I’ve always been pretty good at learning from my mistakes. Once when I was seven, I ate an obscene amount of fried noodles at a Chinese restaurant. My stomach reacted so violently that I was taken to the hospital and they thought I needed an appendectomy. I’ve never eaten them since. See what I mean?

The day where this all began was a typical Southern California day in May which is to say it was perfect. I was walking across Santa Monica Boulevard near the Promenade minding anyone’s business when I noticed a parked car. There was a well dressed albeit outdated Latino man with a heavy black mustache inside the old green car. He was looking at what looked like some negatives with the light that came though the windshield. The man got out just as I had gotten to his side of the street and then I saw his his windows were down. I wouldn’t have cared except the man had walked into a store a few feet from his car and the negatives lay on the passenger seat. I looked around quickly a if every person was a spy and darted my hand quickly into the car, grabbing the negatives and some papers with it. Mind you, I ‘d never done anything like this before but then again, life had always presented itself to me in moments, not in large blocks of growing. People wouldn’t necessarily miss me but I usually got what I needed from this world.

I walked away from the crime scene and thrust myself into the clean and touristy disorder of the Third Street Promenade at dinnertime. There are dozens of restaurants, clothing shops and miscellaneous stores one can quickly spend what it took a whole day to earn. The place reeked of Capitalism. I sat a bench near a centerpiece that was landscaped nicely, and next to a bum that smelled badly. I was careful not to throw the negatives into the air in case that guy was looking for whoever had taken his stuff. I looked at the papers, but only one had any writing on it. It had some scribbled notes on it but my curiosity got the better of me again, and I looked into the plastic black and white pictures of what appeared to be a very attractive female. She had the kind of face that everyone would immediately think was beautiful, even if they didn’t get a good look at her.

I looked back down at the notes that were written. It led me believe her name was Trina and that maybe she worked at Urban Outfitters here on the Promenade. That was strange, I thought, because the guy had walked into a different store. Well, I guess I would have to go to the store first and solve whatever mystery was brewing. That’s how my life was; I could just pick up at any point and go with it. I didn’t care but I was interested. Believe me, it’s a good combination when it came to women.

The store was chaotic but prepared when I entered. Funny calendars, silly earrings and ridiculous bathrobes and velour writing journals were all within arm’s reach at one point. It’s amazing what is pushed at the American consumer nowadays yet we at like we enjoy it or that we’ve been waiting for its arrival. Gone is the store that has obvious organization; people feel high brow and the price is easier to analyze when not overwhelmed with furry slippers and lava lamps.

I walked around and tried to imagine what the woman would look like in three dimensions. It turned out there were many good-looking women shopping and working but I did not see my Trina. With the way a man’s mind works, once you have decided to pursue a woman, she is yours unless you declare otherwise. It may not be fair but we all know that story.

After leaving empty-handed, it was time to eat. Against the advice of my paycheck, I lived within a few blocks of the beach. Life is just better down here and anyone that tells you different needs a freeway to get here. Sacrifices being what they are, I ate my second peanut butter and jelly of the day and had some canned corn. Don’t laugh, I can cook if the mood requires it but we all live exactly how we want when no one is around. It tasted pretty good, especially after I put some of the corn in the sandwich to speed up the whole eating process. I forgot to tell you I had a Heineken with dinner. It’s strange but sometimes you an drink a beer and not even remember later if you had one. I made sure to enjoy this one, because it was the last one in the fridge, but it gave me an excuse to go out and look for my girl again. I took a bath without water meaning I put on more deodorant, brushed my teeth and put on some cologne.

It was beautiful evening; few stars were out in the purple sky and the temperature was unnoticeable. There was a Dodger game happening across town and at times the rest of the city was quiet, waiting to see what would happened there first. I went by the Urban Outfitters again and why not? Life occasionally needs repetition to grant you your wishes. She wasn’t there and I needed up having a couple of beers in a nearby sports bar, watching the Dodger game. Twenty bucks later they won and I had a winning buzz.

As almost every guy in this town experiences, there were no messages when I got home. I laid on my bed listening to Marvin Gaye and read the newest men’s magazine that promised better scoring chances. I had no idea when it helped or hurt my scoring ability but it was interesting nonetheless. Right in the middle of Sexual Healing I realized I hadn’t bought any beer. I jumped up, threw on a shirt and some sandals and walked to my local, over-priced liquor store. Eight bucks but I had seventy-two more ounces of Dutch Promise. You ever like a certain nationality for no particular reason? Well, that’s what the Dutch were to me. I drank their beer, loved whatever women I had come across and I remembered my bud days. For some reason, I had an affinity to Amsterdam and I found many chances to exploit it. I got home, turned the record over and went back to my testosterone magazine, this time with Dutch liquor in one hand. This was indeed the life.

