Hanging Loose Read Free

senior, but while I was practically living out of a suitcase, he owned a house in one on the priciest real estate markets in town. He read my thoughts.
    “I inherited it from Adelle, my grandmother. She’d lived here since the fifties. She passed away a little over a year ago,” he explained.
    So that accounted for the odd retro and feminine vibes of the place. I felt embarrassed at how fast I’d jumped to conclusions.
    “I’m sorry I assumed you were gay.” I blushed.
    “Oh, I am, but don’t worry; your virtue is safe with me,” Jez said with a big, open smile. I felt my blush deepen.
    “C’mon. Check out your room,” he said mercifully.

Chapter Two
     
    “Hello, toots. What’s a dame like you doing in a dive like this?” I said with my best swagger.
    “What’s it to you, flatfoot?” Sandy retorted. She looked me over like she could read the labels in my clothes and wasn’t impressed.
    She would have blown a great cloud of cigarette smoke into my face, but neither of us smoked, plus we were at work.
    “Stop clowning around, you two, and see if the customers need something,” Roger barked. He wasn’t truly angry, but being the boss, he had an image to maintain.
    The Beach Café was a run-of-the-mill establishment catering mainly to tourists. I worked the breakfast-lunch shift three days a week, plus the occasional dinner shift when they got exceptionally busy or Sandy had an audition. She and I hit it off right away. We had something in common: movies. I loved them; she wanted to be in them. LA was lousy with struggling actors—like my old roommates—and most of them would never make it. I rooted for her because I liked her; she had zing.
    My shift was ending, so I filled up those water glasses one last time, tipped my imaginary hat to Sandy, and headed out the back door. I walked past our house but didn’t see Jez’s ancient VW minibus parked out front. He hadn’t gotten back yet, then. Every few weeks, he threw a couple of boards into it and disappeared for several days. He was such a California surfer cliché, although he did it without any conscious effort. I didn’t think he was even fully aware of it.
    I kept on walking to the apartment building on the corner to check in on Arthur. Arthur was an old geezer, apparently a family friend of Jez’s, and Jez looked after him since Arthur was a bit frail. When Jez was out of town, I took over the chore. Arthur opened the door, and that old-people smell whacked me in the nose. I asked him if he was okay, if he needed anything, then hightailed it out of there. Senior citizens weirded me out a little.
    I went around the block and down the alley to our house. I liked taking that route just to go through the garage and graze my eyes on Jez’s other car: a cherry red ’68 Chevy Impala. I’d been told it used to be Adelle’s. My admiration for her had quadrupled since learning that fact.
    Back at the house, I considered grabbing my sketchbook and heading down the promenade but was diverted by Jez’s large DVD collection. I’d meant to poke around in it for some time, and there was no time like the present. Soon I discovered that it wasn’t what I’d expected. I was prepared for surf movies, maybe kung fu or action flicks. Instead I found that half his DVDs were old films. Like, really old—classic Hollywood stuff. I’d had a fascination with old movies since I was a kid, and it only got stronger in college, where I even took up film studies as a minor. So his collection held a great interest to me.
    I was startled by the familiar voice behind me.
    “See anything you like?”
    I turned around, feeling guilty for some irrational reason. The living room was shared space, and he’d never told me to stay away from his movies. Plus he was far too laid-back to care about stuff like that. Jez was leaning against the doorjamb, shirtless—not an unusual sight. Sometimes I wondered if it was for my benefit alone that he wore any clothes at all around