West Street. He’s a small-time dealer. Pot mostly. And he sells it by the joint, so he’s my kind of dealer—affordable. Plus, he likes me and smokes me out whenever I go over there.