I awoke the next morning as The Price is Right was half over. Bob Barker was flirting with women he would never sleep with but it was fun watching him. I wished I had brushed my teeth before passing out last night. I checked the fridge. Cool, I only drank two of my Dutch beauties. I hopped in the shower to remove yesterday from my skin and peel today’s layer to the foreground. How in the hell did people live before running water? It wasn’t my problem I quickly reminded myself and dried off to the sounds of Bob Barker explaining the rules of Showcase Showdown. Life needed to be more Showcase Showdown, where you either win big or you don’t win at all. Too often one person wins and a thousand people lose. I don’t mind being the one, but I just feel bad having to walk around and see those thousand people all the time..

By now, you’re probably curious how I pay for my apartment, my beer and the women that float in and out of my life. I’m an actor and no, you’ve never seen me in anything. But, I have done a couple of different shows for overseas stations that somehow pay me well enough to live the way I want to live, for the most part. It’s kind of embarrassing and sometimes, if I’m drunk enough, I tell people that I’m a professional baseball card collector. It’s fun and always a conversation topic. My parents are alive, thought I’m sure my mom thinks I’ve forgotten about them but they live in the valley and who wants to go there? I’m almost six feet tall, look like I’m from Southern California and I am. I even own a surfboard, just in case. Oh yeah, my name is Derek in anyone wants to know.

As I do everyday, I go by my PO box see if any royalty checks came in and then I grab some lunch. It’s amazing how quickly life becomes a routine. One day you buy a new toothpaste and then you won’t ever use anything else. Being afraid of change helps us one in thousand keep what little power is granted us. As it down three times a week, La Salsa sang my name and I went in for the Original Gourmet Burrito. They know me there and I get free drinks now. I had the negatives in my pocket in case I needed a reference later in the day. I began to think that maybe she didn’t work at Urban Outfitters, and that made me wonder who the guy was that had had these negatives. What if he was a private eye and he was trying to find some guys amnesia-ridden wife. I hear it’s quite common nowadays for a housewife in Gary, South Dakota to suddenly get amnesia and then be found two years later working on their tan in the Golden State. It’s weird living in a place people consider it worth getting amnesia over. We all think we take it for granted but we really don’t. That’s why we’re here.

I was just about finished with my lunch when I saw her. I’m shitting you not, she was walking by the window of La Salsa along Santa Monica Boulevard. She had sunglasses on and she was in a hurry but I knew it was her. I grabbed my diet Coke (this is L.A. after all) and bustled into the midday pedestrian traffic of hunger. In my haste, I didn’t see which had had gone and I took a chance. I went towards the Urban Outfitters hoping my love life would be a quick and easy story but I didn’t see her.

"Derek!" someone yelled from behind me.

I turned to an unwanted familiar face. "Hey Samantha," said, and continued looking around for my Trina.

"What are you doing here?" the short blonde asked, knowing that I was always down on the Promenade.

"I’m looking for my woman," I said rudely, hoping she would get the hint.

"Oh, I didn’t know you had a new girlfriend," she said. Samantha was not very good at hiding her jealousy.

"Yeah so," I said, starting to walk away.

"How come you don’t call me anymore, Derek?" asked Samantha, now walking beside me.

"Because I have a girlfriend," I lied, "and she’s even more jealous than you, ok?"

"I’m not the jealous type Derek, you’re the only one that thinks so."

"Don’t forget my called ID," I replied and forged on. Couldn’t she tell I wanted nothing to do with her? I hoped my Trina didn’t se that, or we’d be off to a bad start. What in the hell was I going to say to her, anyways? ‘I saw you in a picture, now I’m here to take you away?’ I don’t think so, but hopefully something would just come to me.

It turns out it didn’t matter that afternoon because I didn’t see her again. I ended up walking down to the beach and working on my tan, and who knows, maybe I could meet a housewife from South Dakota. I thought about Trina most of the afternoon. Where had she been going? And why didn’t some unintentionally vintage-dressed Mexican guy have negatives of her? It was intriguing to say the least and I’d always found that intriguing beats predictable. Once the sun had begun that curve towards the flat blue horizon, I figured it was time to do something, but I think being twenty-seven and relatively unemployed makes me feel that way. Drinking a beer seemed the best way to quell that. I didn’t have a car, did I mention that? I may have forgotten, it’s usually the last thing I divulge. So I hopped on the BBB to 14^th Below, a dive bar that somehow had the respect of the locals. I don’t know why I like it there, the service isn’t any good and the prices aren’t exactly cheap but it’s where I found myself in front of some more Dutch Promise.

Into my second drink, my Trina walked in down through the stairwell that led into the bar. This girl was everywhere it seemed, but then again, maybe it was me. I watched her and her marvelously tanned body take a seat at the bar. She smiled and said something to the bartender. A minute later she had a highball of what probably rum and coke. Alcoholics know, that’s for sure. I wondered what I would say to her, because it was obvious she wouldn’t talk to any of the other schleps in there. They made me look like Perseus. The second green bottle slid smooth silk into my belly and my mind. Everything was loosening and the darkness of the bar became perfect lighting. I ordered two tequila shots, and with the skill of a professional schmoozer, I sauntered over to her with both shots and my Dutch Promise. I sat next to her and said hi. She said nothing. She thought that would bother me but I was from the City of Wanna-Be Angels and girls made a living by ignoring guys’ first efforts.

