* * *
Fifteen minutes later, I slide into the driver’s seat with a fresh coat of Pirate on my lips as Max settles into the passenger seat. The second he shuts the door, I whisper-scream, “You had beers with my boyfriend?! Are you trying to make things more dramatic for me? Because I’m literally at my limit here.”
“I know, I know, I’m so sorry. But what was I supposed to do? Refuse to have a drink with the guy? He offered me a Stella and I had no reason not to take it.”
I wave my hand. “Fine, fine. Did you say anything about me?”
He scoffs. “Believe it or not, I have other things to talk about besides you. I just told him about my work.”
“Ahh, so you were trying to put him to sleep. Good strategy.”
Max glares at me. “You’re lucky I find you so attractive.”
“Whatever. Do you have any cash?” I see a Starbucks on the corner and need another fix. Max reaches into his wallet and grudgingly hands me a ten-dollar bill, mumbling about how I’m supposed to be paying him and not the other way around.
I pull up to the drive-through speaker and shout, “Two venti white chocolate mochas!” Max looks visibly ill at the idea but I say, “You’re fine. Shut up and drink your coffee.”
I plug the address Crystal gave me into the car’s GPS. It tells me to turn on Atlantic. Pretty soon we’re driving by Tam’s, the fast-food burger place, and a bunch of oil wells. “Wait, is this place in Signal Hill?” I ask. Signal Hill is sort of ritzy, but it’s also right between Long Beach and Compton. Max manipulates the screen to study the map and says, “It looks like we’re headed to the far side of the neighborhood.”
We drive past all the mansions and stately homes and turn right on Long Beach Boulevard. The neighborhood doesn’t feel like the kind of place where a harp-playing, sophisticated woman would hang out. Pretty soon, we drive right out of the ragged end of Long Beach and straight into Compton. “Ummm…” I say.
Max looks confused. “Do you think you got the wrong address?”
I think back to GoldRush’s ad copy. Sophisticated and elite California beauties. Something about how they’re California’s most important resource.
There are plenty of beauties walking the streets of Compton, but the website was definitely misleading. I miss a turn and take the next left down a side street. There’s enough discarded furniture in the street to tell the story of something, like inadequate trash removal or…something less than elite. I drive over the LA River, a giant concrete aqueduct. A guy walks along the bank, watering his horses like it’s the Wild West. “What the—? Is that a burro?”
Max nods. “I think so.”
“Where are we?”
“I don’t think Compton is that bad anymore. It’s not like a giant gang fight, at least. Not like in Straight Outta Compton or whatever.”
I look at the black Midwestern nerd sitting next to me. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
There do seem to be a lot of cute kids playing on the sidewalks with their moms. Still, it’s not Santa Barbara. “I think we took a wrong turn somewhere.”
“Maybe she’s volunteering or visiting relatives?” Max says.
I shrug. I literally have no clue. On the GPS I can see the blue dot of our final destination. “It’s says we’re close…” Minutes later, I look up to see a Walmart Supercenter.
Now I’m even more confused. “Do you think she meant Long Beach Boulevard West but we went east or something?” Walmart doesn’t seem right.
I pull out my phone and text Crystal. Are you at Walmart?
Duh. I get off in 15.
What the fuck?
At this point I realize everything about the GoldRush copy is total bullshit, but I decide to test the waters anyway. I don’t have room for you and the harp.
WTF?
“Um, Max. I don’t think Crystal plays the harp.”
“Really,” he says, his voice 100 percent sarcasm.
“That’s probably the only criterion she doesn’t meet, though. I mean, how the hell was I going to find a harp-playing philanthropist who was a dead ringer for Sleeping Beauty?” Talk about impossible. “She’s probably super pretty and into social justice or…IDK.”
Max raises his eyebrows. “Let’s go meet her.”
The Compton Walmart is a plain old Walmart, but it does feel a little extra Walmarty. I could pretty much walk out of the place with any young woman there, and she’d be ready for a date. Long nails, tight dresses, good hair. Lots of girls are dressed to go somewhere other than Walmart. Hell, I’m in a cocktail dress.
I’m not sure where Crystal works but I figure any girl I hire isn’t stocking shelves or operating a forklift in the back. I scan the registers and find Crystal finishing up at checkout #7. I can see why Kobra compared her to Halle Berry. She’s got a popping figure and a cute pixie cut but, more important for my immediate purposes, she’s the only twentysomething in the place dressed in full-on sweats. She must have something else to wear in her employee locker. I catch a snippet of her conversation with the customer she’s helping. “Girl, she ain’t got no money.
Tell me about it, Crystal.
“Crystal?” I greet her as she turns the light off on #7.
Her customer service tone vanishes in a second. She angles her head and the look she gives me is pure I can’t even with you.
“Crystal…”
She holds her hand up. Whatever I did to her, she has no intention of hurrying for me. “Let me close out this register. I’ll be right with you.”
“Okay. I’ll just wait over there.” Max and I head to the cafeteria area and grab a table while Crystal takes her sweet time doing whatever it is she’s doing.
She walks over, pacing herself like a queen. “Thing is,” she says, “I don’t have anyone to watch Kai tonight.”
“You have kids?” It comes out like, you have herpes? And how could she not have a babysitter yet? This date has been on the books since way before I lost my mind.
“What’s the matter with you? You know Kai.”
“My memory is a little fuzzy,” I say.
“Oh.” I think that’s the first time it hits her that I have a real injury. I think about explaining the whole thing, but what’s the point? We have other things to worry about.
I level with her. “Crystal, do you understand the stakes here?”
“What do you mean?”