Hollywood Boulevard - 9:15 P.M. PT

When she left the strip joint, she was Sally. She had long, blonde hair that clung to itself like starched yarn, and heels so tall and pointed that she had to look out for any crack in the sidewalk or else risk snapping her ankle in two. Her purple latex dress caught the light from the faltering street lamps and the eye of every man who drove by, slowly, weighing the decision to stop in for a beer and a blowjob. The smooth edge of a dollar bill peeked out from where it was stuffed into her cleavage.

But now, twenty minutes later, with face washed and wig removed, she was Jorma. The only one awake in her North Hollywood apartment, she peeled herself out of the dress that threatened to tear with the new weight she had gained, and let her skin rest and expand in an oversized, hand-knit sweater and dusty bike shorts. She considered the dress, now a shiny purple lump on her bed next to her open suitcase, and wondered if she should fold it and put it in. That’s only the fear speaking, she told herself. She was determined to walk, no, run away from this life, which meant she wouldn’t need any of her dancer clothes anymore. In the bed, her seven-year-old son stretched his leg and pushed the dress until it slid to the floor. She took that as a sign and kicked the sad fabric toward the trash bin. 

For an hour, she sifted through her dresser drawers, folded, and packed in the near complete darkness. On the left side of the suitcase she made a neat pile of her things, what few regular daytime clothes she had, and on the right she stacked Benny’s pants and threadbare Power Rangers t-shirts. She nestled his favorite Lego set and WalkMan CD player between the two sets of clothes. He would need distractions for the long ride ahead of them. Not wanting to wake her son, she worked silently with only the light from the still-alive city slipping through the hole in her bedroom curtains to guide her. Besides, it was best that no one knew she was home— at this hour? A stripper’s prime money-making time of the day? That would raise too many suspicious eyebrows. Inquiring minds want to know, after all, and she needed to slip away undetected. The rent was due tomorrow, and she still owed for last month. Well, she had found a way to pay, but not in cash. She shuddered and closed the bedroom door.

She walked the three steps to their kitchen slash living room and put a kettle with water on the stove. While it heated, she scooped two heaps of Folgers instant coffee into a mug she had already used that day. It read Hollywood, Baby! in turquoise script, a tourist trap souvenir that she had found discarded due to the chip in its rim. She didn’t mind, she just drank from the other side. 

The kettle began to whine, but before she could remove it from the heat, her bedroom door opened.

“Mom?” Benny rubbed at one of his eyes. The old German Shepherd who had followed her from the dry, cracked streets of Arizona so many years ago left the spot where he was curled up on the couch to go sniff the child. Jorma followed and knelt in front of the boy.

“What is it, my love?” she asked and stroked the soft, dark curls that fell from his forehead into his eyes. She tried to remember the last time she had taken him to the barber and was instantly wracked with guilt. It will be better from now on. 

“Why is there a suitcase on the bed?”

“We will talk in the morning, when you’re more awake.” She wasn’t sure how to translate the truth into a kid-friendly version of the forthcoming events. Is there any correct way to say we’re running away? She didn’t think so but wanted to buy herself more time to at least try to rework the narrative. “Come now. Back to bed, Benny. You can take Churro with you,” she said and turned him around by the shoulders. He took small steps back toward the bedroom door and the dog dutifully followed at his own stunted, arthritic pace. 

Jorma did not stand until silence once again overtook the apartment. She would have to work quicker, quieter. 

She poured the water over the instant coffee and reached into the cabinet for the sugar. She stuck a spoon into the jar and swiped around but heard only the scraping of the metal on ceramic. She held the jar upside down over the mug and tapped the bottom until a few stray crystals came unstuck from the inside and fell, instantly liquefied by the heat of the liquid. She took a long, slow sip of the bitter drink and tried to relax. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. They deserved it. The landlord, Ron, knew what he was doing, accepting a struggling young mother with no credit. His greasy hands covered in thick black hair had rubbed together in delight at the prospect of her moving into one of his properties. Welcome, Hermosita. Lay down. Rest awhile, and then we will hammer out the details. I am sure we can come to an arrangement. 

And Benny’s father? How long had he known their address yet never sent word nor paid their son a visit? Is it kidnapping if the supposed parent does not care? Of course, she would never tell Benny this. He had never met his father and thus never known to ask for him, to ask if he cared. She had left Arizona six weeks after graduating high school and four weeks after giving birth to her first and only son. Nicolas was supposed to join her, once his sick mother passed. But now, she had been in the ground for nearly seven years. 

To hell with both of them. 

She took one last pull of coffee, almost draining the mug, and set it down in the sink. It would be someone else’s problem now. A car alarm began to sound somewhere in the neighborhood and reminded Jorma to stay on track. She opened the drawer that held the few forks, knives, and spatulas that they had and turned her hand so that her palm was face-up. That was where she had taped the spare key to Ron’s Cutlass. He had been so satisfied when she was finished that he lay sprawled across his bed, blissfully unaware of the woman robbing him. She stuck the key down the front of her sweater and safely into the left side of her bra. Slightly further back in the drawer she had taped a wad of all of her remaining cash. She stuffed that into the right side of her bra. 

