The Tiger Catcher

You’re inventing some crazy love yourself so she doesn’t become bored of you.

Fat chance of that, the divine creature coos.

Rejoice, Josephine, you whisper, your head lowered, kneeling between her legs, for your name is written in heaven.

And for some reason, this makes her cry.

No, no, don’t stop, she says, wiping her face. Nothing’s wrong. But let’s put on some Tom Waits while you love me. He’s my favorite. Let’s listen to him sing time time time, but you don’t finish until he is finished, okay, Jules?

As long as it’s not the fifteen-minute live version, you’re fine with it, you say, always the joker, even then.

Afterward she sings to you about your endless numbered day for nights. Sometimes it sounds like she’s saying our endless day for nights are numbered.

At Whisky a Go Go, a drunk fool crawls into your empty bar stool, and as you come back from the men’s, you drop your shoulder and knock him to the ground and pretend it was an accident. Sorry, man, so crowded, didn’t see you, do you mind, this one’s mine. Julian! your girl croons, did you just knock that guy off the chair? I don’t know what you mean, you say. He fell.

Later, after she rushed you home because she had urgent need of you, in her dizzying voice she purrs that you have surpassed her expectations. You demur, you do the humblebrag. You’re pleased she’s pleased, you say with a faux shrug. You have a knack for selling without selling. You have nothing to prove. First you sell, then you deliver.

She says she thought you might be the Nightcrawler who has the appearance of a demon and the heart of a preacher. But that isn’t you. You have the appearance of a preacher and the heart of a demon.

And not just the heart of a demon, Julian.

Sometimes she stays with Z. And sometimes you haul your ass up and choke out a cheat sheet of advice even though you have no wisdom for anyone anymore, all your sayings swooshed into the trashcan icon on your laptop. Make a list of the things you thought you wanted and burn it—that’s your advice. Because where you are, there’s nothing but glory.

She makes you wish for a different car: a convertible, a dazzling two-seater with a chrome grille and suicide doors. You both love the beach at Zuma. You leave before sundown because the rings of hell are waiting for her at the Greek. But sometimes, if you are lucky, she makes love to you in the Zuma lot, her bikini thrown to the side. She straddles you in the backseat of your old man Volvo like you’re sixteen years old and just learned to drive.

Like you just learned to do everything.

The taste of her is always in your mouth.

The rehearsals for Paradise in the Park are at night. At the Greek, you wait for her in the sea of ghostly seats that look soaked in blood and watch her glide across the stage as the sun sets and it grows dark. Julian, she breathes, I may speak Dante, but I dream of you.

Everywhere you go, you stroll hand in hand. The beaches of Venice and Hermosa are worn out with your lovers’ walks. The flowers bloom. The nights are warm. The desert days are long.

This is the realest dream you’ve ever lived.

The Scurvy Kids and Slurry Kids play by the local hotel pool while the chairs are being cleaned for the guests to suntan in. There’s a pounding soundtrack of hip hop and jazz, of indie rock and big bands, of grunge and electric blues, of Buffalo Springfield and Wasted Youth in Los Feliz and Hollywood. L.A. has never sparkled like it does these summer nights when Voodoo Kung Fu and the Destroyer Deceivers squeeze out every last beat of joy down by Luna Park, the city has never been a more shimmering blinding work of art.

At Scarpetta on Sunday nights, you sit outside in the verdant courtyard overlooking Canon Gardens lit up like Christmastime. You drink Fortuna cocktails—pear Absolut, St. Germain, and peach puree—and make wishes to the stars, you wish for this, you wish for that. You order steak tartare, and ravioli, and foie gras. Have you told each other everything? There doesn’t seem to be much left to say, yet you talk and joke and argue, you never stop. You spend until three in the morning at the Laugh Factory on Sunset being singled out by some stand-up talent. “Look at you two, you got yourselves some white people love,” the comic mocks you in his high-pitched falsetto. “Oh, baby, am I hurting your arm?” “What you talkin’ ‘bout, honeycakes, you are my arm!”

You sleep and eat and live and love and lie entwined. Your souls are without borders because your bodies are without borders.

Or is it the other way around?

Oh, Jules, she whispers. There is nothing better than you.

