Page 25 of Baby One Last Time
“We actually do a great business,” our tour guide, Jack—at least he claimed that was his name—said. “We drive hundreds of tourists a day during peak season.”
“Well fuck me,” I said, which got me a shot in the ribs from Mai and a broad grin in the rearview mirror from Jack.
“I like your girlfriend,” he told Mai. “She’s spunky.”
“She is that,” Mai said.
“We’d make a cute couple,” I said.
“You’re too short to be my type,” she answered.
“Sizeist.” I grinned. “You should take me to lunch to make it up to me. Hey Jack, can you recommend someplace where we can watch real live celebrities chew salad greens?”
This time, Mai shifted her legs and managed a kick to my shin. “Oops. Sorry sweetums.”
Jack answered as if it were a serious question. In his line of business, it probably was. He listed multiple restaurants that were likely to have at least a B-lister or two show up most afternoons. His enthusiasm made me feel guilty, so I slid farther under my blanket and resolved to behave for the next fifteen minutes, the time he estimated it would take to reach Rodeo Drive, where Mai had arranged to have us deposited at the end of our tour.
When we arrived at our destination, Jack double-parked on one of the most famous shopping streets in the world, let down the side steps, and helped Mai and me out of the van. Yeah, not conspicuous at all as locals beeped their horns and yelled obscenities at us, which Jack took in stride with a smile and wave to each of them. We gave him a generous tip for all his troubles, then watched him angle in front of a Mercedes whose driver did not appear to want him there, weave into the far-left lane, and disappear into the flow of traffic.
“If the bottom ever drops out of the Hollywood tour bus business, I think X could find a spot for someone with his driving skills,” Mai said.
“And his lack of fucks to give about what other drivers on the road think of him,” I agreed.
We spent an hour window shopping and snapping pics of Mai in front of various overpriced stores and over-the-top Christmas displays up and down the block.
“Are these for your dad, too?” I asked.
She shook her head. “For my brothers. They’ll never believe I came here.”
I considered her black tee shirt, black jeans, and the same pair of black combat boots she’d worn every day since I’d met her. “You don’t strike me as much of a shopper.”
She looked up and down, inspecting my outfit of a button-down black shirt and faded jeans tucked into high-heeled boots, the last of which I’d only worn to bring my height a bit closer to hers. “Right back atcha.”
“I’m no fashionista, but I’m a holiday shopping enthusiast with a nose for bargains.” I held up my phone, which displayed a list of store names and addresses. “And while, back in the day, I rose up the ranks of government based on my research skills, I’ve got nothing on my Aunt Anita. She’s mapped out the best stores in the city.”
Mai did the honors of summoning an Uber driver with her phone app, and a short LA ride of one hour later, we started making our way through Aunt Anita’s list in earnest. Mai found a set of coffee mugs hand painted with the LA skyline for her mom, a treasure trove of old movie posters for her dad, and a pair of stylin’ black combat boots for Aaron, the wannabe-investment-banker brother.
“I haven’t given up hope on him yet,” she said.
I found a gorgeous green cashmere sweater with a coordinating blue- and green-silk scarf for my mom and signed copies of three classic, first-edition romance novels for my aunt. Both stores packaged and shipped them for me, so I didn’t have to scramble to figure out the logistics.
“It’s really not that hard to understand how UPS works,” Mai told me as we walked toward a pizza place we found by following the aroma of garlic and tomato in the air. She schlepped her shopping bags with ease. “In a couple of hours, these will be on their way to Maryland. Like magic.”
“What about your other brother, the one in the military? Are you sending something to him?”
“He’s in the sandbox,” Mai said, referring to Southwest Asia or SWA, the area civilians knew as the sites of our Middle East military deployments. “I sent his care package over a month ago.”
Fifteen minutes later, we dug into an amazing, deep-dish pepperoni pizza. “I lived an hour outside New York City for a year during high school.” I folded the pizza lengthwise like any self-respecting New Yorker would. “This is good enough to be passable there.”
We chatted about the different places I’d lived, including DC, where I’d been for the last six years. It was the longest I’d ever stayed in one place, although I’d spent the better part of that traveling, first for the FBI, then for HEAT.
“I still have an apartment there, although I’ve sublet it,” I said.
“Do you think DC will be your forever home?”
“I’ve moved around too much to think of any place in terms of forever,” I said. “But if I were going to put down roots, I’d do it somewhere that’s cold and snow-covered for at least four months of the year.”
“Not me,” she said. “The Mid-Atlantic’s cold enough. I finished high school right up the road from DC, in Annapolis.”