"Hi," I said and put on the smile that worked.

"Hey," she said from somewhere else and looked over my shoulder to the entrance. Typical L.A. woman. Always looking to the front door to see who might come and sweep them off their feet.

"I’m over here," I said, wasting two weeks worth of charm on this encounter.

"Yeah, I can see," she said. She hadn’t looked me in the eye yet so I knew I still had a chance.

"Well, I supposed to meet a friend here but he flaked so I have this extra Tequila shot. Wanna join me?"

Before she said anything, she snatched the small glass from the bar and swallowed down the dangerous golden water. "Thanks," she muttered and then her eyes lit up. Tequila works every time, I smirked to myself but then she stood up and walked towards the casually well-dressed man that walked into the bar area. They immediately took a small table in the corner and began talking intimately about something. What the hell had just happened here? I don’t know about you guys but when a woman is extraordinarily rude the first time you meet her, you’re drawn to her in an indescribable way. She hasn’t seen my best side, we usually justify but women didn’t usually turn me down. Usually. Not to sound cocky, just how my life has treated me thus far.

I drank my shot, with lime and salt and was quiet at the bar. I do have friends by the way, they’re just the kind of guys that work nine-to-fives and have wives or pseudo-wives now so we don’t have out too often. Like any friends though, we can catch up in two minutes are not having seen each other in a few months. Those are friends. Besides, as you can see, I had an enormous private life and not too many people entered it. I looked over my shoulder and Trina was sitting by herself. Apparently the mad had left and she was enjoying the effects of a free Tequila shot. I was going to finish my beer and leave with my ego in tact, her winning round one. I gulped heavily of my Heineken and then a hand softly touched my shoulder.

"Hey," Trina’s soft voice said.

I tried not to act surprised it was her. "Hey," I responded, playing my silly part in this charade.

"Sorry about that a few minutes ago, I had to meet someone about something kind of important," she said vaguely.

"You an actress?" I stabbed, thinking of barroom conversations I had had with my cheap agent.

"Yeah," she said, brightening. She was beautiful. "How did you know?"

I acted casual as I said, "I’ve had those conversations with my agent too."

"Oh yeah? Two more shots," Trina said, turning to the bartender and dropping twenty bucks on th counter. "What’s your name?" she asked again before I could even flash my smile again. I told her and she said, "Cool," nodding to the bartender to the change. I guess she came here more often than I did. I finished my beer and before I could clear my throat, the soft white mist was floating from a new one. This was my kind of girl. Oh yeah, her looks. She was about 5’9’’, blonde hair, brown eyes and kind of looked like Charlize Theron. Granted, I’d already had a few drinks but if you don’t know who that is, you need to get out more often. She was hot and every guy in the bar wanted to know what it was like to be with her naked. Gratefully I didn’t have to wait long.

She had a car and we went to my placed. I wished it was cleaner when we walked in but she made it clear she didn’t care. We finished off the rest of my Dutch Promise and ruined my sheets listening to Maxwell’s Embrya over and over again. The girl took me there, wherever there was. We had a cigarette afterwards by the window and quietly strained to hear the ocean wash away our night. Her name was Trina but I still didn’t get the connection with Urban Outfitters. She refused to give me her number but she took mine and left before it became light in my apartment. I barely slept after she left and I finished the pack of smokes she left behind. I needed more beer and breakfast so I showered, shaved, and shoved off with clean, bloodshot eyes.

I went to the Santa Monica Café with a newspaper and caught up on the rest of the planet. Once a week I tried to do this because you never knew who would do something they would eventually make a movie out of. I could look like Ryan Phillipe or Kelly Slater if I had to. Over my third cup of coffee straight up, I got to the front page and saw we were invading some country that had natural resources we wanted. I didn’t understand how we could care about people twelve thousand miles away where there were homeless people a few blocks from my apartment. The Dodger’s had won again and their clean up hitter was doing his job. Garfield still wasn’t funny and the crossword puzzle was too tough. Some things never change. With my hangover subsiding, the crowd had gone from late breakfast to early lunch and I was somewhere in between, as I was with most things.

Trina was probably telling her friends how great I was, I thought. I wished I had some friends that weren’t working. I’d see if they wanted to go Neptune’s Net up past Malibu. Hell, it was worth an effort It thought and so I called my buddy Mark. He was now a small-time stockbroker and he could afford to take off afternoons sometimes. Why is that, you ask? Because his girlfriend worked till late so we had time. He must have know my state of mind because he quickly agreed. I was considered a bad influence but people were glad when I called to take them from their lives. Everyone wants a private relationship with the devil.