On the coffee table that they used as a dining area, she found the remnants of Chinese food takeout from a few nights earlier. She removed the cardboard boxes from within the plastic bag one at a time, inspecting each to see if there was anything edible left. The smell turned her stomach the way it had when she was pregnant. It’s just the rotting vegetables. He used protection. But the thought of a child growing in her womb lingered in her mind as she went to the fridge and stuffed what she could scrounge into the plastic bag. On second thought, she took out a few scraps of bologna and left them on the coffee table for Churro. It might be days before someone finds him. 

“Come on, baby,” Jorma said as she pulled Benny upright by the arms. He blinked slowly. While he regained consciousness, she dragged the ailing zipper as far around the suitcase as it would go. Close enough. Benny sat there, blinking. She pulled the blanket off his legs and slid them around and off the side of the bed. “It’s time to go.”

The boy was too delirious from sleep to argue. He took his mother’s hand, the one that was not holding the suitcase, and followed her to the front door. Churro raised his head and whimpered at the sight of them at the door. Jorma told herself it was just the wind. 

The Cutlass was parked two tenements over. Jorma led Benny on a winding route to the car, dodging the rings of light from the streetlamps so that they remained as much in the shadows as possible. When they reached the car, she looked up at the squat apartment building where Ron lived. No lights were on, but the flash of different scenes on TV lit up one window. She dropped Benny’s hand and reached into her bra with a shaking hand for the key. She turned the lock ever so gently, and pulled the door to the backseat open for Benny. She slid the suitcase onto the seat next to him and got in herself. 

When the engine started, a light in Ron’s apartment flicked on. Jorma floored it out of the parking lot, bottoming out on the steep decline onto the street and side-swiping a car parked along the sidewalk. She did not breathe at a regular cadence until she reached the highway. 

She had spent all of her free time memorizing the route to Vegas on a map: on her breaks at work, in the morning before Benny got up, while she waited for the shower water to reach an acceptable temperature. She would take the 101 to I-15 and follow that all the way there, to where an old friend from the strip joint was waiting for her. She had left Hollywood for the bright lights and shiny poles of Las Vegas, and had made enough money to have a spare bedroom in her apartment. Jorma had been temporarily enticed by the thought of making that kind of money for herself, but she longed to be able to take on a different profession before her son was old enough to figure out what she did for a living. She could be a secretary or a front desk girl at one of the big hotels — anything that wouldn’t make the other mothers pull their husbands close at the sight of her and keep their children from coming over to play with Benny. She knew he was lonely, and it was her fault. 

At this time of night, it didn’t take more than forty-five minutes to get out of the city and into the dark expanse of desert. She looked in the rearview and saw Benny asleep but sitting up straight, his neck rolled straight back. She sighed and slowed the car, barely bringing it off the side of the road since no one was around. She hadn’t seen another car since leaving the Los Angeles city limits. 

She left the car running, but got out and opened the door to the backseat. 

“Lay down here, baby. It’s okay,” she said and brought the child’s head down against the suitcase. With sleepy movements, he obeyed and slid his legs out to the far side of the bench until he was fully reclined. Satisfied, she shut the door and straightened. She looked out into the black stretch of land that lined the highway and breathed deeply. The air lacked the cigarettes, perfume, and sweat stench she inhaled for ten hours per day, everyday. It was nice. 

Something sparkled in the distance. She squinted hard but it was too late. Whatever she thought she saw had disappeared. She got back in the car and saw it again, this time about fifty yards closer than before. Her stomach dropped when she realized. It was a pair of eyes caught in the light of her headlights. She stepped on the gas so hard that Benny rocked back against the seat, and the suitcase slid from its position. Her breaths came sporadic and shallow. It was a deer. Just a deer. 

As she drove, Jorma let her eyes slip from the road before her to the desert beside her, watching for more eyes. Do deer even live in the desert? Could it have been an owl perched on a large cactus? She should have paid more attention in her classes. 

Finally, the lights of civilization came into view. Barstow. She would stop there to get gas and use the bathroom. She pulled over to the first gas station she saw. Benny was fast asleep and looked comfortable, so she decided to lock the doors and leave him where he was while she went inside. She used the bathroom then went to the front counter to pay for the gas. Rows of Twinkies and Ding Dongs glittered in their single-serve plastic packaging, enticing her from the shelves. She argued with herself. It’s just a dollar. Yes, but I should save every last dollar I have. 

“Ma’am, I said cash or charge.” The clerk sounded equal parts disdainful and bored. Jorma reached into her bra and pulled a bill from the wad. It was a twenty, thankfully, and not a single dollar. She handed it to the clerk, who took her time pulling the change dollar by dollar. 

