* * *
—
I was nearly two years into this private security job and nothing had really changed with the family I worked for full-time. It wasn’t worse, it wasn’t better, and it wasn’t like there was room for advancement up the corporate ladder. What was I going to become, executive furniture mover? Head car-door opener?
At the same time, the relationship I’d been in was coming to an end. Let’s just say her name rhymed with “Awful Person,” since that’s what she was. Awful Person was from Southern California (like so many other awful people I was set to encounter). We met on my final block leave, just before I got out of the Army and just after she’d gotten out of a long-term relationship. She was a good-looking girl, and we hit it off right away. She was like, “Fuck kids, fuck marriage,” and I was like, “Great, so let’s just fuck, then?” We started dating almost immediately, and she moved in with me in North Hollywood about six months later, because I am a stupid man and she had decided to stuff all her awfulness in a box that she buried deep in her closet full of skeletons. Fresh out of the military, unsure of what’s next, you can’t hook into a relationship and accelerate it like that. You’re putting too much pressure on it. You’re expecting it to paper over all the cracks that start to show up in your life when you don’t have the same kind of purpose to get up for anymore.
It also didn’t help the relationship that she fucked her ex-boyfriend a bunch of times while we were together. Side note: I believe they got married and he joined the military. Congrats! (Oh, and thanks for reading my book. I hope it moves you as much as your mouth moves when you read it #RLTW.)
What I needed was to break the lease on our shitty North Hollywood apartment and move into my own place. Unfortunately, I was working so much that I didn’t have time to house hunt, which meant I was stuck—in the apartment, in the relationship, in the job.
Anyway, I was lost in these miserable thoughts, staring out at the beautiful view, when the DJ dropped the beat and a blast of shitty techno yanked me back to reality. Like with overpressure from automatic weapons fire, it took me a second to orient to the source of the music that was now overwhelming my senses. It was coming from the guesthouse off to the right of the pool. I cautiously knocked on a slightly cracked door to announce my presence. If the half-naked assistant is what I got at the front door, I had no idea what to expect once I got to the back.
“Hello? Mr. Goush?”
“Come on in!” someone screamed out over the music.
I opened the door and walked in to find a sweaty white man DJing behind a set of turntables. He nodded his head without stopping the music.
“Are you Mr. Goush?”
“What?” he said as he pulled off his headphones.
“I said, Are you Mr. Goush?”
“Fuck, no. I’m his personal DJ.”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that was an actual thing.”
“Goush is in the bathroom. He’ll be right out.”
“WHY DID THE FUCKING MUSIC STOP?” someone yelled out from the bathroom.
Moments later a small Middle Eastern man emerged from the bathroom wearing a robe, slippers, and one tiny gold chain. He was wide-eyed with fury, though I’m pretty sure a pharmacy worth of drugs was most responsible for the giant saucers in his eye sockets.
This was Goush.
“Are you the American hero?” he said, with that indecipherable Middle Eastern accent that has become super common in Los Angeles. Is it Iranian? Is it Persian? Armenian? Lebanese? Who knows! All that mattered in this instance is that it was attached to the hairy little man who wanted to pay me to patrol his parties.
“I’m not a hero, just was in the military, sir.”
“Don’t you fuck me, man! I see you GI Joes on the plane when I go back overseas. You are a hero for dealing with those animals.”
“Um, thanks?”
“No, thank you! Thank you for coming, man! Shit, you look too pretty to be security. Look at this,” he said to the DJ. “They send Goush an Abercrombie model to work security, do you believe that?”
“That’s crazy, Goush,” he said in a monotone voice.
“Don’t ever stop playing the fucking music again, you understand? Otherwise, I’ll pay someone else to push play on their laptop for five grand a week. Hero, come with me.”
Goush was clearly a complete lunatic, but at least he was funny. He led me out to the infinity pool and pointed down to the water. We stood there in silence for a moment. I could tell he was troubled.
“You see that?”
“What?” I responded.
“Down there, in the water. The head.”
I squinted and leaned down closer to the water. Upon closer examination, I could see the head and long neck of a flamingo statue. Why were we here? Did he want me to dive in there and get it? Did he want me to eulogize the fucking thing? I didn’t know what to do.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, finally. “May he or she rest in peace.”
“Kimberley. That’s what I named her. In South Africa, that’s the name of the town where they breed. Beautiful flamingos, best I’ve seen on the planet. Have you been there?”
“No. I haven’t gotten the chance.”
“I have. I love flamingos. I paid a fortune for this piece, only to have it destroyed by two guys in a fight. Those fuckers, man. Have you seen gay guys fight?”
“Unfortunately, sir, that one is still on my bucket list.” We laughed. Then he got serious.
“Do you think you could stop gay guys in a fight?”
“Uh, sure. That wouldn’t be a problem. They’re just dudes.”
“They’re fucking crazy. Watch out. That’s why I need someone tough. A real man. Not a bullshit man.”
“Are you saying you want to hire me to stop gay men from fighting?”
“Yes! That’s exactly what I want, hero. They run around town and suck each other’s dicks, then they get jealous about it and fight everywhere. They are like this with everything: fighting, fucking, dressing, talking the shit. They have no rules!” Apparently Mr. Goush was an amateur sociologist. “But they bring the hottest girls, so what are you going to do?” And a philosopher too.
When I encountered that National Guard unit outside the wire a couple years earlier, the experience helped me realize that being immersed in Ranger culture for four straight years had affected how I saw the world and, more to the point, how the world saw me. It was an enlightening and humbling experience. In fifteen minutes with Goush, my worldview was upended again. I wasn’t sure if I was even calibrated properly to the earth, let alone civil society. What in the motherfuck is going on here? Goush could sense my indecision.