We met at my apartment and enjoyed a beautiful drive north along PCH. I told Mark about a story I’d read in the paper that day. "Yeah, apparently some psychologist pushed a patient off a waterfall at Escodido Canyon. I don’t know, they arrested him today. Pretty crazy, eh?"

"Definitely," Mark said, paying attention to the road.

"So how’s it going?" I asked. I felt fidgety and Mark wouldn’t let me smoke in his car. I couldn’t decide if I needed more alcohol or I should cut myself off.

"Connie and I are getting married," he said, refusing to make eye contact with me.

"No way!" All of my friends were getting married it seemed like.

Mark and I had the kind of afternoon I needed and arrived back at my apartment buzzed and drowsy. I slept until La Salsa sang it’s sweet tune the next day. I’ve always had the luxury of getting enough sleep. So many people I know, their first complaint is lack of sleep. I’ve never known what they meant.

The phone rang. And rang. Like an old-fashioned gentleman of lesiure, just because someone called didn’t mean I was home. It drove women nuts, but when they were lying in my bed, it made them feel special. ‘Aren’t you gonna answer that?’ they asked. ‘Why, I’m with whoever I want to be with,’ I said everytime in return.

I came back from lunch a new man. I checked my messaged and there was one from my agent. She told me of apart for a new karate show that would be airing in Germany. Great, more European notoriety I thought. I should just move there.

With how life is, a week went by and I hadn’t heard from Trina. Looked lie it was time to do more detective work. I spent all of my time on the Promenade but nothing. The girl was gone. I consoled myself with an old girlfriend but that got old. I knew it was out when the phone rang in the middle of uh, us hanging out and I answered it.

"Derek?" the voice asked.

"Who is this?" I asked, breathing hard and trying not to see my ex-girlfriend’s face below me.

"It’s Trina," she said, quickly and quietly.

"Hey, what’s up?" I rolled off what’s her name and turned up the Maxwell. I’m a creature of habit, ok?

"Let’s meet," she said, and I just needed to know where. "How about Tower Records at Santa Monica and Fourth?"

"See you there," I said and hung up. I composed myself and prepared to lie to someone.

"Don’t," my bed mate said and started getting dressed.

"Alright," I responded, happy she was making it easier on me.

"I can’t believe I fell for this shit again," she mumbled as she put on her pants. The only light in the room, a hall light without a cover created shadows on her body he wished hadn’t seen. That memory alone would keep him from calling her again.

"Sorry," he called out the window as she got to her car. What good luck! Remember, one in a thousand…

I threw on the clothes nearest me, put on some deodorant and was out the door. I had a feeling Trina wouldn’t care if she could smell another girl on me. I saw her ten minutes later and she looked shaken. I asked her what the matter was.

"Nothing," she said, let’s get out of here," and her hair followed her ahead of me.

"You thirsty?"

"Sure, my treat, let’s go." Trina grabbed my hand and led me through the crowd to her car parked on Arizona. She hadn’t even really looked me in the eye yet.

I stopped her and said, "Hey, stop, stop for a second. Hi," I said, looking her right into her eyes and gave her a hug. She wanted to resist but it was a good hug.

"Thanks," she said after a moment. "Can we get out of here first?"

"Sure."

"Good," and then she took hold of my hand again. We got to her car, a rather newish Corolla. I sad down in the passenger seat and could tell right away that she had her whole life in there. We were west driving west on Arizona. She turned right on Ocean and then a left onto PCH. "I know a little place," she had said quietly. That place turned out to be Patrick’s Roadhouse off Entrada. Two things. It wasn’t a little place at all and I had an ex-girlfriend who worked too much there.

"Trina," my pleading began once we had parked.

"Yeah?"

"Can we go to Marix’s instead?" I asked.

"How come?"

"Uh, I have an ex who works there and I’d rather not run into her," I said.

Trina looked at me and laughed. "Alright Derek, but I’ll keep that in mind," she said, smiling for the first time that day. We stood in the middle of that street and kissed. After walking into Marix, I had forgotten that some places actually celebrate Taco Tuesday. The place was in full swing but we found a small table in the bar. Trina ordered four shots of tequila, a Grolsch and a Rum and Coke. The cocktail waitress asked if we were meeting anyone else. "Can we have our drinks please?" asked Trina, and the two women had an unspoken moment I was glad not to be a part of. Trina looked out the window into the dark shiny glass and I touched her hand. "Sorry," she said into the window.

"It’s alright," I said. The drinks came and I looked at the first cousin to my Dutch Promise. Don’t get me wrong. I like Grolsch and especially if good-looking woman is buying it, but it ain’t a Heineken. "What are we drinking to?" I asked.

"Kidneys," she said.

"Huh? Don’t you mean livers?" I asked, chuckling but she was already drinking.

Trina’s eyes were closed and she looked meditative. A moment later, her eyes opened and she said, "Ahh, I feel so much better. Thanks for meeting me on such short notice. What were you doing when I called?" she asked, playful all of a sudden. I gulped Grolsch and thought of a good answer.

"You don’t want to know," I said, hoping she wouldn’t prod.