In the book that is my life, you say, in the chapter when I first met you are the words and so begins my life anew.

I want my own book, she says, not just a measly chapter.

From Zuma to Agoura it’s easy to fall in love in Southern California.

You know what’s not easy to do?

Find the ideal spot to ask her to marry you.

Sure, she’s happy to be adored by you—for now—but does she understand that this thing between you isn’t something that begins and ends.

Behold, I show you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed.

12

The Four of Them

JULIAN KEPT SUGGESTING THE FOUR OF THEM GO OUT. HE STILL had not met Zakiyyah. And Josephine met Ashton only once, if you didn’t count that other time (and who wanted to count it) at two in the morning when Ashton banged on his door like the KGB, and when Julian opened it—with Josephine half-naked behind him—he said, “Oh, so you are alive,” and stormed back down the stairs.

Josephine said why should we all go out.

So our two sidekicks can meet.

Why?

So they can approve of our union.

Why do you care if they approve? What if they don’t?

Why would they not approve?

People are strange, she said. Ashton doesn’t like me.

He’s just mad at me right now. Ashton will love you.

It’s not Ashton I’m worried about.

Z? But I’m a nice guy, Julian said. I shave, I don’t overpraise, I’m polite, I reply to invites. I can make a joke, take a joke. Why would Zakiyyah not like me?

I told you, Jules, people are strange.

One problem was their work schedules. Weekends Zakiyyah was off, but weekends were slammed at the Treasure Box, and Josephine was about to premiere in Paradise, narrating the adventures of Dante and Beatrice six nights a week and a matinee on Wednesday.

At the end of June, Julian finally managed to arrange a Sunday brunch for the four of them. He couldn’t get a reservation at the Montage in Beverly Hills, but they met nearby on an outdoor patio in cloistered Canon Gardens, at the cheap sandwich place across from the five-star luxury hotel.

Zakiyyah and Josephine arrived together. Josephine wore a loose lime-green beach cover-up and a bikini. She and Julian were off to Point Dume afterward. Under the red beret, her long hair was down. She wore minimal makeup and remnants of an arousing sunburn. She was a hipster goddess. She took his breath away. After she kissed him, she introduced him to Zakiyyah.

Josephine was right. Zakiyyah was attractive. But was she trying to turn herself down a notch? She had covered her well-developed body in a stiff blouse and a slightly frumpy too-long skirt. Her mass of corkscrew loopy black curls was poorly held back by a headband, leaving most of the emphasis on her glistening dark face, an unblemished face that needed no embellishment. And what a face it was, so symmetrically in balance, it looked fake. In her whole person, she was a sculpture of the idealized female form, carved out by an ardent lover of women: eyes big, brows arched, forehead high, cheekbones wide, lips full, body full, hair coiled and passionate. Upon introduction, Zakiyyah smiled the fake toothy smile of a beauty contest winner.

The smile faded rather quickly, though. Julian couldn’t tell if it was his imagination, but he sensed a hint of … tension? Disapproval? Almost as if the smile had been forcibly turned on and then switched off a moment too soon. After it was gone, there was no denying the plain truth: an unsmiling face was a less beautiful face, even Zakiyyah’s. Julian could put that life hack in tomorrow’s newsletter.

They ordered soft drinks and waited for Ashton by tackling the weighty topic of sunny weather, tackling it with such enthusiasm, you’d think heat and sun were unique to Southern California. Josephine told a silly joke (“what happens when an egg makes a yoke? It cracks up”), Julian gazed at her besotted—and caught Zakiyyah’s eye. You poor pathetic fool, the woman’s expression read.

“Never mind her, Jules,” Josephine said. “Z’s all soured on love.”

“Is that what I am?”

“Well, who wouldn’t be—with horrible Trevor as a boyfriend.” Josephine pinched Z’s arm.

“Yes, shame Julian can’t clone himself.”

“If you think my Jules is nice,” Josephine said, “wait till you meet his friend Ashton.”

“Josephine!” That was Julian.

“Yeah, Josephine.” That was Zakiyyah, unsmiling and unexclaiming.

“I’m kidding. I jest. Jeez, the both of you.”

