Everything Leads to You

“And then what?”


“She left and we stayed to talk about the film. The landlords are letting us use their house for a set but Edie—she’s the wife—she had five million questions for us.”

“Let me get this straight,” Jamal says. “You’re telling me that Ava sat there and found out how her mom died, and then you just let her drive away?”

Neither of us says anything.

“Like it was no big thing?” Jamal asks.

“Shit,” I say.

“I should have gone out there with her,” Char says.

“She seemed okay, though,” I say, but the truth is I wasn’t paying close enough attention. Edie was there and she wanted to know about the film and there’s so much that I need to do that I just let the conversation move in that direction. I just said, “Okay, talk to you soon,” when Ava said she had to go.

“Where should we start?” Charlotte asks. “Maybe back to Frank and Edie’s?”

“Yeah, that makes sense. She might want to go back to the apartment by herself.”

“All right,” Jamal says. “Let’s go.”

Back on the 405, I ask, “Why did they kick her out?”

“She was acting pretty wild. The counselors tried to talk to her but she slammed the door in their faces. I told them she just needed some time, but they’re used to some pretty serious shit, you know? They kept saying she could be a danger to herself. I was like, ‘Nah, you don’t know Ava. She’s not like that.’ I knew she just needed a little time, but they forced their way back in. She had a bottle of vodka on the table.”

I say, “They kicked her out for that?”

“There’s a zero-tolerance policy.”

We exit Ruby Avenue for the second time today.

“It seems irresponsible to kick someone out when she’s in distress like that,” Charlotte says. “I mean, I feel bad enough that we let her go this afternoon, but we didn’t know that she was upset.”

“They were going to let her spend the night,” Jamal says. “But she didn’t want to stay. She has issues around that stuff, you know.”

When we get to Frank and Edie’s place, her car is nowhere in sight. We park and walk down their long driveway, but the only car there is the beige station wagon. We circle the block. No silver car.

“Where now?” I ask.

Jamal says, “I have no fucking clue, man.”

There’s worry in his voice and I can understand why. The streets are deserted. When we do catch sight of someone, he isn’t the kind of person we’d feel good running into in the middle of the night alone.

“Was she drinking before she left?” Charlotte asks.

Jamal’s quiet.

“It’s possible,” he says. “I don’t know.”

“I feel like shit,” I say. “Why didn’t we at least call her when we left?”

“Let’s just find her,” Charlotte says. “What about Clyde’s house?”

“Clyde’s?” Jamal says.

“If she’s thinking about her family, why wouldn’t she go there?”

“That makes perfect sense,” I say. “I don’t think she’s been there before, but it’s an easy address to find.”

I head back to the freeway in the direction of the Hollywood Hills, feeling the kind of hopeful that verges on certain. I can picture her there, sitting on his front steps looking out over the glittering lights of the city. We’ll get there and she’ll be grateful for our company. We’ll sneak around the property, look through all his windows, lie in the bottom of his empty pool like the kids in Rebel Without a Cause, but unlike James Dean and Sal Mineo and Natalie Wood, we’ll end the night feeling better.

I step on the gas and my car heaves itself up the winding hill, turns into the driveway.

The circular drive in front of his house is empty. She isn’t here.

I stop the car in front of his house.

“What now?” I ask, trying not to sound as defeated as I feel.

Jamal opens the door and looks around.

“Could she be parked somewhere else?” he asks.

“I don’t think so,” I say.

“I’ll take a quick lap. Just to be sure.”

Charlotte and I get out, too. We lean against the car and look at the house where all of this started until he comes back to us.

“Nothing,” he says.

We all climb in again.

“You’ve called her, right?”

“A million times. Straight to voice mail.”

“Maybe her phone’s battery’s dead,” Charlotte says.

“I feel terrible,” Jamal says.

“Me, too,” I say.

“We bought that bottle of vodka together. Weeks ago. We drank most of it together, too. I didn’t even get a chance to tell them it was part my fault she had it. She was just gone.”

“What about her house?” I ask. “What if she went back to see Tracey?”

“Yeah,” Charlotte says. “She had more questions. Maybe she thought Tracey would tell her.”

“I don’t know,” Jamal says. “She says she never wants to go back.”

We’re all quiet for a while, and I wonder if we’re about to give up for the night.