"Alright," she said, sucking down the second shot of tequila.

I motioned for the waitress to bring two more shots and was glad I wasn’t driving. After the shots came and we drank those, Trina took a deep breath. This girl’s life was more interesting than mine, that was for sure.

"So, what’s up?" I asked, trying to be light-hearted.

"You don’t want to know." Trina smirked and then smiled. "I’m sorry Derek, my life’s been crazy lately. And," she said, drinking from her Rum and Coke, "you caught me trying to get away from someone I didn’t want to see."

"I know the feeling," I said, thinking about my run-ins with ex-girfriends lately. I didn’t know who I was kidding. I usually would call them at nine or ten o’clock to see if they weren’t busy.

"You do?" Her brown eyes twinkled in the yellow lighting. "God, it’s so nice to be with someone that understands me," she said, grazing my leg with her talented hand. I looked around to see if she meant me. I understood her? Suddenly I was apart of someone else’s life. Derek Wolff, independent overseas actor had ceased to exist. I was now an actor in her show and was along for the ride. I just hoped it was a roundtrip ticket. I chuckled. "What?" asked Trina, her hand still reminding me of her talents.

"You drive me crazy," the tequila said. I usually tried not to open up so muhc but alcohol and women can do funny things to a man.

"Oh yeah?" she asked. "Just wait ‘till later." And as a joke, I gave the waitress the ‘check please’ motion. We both laughed. Somehow we had two more rounds of tequila and beer, though I told Trina how it was Heineken and not Grolsch that was my Dutch Promise. She smiled and drank one with me. Hell, she even acted like she enjoyed it.

When we stumbled out of Marix’s, she was a hundred dollars poorer and I was drunk. Then it came out.

Trina asked, "Can you drive? I don’t think I can," she said, laughing and swaying next to her car.

"I don’t have a license," I said, hoping the moment wouldn’t become somber.

"You don’t?" Trina asked and then fell onto the street laughing. "Why not?" she asked from her new position, sprawled out on the cool black asphalt.

"Well," I began, "I got a DUI and they took it away from me."

"Oh," she had stopped laughing and with a little help got to her feet. "I’m sorry," said Trina.

"Don’t be," I said, relieved she didn’t seem to care. "I shouldn’t have been swerving on the road on purpose. Anyways, I don’t really need it where I live and all. It’s a pretty good life without one." I realized that I was babbling and drunk so I pushed her against her car, and we started a violent make out session, complete with biting and hair pulling. We moved to the other side of her car and decided, if you can make decisions when you’re drunk, to have sex leaving her Corolla. I had my drawers down and she was pulling off panties when a squad car slowly drove by. Acting like we were just getting to the restaurant, I motioned for Trina to stay down and pull my pants back up. She did, after a long teasing moment and then asked me what the deal was.

"A cop car just drove by," I said, sobering up slightly.

"It did?" Trina looked shaken and said, "let’s just rent a motel around here, ok? It’s not worth dealing with the pigs," she said. The way she said ‘pigs’ made me think she really didn’t like cops. I just had a DUI, that was my only qualm and I still hardly ever called them ‘pigs’. She got into her car, grabbed a few hundred-dollar bills, and I stood on the sidewalk acting like I didn’t notice. "Ready?" she asked. Trina looked up at me I think I just said yes, whatever it was she had asked.

It took us an hour walking before we could find a motel that was still open. Trina paid in cash and didn’t use her name. I certainly didn’t know. Unfortunately, the moment had passed and both of us fell on the bed and passed out. When I woke up to the beach sun poking through the sick blinds, I saw that Trina was gone. There was, however, a piece of paper that said: To Derek, One Raincheck for Whatever you Want. To be Cashed SOON, and then her name was signed at the bottom. I was hungover again.

It took me over an hour to get home. It was a nice walk though, and it gave me a chance to think about a lot of things I had forgotten were apart of my life. Why is it when you’ve been doing bad you get the urge to call you mom? I don’t know either, but that’s the first thing I did when I got home.

"Hey Mom," I said, as I waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

"Derek?"

"Mom, this is the only son you have," I said, not too surprised at her response.

"Oh, but son’s call their moms more oftehn than Mother’s Day and the day after her birthday. There was no end to her guilt.

"Mom, I’m calling now, sin’t that what’s important?" The coffee was done and I put the phone down to get some before she could respond.

"Hello? Derek, you there?"

"Sorry Mom, I dropped the phone," I said, blowing on the hot black liquid. I didn’t like cream or sugar because I always thought it implied a high maintenance person.

"Are you hungover?" Ok, so we’d had this conversation before. "I can hear you blowing on the coffee," she remarked,. Her husband had been the same way.

"Mom, I just wanted to say hi and reimind you that I’m ok."

"Have you been working much?" asked Mrs. Wolff. She didn’t believe I was an actor and was continually surprised I never called home for money. She probably thought I stole from people.

"Uh, not too much, but I had an interview for a European show. Plus the other two over there are still doing well."