The more Julian observed Zakiyyah, the more he was convinced that she never wanted anything less than a career in film or theatre. She seemed to be the opposite of Josephine. Despite her obvious physical assets, Zakiyyah wasn’t excitable, or whimsical, or seductive, she wasn’t quick with a joke, and not in speech or dress or demeanor did she show herself to be someone who wanted any attention, much less someone who lived for lights and applause, like his girl. It was odd. Didn’t Josephine tell him that the theatre had been their mutual dream?

Ashton finally arrived insultingly late and unforgivably underdressed. He wore ripped jeans and an unwashed navy T-shirt. He hadn’t shaved. And worst of all: he was sullen.

The man was usually impeccably outfitted and a charmer, especially when meeting new people, especially when meeting women. And he didn’t even apologize! He was cool toward Josephine, which wasn’t a surprise, but even cooler toward Zakiyyah. She looked up, he looked down, she half waved, he half nodded. The only empty chair was next to her, so he had no choice but to take it, but his body language said he wanted out. He held the fanned-out menu between him and Z. After they ordered, Ashton turned to Julian, and when he saw Julian silently judging his attire, he pointed out they were having ham sandwiches. “What could you possibly wear that’s too casual for a ham sandwich?” Ashton said. “A ham sandwich is something you have in bed with a chick while watching Entourage reruns.” That was the least offensive thing he would say all afternoon.

Having been at the table less than five minutes, Ashton, instead of charming the girls, decided on a different approach. He became as obnoxious as possible. Without meeting anyone’s gaze, staring either into his water glass or at the side of Zakiyyah’s neck, he brusquely asked Z what she did for a living and cut her off halfway through her answer. Minutes later he returned to her with a “Sorry, you were saying?” Never mind, said Zakiyyah. When Josephine prodded Ashton to tell her about his extreme adventures in the American West, he dismissed her by saying he had always hated the outdoors, which was not only the opposite of true but a conversation killer.

“Really?” Josephine said. “But Jules told me you love hiking.”

“Jules told you that, did he?” said Ashton. “It may be wishful thinking on his part. He’s the one who digs the outdoors.”

Fondly Josephine laughed. “Julian doesn’t like the outdoors, what are you talking about,” she said. “He hates the outdoors. Except for the beach. Otherwise, he is not one with nature.”

Ashton took a long swig of Coke, wishing perhaps it were something stronger. “Is that what he told you?” After a strained moment, Ashton barreled on. “Paraphrasing Milton, I myself hate the outdoors with a steadfast hate. My main issue, you see, is that I don’t enjoy any of the things that share the outdoors with me. If you saw my reaction to a tarantula or a snake, I can promise you, I would not be cool and I would not be manly. No, not since Julian’s little mishap with the outdoors have I liked it. I’d just as soon stay inside Tequila’s Cantina and drink all day. Drinking and being hungover is really the only exercise I get.”

Before Julian could speed on to another subject, “What little mishap?” a dumbfounded Josephine said.

“You drink?” said Zakiyyah. “That’s a surprise.”

“I drink now, sure,” Ashton said, “but not like before, in college. God, who could; right, Jules?”

She stared at Ashton with hostility and at Josephine with resentment. Why did you bring me here, she seemed to be saying and jumped up to use the ladies. Apologetically Josephine followed.

“Dude, what’s wrong with you?” Julian hissed as soon as the girls were out of earshot.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re supposed to charm them, not make them hate you—and by extension me!”

“I’m being myself, Julian,” Ashton said.

“Really?” Julian said. “You feel this is how women usually react to you? Bolt and run? What if they don’t come back?”

Ashton’s gaze flicked to the sky as if to say please God. “They needed to powder their noses. How’s that my fault?”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I can’t be liked by everybody, bro,” the blond man replied philosophically. “Not my fault they have a problem with me. I’m the same. I’m not the one who’s changed.” The two friends sat in silence for a moment. Just as Julian was about to speak, Ashton nodded in the direction of the returning women.

“What mishap did Julian have outdoors?” Josephine asked as soon as she took her seat.

“Never mind,” Julian said, wanting to kick Ashton for opening his big mouth.

