Sabotage
The bus has a roof to keep the sun off but no side windows. With a sinking heart, Anna realises the seats are in pairs and the bus is almost full. A group of German tourists are already seated in the rear. A large family of Texans occupy the front. James and Bella take a pair of seats in the middle, leaving the last pair of seats for Anna and John. With an obvious lack of chivalry, John takes the outside. Anna almost chuckles. She will have to lean past John’s massive frame in order to see anything. Her expectations of the tour are already low. She revises them further downwards.
When they’re safely seated, the tour guide greets them. Anna’s prospects of enjoyment hit rock bottom when the guide announces they are on the Celebrity Home Tour. A quick whizz around the key sights was fine if frustrating, as there would be no chance to explore further, but gawking at the homes of film and television stars wasn’t on Anna’s hit list. Having been raised in a five-hundred-year-old, stately home, Anna is no stranger to fine art and large houses. Many of her friends also live in homes designed by world-famous architects. But James was not to know that, as Anna had been careful not to mention her privileged upbringing at work. And, she suspects, he chose the tour to please Bella, not her.
As the bus pulls away from the kerb into the ever slow-moving Los Angeles traffic, the drawbacks of the open sides become immediately apparent. The traffic noise is overwhelming, the heat from a thousand engines adds to the already furnace -like warmth of the day to make the exhaust fumes nauseating. But as the bus eventually climbs into the Hollywood Hills, some of the discomfort falls away. The noise lessens, a cooling breeze picks up, and the trip becomes almost pleasant – if Anna could forget about the companion beside her. John produces a pair of sunglasses and slides them on his face, hiding his eyes. Then he turns his head very deliberately to look away.
They wind through the Hollywood Hills as the guide talks through the real estate. Anna struggles to see anything remarkable about the homes. Most of the modern ones look like the collection of boxes stuck together so beloved by contemporary architects the world over. Many of the older ones look like the mock Tudor or mock Georgian houses found on most executive estates. More often than not, the house is not visible, hidden behind fences and high hedges, and the tour group is merely staring at the gate. But Anna’s cynical take is not shared by the occupants of the bus. There are soft wows of awe and thrilled muttered echoes of the guide’s words.
To Anna, what is jaw-dropping is the three-metre-high security fencing topped with barbed wire needed to keep intruders out. She can’t imagine having to live that way, like a prisoner who’s chosen to live in jail. She thinks about her family’s estate, criss-crossed by public footpaths and protected only by the low walls that keep the stock from wandering onto the road. She wonders if this is how Tolly lives now. If he doesn’t already, the news from this morning probably means he soon will.
Beside her, John yawns. As the Hollywood sign draws into sight, he cannot resist the opportunity to show off.
“I climbed that,” he says. He pulls out his phone, pages through his pictures until he comes across one. He shoves it under Anna’s nose. Where John is concerned, Anna is naturally sceptical, but there is a photo of a guy standing on the top of the H of the Hollywood sign. Of course, the person in the image is too small to tell if it is John, but for the sake of peace, Anna acknowledges it. “Wow,” she says in echo of the tourists and John’s chest puffs.
The guide has moved on, now appearing to give a list of people have died in the surrounding houses. But before it can become a tour of graveyards rather than homes, the bus pulls into Beverly Hills. Everyone is offloaded at the sign for a rest break and a photo opportunity. Anna manages a quick selfie by herself before James summons her over for a group one. A German tourist agrees to take the shot and Anna finds herself crushed between Bella and her brother, tucked under John’s sweaty armpit, the most delightful position. On the instruction to smile, she forces her lips into a show of merriment. God forbid she be stuck in position for longer than absolutely necessary. As soon as she can, she escapes to the restroom – the one place safe from John.
She briefly ponders missing the bus departure and finding her own way back. But the tour was a gift from James and it would be incredibly rude. So, as the time to re-alight rolls around, Anna joins the rest of the group, clambering back onto the bus. Unfortunately, the break seems to have loosened John’s resentment.