"Really? Well, why don’t you ever take your mother out?" she asked. That was how I proved to her that I was doing alright financially.

"I do, in fact tonight actually. How ‘bout it, mom?" I was more than willing to do my part of the charade. You have to keep Mom happy, you never knew when you’re really going to need her.

"Really? Tonight? Well, alright. Where do you want to eat?"

"Let’s meet at my place at six, ok?" I needed to stop talking and start drinking my coffee.

"Alright Derek. I’ll see you then," and then she hung up. My mom was strange but ultimately she loved me, maybe the only one.

I walked down to the beach and was a bum for the day. It boggled my mind that most people were working right now. How did they handle it? Maybe I had a weaker fiber. After I got back, I had a shower that lasted an episode. Except that I didn’t miss the Simpson’s. there were on at five-thirty now and I sat on my couch in my towel, dripping wet, and laughed to the humorous cynicism of a cartoon. It eased my soul, let me know other people felt the same way. That’s all we’re looking for, isn’t it? A little reciprocation of craziness. Someone to let you know that you’ll be ok. So, it took a crazy broad for me to show you my weak side. Soak it up, you probably won’t see it again.

My mom knocked on the door as a bell somewhere was chiming six. She was a punctual woman, and was unfortunate enough to be born just a few before from the generation that could survive in this Internet-based society. She had a typewriter, and been using the same stationery since I can remember. She never updated her hair or wardrobe really, but she loved me. I gave her a big hug when I saw her and we left before she could clean my apartment.

She loved the Third Street Promenade and that’s where we always went to eat. Mrs. Wolff was amazed that they would have streets that cars would never drive on, almost as amazed as having a song that could make a living acting. This modern world was not for her, but she enjoyed visiting it from time to time. I basically let her soak it all in again, as if for the first time and acted as a guide for her in the fast-paced, already out-dated world. I was her son after all.

Yankee Doodle’s was about as American a restaurant as you can have. Mrs. Wolff loved America, and she was old enough to know why. She felt thsese young people today had no respect. And she was right, but we still had to make do with the world we had, just as her generation did. To sum up my mom, she was one of those people born in between generations. She didn’t fit in, and it somehow played itself out her whole life. Eight dollars for a hamburger blew her mind.

"Derek, this is too expensive," she said, looking at the menu. "Let’s go somewhere else," Mrs. Wolff suggested.

"Ma," I said casually, "don’t worry about it, ok? It’s on me."

"Yeah, but eight dollars for a hamburger?" she asked an imaginary moral advisor.

"Mom," I replied doggedly. "Get whatever you want, get two hamburgers if you like."

"Well why on earth would I want two hamburgers?" she asked, oblivious to modern sarcasm.

Dinner was typical for me and mom. We enjoyed each other’s company but as always, I was somewhere else. Trina was there, but she was somewhere else too. How do you get someone you want to be in the same place as you? I guess you just find yourselves next to each other sometimes.

"Well, another wonderful dinner, Derek, as always," my mom said with her proper etiquette.

"No worries, Mom, it was my pleasure." We hugged outside the restaurant and she left me in a flurry of tourists and hungry locals. Twilight was here and it was a beautiful time to be outside. I wondered where Trina was. I joked to myself that she was probably wondering the same thing.

The Dodger game was in full swing when I got back. Popping open some Dutch Promise I had everything a growing boy needs. Baseball and beer. Spring was flying around the skirts of a million beautiful young ladies and I was drinking by myself. Somehow I was able to see both sides of the issue and women seemed to be too much thought right now. I had ex-girlfriends after me and a new one that was as elusive as a scared rabbit. But her fur was so soft, I thought and sank deeper into the couch. I passed out before Jeff Shaw could come in and save the game.

Trina’s voice was becoming clear. "Derek," she said.

"Trina?" I asked my dream.

"I’m here Derek, Wake," said Trina, and pushed me off the couch, spilling the beer all over my chest.

"What the fuck?" I yelled, and Trina walked over with a fresh beer.

"Sorry about that, I didn’t see the beer to your side there."

"How did you get in here?" I asked. My defense mechanisms were raised.

"The door was unlocked," she said and opened a beer for herself.

"Oh." I rubbed my eyes and looked at the clock. Two in the morning. Did this girl sleep?

"Derek." Trina finally wanted to tell me something.

"Yeah, what’s up girl?" I asked, immediately going into cool-guy mode.

"Oh, nothing."

"Are you sure? What’s up?" I asked again, this time more real.

"I think I’m in trouble." She spoke vaguely.

"What do you mean?" I was a guy; I needed it spelled out for me. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I don’t know, there’s been this guy following me around lately, and I think I should get out of here." She opened the blinds standing over me and looked out at the vicious, sleeping night.

"What does he look like?" I asked. Maybe they had seen me with her and knew who I was and where I lived. Paranoia spreads faster then the plague of the fourteenth century.