“Yeah, Josephine, never mind, Jules is right, it was nothing,” Ashton said. “We were hiking, and he got lost, that’s all. We couldn’t find him for a long time. We were sure he was dead. But then,” Ashton exclaimed, “we found him! Ah, yes, all’s well that ends well, don’t you agree? No use flailing about it now, when he’s right next to you. It’s great, by the way, how you two have hit it off. Sometimes these things go so badly.”

A piece of chewed food fell out of his mouth and onto his T-shirt. He flicked it off and continued eating.

Zakiyyah started to say something, but Ashton interrupted. “In college, I once went out with a girl who didn’t speak English,” he said, his mouth full of ham and bread.

“Was that before or after drinking?” said Zakiyyah.

“During,” Ashton replied. “Remember her, Jules? Maniki? Correction—Maniki did not speak good English, and that’s much worse than not speaking any English at all. The worst thing a person can be when they’re crap at something is to think they’re good at it.”

“Is that really the worst thing a person can be,” said Zakiyyah.

“Absolutely.” Ashton chewed. “It was one of the longest dates of my life.”

“I wonder how that must have felt,” Zakiyyah said, and Ashton guffawed and turned his attention to Josephine.

“How is Paradise in the Park?” he asked. Josephine smiled, got ready to tell Ashton something about it, but he cut her off with, “I meant, how long’s the play running for?”

“A month. I can get you tickets if you want.”

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know when, though. Jules and I are supposed to fly down to Cabo for the Fourth. And to be honest, Dante’s not my thing. I prefer more stupid humor.”

“You don’t say,” Zakiyyah said.

“Don’t worry, Ashton, Dante is not that funny,” Josephine said. “Comedy may be a misnomer.”

“Give me a cat tied to a fan or a mediocre fart joke, and I’ll laugh till I cry,” said Ashton. “I’m not proud of it. It’s just how it is.”

Josephine squeezed Julian’s hand under the table. “Cabo?” she asked him quietly.

Julian shook his head, as in don’t worry. Another thing he had completely forgotten.

“So real life hasn’t broken through your little frat party yet?” Zakiyyah asked Ashton, barely turning her head to address him.

“Thank Christ for that.” He barely turned his head when he replied.

“Do you know what Gandhi says?” Zakiyyah said.

Ashton was still chewing. “Are you talking to me?”

“Yes,” Zakiyyah said, her glossy lips tight. “Gandhi says: our thoughts become our words, our words become our actions, our actions become our character, and our character becomes our destiny.”

“Hmm.” Ashton swallowed and loudly slurped his Coke. “Is your intellectual snobbery designed to belittle me? Because thoughts are most certainly not my destiny. I know that for a fact. I’d be in jail for the things I think. But let me tell you what Ashton says. Because you and Julian aren’t the only ones who can rattle off pithy sayings. I have a life hack, too. Want to hear?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I call it Ashton’s two-minute rule.”

“Ashton, no!” That was Julian.

Unheeded, Ashton continued. “If you see something that needs doing and can be done in under two minutes, do it immediately.” He paused to let the words linger. “I also call it the Ashton Sex Rule.” He threw back his head and laughed.

A baffled Julian rubbed his eyes in the stony silence that followed. What was happening?

When the girls refused to react, Ashton baited them further. “The trouble with Julian and me being friends,” he said, “is that we’re opposites in many ways. Is that the same with you two? I bet it is. For example, Julian thinks he’s all about the funny, while I am way more cool. But to tell you the truth, I’d really like to be both, funny and cool.”

“I teach my kids,” Zakiyyah said, “that it’s always better to be realistic about your limitations.”

“Your poor kids,” said Ashton.

“I, on the other hand, don’t care at all about being cool,” Julian said, springing from the table and gesticulating wildly for the check.

“That’s because Jules can go all day,” Josephine said in a smoky voice. She pulled on his wrist, gazing up at him. “He doesn’t need to be cool.”

“And that’s why,” Ashton said, “Jules is funny.”

“So that was the famous Ashton,” said Zakiyyah, after Ashton—who had insisted on paying—tipped his backwards baseball cap, knocked over a chair, and split.

“He’s all right. No one likes to be put on the spot like that,” Julian said. “We should try again. Do something less stressful.”

“Less stressful than ham sandwiches?”