The second part of the tour focuses on Los Angeles’ celebrity sights. As the bus passes Chateau Marmont and the guide lists the films shot there and the by-now mandatory rollcall of famous dead, John leans across to Anna.
“I know the ma?tre d’s son,” he announces. “Even on the most crowded nights, I can get a table there like that.” He snaps his fingers two inches from her nose. It seems he is very well-connected among the wait staff as he has similar connections in Whiskey-A-GoGo and the Beverley Hills Hotel.
As they roll down Rodeo Drive, he leans back in his seat, feet pushing against the chair in front. At the jolting, a little girl looks around, frowning, but John ignores her. He points to one of the shop fronts. “That’s RiRi’s favourite,” he says.
“RiRi?” Anna asks before she can think.
John smirks. “Rhianna,” he says. “Met her in Jamaica. We’re like that.” He twists his middle finger over his forefinger and gives it a little shake for emphasis.
Privately, Anna hopes Rhianna has more sense than to be besties with John. But then again, she is the only person on this bus who seems to find him unappealing, so anything might be possible. She catches an echo of Rhianna’s name on the lips of the Germans behind her. They are obviously impressed by John’s boast.
Anna cannot understand the effect of celebrity. She wonders if it is because she spends her professional career with people laid out like slabs of meat, stripped of marks of rank, like expensive watches and cars. But then again, she knows plenty of medics who are over-impressed by famous people. Bella is one.
Anna admires clever people and courageous people, those pushing the boundaries of knowledge and those challenging accepted norms. She acknowledges extraordinary talent and dedication, like Olympic athletes or exceptional artists. But so much of fame seems to proceed from money, often inherited, or charisma. These people she discounts. Although money and charisma are often sufficient to facilitate the achievement of power. It’s an unfortunate characteristic of the human psyche.
Her phone beeps, interrupting her dismal train of thought. She glances down and her heart leaps.
Sexiest Man Alive: I’m hiding in the toilet. Outer space is looking pretty good right now. I’m on my 20th interview and they all ask the same questions.
Bet no one has asked: what if I fart while I’m asleep?
Do you get that much?
All the time. They’re actually asking: what if I poop?
What if they do?
It happens. The ORA cleans it up and we move on.
Good to know but got to go.
The bus pulls up at the drop-off point and Anna raises her head. John is watching her suspiciously. She realises she is grinning and relaxes her face into a semblance of normality around him. Her scowl is perfect. She puts her phone in her pocket, even though it is uncomfortable, and resists the temptation to take it out, even when she feels it vibrate with a message. Tolly has kept her waiting long enough at times. It would be good for him to suffer a little, too. And it will do her no harm to endure, either. Tolly is dangerous if he can set her alight when he isn’t even physically present.
She waits out the end of the trip in the stultifying heat. For once, John is quiet, his face turned away from her as he gazes at the scenery. When the bus pulls to a stop, and the guide bids them farewell with a final helpful reminder about tips, Anna stands, ready to disembark. After the other passengers exit, Anna follows Bella off the bus, pressing a tenner into the guide’s palm. It was not his fault she had little interest in the trip. She notes James also tips, but John doesn’t. It is no matter. John is exactly as she thinks; it would take a minor miracle to rescue him in her eyes.
“Wasn’t that amazing?” Bella is fizzing. “I didn’t realise Michael Jackson lived opposite the Presleys. It explains so much.” She throws herself on James as he joins them. “That was such a great idea.”
James’s face turns pink with the praise. “Did you enjoy it, Anna?”
There is nothing to do but lie. “Very much so.” She nods her head in emphasis.
Anna finally checks her phone and is disappointed to find it’s just an app reminding her to leave a review. She puts it away, wondering how to make her escape. She reckons if she leaves now, she may just be able to fit in the Getty Centre and her planned bike ride along The Strand before it gets fully dark. It will be tight and she may have to cycle far faster than desirable, but it would be just about doable.