"Kind of a big Mexican, and he’s always dressed in a suit, but not a very nice one. I think he’s a detective or something," she said with finality, plopping down on the couch, beat.

"What does he want with you?" Damn, this girl was an outlaw of sorts. I wonder what she did.

"I don’t know," she implored.

"Trina," I said, as if her father.

"What?" she asked, annoyed. Thank God I was smart enough to let that one go. I had learned in high school that sometimes women, when squeezed, slip away, further than you could have ever pushed them.

"Nothing, look, come here," I sad, opening my arms.

"Thanks, Derek." She embraced me and we stood in my nearly empty apartment in a good location and tried to forget who we were.

As I was waking late the next morning, Trina was getting dressed, trying to slip away. "Trina, don’t go," I said, half-awake.

"I have to. I have to get out of here," she said. I didn’t know if she meant my apartment of the City of Angels.

"Where are you going?"

"Up north, or south. I gotta get out of L.A. for a little bit." She was nearly dressed and it was now or never.

"How ‘bout I go with you?" I sat up and let my tanned body argue for me.

"I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Derek. I don’t want to drag you down with me." She crawled from the end of the bed and laid on top of me, kissing my neck. She was undressed in half the time it took to put them on.

"Look, why don’t we take a shower, get some food, some gas and get outta here?" I suggested once our morning session was over. I knew if she left I’d never see her again and I wanted to cling to her as long as I could.

"I don’t know," she said, half-convinced.

"Come on Trina, it’ll be fun. We’ll go down to Laguna Beach and get a room down there for a few days. How does that sound?"

"Well, I want to be gone at least a week," she said, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

"Fine," I said, and forgot about the two or three interviews I would be passing on for my little rendezvous with trouble.

"Well," she said, pausing only long enough to tease me, "Alright, let’s go. After lunch."

"Cool, but first it’s shower time." This would be where the porno music starts but we were wet before I could even think about the stereo.

We ate at La Salsa at my insistence, paid too much for some gas and hopped onto PCH. It’s so nice when you don’t have to take a freeway to get somewhere. You can actually enjoy the surroundings, and your company. We arrived at the Hotel Laguna in the mid-afternoon, right when traffic on the freeways would start becoming unbearable. Trina negotiated a weekly rate for an ocean room and we whisked ourselves to room 131. I opened the door. The dark blue ocean and it’s siren call were just beyond our window. One bed, a small table, two chairs, a television, a bathroom and the view is what we got for a little less than a hundred bucks a night.

The first few days were alcohol. Contrary to popular belief, I do have a conscience and I checked my messages so I would at least know what interviews I was missing. Everything overseas. Would I ever be appreciated in my own country? Regardless, Trina and I were tanned and drunk by one o’clock everyday, having nothing but good times, making a scene the sober Europeans staying next to us didn’t understand, and bringing the hotel manager to the brink of kicking us out. But we were paid up and we spent money at their bar. Trina spent her money like it was her last week on Earth and everytime I became curious enough to ask about it, I didn’t. She was a bolter, the kind of girl that would flee under questioning. That little conscience of my kept nagging and nagging until the fifth night it finally won. And I lost.

"Derek," she said sternly, "just drop it." And thenI think I heard her say under her breath, "If you know what’s good for you."

There was about two minutes of uneasy silence and it was at this time I realized there other people around us and there was jazz music emitting from the small stage that probably underpaid its artists. We were woefully underdressed. Somehow, because I did know what was good for me apparently, the awkward time passed and we walked across the street to the Laguna Beach Brewing Company. In four short days, they had become to know Trina and I. We were the loudest, the drunkest and the best tippers. I’m sure mixed feelings accompanied our entrance.

We played pool and drank their home brews until in the friendliest of manners, they booted us out. It was alright, we were piss drunk and we found stumbling the streets of Laguna Beach at midnight was quite plesant. We bought some toothpaste at a gas station and then Trina insisted on buying raspberry Zingers so I bought some vanilla ice cream with strawberry swirls with the intention of eating off her best regions. After leaving the gas station and its old, hapless attendant, we headed down the boardwalk and onto the cool sand. We took our shoes off and felt the even cooler water. Walking back from the whitewash, Trina came from behind and shoved a raspberry Zinger into my mouth. Well, I hate coconut and so I decided that we were equal enough that I could tackle her in the sand. A minute later, we both had sand in the most compromising of positions and were laughing amidst the grunts of true competition. We got up, flung some sand off huffing and puffing, laughing and drunk.

"Hey," Trina whined, "you ruined one of my Zingers. You owe me a zinger."

"What? Here, you can have some off my face," I said and mashed some of the sandy raspberry munchie on her face.

"Derek," she said, laughing red, "stop it!"

"Alright, alright," I said. I looked in amazement that they could make a world this big for two of us.

"Go get me some more Zingers," she demanded, still smiling yet serious.

"What? You need more of those Zingers?" I was whining now because I didn’t fell like going back to that bright gas station and seeing Virgil, the guy who smoked too much and stayed up too late. But I did go back in the black washing night.

