Lola: Chapter Five
Moreno is lying in bed in his mansion. His younger trophy girlfriend, Roxanne, is naked beside him. As far as Moreno is concerned this is her job, to be naked beside him in bed. It’s unclear if Roxanne feels the same way.
The house phone rings and Moreno answers it.
“She’s at a motel near the beach in Redondo?”
“Redondo? Why would she go there?”
“No idea. Maybe that’s where she’s meeting the buyer.”
“Is Walters still on her?”
“He has it under control.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. No reason to worry. We will find out who’s behind this.”
“Okay. Keep me informed. We don’t have a lot of time.”
The phone call does not put Moreno’s mind at ease but he is tired after a long day. He takes Roxanne into his arms and slowly falls asleep like a baby lost in dreams that have nothing to do with stolen briefcases and double crosses. Dreams of better times when he was young and happy with his brother Frank.
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Dreams and memories are like a time machine. They can go any place in the past, minutes, years, decades or centuries. For Alphonse Moreno this time machine takes him to his childhood when he had few cares in the world, when he was the protective older brother for his younger brother Frank, protecting him from an abusive father, and supporting his mother by working at the docks from the age of sixteen. These were the happy days for Alphonse Moreno, when money and power were only distant stars on his horizon, when family and ambition were the lights that lit his days.
Lola in her bed does not travel as far back in her time machine. She travels to a not so distant time that may have been only a few weeks ago or maybe a few months ago. She walks into a bar off of a busy Venice Boulevard and is greeted by a blonde seated at one of its many round tables.
“Lola!” The blonde announces happily as she walks him. She’s not wearing sunglasses this time, but it’s certainly the same woman, Lola in her dream is sure of this. She can see her face more clearly now without the mask of the sunglasses. She’s a little older than Lola, maybe a decade older, maybe slightly less, somewhere in her 30s. She looks good for her age, but something in her manner, in her movements shows an experience with life that Lola does not have. She carries herself with confidence. She moves with confidence, she orders drinks and sits in her chair with confidence. This blonde with short hair is not afraid of anybody. Even though she is in the same rundown bar as Lola, she is not inhabiting the same space, she owns her space, in a way she owns everyone who walks into that bar.
Lola is less confident. One could even say she looks a bit of a mess, emotionally and physically. She sits down across from the blonde with the ease of familiarity and unloads a sigh as she does this. “Bill called again, he wanted to talk.”
“Oh, Lola, what’s there to talk about?”
“He wants me back.”
Lola takes the wedding ring off her finger and looks at it as though it is a guide that will tell her how to respond to her estranged husband.
“I can’t believe you still wear that thing?”
“Technically, we’re still married.”
“Technically.” The blonde gives Lola the look of jaded experience, Lola feels naïve and stupid. “You’re not going to get anywhere wearing a wedding ring.” She leans in. “You don’t need him. Look over there.”
The blonde gestures to a guy at the end of the bar pretending to talk to the bartender. He’s really looking back at both of them.
Lola turns her head and sees him. The guys smile at her.
“And there.”
Now the blonde directs Lola’s gaze to a booth in the back, a couple of preppy college students sit there drinking their bottles of trendy beer and checking out the two available women in the middle of the room.
“And there.”
Two tables over, three guys, not college students, older, maybe even married, most certainly in relationships of some kind, are very aware of the two attractive women sitting and discussing something confidentially only a few feet away.
“They’re a dime a dozen. You can do better. You can have anyone you want in this place. Anyone you want in any place. Stick with me and I’ll show you a few tricks.”
The haze of the dream, the memory, the night, drifts to later on in the evening, late in the evening. Lola’s leaving the place. She isn’t drunk. She’s stone cold sober and so is her blonde mentor. They are both laughing uproariously. They are in the parking lot.
“Can you believe that guy?”
“One bullshit story after another.”
“So I guess he’s not with the CIA then.” They both laugh.
“I don’t know, let’s check.” The blonde pulls a wallet out of her purse.”
“You took his wallet?”
Lola takes the wallet from her.
“I told you I’d show you a few tricks.”
“I can’t believe...”
“That’s what a guy gets for slapping my ass.”
The blonde lights a cigarette as Lola looks through the contents of the wallet. Not much interesting. Certainly not anything that confirms his story of being an agent with the CIA. She stops on his driver’s license.
“Look at this photo.” She shows the blonde the photo, a typically hideous DMV photo, they have another laugh. Lola focuses on the license as she puts it back in the wallet.
“Hey, I know where this guy lives.”
“Maybe you should drop by his house sometime.”
“No. I’m serious. I think he’s only a few blocks away from my house.”
“You might run into him at the grocery store.”
That’s when the dream, the memory goes to an interesting place, an image that may be real, that is probably real, of a small white house in the San Fernando Valley. The house comes with a feeling, with emotion, with warmth attached to it, it feels like home.
This is my home.
1355 Arrowhead Lane.
And like that Lola remembers, well, something. Still not everything but something. She wakes up with a purpose.
The same bored clerk from the night before is still at his post.
Lola approaches him to check out.
“Can you tell me where 1355 Arrowhead Lane is?”
“I used to live near an Arrowhead Lane when I lived in the valley..”
“Yes, it’s in the valley.” Lola seems sure. She puts on her most innocent face. “Could you possibly do me another favor.”
For some reason, the bored clerk has grown found of this mysterious guest who paid in cash and keeps asking for favors. She’s like the little sister he does have, but he doesn’t like his real-life little sister, he does like Lola.
Lola tells him the number of the address that popped into her head when she was asleep. The clerk looks up the address.
“Yeah, I was right. Here it is.” He turns the monitor to Lola. Her eyes widen.
“Can you show me how to get there?”
The clerk takes out a map he usually gives to tourists. He takes out a marker and draws a long line. He gives the map to Lola.
“What do you expect to find at that address?”
Lola is walking to the door with the map in her hand, she uses her back to open the door and turns to the clerk.
“I think I live there.”