CALIFORNIA GOTHIC #2

 

Part I: CALIFORNIA GOTHIC

Chapter 2: The Baddie With The Vintage Benz

I was feeling lonelier than ever. The city that once felt like a family now felt like a cold, judgmental stranger. I dropped Ray off at the venue, a trendy spot on the Sunset Strip, and parked the car a few blocks away. I didn’t want to be near him or his entourage anymore. 

I needed space. Space from Ray’s entourage, space from the way he’d say things like, “Kevin, you’re too good at your job, man. It’s weird. Chill out."

The constant belittling, the snide remarks, the way he treated me like I was invisible—it was all too much. I needed a break, even if it was just for a few minutes.

I wandered into a small, dimly lit Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf a couple of blocks from the venue. The place was quiet, with only a few patrons scattered around. Aspiring screenwriters muttering about their “third-act problems” and a guy in the corner aggressively typing what I could only assume was the next great American novel—or a Yelp review.  I ordered a black coffee and sat in the corner, trying to clear my head. That’s when I saw her.

She was sitting alone at a table by the window, her long red hair cascading over her shoulders, her face partially hidden by oversized sunglasses. She looked exactly like the girl from the party—the one who reminded me of Lana Del Rey. But this time, something was different. She wasn’t surrounded by rowdy friends or drunk frat boys. She was just… there. Alone. And she looked sad.

I hesitated for a moment, then decided to approach her. What did I have to lose? My reputation in Hollywood was already in the gutter. If she rejected me, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Hey,” I said softly, standing a few feet away from her table. “Do you mind if I sit?”

She looked up at me, her eyes hidden behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses. For a moment, she didn’t say anything.

A smirk tugged at her lips. “Sit down, Kevin."

I blinked. “How’d you know my name?"

She tapped her temple. “Psychic."

Then she nodded slightly and gestured to the chair across from her.

“Thanks,” I said, sitting down. 

She didn’t respond right away. She just sipped her tea, her gaze fixed on the window. The silence was awkward, but I didn’t mind. I was used to awkward silences.

“You look familiar,” I said finally, breaking the silence. “Were you at that party in Malibu a few nights ago? The one with the tinsel and the balloons?”

She turned to look at me, her expression one of curiosity. Then, slowly, she removed her sunglasses. My breath caught in my throat. It was her. The Lana Del Rey girl. But there was something different about her now. She looked… real. Not like the caricature of herself I’d seen at the party.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I was there.”

Her voice was soft, almost fragile. It didn’t match the bold, confident persona I’d seen at the party. I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” I said after a moment. “Your friend… she was kind of out of line.”

She shrugged, looking down at her tea. “Amy’s always like that. She doesn’t mean anything by it. She just… doesn’t think.”

I nodded again, unsure of how to respond. The conversation was stilted, but I didn’t want to leave. There was something about her that drew me in, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said suddenly, her eyes meeting mine.

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

“At the party… you seemed so… I don’t know. Tough. Intimidating. But now… you’re different.”

I chuckled softly. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m full of surprises.”

She smiled faintly, and for the first time, I felt like I was seeing the real her. Not the party girl, not the Lana Del Rey lookalike, but the person underneath.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Liz.”

“Liz,” I repeated. “Nice to meet you.”

We sat in silence for a beat. Not awkward, just… comfortable. Like two people who’d run out of small talk and were okay with it.  

Then she reached into her bag, pulled out a business card, and slid it across the table.  

“Security Guard?" she read, arching an eyebrow. “That’s cute."

“What’s cute about it?"

“It sounds like you work at a mall in Beverly Hills, telling teenagers they can’t loiter near the Cinnabon."

I clutched my chest. “Wow. Shot through the heart."

“If you’re gonna do this, at least call it security detail. Or bodyguard. Security Guard makes it sound like you get paid in Hot Topic gift cards."

I leaned in. “First of all, ouch. Second of all, I have worked Beverly Hills. And let me tell you, stopping one of those men’s rights activists from assaulting an heiress while shopping at Sephora is absolutely high-stakes security work."

She snorted into her tea. “Okay, fair point."

“I like your red hair. First thing I noticed about you at the party.”

“Thanks. It’s honey blonde.”

We sat in silence for a while, sipping our drinks and watching the world outside the window. It was peaceful, in a way I hadn’t experienced in a long time. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe.