The walk to the gas station, in the big scheme of things was meant to sober me a little but I hijacked that plan. I stopped off at Hennessey’s Tavern, sand on my face and all, drank a shot of tequila and swallowed a beer. I saw some cute women but unfortunately they were only a blur of tans and lipsticks I would never taste.

Virgil, the gas station attendant was a man who was not easily surprised. He never smiled, nor smirked, nor even budged an inch when I pushed through his glass doors. The camera saw me though, and watched me buy a six pack of beer with the Zingers. "Howdy Virgil," I said cheerfully, so glad I was on my side of the counter. He didn’t respond. "Okay, great thanks, Virg," I said on my out. To this day I cannot remember if he was even conscious. I stomped down the old and historic halls of the Hotel Laguna looking for my baby. She was there alright, in room 131 with the black ocean view. She was naked and waiting for me on the bed. I had to wake her up though, as she was passed out. It turns out it didn’t matter because I was asleep a few minutes later, face down in a pillow that smothered any chances of a dream.

I awoke, groggy and in pain for some reason but it was dark so I fell back asleep. When I opened my eyes again, I felt a pain in my sides like someone had kicked me. Someone was banging on the door but I didn’t have enough energy to tell them to go away. I opened my dry mouth but nothing came out. I slowly looked to my right and saw something I hadn’t seen since I was a kid. There was an IV on a stand that led right into my arm. I immediately felt sick and vomited to my left but it got all over the bed. I was thirsty and dizzy. My stomach wretched again but it was already on the bed. The pain was real and there was an IV in a hotel room. My mind laughed. Just like Vegas, I drowsily thought. Then I reached my back and felt a large gauze pad and the source of my pain.

Grabbing the phone, I dialed whatever number I dialed and someone came on. "Help," I said weakly into the phone.

"Sir, you’ve reached room service, how can I help you?"

I thought I had been clear before. "Help," I repeated.

"Are you alright?" the now concerned voice asked.

"Help." Third time’s the charm, right?
"Please hold, I’ll transfer you sir." Then someone else came on the line.

"Yes sir, how can I help you?" asked the new voice. This time it was a man.

"Yes," I answered simply.

"How can I help you?"

"Please help," I elaborated.

"We’ll send someone up, sir."

A few moments later I heard a muffled discussion outside my door in someone else’s language. A knock.

"Help," I said.

"Sir, we’re coming in," an official, sober voice said.

"Help."

"Oh my god," I heard someone exclaim and then I passed out again until I woke up. I could tel it was dark but it was excruciatingly bright to my eyes. I was in a hospital.

"Derek?" Ah, finally a familiar voice.

"Hello?" My eyes remained shut.

"Derek, you’re awake," my mom said, relieved. She came over and hugged me gingerly.

"Mom."

"Yes, Derek?" I had never seen this side of her before. Was she alright? Why were we in a hospital?

"I fell weird," I said. It was my longest sentence since I had spoken to Virgial four days earlier, back when I had been with what’s her name. What was her name?
"Derek, did the doctor talk to you?" she asked. Apparently there was something that needed to be talked about that didn’t want to do.

"I’m thirsty," I said quietly.

"I’ll get him, hold on honey." She called me honey. She hadn’t called me that since—

"Mr. Wolff?"

"Derek," I corrected the male voice.

"Derek, how are you feeling? Alright, now listen to me, ok? You lost a kidney. Apparently some woman you were with was part of a black market operation for body organs." That was perhaps the strangest sentence I had ever heard. "You had a kidney removed, but gratefully," and he stressed gratefully, they were careful with you and put you on an IV and we were able to get you to fair condition quickly. You’re going to be alright," he said. I pictured this must be his favorite part of the job.

"What?" So I had only one kidney now, is that what he was telling me?

"We better let him rest. Mrs. Wolff—"

"Miss," she corrected him and that surprised me. I’d always thought of her as a missus.

"Sorry, Miss Wolff, are you going to stay here?" She must have nodded because then I heard him say, "Ok, I’ll have the nurse bring you a blanket and a pillow."

I was asleep, and was pretty much drugged out for the next six weeks. I recovered nicely and six months later I got a part in an American surf movie that was filming in Hawaii. I paid for my mom to come and visit me while it was shooting. Then one day after she had left, I was experiencing my first drink in six months when I heard something that stopped me. On a television across the bar, an unfamiliar newscaster said, "And, in the largest black market organ operation, where women lure men into hotel rooms and then surgeons remove one of any organs to be sold for high prices, was broken up today. Six people were arrested including two doctors, two women, and two alleged ringleaders. The rest of the story was drowned out as a picture of Trina, now known as Trina Adams hung on the screen. It was a familiar looking picture and I realized it must have been developed from the negatives I still had somewhere in my bookshelf. Apparently more people were looking for her than I ever knew. I dropped my drink on the sunny cement and found myself enjoying the sound of breaking glass against the tropical background.