“I’m glad,” James says. “And I’ve booked lunch for all of us at Bubba Gump Shrimp.”
“Like in that film?” Bella asks, eyes wide and hopeful. “Where the guy runs a lot?”
When James nods, Bella squeals and throws her arms around him. Anna looks from James to Bella and back again. Los Angeles is full of fantastic restaurants and foodie places; a chain restaurant was not her top choice. She prefers Mom and Pop-type places herself where their passion for cooking shows in the food. But, she acknowledges, while it may not be a world-class gastronomic experience, it will probably be hygienic and the food will be competently cooked. She stifles her inner sigh before it can escape and forces a smile.
They pile into a rideshare, Anna making sure she sits up front beside the driver. He seems pleased with the seating arrangements and regales her for the entire journey with the details of the script he is writing. It’s a dystopian fantasy, set in California after an earthquake has sundered it from the rest of the USA. In this barren land, a group of blood drinkers preys on the survivors. The plot sounds ludicrous to Anna, but what does she know? She would never have thought there was a market for a book about a vampire attending a high school, let alone a whole series of films. She thinks wistfully of Frank, the driver Tolly organised, and his quiet proficiency.
The rideshare drops them at their destination, sadly disappointed by Anna’s refusal to give him her number. James takes the lead and they shuffle into the restaurant. Anna glances around at the Forrest Gump film memorabilia. She liked the film despite the bitter-sweet ending, but she isn’t a particular fan. Her appreciation is cursory. Bella, though, gets James to take countless photos of her posing beside various displays. The waiter waits patiently. Anna guesses he is used to it and has long since suppressed his eye-roll reflex. When she’s finished, he leads them back outside to a table under a cheerful red umbrella. Anna’s heart plummets when she sees the tables are set up like booths. As Bella slides into one, Anna steps in front of James to sit beside her, taking care to chatter to her friend as she does so. It’s only a comment about the joys of alfresco dining but Bella agrees warmly. James blinks a couple of times and takes the seat opposite Bella. John faces Anna. Not the best layout but not the worst either. She would sooner suffer having John in eyeshot than arm’s reach.
The menus come and the drink order is taken with brisk efficiency. It is sweltering outside. Though the umbrella gives ample shade, the heat reflecting off the paving of the pedestrianised area is unrelenting. Only the British are mad enough to think it preferable to the air-conditioned comfort inside the restaurant. Even though it is a weekday, as they are in the heart of the tourist area, there are still a fair few passers-by, but the sound of the LA traffic has dropped away.
Anna studies the menu. She’s inclined to get one of the shrimp dishes. It seems ridiculous to come to a shrimp house to order ribs or steak. Then her phone pings. Her heart leaps in a dangerously far-too-interested way. It’s probably not him. Still, she extracts her phone from her pocket. It’s the man himself. Unlocking her phone, she opens the message.
Sorry I keep going silent on you. It’s manic here. But I have a question to ask you .
She types: Understandable. Shoot. Unless it’s medical, in which case I charge 250/hour . She contemplates adding a smiley face to emphasise she’s joking but credits him with enough sense to get her humour. As she presses send, a scream and a clatter brings her head straight up. Anna knows the sound of serious pain. She drops her phone on the table and stands to see better. A child is on the ground, sobbing. Beside him is a girl dressed in cut-off jeans and a camisole. She is groaning. The child’s mother is nowhere.
Anna is moving in an instant. She sees James climb onto his seat to vault the wooden barrier to the alley. He takes the girl; Anna squats beside the child.
“Hello, sweetie,” she says. She keeps her voice low and calm. “I’m a doctor. Do you know what that is?”
The child, sex indeterminate with a head of golden curls, gives a distinct nod without pausing their wailing. Beside her, she hears James giving his credentials to the woman and asking for consent.
A crowd is gathering. One or two with their phones out. She ignores them for the time being.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” she asks.