“You know,” she said after a while, “you’re not what people say you are.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What do people say I am?”

She shrugged. “Just… you know. The big, scary black security guard. The guy who ruins the vibe.”

I laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

“But you’re not like that,” she said, her voice firm. “You’re… kind. And patient. And… I don’t know. You’re different.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I’d spent so long trying to fit into the Hollywood scene, trying to be the person everyone expected me to be. But now, sitting here with Liz, I realized that maybe I didn’t have to be that person anymore.

“Thanks,” I said finally. “That means a lot.”

She smiled again, and this time, it reached her eyes. “You’re welcome.”

We talked for a while longer, about everything and nothing. She told me about her life, her struggles, her dreams. And I told her about mine. For the first time in a long time, I felt like someone actually understood me.

As the night wore on, I realized that I didn’t want it to end. But eventually, she glanced at her watch and sighed.

“I should probably go,” she said reluctantly. “I have an early morning.”

I nodded, feeling a pang of disappointment. “Yeah, me too.”

We stood up and walked to the door together. Outside, the city was quiet, the streets empty except for the occasional passing car.

A disheveled man shuffled toward us, holding a cardboard sign that read:  

HOMELESS. NEED $$ FOR WEED AND A MIRACLE.

Honesty. I respected it.  

“Spare change?" he asked, glancing between us.  

Liz reached for her purse, but I held up a hand. “Hold up." I turned to the man.

“Here’s 20. Hope that works for you.”

Liz held out her hand. “I got a couple dollars in quarters if you’d like.”

We walked until she stopped at her vintage Mercedes-Benz parked on the curb at a 2-hour parking spot. I had to say something before I let this baddie get away a second time.

“Can I see you again?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

She looked at me, her eyes searching mine. Then she smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

We exchanged numbers, and she walked away, disappearing into the night. I stood there for a moment, watching her go, feeling a strange mix of emotions. Relief. Hope. And something else I couldn’t quite name.

As I walked back to my car, I realized that maybe Hollywood wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe it wasn’t the city that was the problem. Maybe it was just the people I’d been surrounding myself with. And maybe I’d finally found someone who saw me for who I really was.

---

The next few days were a blur. I didn’t hear from Liz, and I didn’t want to push her. I figured she’d reach out when she was ready. In the meantime, I focused on my work, trying to shake off the negativity that had been weighing me down.

Then, one night, as I was leaving a gig, my phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number.

Hey, it’s Liz. Are you free tonight?

I smiled and quickly typed back. Yeah, I’m free. What’s up?

Meet me at the Chateau Marmont. I have something to show you.

I didn’t know what to expect, but I wasn’t about to pass up the chance to see her again. I drove to the Chateau, my heart racing with anticipation.

When I arrived, she was waiting for me in the lobby, dressed in a simple black dress and heels. She looked stunning.

“Hey,” she said, smiling as I approached.

“Hey,” I replied, trying to keep my cool. “What’s going on?”

“Come with me,” she said, taking my hand and leading me to the elevator.

We rode up to the top floor in silence, the tension between us palpable. When the doors opened, she led me down the hall to a suite at the end of the corridor.

She opened the door and gestured for me to go inside. I stepped in, my eyes widening as I took in the scene. The room was filled with candles, their soft glow illuminating the space. A record player sat in the corner, playing a hauntingly beautiful melody.

“What’s all this?” I asked, turning to her.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling. “I wanted to show you something.”

She walked over to the record player and lifted the needle, stopping the music. Then she turned to me and took a deep breath.

“My name isn’t Liz,” she said softly. “It’s Lana. Lana Del Rey.”

I stared at her, my mind racing. “Wait… what?”

She nodded, her expression serious. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I just… I wanted to get to know you without all the… you know. The fame. The persona. I wanted to see if you’d like me for me.”

I was speechless. The girl I’d been talking to, the girl I’d felt such a connection with… she was Lana Del Rey. The real Lana Del Rey.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” I stammered.

She stepped closer, her eyes searching mine. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… be here with me.”

And so I was. We spent the rest of the night talking, laughing, and sharing stories. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

As the sun rose over Hollywood, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I’d found my place in this crazy city after all. And it wasn’t as a security guard or a bodyguard or any of the other roles I’d been playing.

It was as me. Just me.

———

ATILA

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