We also took community figure drawing classes for five bucks in Silver Lake and practiced drawing each other nude. This was a lot more embarrassing for me than for James, seeing as how I actually had cellulite and a little tummy pooch and a few other things you didn’t necessarily want your man to see in the bright, unforgiving light of a sunshine-soaked room. James, on the other hand, spent an hour working out every weekday, and was pretty much perfect. Not too thin, and not bulky. Just right. That’s what James was.
Also, he was a lot better at drawing than me. My line drawings of him usually looked like disproportionate cartoons, whereas you could tell it was me in the ones he did. But his took a lot longer, because he usually called for a “nookie break” about halfway through—which, after the first session, actually killed my self-consciousness about lying there naked in front of him. That was the thing about James. He didn’t just tell me that I was beautiful, he made me feel beautiful with the way he looked at me and held me and made love to me. And against all odds, after a few months of dating him, I actually began to believe I was beautiful enough to be with him—even if I wasn’t good enough to make it last.
. . .
As I had suspected, James had been to parties in the large modern mansions on the Venice Canals, but he’d never actually been to Venice Beach before. He was more of a Malibu/Pacific Palisades sort of guy. So I introduced him.
Like me, he loved the zaniness of Venice: the bizarre street acts, the kitschy art stands, the cheap sunglasses, and even the fat guys in Speedos. He took in the scene with appreciation and awe.
“It’s like we live in two different L.A.’s,” he said as we set our beach blanket on the sand so that we could watch people dance around the really bad drum circle that happened there every Sunday afternoon. “And I really like your L.A.”
I watched a plane make its way overhead away from LAX. “Tell me about flying,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to try it.”
James peered at me over his sunglasses. “Seriously, you’ve never flown before? Not even coach?”
“No, I never had any reason to.”
“How did you get here from Mississippi?”
Suddenly the conversation went from innocuous to dangerous. James knew that I had come out here by myself when I was a teenager and that I was estranged from my mother. But I had let him draw his own conclusions. He didn’t know about me running away or about Mama Jane.
I tensed. “In a truck.” I tried not to sound so guarded that he became suspicious. But I also didn’t want to sound like I was open to more questions.
“Did your mother drive?”
“No, I came out here with a friend.”
“A friend from high school?”
“No, I didn’t have any friends in high school.”
James shifted to face me. “I find it hard to believe that you didn’t have any friends in high school.”
“Trust me, I was a big ol’ nerd. I would not have been allowed in your circle when I was in high school.” I watched the plane get farther away from us. “You wouldn’t have even known I was alive.”
James shook his head. “I definitely would have noticed someone like you. Believe that.”
Another rage spike. But I couldn’t argue with him, couldn’t tell him that was the most insanely untrue thing he had ever said. I had already let him in on more information than I had meant to give him. I turned my attention to the ocean. There was a mother standing right at the edge with her small son. I could tell they were from the Midwest, because she was wearing a full piece swimsuit with a ruffle skirt, and I don’t think they even sell suits like that on the coasts anymore. She was trying to coax the little boy into the ocean.
But the kid was scared to go in. Their voices drifted up to us on the wind.
“C’mon, it’s all right,” she said.
“No, it’s going to eat me!”
James chuckled. “Poor kid.”
But then the little boy took a deep breath and walked into the ocean. Just walked right in, and started to doggie-paddle.
“Good job,” James said beside me.
Without warning, I felt tears in my eyes. I didn’t cry often, had never cried in front of James. But true bravery always moved me. When someone is scared shitless of something and they do it anyway, that got me every time.
I wished that I was half as brave as that kid.
. . .