As Jorma was about to push through the double doors, the clerk called out.

“Hey, wait!” Jorma stopped. “You’re not alone, are you?”

This took Jorma by surprise. “No.”

“Good.”

Just outside Baker, CA - 12:45 A.M. PT

Jorma had been listening to a very faint sssss-ing noise for a while now, sure it was the broken heater or something auxiliary. But then came the clomp, clomp, clomp of the dented tire rim rolling on the concrete. She started to panic, but told herself she was not too far past the city of Baker. There would be tow trucks, and at least there were street lamps lining the highway now. One of them had to have a phone attached. 

She vacillated between waking Benny or leaving him. He looked so peaceful, but on the other hand, she had not forgotten the pair of eyes in the distance. Even if it was just an animal (of course it was just an animal, Jorm), what if it was some kind of predator that could attack? She decided she was acting crazy, locked the doors, and set off on foot to look for an emergency phone. 

She marched through the gravel on the side of the highway as fast as one could go without it being considered running. The first two lamp posts were bare. The third had a red panel that read EMERGENCY PHONE. She had walked three quarters of a mile, probably, but it had been worth it. She picked up the phone and counted each dial tone until someone picked up. 

“Hello, what is your emergency?” It was a woman’s voice. 

“Hi, there,” Jorma said, trying to sound calm. “I just got a flat tire. I’m almost a mile back toward Baker, just off the I-15.”

“Ma’am, I need you to get back in the car right now.”

“Um. I’m sorry, I just said I have a FLAAAT TIIIIRE. I need a TOOOW TRUCK.” 

“Ma’am, I can hear you perfectly fine. Can you hear me? I need you to go back to your car and lock the doors.”

“Ok, well, will you send a—”

“MA’AM. Right now!” The line went dead. Overhead, the light went dark for a moment but came back on. 

Jorma started back toward the car, at first walking, but then she could not control her pace. Her fear took over and she raced down the highway, dirt and sand flying back with each panicked step she took. She did not notice the lace of her right boot had come undone. Her left foot landed on the lace, and when she went to take another step she fell forward, landing on the heels of her palms and her knees. The gravel mixture bit into each, tearing the skin away in haphazard chunks. Tears burned into her eyes, but the terror was a more pressing force. She struggled to her feet and kept running, the car now only a stone’s throw away. 

When she reached the driver’s side door she slammed the key toward the lock, missing the slot several times in her haste. The noise woke Benny, who leaned forward and slid the lock up for her. She threw herself onto the seat and locked each door as she panted for air. Benny seemed not to notice.

“Mommy, I have to do bathrooms.”

“Not now, Benny, okay?”

“But, Mommy, I really, really have to go.”

“I said, NOT. NOW.” At this, Benny began to cry, but it was only background noise for Jorma. Her eyes darted in all directions, waiting for whatever it was that had caused the woman to give her those instructions. She saw nothing but the unending, inky black landscape. 

She was not sure how much time had passed before a pair of headlights finally came into view behind the car. Was this who she was supposed to be hiding from? She lowered herself in her seat.

“Benny, lay down.”

“But Mom, I really have to go. Can’t I just go outside?”

“I SAID LAY DOWN.”

The headlights reached the Cutlass and pulled up alongside. Jorma heard a door slam and saw the bouncing of a flashlight making its way around the truck to her car. Suddenly, it was turned full force into her window. 

“Excuse me, miss! You called for a tow?”

“Y-yes!” She rotated the handle and lowered the window an inch. “Yes, I need a tow.”

“Well, I’m going to need your keys. You two can ride up front with me,” he said, and pointed the flashlight’s beam onto Benny. Jorma told herself she was being ridiculous. Nothing about the tow truck driver’s request was unreasonable. Of course they would need to get out and let him hook up the Cutlass to the truck. She felt silly as she pushed herself up and got out of the car. Without the flashlight in her face, she could see the man’s round, red face and easygoing smile. She had nothing to fear. 

She pulled Benny and the suitcase from the backseat. The driver helped them up into the high cabin of the truck. Jorma let Benny sit in the middle, and locked both side doors while the man worked. Just a precaution. 

When the driver finished, he knocked gently on the window. Jorma reached over and unlocked the door. 

“Sorry about that. Just being safe. The woman—”

“I’m sorry, miss. Not to interrupt you, but we better get moving. Is your husband coming or what?”

“My husband?”

“Yeah, I saw him when I pulled up. He had a tire iron and he was bent down next to your rear passenger side tire.”

——————

Riana Odin is a recent graduate of Fairfield University's MFA in Creative Writing program, and previously graduated from Emerson College with a BFA in Writing, Literature & Publishing. Her short fiction has appeared in BlazeVox and her flash fiction was published in The Roadrunner Review.