“Caden.” Sniff.
“Caden? That’s a great name. Caden, are you here with someone?” she asks.
Sniff. “Mom.” Sniff.
She looks up at the crowd. “Can someone find his mom, please?” No one moves. She turns her attention back to the little boy. “Caden, can you tell me where it hurts?”
“All over!” A little sob.
“Is there anywhere that hurts more than everywhere?” He nods and proffers up his hands. The skin has been scraped off both. The rough surface of the paving has also scratched his forearms and his knees. Before Anna gets any further, a woman pushes through the crowd. Her resemblance to the little boy is clear, her head crowned in golden curls too. “Caden!” she exclaims in a shout, half reprimand, half dismay.
Anna looks at her as the woman drops to the ground beside her boy. Three or four shopping bags billow around her. “Is this your mom?” she asks the little lad.
He nods.
“Caden’s mom,” Anna calls, to get her attention. “I’m a doctor. Do you mind if I just check over your son?”
Anna is pretty certain by now the boy is fine, apart from a few scrapes and bruises. She thinks the initial scream came from the young woman James is tending, but it’s always worth checking. Children often respond very differently to the way adults expect.
The mother nods her emphatic consent. A helpful bystander calls out, “The kid walked in front of the skateboarder. She swerved and came off. I think he tripped over his own feet in shock.”
That reinforces Anna’s observations. She gently checks him for breaks, but there is no sign of wincing or avoidance of her touch. There are no unexplained swellings or deformities. When she helps the child sit and then stand, he seems happy to put his weight on each limb. She rocks back on her heels. “He seems okay, apart from some scrapes and bruises,” she tells his mother. “But keep an eye on him. If anything starts to swell or he starts to favour an arm or a leg, take him to your doctor.”
The mother nods. “I only took my eye off him for a few seconds – to pay at the till,” she protests, as if Anna is in any way judging her.
Anna gives her a lopsided smile in return. She cannot give this young mother absolution, but she avoids adding to her guilt. “That’s kids for you,” she says. “If they can find trouble, they will.”
Anna has no children of her own, nor does she yet have nieces and nephews, but she has done enough stints in the Emergency Department to know children are uncommonly keen to get into trouble when adults are distracted. Inserting various items into cavities – the nose seems a favourite – or swallowing random things, falling off stuff or walking into stationary objects. She finds it amazing that people choose to be parents.
The mother thanks her, then gathers her errant offspring and Anna turns her attention to James.
“I think you’ve probably fractured your elbow,” James concludes. “You’re going to need to go to the hospital. Do you want me to call an ambulance?”
“Fuck, no!” the skateboarder cries. “I can’t afford that. I’ll get a rideshare.”
James’s brow furrows. “Are you sure? The paramedics will have pain relief. If you ride in the back of a car, every bend it swings around will be agony.”
“I’ll risk it,” she declares.
James looks at Anna, but she shrugs. This is not something they ever have to consider in London. Ambulances are free. If you’re hurt, you call. Anna reckons the skateboarder must know her own limitations but to have to bear pain because you cannot afford the solution must be hard. She and James help the skateboarder stand, with James taking the injured side. They go in steps, so she doesn’t pass out. James pulls out his phone to order a ride. “Do you have a hospital you want to go to?”
The girl shrugs, then winces with the pain. James looks vaguely at Anna. He has no idea of the US healthcare system but neither does she. But Anna has an idea; she knows someone who does. “Back in a moment,” she tells James.
She rushes back to their restaurant table. Bella and John are still seated, sipping drinks and watching the action. Grabbing her phone, Anna finds Seth’s number and dials, hoping he answers. Blowing out a breath when she hears his cheerful greeting, she explains the situation and answers his questions as best she can. When he asks about insurance, she puts the phone to the skateboarder’s ear. There is an exchange of information, and when the girl nods, Anna brings the phone back. She relays the hospital recommendation to James and he puts it into his rideshare app. Anna hopes there is a quick pickup for the girl’s sake. Then James gives her a nod. It’s done.
