We stop at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, littered with buskers in worn-out costumes, cut-rate Spider-Men and plastic Darth Vaders, out-of-work actors in sweaty Halloween suits. But somehow the glamour of Hollywood holds, as, undeterred, Phil tells us sparkling tales of golden-age magic. Stories of Oscar-night starlets stepping from gleaming limousines. Unbelievably, the refracting shimmer he weaves with words begins to settle over the tourist-packed piazza before us. We disembark to try to fit our feet and palms into the hand-and footprints of long-extinguished stars.
The tour continues, we head north, stopping periodically on the manicured edges of lush palm-obscured mansions. We peer through custom-designed gates at questionably appointed design projects and pipe dreams: castles in the sky, Swiss mountain lodges transported to the California sunshine, whitewashed Mexican villas, glass infinity houses teetering on craggy cliffsides. We catch glimpses of lives only, but Phil fills the gaps as we rumble up higher into the hills.
Between the houses of the stars, I tell Souki about George. The whole Fantastic Movers extended version. Though I edit out the tears, and self-recrimination, and Instagram sadness. She shakes her head at it all but has the good grace not to try to cheer me up with platitudes. Instead conversation moves on to auditions, we discuss Bee Miller, we talk about how strange it is to be so far from home. An ocean between you and your real life.
At the Hollywood sign we pull up to a dusty layby and disembark. Whether you buy in to the magic of Hollywood or not, this close up, the sign is something. Each letter the height of a five-story building. As I look up at the giant letters soaring above us I find myself thinking of the story Miguel told me on my first day, the story of the actress who jumped.
The tour guide apologizes for the mess around the sign, some kind of city workers’ strike, and my concentration falters. I catch myself gazing down into the sunless ravine beneath us as he talks, thinking about how long that actress’s cold body lay there, broken and undiscovered.
Souki hauls me from my reverie, demanding photos with the sign, and after a whirlwind of Instagram content creation we lounge spent on the sunbaked rocks and post. Finally she leans back, tilting her face fully into the sun.
“You’re okay, though, right?” she asks, out of nowhere, and I know she means George.
But it’s not George that’s my problem. My thoughts have circled back around and snagged once more on Emily. Emily and the strange things that have happened since I met her. I think of the woman who came to my apartment last night. And make a decision.
“Something weird happened the other day,” I say, meeting Souki’s gaze.
I tell about the parking meter, about Emily disappearing, about the woman, and after I fall silent Souki inhales deeply before speaking.
“That is weird,” she says with finality. I can’t see her eyes past her sunglasses. She looks away for a moment, out toward the hills, before continuing. “Please don’t be offended by this, Mi.” She looks back at me. “But it kind of sounds like you’re lonely—which is totally understandable—what happened the other week was beyond awful. George is such a shit. He’s a terrible, terrible person. No wonder you’re feeling like this. And he still hasn’t even called you, has he? Or explained himself!”
This is exactly where I did not want this conversation to go. What I just told her has nothing to do with George but I realize anything I say to the contrary will make me sound overly defensive and somehow prove the point. I take a calming breath before speaking. “Agreed. But George didn’t make the girl I met at the audition disappear and he definitely didn’t send a complete stranger to my apartment last night, Souk. So I’m not sure how he’s relevant.”
She removes her sunglasses and wipes them with her top. “I’m not saying he’s relevant to that situation. I mean you used to spend all your free time with George. I’m just saying maybe you’re focusing too much on stuff that you normally wouldn’t? You’re a very driven person, Mi, and when you decide to do something you tend to get—not obsessed exactly, but preoccupied, and now you suddenly have all this time on your hands.”