He studied me. “You really don’t believe in anything you can’t see?”
I thought about it. “It’s not that so much. I mean, I believe in God. I guess I just believe in free will over fate. I don’t think anything is inevitable—you always have choices, and your beliefs guide those choices. If you don’t want something to happen, you don’t let it happen. And if you want something badly enough, you go after it.”
“I definitely agree with that,” Maxim said. “That’s why I came here. But I also like believing that some things are meant to be. That some things are bound to happen because a force beyond our control is at work. Even feelings are sometimes beyond our control.”
Fuck yes, they are. “But our actions aren’t,” I argued. “Feeling something doesn’t mean you should act on it. If everybody went around doing what they felt, we’d live in complete chaos.”
“And chaos is messy.”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t like things that are messy.”
I glanced at him sideways and then stared straight ahead. For someone I’d met less than twenty-four hours ago, that was pretty damn intuitive. It kind of annoyed me. “No. I don’t.”
“I understand.” He was quiet for a moment, then spoke again. “I admire your discipline and self-control. I could probably use some of it. And I didn’t like paying for the apartment without seeing it, but what choice did I have? I wanted to come here more than anything. I was willing to risk it.”
I softened a little. Maxim was young—I had to remember that. Some of that fearlessness I envied was simply not knowing better. Someone his age needed to make mistakes in order to learn—I certainly had. And I couldn’t fault him for going after something he wanted. “I get that. You just have to think things through a little more. Be practical. Plan ahead. Consider all the possible consequences before you take a risk.”
“I’ll try,” he said. “I really want to make my life here work.”
And before I knew what I was saying, the words were out of my mouth. “I’ll help you. I can help you.”
As soon as I said it, I was sorry, not because I didn’t like him or want him to succeed, but because I wasn’t comfortable with the way he made me feel. I’d thought showing him kindness today would make me feel less distressed about last night, but it wasn’t. Even being in the car with him had me on edge—the interior of the Range Rover had felt perfectly spacious yesterday, but with Maxim in the passenger seat it felt snug. I was constantly aware of how close he was. My skin hummed with it.
All I wanted was to get him to his apartment, wish him well, and put him out of my head.
The address Maxim had given me was an old two-story building a couple blocks from the Hollywood freeway. I frowned as we pulled up. No self-respecting Angeleno would want to live in this area. It was nothing but traffic, tourists, and homeless people. The building itself looked like a World War II bunker, complete with crumbling facade and scorched lawn in front.“You’re sure this is it?” I asked him.
“Yes. It looks nice, doesn’t it?”
Are you fucking kidding me? I thought. But I didn’t say anything as he jumped out of the car. Who knew what his living conditions had been like back in Russia? Maybe this place looked like a palace to him.
Still.
“How long are you planning to stay here?” I got out of the car and shut the door, making sure I locked it. “This isn’t the greatest area.”
“For a little while, at least.” He glanced around the parking lot. “I hope it’s close to public transportation. I'll need that.”
“Public transportation? You won't get too far on public transit around here.”
“No? I guess I’ll get around by walking then.”
I stared at him. “Maxim, this is L.A. Nobody walks in L.A. Haven’t you heard that song?”
His face was blank. “No.”
I took a deep breath, feeling my blood pressure rise. How was it possible someone could make a transatlantic move with so little preparation? Was he one of those people that things just worked out for somehow? Who succeeded solely on instincts, determination, and charm? Maybe Maxim was truly poised on the edge of achieving the American Dream, but I had a bad feeling about this place. While I was trying to figure out how to help him without getting too invested, he held out his hand.
“Hey, thank you for driving me. And for—everything. I won’t forget this.”
I shook his hand, ignoring the heat that ricocheted up my arm at the clasp of our palms. “You sure you’re all right here? Maybe I should wait. Make sure this is the right place.”
“No.” His voice was firm. “You’ve done enough for me. And I’ll return the clothes as fast as possible.”
“Keep them.” I liked the thought of him in my clothes. I could allow myself that one small thing, maybe even file it under being charitable, since he had so little.
We looked at each other for a moment, and I was glad I had the sunglasses on. To keep myself from saying or doing something I’d regret, I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Well. Good luck.”
“Thanks. See you around, I guess.” With one last smile, he turned and walked toward the entrance.
He got about ten feet.
“Maxim!” I jogged to catch up with him, even though every instinct in my body was telling me to get the fuck in the car and go home. “Let me stay and make sure you get in okay.” That was reasonable, right? That’s what Ellen would have done. There were all kinds of weirdos around here. And what if the address was wrong?
“You can if you want to, but it’s not necessary.”
“I’ll feel better if I do. Ellen will never forgive me if anything else goes wrong for you,” I joked. By the time we reached the door, I had myself mostly convinced I was doing it for Ellen.
The door opened into a stairwell, which immediately struck me as a safety hazard. So anyone could simply walk in?
“It’s apartment 202,” Maxim said, glancing at his phone as he climbed the stairs. “Second level.”
On the second floor, we entered a dark, humid hallway that smelled like old fried food. My stomach turned.
Apartment 202 was right across from the stairs. The door was open slightly, and Maxim knocked before pushing it all the way open.
The air was hazy inside and the lighting dim, so it took my eyes a moment to adjust. The first person I saw was a stocky, dark-haired guy in a white tank top smoking in the kitchen, which was over to the right side of one big room. On the opposite side there were a few people slouched on a dingy couch staring at their screens. One of the two girls said hi and the other one waved, but the guy didn't even pick up his head. He was all into his laptop, which was covered with stickers. The TV sat on the floor, tuned to CNN, though no one appeared to be watching. The place reeked of stale cigarette smoke.
“He didn't tell me there were two of you,” said the guy in the tank top.
“There aren’t. My friend is just dropping me off,” Maxim said. “Are you Mike?”
The guy nodded.
“Nice to meet you. Is this the apartment?" Maxim asked.