“We should go to Disneyland,” Julian said. “The four of us.”

Josephine clapped. “Yes, please! That would be fantastic.”

“Never,” said Zakiyyah. “I mean—no, thank you.”

“He wasn’t that bad,” Julian said. “He was trying too hard.”

“That was trying?”

Julian got defensive. “Look, it’s not how he is.”

“We are what we pretend to be,” the grim young woman said, “so we must be careful what we pretend to be.” She glared at Josephine, who took Julian’s hand under the table and did not return Zakiyyah’s scolding gaze.

13

Pandora’s Box

RIGHT AFTER THE FOURTH OF JULY, WHILE JOSEPHINE struggled in Paradise with hypocrites and thieves, Julian met up with Ashton for a drink at Tequila’s Cantina, their favorite hangout on Magnolia. Beer followed a plate of taquitos and some small talk. Well, small but pointed talk about Cabo, where Julian did not go, and where Ashton and Riley had gone by themselves instead.

Julian smiled anxiously. “Ash, I want to show you something.” He took out a black velvet box from his pocket.

Jumping off the bar stool, Ashton raised his hands. “Dude, no.”

“Will you look?”

“I said no.”

Julian’s hand was still proffered. With a great sigh, Ashton took the box, opened it, glanced inside, closed it, and stuffed it back into Julian’s pocket.

“What do you think?”

“Do you really want to know what I think?” said Ashton.

“As long as it’s ‘that’s incredible, Jules, congratulations,’ yes.”

Ashton was silent.

Julian waited. “Come on. I gotta go soon.” He didn’t want her waiting for him alone in that parking lot at the Greek. It wasn’t safe.

“You’re going to ask her to marry you?”

“I’m trying to find the perfect moment, but yes.”

“How about three years from now?”

“Not helping, Ashton.”

“What kind of help are you looking for? Do you want to practice your moves on me? Or do you want my advice?”

Julian studied Ashton’s face. They had spent so many years together, living and working together, drinking, traveling, meeting women together, that Julian didn’t need long to know how Ashton felt about anything. And most of the time, Ashton was the most chill, sunny guy despite coming from a disastrous childhood, the kind of childhood that made you question the point of existence itself. So when Julian saw the worry on his friend’s face, the tension around the normally relaxed mouth, the darkened indigo rings around the light eyes, when he caught sight of the long shadow of anxiety in Ashton’s expression, Julian couldn’t continue to press him. He was going to have a hard enough time with his family, considering they’d never met Josephine and thought he was still with Gwen.

“I just want you to be happy for me, Ash.”

“I know that’s what you want.” He said nothing else.

Sighing, Julian picked up his beer. “You don’t like her.”

“I don’t know her. That’s my problem.”

“You’re right. That’s your problem.”

“Not just mine.”

“I know her,” Julian said. “And you will get to know her. And when you get to know her, you’ll love her.”

“Yeah.”

“You think I’m moving too fast?”

“Among a thousand things. And I don’t think it. It’s fact.”

“What else?”

“Are you sure it’s love?”

“Excuse me?”

“Have you considered the possibility that it might be something else?” Ashton said. “Something as pleasing but more misleading.”

“Stop it.” Julian gulped his beer.

“Do you even know the difference between love and sex?”

“Do you?”

“I’m not getting hitched, am I?”

“You want to know what the difference is?” Julian said. “Nobody dies for sex.”

“Oh boy. It’s already like that, is it. Also not true. The male praying mantis dies for sex. That’s his whole life. Dying for sex.” Ashton tutted. “What do your parents think? I can’t imagine your mother approves.” He paused for Julian’s reply, in a way that suggested he already knew there wouldn’t be any. “Have they even met her?” There was another pause. “Sweet God, Jules, do they even know about her?”

Julian refused to return Ashton’s incredulous stare.

“Tell me, when were you planning to tell your mother?” Ashton said. “When she received your wedding invitation in the mail?”

“If you’re like this, how do you think she’s going to be?”

“What does that tell you?”

“That no one understands or cares about a single fucking thing.”

“Yes,” Ashton said, “that’s me.”

Julian regrouped, lowered his voice. “Okay, but then why are you being like this?”