Page 119 of That Reunited Feeling

That might be the most terrifying sentence I’ve ever heard.

“It’s all good. And I’m sorry you were bothered.” She turns to me. “This thing’s set up with a new system.” She points at the control panel. “If someone buzzes and buzzes and buzzes and we don’t let them in, it alerts the security company.”

“Yes, we were just around the corner,” Large Shed chips in. “Nice and handy.”

Yes. Handy. And nice.

“I was trying to answer,” she continues, “but there’s a bad connection somewhere, and I guess you couldn’t hear me. It’s all so new, and they can’t get an electrician out to look at it until next week.”

“Well, let’s hope you don’t have too many unexpected guests between now and then,” Less Large Shed says.

“Have a nice evening, ma’am,” Large Shed says. “And sir.” He straightens his cap as they head back to their car.

I turn to Rachel and blow out a long breath. “Thanks. Fuck. Thanks.” My hands are trembling with relief. Or still with fear.Or possibly both, given the flashbacks it’s prompted. “I haven’t been in trouble with any form of authority since I was sixteen.”

“And I think I was there for that,” she says. “When Mr. Joshi from the store around the corner from school reported you for taking a Mars bar every day for two weeks. Guess times have changed, huh?” She looks me up and down. “You still need a haircut, though.”

I gesture to her house. “You’re not doing so badly either.”

“Yup. Nice accent, by the way.” She looks up at the house. “We moved in a couple days ago. It’s only just finished. Although, I guess the entry system still isn’t quite there yet.” She plants her hands on her Lycra-clad hips. “Anyway, I’m guessing you weren’t just passing and decided to stop by to catch up with your old pal, Rachel, from Thursday-afternoon American History.”

“Yeah, I er…seem to…er…” …have run out of words, is what I seem to have done.

Next to us, the security car pulls away and is immediately replaced by a beater that stops like its brakes don’t fully function. A guy in his early twenties leaps out, a video camera glued to his eye.

“Tom Dashwood, right?” he asks, his camera roving over me, Rachel, and her house.

“Who the hell are you?” I’ve barely been in LA more than an hour and already I’m sick of its bullshit.

“FromShowbiz Nightly,” he says.

“Oh, Jesus,” Rachel says. “First security patrol, now celebrity patrol.”

“You are Tom, right?” Camera Dude asks again. “I hear you just had a brush with the law. Were you trying to break into this house? Do you know the owner? Are you in a relationship with this woman? Why are you in Los Angeles? Are you buying the old Capitol Records building? When do you think FourThousand Medicines will finally have a new album out? You’re friends with Hugo Powers, right? What do you think about him punching that reporter?”

This guy is the wind tunnel of interviewers.

“Am I buying the old Capitol Records building? What the hell makes you thi?—?”

“For the love of God.” Rachel charges toward him. “Get the fuck away from my house. And get the fuck away from this man. He’s not Tom Whoever-you’re-looking-for.”

Camera Dude lowers his camera and takes a step back.

“Go on.” Her arms flap like she’s trying to take off. “Just generally fuck off.”

Camera Dude looks at her with the shock of someone whose presence has never been challenged before.

He backs up toward his car. “Sorry, ma’am.” He ducks into the driver’s seat. “Mistaken identity, I guess.” He slams the door and zooms off to his next victim.

Rachel and I watch him rattle down the street.

“How did he even know I was here?”

She shrugs. “They appear out of thin air whenever a celebrity is doing anything embarrassing. Guess I hadn’t really processed that’s what you are.”

And there’s another shitty thing about LA I hadn’t even thought of.

“Thank you for the quick thinking and getting rid of him. I should probably have done that myself.”

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