Chapter 2: Blu Jam Cafe

 

I’ve been driving up and down Ventura Boulevard looking for a parking spot for the past fifteen minutes, and I am very aware of how much my head hurts. Finding parking in Los Angeles is the ultimate tease: minutes of build up followed by either someone taking your spot or a sign explaining why no one has taken your spot yet. It’s an exercise in patience. As I finally pull into a spot and take my keys out of the ignition, I think maybe the reason everyone out in LA acts so calm all the time is because they’re so relieved to just not be in a car.

 

I walk into Blu Jam cafe and start scanning for Caroline before finally locating her on the back patio. I grab a latte, seat myself across from her, and gaze across at long blonde hair barely covering a body she’s clearly proud of and clothes that are too small. She reeks of weed.

 

“Hi Zach,” she smiles across from me. It’s a big smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her bloodshot eyes.

 

“Hey. How are you? How’s school?”

 

She exaggeratedly rolls her eyes.

 

“School’s fine. I don’t know why I ever thought acting was a skill, you know? Like why I ever thought it was something that could be taught. You either have it or you don’t, I think. It’s like trying to teach someone to be left-handed.”

 

I ponder that simile for a second before responding.

 

“And you have it?”

 

She smiles again.

 

“You know I have it, baby. Are you going to Tim’s for New Years?”

 

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, that’s what everyone’s doing, right?”

 

“That’s what I’ve heard. I think I’m going to have a pregame for some of our closer friends beforehand. You know, the core group? It might be good to get a little buzz going before the big thing. You’ll have to be there of course.”

 

I wonder how close she thinks we are.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll stop by.”

 

The conversation stalls for a second. My head is still pounding.

 

“I saw you were out with Luke last night.”

 

“I was out with Luke last night.”

 

“I heard his grandpa’s dying or something.”

 

“Yeah he’s not doing too well.”

 

She sighs the world weary sigh of someone pretending to be upset by news they know is disturbing.

 

“That’s just so sad.”

 

“It is.”

 

“Luke’s a beautiful boy,” she murmurs, watching the cars drive by us.

 

“I suppose so, in a way.”

 

Silence engulfs us again. I stare across at her, and I can’t help but feel like something’s a bit off. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but Caroline looks different. There are bags under her eyes, and for some reason I can’t get the word gaunt out of my head. She’s still thin, but it’s a different thin. The toned slimness of her high school self has been replaced by a kind of frailty. Her cheekbones could cut glass. She looks fragile, like if she fell she might shatter into a million pieces. I wonder how close she thinks we are.

 

“Did you hear I fucked Miles Teller?” She finally asks after an uncomfortably long time.

 

“Yeah. Good for you.”

 

“Good for him is more like it,” she says, sipping her orange juice.

 

More silence. Caroline asks if there are any girls in my life. I tell her no, and she says that doesn’t surprise her. She says that I have a problem showing people that I care about them. She says it’s off-putting to be with someone who doesn’t care. I try really hard to think about anyone from Los Angeles who cares.

 

“Are you trying to be an actress or a psychiatrist?” I finally ask after she finishes diagnosing me.

 

“I’m not trying to be anything, Zachary. I’m going to be an actress. My dad’s talking to people at CAA about representation. He plays golf with two of their agents. Plus Tim’s dad basically owns the agency, so there’s that too.”

 

“Representation based off of what?”

 

“What?”

 

“What would this representation be based off of? What’s your IMDB page looking like these days?”

 

“I don’t know. My plays, those episodes of Raising Hope... I’ve acted before.”

 

“And what if it doesn’t work out?”

 

“If what doesn’t work out?” Her voice is starting to raise a little bit.

 

“Acting. CAA. The whole LA fame dream whatever scenario. What if fucking Miles Teller isn’t all that it takes to be successful? Is there a backup plan?”

 

She’s visibly annoyed now.

 

“If I have a backup plan that means I’m not fully committed, and if I’m not fully committed that means I won’t succeed.”

 

“So you don’t have a backup plan.”

 

I can almost see the steam coming out of her ears.

 

“You’re fucking irritating, you know that? You always have to be right. Maybe that’s why you’re single.”

 

“I thought it was because I didn’t care.”

 

“It’s both.”

 

More silence.

 

“It’s going to work, you know,” she snipes. “It’s Los Angeles. Everybody acts. And the people who have talent are going to be successful, and when they are it’s definitely not going to be because of people like you.”

She shoots me an upset look before staring off at the cars again.

​

“Maybe,” I murmur. I think of some of our friends from high school, about how it seems like all of them are trying to go into acting or music. I wonder how many jobs there are for people in acting and music and whether or not it’s statistically possible to fill each of those jobs with a Calabasas High School graduate. I stare across the table at her and the image of the girl with the green eyes disappearing onto Hollywood Boulevard comes into my head again.

 

“I just want you to be ok,” I finally say to the top of her head as she scrolls through something on her phone.

 

“Do you want to get high?” she replies. I can’t tell if she didn’t hear me or if she’s ignoring me.

 

“You’re already high.”

 

“I can always get higher.”

 

She looks across the table at me, showing that same wide smile with those same vacant eyes. The word gaunt pops into my head again. I stare at a girl who’s been told from birth that she’ll be a star. A girl who was pitched a dream based on the way she looks and the money she has and the city she lives in. I wonder how realistic Caroline’s dream is, and I wonder what will happen to her when it doesn’t come true. I wonder if she’ll break. I wonder if she’s already breaking.

 

I wonder how close she thinks we are.

 

“I’m good,” I finally respond. I put five dollars on the table and get up from my chair. I look down at her, and I feel like she’s going to throw something at me. As I turn away to leave I hear Caroline’s voice.

 

“Zach?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I don’t think you should come to my pregame,” she mutters, avoiding eye contact.

 

“I don’t think so either,” I say as I start walking toward the door.

 

“Zach?” she calls my name again. Her voice is softer now, different. I turn around.

 

“Yeah?”

 

She stares at me for a second. I feel like she’s about to cry.

 

“Nothing.”

 

I look back at her, and I feel like crying too.

 

“Ok.”