The crowd thins as the drama disappears. Anna is sure the lack of blood is instrumental in the lack of interest. As they move towards the pickup point, the skateboarder turns and protests, “My skateboard!”
Anna glances around and finds it on its side against a fence. She sweeps it around with her foot, stamps on the end like she has seen in the movies, and picks it up by the end but soon finds it threatening to slip from her fingers. She swaps hands and holds it by the wheels instead. It bangs against her body as they walk, but they don’t have far to go and before long, the ride appears. They belt their casualty in as best they can, laying the skateboard at her feet. Then they step back, James shuts the door, and the girl is gone.
James turns to Anna and offers his hand in a high five. She grins and meets his palm. After the awkwardness of this week, it feels good to be working together again. They return to the restaurant, their trust in each other restored far more by this little act than by a shared celebrity home bus trip and lunch at an international chain restaurant.
“Who was the guy on the phone?” James asks.
“Seth. You met him,” Anna reminds him. “At the conference dinner.”
They rejoin Bella and John at the table. Their absence has meant the seating has shifted slightly. Although Anna still sits beside Bella, James is now opposite her. To Anna, it’s a far superior seating arrangement.
“You were magnificent,” Bella breathes her praise, and in one instant James transforms from highly effective consultant to blushing schoolboy. “I knew I’d just be in your way, so I stayed right here keeping the table. I knew the two of you had it covered.”
The explanation makes sense, but Anna is still unimpressed. She shrugs it off, then remembers the last message from Tolly. She pulls out her phone to check, but there are no new messages on her lockscreen. Tolly must have been distracted again. She tucks the phone back into her pocket and sits, trying to ignore the feeling of disappointment following on from the tiny high she was riding a moment ago. She picks up her drink and takes a sip. The soda is warm and has lost its fizz too. All at once, she cannot be done with this lunch a moment too soon.
When the waiter returns to take their order – shrimp for all except John, who orders ribeye steak – Anna excuses herself with the need to wash her hands. She lingers in the restroom, checking out her hair and make-up until she can delay no longer. She can hear John’s voice even inside the restaurant as he regales James and Bella with a fantastical story of how he rescued a nubile young girl from imminent peril after she had been washed off a boat. The story dwelt longer on the way she had thanked him for his rescue than on the rescue itself. Anna’s own assessment is that the detail probably came from John’s personal wank bank. She cannot understand how the others just accept the implausible stories that come out of John’s mouth. Both Bella and James are clever people. How could they not see through his bullshit?
When she retakes her seat, she watches the people milling along the alley, always half waiting for the telltale vibration against her thigh. But the buzz of an incoming message never arrives. When her meal is finished, she declines dessert. Instead, she pulls out a fistful of notes to cover her food and drops them on the table.
“Thanks for the trip, James. It was great. I’ve got to run now, but I’ll see you back at the hotel tonight.”
“Where are you off to?” John asks.
Anna debates quickly which of her two options is most likely to discourage John just in case he’s contemplating joining her. No contest. “Getty Centre,” she says.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“Art museum.”
“We thought we’d do Universal Studios,” Bella says. “You’re welcome to come.”
Anna smiles a tight smile. “Been before.” No word of a lie.
She gives a jolly wave and walks away, the feeling of freedom momentarily lifting the frustration of not hearing from Tolly.
The museum is wonderful – the gardens, the architecture, the collection. But as she drifts around, for the first time in her life, she misses a companion. She wants to tell someone about it. Honestly, she wants to tell Tolly. She wants to point out the cleverness of the artwork or the sensitivity of the artist and she knows he would appreciate it all. He’d even have comments and insights of his own to add, except there is nothing but stubborn, unrelenting silence from him. The question he wanted to ask could not have been very important. Or perhaps it was medical and she should have added that smiley face emoji.